“I don't care. This isn't about getting rid of her. This is about revenge. This is personal, Calma.”
“You are out of your mind, Kiffo!” I said. “What the hell are you talking about, ‘personal’?” It was hardly the first time a teacher had tried to put the screws on Kiffo. Most times he welcomed it. Gave him a challenge—you know, like a sporting event, two bruisers slugging it out for glory. But not personal. Never personal. Even the humiliation of a detention wasn't enough to make sense of what he was planning to do. Then I had a sudden thought, a connection.
“Kiffo?” I said.
He grunted.
“Does the Pitbull know your family? I mean before she became our teacher? You know, in the past?”
There was just the slightest pause in Kiffo's step, but he kept walking, his head averted.
“You're kiddin',” he said finally. “Just ‘cos we mix with muggers and murderers doesn't mean we don't have standards.”
He looked at me and grinned. And I knew at that moment, knew it with a cold, hard certainty, that he was lying to me. I had no idea why and I didn't care. I was too busy tasting the lump of betrayal in my throat.
“Listen, kid,” he said brightly, “I'd better get going.”
He squeezed me briefly on the arm and then he was gone. I watched him for a while, my hand on the spot where he had touched me. I considered heading off to Vanessa's house, but in the end I couldn't be bothered. I was too depressed. I did know one thing, however. Whatever Kiffo was up to, I was going to be a part of it as well. We were friends. And I wasn't going to let him lie to me and get away with it. No one, and I mean no one, treats Calma Harrison like that.
Year 6, First Term
You are sitting on a bench by the school oval. It is lunchtime. You open your lunch box and arrange the contents beside you on the bench. There is an apple, a bag of salt and vinegar chips, a chicken sandwich and a chocolate biscuit. You suddenly notice a red-haired boy looking at the food. He is standing a little behind you. There is nothing in his hands. You pick up the bag of crisps and his eyes follow you.
“Are you hungry?” you ask.
He shrugs.
“Would you like these chips?” you ask.
He shrugs.
He eats the chips. Then he eats your sandwich and the biscuit. He turns down the apple. You don't mind. You're not very hungry anyway. When he has finished, he wanders onto the oval and joins in a game of football. He has said nothing.
“You're welcome,” you say.
Chapter 6
Crime and punishment, part two
The next week passed uneventfully. English classes were horrible, but we kept our heads down and put up with it. But even that didn't seem to satisfy the Pitbull. She'd find the weakest reasons for singling out some of the kids. The way they looked at her. Noises they made that only she could hear. She set impossible tasks and then punished students for failing to complete them. It got so that you were grateful if she was picking on someone else. I hated that, the way she made us selfish, thankful that someone else was going through hell because it meant that you weren't suffering. That her attention was elsewhere. I got off pretty lightly, probably because I was “gifted” and all that crap. And probably because I didn't stir her up.
Kiffo suffered the most. A lesson didn't go by without her tormenting him in one way or another. I really did feel sorry for him. Okay, I know that Kiffo could be a real bastard. Maybe this was payback for all the times he had made teachers suffer,without ever thinking of their welfare. Who the hell knows? But there was no doubt that when the Pitbull was working herself up into a frenzy, it was costing him. On many occasions he was really close to hitting her. I could tell. A glazed look would come into his eyes and his hands would tighten into fists. Sometimes, I thought that was exactly what the Pitbull wanted. For him to have a go. But he didn't do anything. She told him that he was a loathsome sore on the backside of humanity, that he made pond slime appear intellectually advanced in comparison, that he was nothing, and he took it. Those kids who sat at the back of the class with Kiffo did nothing to help either. They kept their heads down and pretended they were invisible. That's what I mean. They were supposed to be his friends, but they were too busy looking out for themselves to give him any support. And all I did was stand by and watch the Pitbull turn us into uncaring, I'm-all-right-Jack types. She was destroying our sense of what was right and what was wrong. She was turning us into politicians. The future of Australia deserved better than that.
Now, I know that Kiffo's plan for the Pitbull wasn't exactly brilliant, that, in fact, it was wrong. That it wouldn't help in any way whatsoever. But I also knew that I was going to be a part of it. Listen, I'm just telling you the way things were, the way things had to be between me and Kiffo. I'm not asking for your approval.
I caught up with Kiffo on Friday at lunchtime. He was acting all nonchalant, which was exactly the wrong kind of approach with me. Honestly, men! They think they are so smart. And the more they try to be smart, the more they seem as dumb as a hammock full of hammers.
“So when are you doing this, Kiffo?” I said.
“Doing what?”
“You know what I mean,” I said.
“I don't know what you're talking about, Calma.”
I grabbed the front of his T-shirt and pulled his face toward mine.
“Listen, matey,” I said. “There are two things you should never get confused about with me. First, I am not stupid. Second, I am not about to let a mate get himself in all sorts of strife without me there to help out. Okay? Now, you can do this one of two ways. You can continue with your impersonation of a complete moron—and, incidentally, it's one you do with uncanny accuracy—and find me following you everywhere you go. Or you can just answer a straightforward question, which will save us both a lot of time. When are you going to trash the Pitbull's place?”
Kiffo's face registered a look I recognized—the one that showed he knew he was going to be the loser if he argued with me. He gave it another go, mind you.
“Just drop it, Calma!”
“When?”
“I'm trying to protect you!”
“When?”
And then he sagged, like I knew he would.
“Tonight,” he said, eyes flicking about as if in search of support.
“So where do we meet?”
For a moment, I thought he was going to start arguing again, but instead he gave a sigh. I knew I had won.
“All right, all right! Meet me at five-thirty outside Kmart in the mall. Have you got camouflage gear?”
“Bloody hell, Kiffo,” I said. “This isn't World War Three!”
“It is to me. Never mind. Be on time, right?”
Throughout the entire afternoon, I was in a nervous frenzy. I'll admit it. I actually thought it was really exciting. But I knew there was a line I wouldn't cross. There was no way I was going into the Pitbull's house. I'd watch out for Kiffo, but any breaking and entering would be up to him. I told him that much when we met at five-thirty.
“God, Calma,” he said. “As if I'd let you break in! You'd probably get your tits stuck in the window. No. Listen, just watch out for me, right? Keep guard.”
He looked me up and down.
“Is that the best you could do?”
Under the circumstances, I thought I had done pretty well. Dark blue jeans and a maroon T-shirt. Kiffo looked like something out of a survival video for bush weirdos. He had head-to-toes camouflage gear, heavy black boots and a black balaclava perched like a beanie on the top of his head. I mean, really anonymous when you're hanging around outside Kmart on a Friday afternoon! All the mothers with kids in strollers were going past looking at Kiffo like he was Osama bin Laden.
“I thought the idea with camouflage gear was to blend in with the surroundings,” I said to him, “not stand out like a marine in a nunnery. You would have been better off hiring a stroller and a couple of kids.”
Kiffo looked a little indignant.
“Yeah, well. It stands out here, doesn't it? But it won't stand out in the Pitbull's yard, will it? Come on, we'd better get going.”
We left the mall and walked off toward the southern suburbs. It was already starting to get dark, which, to be perfectly honest, suited me down to the ground. Now that we had started on this, I was nervous and didn't like the idea of anyone spotting me with Kiffo, particularly dressed the way he was. I had visions of an episode of Crimestoppers.
Close-up of smooth, good-looking bastard with anal-retentive hair and discreet tie. He could be one of those models you see in catalogs, flanked by a couple of clean-cut clones sporting seriously unpleasant leisure garments. There is a Crimestoppers logo perched over his immaculate left shoulder:
“Can anyone remember seeing two young people near the mall between five-thirty and six on the evening of the seventeenth of May? A young male, aged about fifteen, with camouflage gear, bandy legs, bright red hair with a beanie stuck on the top like a black cherry. His accomplice had huge boobs and orange glasses the size of up-and-over garage doors.”
No, the gathering dark was just fine with me.
Kiffo was moving like a man possessed. I had to struggle to keep up with him.
“How did you find out where she lived, Kiffo?” I panted.
“Easy,” he replied. “Borrowed my mate's motorbike. Followed her home from school.”
“What are we going to do when we get there? I mean, for all we know, she could spend her evenings doing crosswords or pulling the wings off butterflies or sharpening her teeth. I can't imagine she has a loving circle of friends. And what if she has family?” I really couldn't imagine the Pitbull having family, mind you. She wasn't born, she was quarried. Nonetheless, I thought it was unlikely that she'd be out of an evening dancing at the local club or taking embroidery classes. I could see us sitting outside her house most of the night with nothing to show for it.
“It's sorted,” said Kiffo. “She's got a dog.”
“A dog?” I repeated. This was getting worse. “How does that help us?”
“She takes it for a walk. Every night, the same time. Seven to eight-thirty. You can set your watch by it. Plenty of time for me to be in there, out again and both of us to be home before she gets halfway through exercising the mutt. Trust me.”
I shivered, even though the evening was uncomfortably warm. This was Kiffo's thing, his expertise. In the classroom, I was the boss. I knew my way around a poem. He knew his way around other people's houses. I thought about the different worlds we inhabited and wondered how I had managed to get myself involved in his.
We eventually stopped outside a small, low-set house in a nondescript area of the city. Kiffo and I stood across the road under a large casuarina, where we were reasonably safe from prying neighbors. He hunkered down and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his camouflage jacket. He offered me one. I shook my head. I was developing enough bad habits for one evening. Aiding and abetting a break-in, an accomplice to a serious crime, a gangster's moll. Kiffo lit up and looked across the road with narrowed eyes. I wasn't sure if this was because of the smoke or because he thought it was tough. I crouched down beside him and practiced narrowing my eyes. He pointed at the house with his cigarette.
“Ten minutes. Then she'll be gone. All you gotta do is watch out for anyone who might be suspicious and let me know. I'll only be in there ten minutes. Piece of cake.”
“Yeah,” I said, “and just how am I supposed to let you know if someone does get suspicious? Set off fireworks, use a bullhorn, assemble a marching band?”
Kiffo narrowed his eyes further. God, I wished I could do that. I made a resolution to practice. He kept silent for a while, and with one of those horrible sinking feelings, I realized that this was something he hadn't given much thought to. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised.
“You'll think of something,” he replied finally, showing more faith in me than I could summon. “Anyway, quiet. Here she is.”
I wasn't encouraged by the fact that she was eight minutes early according to Kiffo's calculations. Maybe he wasn't too fussy when it came to setting his watch. Maybe he couldn't tell the time. Not that it mattered. I watched as the Pitbull opened the front door of her house and came out, trying to restrain the biggest dog I had ever seen in my life. I mean, this thing was huge. And it looked as bad-tempered as hell. So would I if I had to share living space with the Pitbull. Even so, this was clearly a dog with limited things on its mind. Like ripping people to shreds, for example. It strained at the lead as if anxious to find someone in need of shredding, its bulging muscles gleaming in the porch light. By now, the evening had settled and the dark was profound. There was nothing behind us except a sports oval and I knew that from the Pitbull's point of view we would have been lost in the gloom beneath the tree. I was worried about the dog, though. Maybe it would smell us. Hell, the way I was sweating, Miss Payne could have smelled me. I nudged slightly closer to Kiffo as the Pitbull struggled with the gate. The dog was so keen to get out for a walk that it nearly pulled her arm through the chain links. I smiled as Miss Payne swore, but the smile froze on my lips when she smacked the dog around the head with one huge fist. The poor old pooch damn near collapsed. You could see the stars circling around its head. Now, this dog looked like it could savage and eat an entire army battalion and still have room for dessert, but it was clear who was the boss in the household. The dog whined and cowered as the Pitbull raised her voice.
“Down, Slasher, down. Blast you.”
Slasher! Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. I felt hugely sorry for the hound then. Even though it was as big as a truck, it stood no chance against the Pitbull. I knew how it felt. Kiffo and I crouched together and watched as the two brutes thundered down the road. The last I saw of the dog was when it bulldozed around a corner, under a streetlight, almost leaving gouges in the pavement. Kiffo had been cupping his cigarette in his hand, shielding the glow. Now he took a final drag and threw the butt onto the road. He stood up and pulled the balaclava over his head. Normally I would have considered this a blessing. Kiffo's face was not exactly a thing of beauty and a joy forever. But now there was something extremely menacing about him. I felt scared. Of him, of the dark, of what we were about to do. I wanted to turn and run, but it was too late. Kiffo pulled me closer to him and whispered urgently.
“Keep an eye out. I'll be ten minutes, tops.”
And he was gone. He slipped into the dark and across the road and was through the Pitbull's gate before I could say anything. I caught a quick glimpse of his small figure as it moved around the side of the house. I realized that I had been holding my breath and I let it go in a long, slow exhalation.
To be honest, I was panicking. It might sound like an easy job, just standing under a tree looking around, but I felt the eyes of the world upon me. What would I do if a police car pulled up? What excuse would I have for standing under a casuarina tree in a quiet residential area? I know it's not a crime, but it's a strange thing to do, isn't it? I tried to get farther into the shadow, but I was also conscious that I needed a clear view of the road both ways. I was starting to wish I had put on a different pair of glasses. Were these ones luminous? I couldn't remember, but they certainly felt like they were glowing. I could imagine curious neighbors ringing the police and saying, “Please come at once. The casuarina tree across the road is wearing glasses and it's starting to spook me.”
I needed to empty my bladder as well. Could I risk it here? Knowing my luck, I'd be caught with my knickers around my ankles and that would be a hard one to explain away. I swiveled my eyes from one side of the street to the other. The least movement made my head snap around. I was starting to get dizzy and I felt sick. How long was he going to be in there? I glanced at my watch and saw that he had been gone for exactly a minute! The whole concept of time was messing my head up.
And then I froze. I couldn't believe it. Around the corner, like a shaggy tank, appeared Slasher, followed in quick
succession by the vast bulk of the Pitbull. My tongue spot-welded itself to the roof of my mouth and my legs turned to cottage cheese.
What the hell was I going to do now? For one wild moment, I thought that maybe she had gone the wrong way and was simply retracing her steps to pass the house and go in the opposite direction. Yeah, right! The streetlights etched her face in sharp relief and I shuddered. She was coming back. God knows why, but it looked like walkies was finished for today. What was it Kiffo had said? An hour and a half. You could set your watch by it. What an idiot!
The Pitbull was bearing down on me and I couldn't think of anything to do. I tried whispering “Kiffo” really quietly until I caught myself. We were in enough trouble with just one idiot around. Why hadn't we brought mobile phones? The fact that I didn't have one and neither did Kiffo was possibly one reason, but I was still faced with the problem of contacting him. And quickly. I had visions of the Pitbull opening her front door and finding Kiffo peeing on her pet cockatoo or something. Think, Harrison. Think.
There was only one thing for it. As the Pitbull approached the front gate, as she was reaching into her pocket and extracting her house keys, I rushed across the road.
“Miss Payne!” I yelled at the top of my voice. “Fancy seeing you here!”
Slasher and the Pitbull both turned to face me, and I have to admit that I quailed. One of them growled but I'm not sure which. I tried a bright happy smile, like I was meeting my best friend, but it felt as if my face was molded from durable resin. Miss Payne's lip curled as she looked me up and down. Her expression was the same, I imagined, as if she had stood in something Slasher might have done on the pavement.
“Miss Harrison,” she said. “This is an unexpected pleasure. Goodbye.”
She turned to go.
“Wait!” I yelled. “Please don't go. I… I wanted to talk to you.”
The Pitbull looked at me.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “And what do you think we might have to talk about at this time on a Friday evening?”
The Crimes and Punishments of Miss Payne Page 4
