The Crimes and Punishments of Miss Payne

by Barry Jonsberg

  “Yeah, catch ya later, arsehole.”

  Kiffo flipped his empty bottle of beer through the window, where it exploded on what must have been a small mountain of broken glass. Jonno belched loudly and did the same. Give me credit here! If I had been in some Mongolian outback settlement and everyone was eating sheep's eyeballs or camels’ testicles or something, I would have joined in. Follow the rules of the culture you're in, that's my motto. So I tried. Unfortunately, my beer bottle was still full to the brim, so I sent a small fountain across the room, drenching the sofa and what passed for the carpet.

  This might have passed unnoticed. After all, the place was so disgusting that nothing I could do would lower the standard. But my aim wasn't great either. I missed the window by two feet and smashed a small standard lamp in the corner of the room. Jonno and Kiffo glanced at the damage.

  “And a lamp,” said Jonno.

  “Right,” said Kiffo.

  It was only when we were two hundred yards away from Jonno's place that I allowed myself to relax. It felt like all my muscles had gone into involuntary spasm. I also realized that the whole time we had been there, I hadn't said a single word. It's not often you can say that about Calma Harrison! Kiffo, however, was walking along without a care in the world, cigarette clamped between his lips, red hair bobbing above a dense smoke cloud.

  “Kiffo,” I said. “Where the hell did you dig him up from?”

  “Jonno? He's all right,” said Kiffo nonchalantly.

  “All right? All right for what? Neanderthal man? God, you've got some strange friends, Kiffo.”

  Kiffo spun on me.

  “He's not a friend! If you must know, I hate the bastard. But he's a pro. He'll get the job done. No worries.”

  I should have shut up, but that's always a problem with me.

  “Well, what was that about getting him stuff? DVD player, stereo. How are you going to manage it?”

  Kiffo pulled on the last of his cigarette and flicked the butt into someone's yard.

  “Yeah, looks like I'm goin’ to be doin’ a bit of shopping the next couple of days,” he said.

  “Using what for cash?”

  Kiffo looked at me as if I'd lost my senses.

  “Haven't you heard, Calma? Cash is in the past.” He flexed his fingers. “I prefer the interest-free, long-term loan option. Very long-term.”

  We parted company not long after that—me to wander around aimlessly until I felt it was safe to go back home, Kiffo to start his shopping spree, I guess. I didn't like to ask any more questions. I didn't want to know. It was getting dark when I turned in to my street. My intention had been to check out the place. If Mum was home I was going to wander around for a while. Luckily, her car wasn't there and the house was in darkness. I let myself in, stuck some frozen lasagne in the microwave and then took it up to my room. At least my bedroom had a lock on it. I wasn't going to get into any more conversations with Mum. I was still mad at her. Or at least it suited me to be mad at her. I needed the excuse for noncommunication.

  As I lay in bed that night, I felt more lonely than I had in my entire life. I thought about the day's events. It had certainly been busy—the Ferret, Giuseppe's, the Pitbull, the police visit, the argument with Mum, and Jonno. No one could say that life was dull. But for all that, I felt desperate. I could take no consolation in the idea that we were making progress in the Pitbull mystery. The threat from the police kept spinning in my head. I was a criminal. And even if I put that down to a mistake or to exaggeration, I certainly couldn't pretend I didn't associate with criminals. My relationship with my mother hadn't exactly been ideal before, but now it seemed to be torn beyond repair.

  And overlaid on all that was the knowledge that I was without a real friend, other than Kiffo. Don't get me wrong. I'm not ashamed of him or anything. Far from it. But, as I've said before, there are just some things you can't talk to Kiffo about. Some things I'm not allowed to visit. Not properly. And sometimes, just sometimes, you need a conversational map where the boundaries are open and there's no legends saying, “Here be dragons!”

  Let's be honest. My life was a mess.

  Chapter 19

  The promise

  [Calma Harrison—Virgo. Sensitive, kind, intelligent, given to occasional forays into the criminal underworld.]

  Doubtless if I had read my stars they would have said something like: “Your life is a mess and you feel that things can't get any worse. Do not worry. By Monday, you will have found that they can.”

  I spent Sunday in my room, except for those times when Mum left the house to do the shopping or whatever. Then I'd rush down the stairs, stock up on anything I could find in the fridge and watch some telly. As soon as I heard the car on the gravel outside, I'd take off up the stairs again and lock myself in my bedroom. Once or twice Mum came up and knocked on the door, but I ignored her. Childish, I know, but it seemed like the easiest option. I really wanted her to go to work, but she must have had the day off or just rung in sick or something.

  Naturally, I spent a fair amount of time contemplating my situation. There could be no doubt that I was up to my neck in the brown, smelly stuff. But then I remembered that my grandmother used to say of some people that they could “fall down the dunny and come up smelling of roses.” Maybe it wasn't all over yet. Maybe Calma Harrison could yet emerge from the excrement with an aroma of patchouli. It all depended on what happened with the Pitbull, obviously. If we could expose her, then I could just imagine the reaction.

  Children, I expect you are wondering why I have called an emergency assembly today. Some of you might also be wondering why Miss Payne has been led from the hall in manacles, escorted by four SAS men in camouflage gear. I feel you should know that Miss Payne has been masquerading as an English teacher, something that will not come as a surprise to those of you who were in her classes. But none of us suspected she was also using her position here to distribute hard drugs to students, the school janitor and certain members of senior management. I said none of us suspected, but that is not strictly true. I call upon Calma Harrison and Jaryd Kiffing to step forward to receive the highest honors the school can bestow. For these students, with no help from any authorities, indeed despite the barriers erected by people like myself, who should have known better, these fine, upstanding students have exposed her for the heartless, cold monster she is. On behalf of the entire school, I offer my full and sincere apologies to Calma and Jaryd, in addition to my formal resignation from the role of principal, a job that I am clearly unfit to hold. The police commissioner here will now present these two students with the Distinguished Medal of Honor, a check for ten thousand dollars and a certificate proclaiming them joint winners of the Young Australian of the Year award, prior to us chairing them around the school grounds to the tune of “Advance Australia Fair.” Let's hear it for Calma andJaryd.

  Yes. A lot was riding on what Jonno could dig up. That was one of the reasons I decided I had to go to school on Monday morning. I sure as hell didn't feel like it. In fact, throughout most of Sunday, the thought of going made me feel physically sick. But on Monday morning, I waited until Mum had left for work and then shot down the stairs, grabbed a quick breakfast and rushed off. It wasn't just the hope of Jonno turning up trumps either. I had had a brilliant idea and I needed to run it by Kiffo.

  Now, do you want the ever so slightly good news, the bad news, the other bad news, the yes there's more bad news or the completely, holy crap this is disastrous news? Okay.

  The bad news: I got a note in home group to go to see Mrs. Mills.

  The ever so slightly good news: I had been taken out of the Pitbull's English class.

  More bad news: there was no other class to go into, so I would have to spend my English lessons in a little room by the assistant principal's office that was normally reserved for the kind of student who couldn't be trusted in classrooms. We had plenty of them at the school, the kid who couldn't go five minutes without uttering an obscenity or who felt duty-boun
d to dismantle the walls or the person sitting next to him.

  Yet more bad news: I had to listen to Mrs. Mills for about six hours as she went on about how she would be there to support me, while really she was trying to get me to dish up the dirt. I blocked all of her deliveries with a straight, dead bat. Appropriate, really, since a straight, dead bat was exactly how I thought of her.

  And can there really be more bad news: the Pitbull's classes were, according to Kiffo's reports later in the week, being received as the most enjoyable activity since the invention of masturbation. The last act of a desperate woman, according to Kiffo, but I didn't care if it was the first act of Henry the Eighth. I knew what she was up to and it wasn't going to wash with me.

  The most catastrophic bad news: well, you'll have to wait for that. First, let me tell you about the idea I wanted to run past Kiffo. We found each other at recess. It wasn't difficult. All you had to do was look for the two students who were the biggest Nigels in the entire place and you'd have spotted us. We sat down on one of those concrete benches on the edge of the oval.

  “Kiffo,” I said. “I've had a brilliant idea!”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “I'm going to write it all down.”

  “What?”

  “Everything. The whole business with the Pitbull. Everything we've seen, heard and done.”

  “That's what you call a brilliant idea, is it?”

  “Yeah. Seriously. Listen, we've talked about getting proof, but so far we've got nothing to show the police. I mean, yeah, I hope Jonno will come up with something solid, but it would still be a good idea to have a record of all that's happened up to now. You know, in case we forget anything. Something that'll show the police that we're not just a couple of kids making up stories, but serious investigators making a serious report. Come on, how could it hurt?”

  Kiffo thought for a while.

  “Still not what I'd call a brilliant idea, but I suppose it might be worth it.” His eyes brightened. “We could stick it in a safety deposit box, with instructions to our lawyers to open it in the event of our suspicious deaths. I saw a film once where they did that.”

  I wasn't going to point out we didn't have a lawyer or a safety deposit box or any prospect of getting either.

  “Exactly, Kiffo,” I said. “Like insurance.”

  “Right. Go for it,” he said. “But, Calma, you've got to promise me one thing.”

  “Sure.”

  “I don't want you bringing… him… into all of this. You know what I mean. I know you, Calma, but what's gone on in the past isn't important. And I don't want his name mentioned. Do you hear me?”

  “But, Kiffo …”

  “No, Calma. I won't listen. Not to that. If you're going to write about all of this, then I don't want him a part of it. Not a mention of his name. I need you to promise.”

  I thought for a while. He was wrong. I knew that. But I also knew that there was going to be no way I'd be able to convince him of it. Anyway, I guess he had a right to make it a condition.

  “All right, Kiffo,” I said finally. “I promise.”

  Chapter 20

  Answers

  “You shitheads!” he said. “You shitheads are the biggest dick-heads I've ever met.”

  You might remember that I never got round to telling you the worst piece of news—the “just when you thought things couldn't get any worse, then something comes and kicks you up the arse” piece of news. It happened on Thursday after school. Jonno was waiting for us, leaning up against the school railing, smoking. I noticed, without surprise, a can of Foster's in his hand. Kiffo and I stopped outside the gates and Jonno looked us up and down, taking a final gulp of his beer before crushing the can in his hand and tossing it away.

  “You shitheads!” he said. “You shitheads are the biggest dickheads I've ever met.”

  “Whaddya mean?” said Kiffo.

  Jonno just chuckled and shook his head.

  “What a pair of dickheads!” he repeated.

  “Look,” I snapped. “Just tell us, will you? I don't want to stand around out here listening to insults, particularly those that are inconsistent about the precise composition of our heads. I don't remember that being included in the price. And, frankly, I've been insulted by better people than you. Certainly more articulate—”

  Jonno put his hand close to my face and pointed. The glowing end of a cigarette wavered millimeters from my eyes.

  “You watch your mouth, lady,” he said. “Where I come from, we don't make no difference between punching a woman or a bloke. So if you want to keep those specs on the outside of your face, you'd better shut up.”

  I decided to shut up. Jonno didn't look the sort of person to make idle threats.

  “Yeah, all right,” said Kiffo. “Let's stick to business. Because if you start on my friend here, we're goin' to find ourselves fallin’ out. Big time. I might be half your size, but you know me, Jonno. If I get it into my head to fight you, you'll have to kill me before I'll stop.”

  Jonno looked at Kiffo, as if weighing things up. Then a big grin spread across his face.

  “Never short of balls, Kiffo. I'll give you that. Right. I've done the job, but you ain't gonna like the results. Subject's name is Payne, aged forty-five. She is into drugs. But she's not pushing. She's a volunteer for DARP, the Drug and Alcohol Rehabilitation Program. They have a twenty-four-hour hotline. Payne goes out on calls maybe two, three times a week, to deal with junkies and alkies. Tries to keep them straight. She's not a drug dealer, for Chrissake. She's a pillar of the community. Probably get a medal.”

  Jonno flicked his cigarette butt away and produced a can of beer from a side pocket. Did he have a cooler in there? Kiffo and I looked at each other. I could see denial written all over his face. As for me, I knew. I knew, with that awful sense of inevitability, that what Jonno had said was the truth. I could almost taste the bitterness of it.

  “What about that bloke, Ferret-face?” said Kiffo, an air of desperation in his voice.

  Jonno popped the ring-pull and took a big swallow.

  “Name is Collins, a director of DARP. Doctor, apparently. Big shot.”

  Giuseppe's. A group ofbusinessmen. “We mustn't miss this opportunity, gentlemen. There is a huge shortage of top-grade heroin on the streets at the moment… and we must hope it stays that way, if we are to rid our society of this appalling disease.”

  “Nah!” said Kiffo. “It can't be.”

  “I'm telling you straight,” said Jonno. “Two nights I followed her. One time she met Collins at this hall place. That's how I got to check him out as well. Anyway, this hall. It's a sort of safe haven, a place where junkies go to get decent needles, hot food, that kind of stuff. It's what she does, Kiffo. I seen it with me own eyes.”

  Calma and Kiffo stand on a pile of milk crates as they watch Miss Payne and Dr. Collins talking inside the Drug Rehabilitation Center.

  Jonno prized himself away from the fence.

  “Look,” he said. “Got to go. Business appointment. I'll expect payment by this time tomorrow night, Kiffo. Come round to my place. I'd hate to have to come round to yours. Know what I mean?”

  If Kiffo heard, he gave no sign. He was still shaking his head as Jonno strolled away down the road.

  “You're wrong, Jonno. You're wrong,” he said. But his voice was almost a whisper. I reached toward him and linked arms. It was some indication of his state of mind that he didn't resist, didn't even seem to notice.

  “Come on, Kiffo,” I said. “I'll buy you a Coke or something.”

  He turned toward me.

  “You don't believe it, do you, Calma? You didn't buy any of it.”

  “Yeah, Kiffo,” I said. “I bought the lot.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it fits. Because it's what happens in real life, not the stuff we've been spinning. Don't you see? This whole thing, this whole fantastic adventure. We wanted to believe it. It was brilliant to think that a teacher we hated was also a
criminal. But we were wrong. It's not good enough just to want something to be true. Because then we're simply part of a game—a terrific game, an exciting game. But in the end, only a game. And now we know, Kiffo. We know. It's game over.”

  Kiffo plodded on for a few more paces, his eyes fixed on the ground. But then he stopped, grabbed me by my free arm and swung me round to face him.

  “Not for me, Calma,” he said. “Not for me.”

  I shook my head.

  “Come on, Calma. Think,” said Kiffo. “How do we know Jonno is telling us the truth?”

  “Why would he lie?”

  “Why? ‘Cos it's second nature to him. He can't do nothin’ else. What if she bought him off? What if she realized we were on to her and she decided to cut Jonno in? What if he's working for her? What if he always has been?”

  “If, if, if. If your aunt had testicles, Kiffo, she'd be your uncle! It doesn't make sense.”

  “What about that bag? The one with the white stuff, that the Pitbull took from the Ferret?”

  “I've no idea, Kiffo. Maybe it was medication. It might have been instant mashed potato for the junkies' dinner for all we know!”

  I put my arm around his shoulders and he didn't remove it.

  “I know you've put a lot into this,” I said. “We both have. And it's difficult sometimes to accept that all the hard work, all the emotional and physical energy, has been for nothing. That we've wasted our time. But we've got to accept it. Give it up, Kiffo. Cut our losses. It's time to get back to normal.”

  Kiffo's face twisted in concentration. He could never win a rational argument with me and he knew it.

  “Okay, Calma,” he said, finally. “Just one more try. Give me that. Just one more go. If we don't get nowhere, then I give up. Come on. It's not much to ask, is it? A last chance?”

  Maybe I was feeling a little confused and dispirited by the events of the week, but I felt myself weakening. He was looking so intently into my eyes. Pleading, almost.