No Alarms

by Beckett, Bernard

  ‘You can let me go now. They’re not coming back.’

  ‘You’re all I’ve got to bargain with,’ he replied. His voice was so close to her ear it was almost like she could have been imagining it.

  ‘There’s no bargaining.’ The pressure against her throat turned her voice raspy and more desperate than she wanted it to sound. ‘I didn’t know they were doing this. They set us both up. I was told you’d be taking me to dinner, that was all. They promised me money, if I could help them get into the flat. I didn’t think, I never expected…’

  ‘Nobody’s that stupid,’ he replied, but his grip relaxed slightly.

  ‘I am. Come on, let me go. This isn’t doing anything.’

  ‘I need those photos.’

  ‘Well this isn’t getting them is it?’

  ‘So what do you suggest?’

  ‘You let me go.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  He was looking for a way out of this, same as Sharon was, starting to bargain. Knowing it made her feel braver.

  ‘Cos I’ve got nothing you want. Because they don’t give a shit about me. They’re arseholes, both of them. And anyway, you have to eventually don’t you? It’s not like you can spend the rest of your life standing here with your pants down around your ankles.’

  But she’d read him wrong. Being helpless wasn’t making him reasonable, it was making him angry. He pushed her forward, as hard as he could, and being off balance she fell forward, her face hitting the floor. Maybe his plan from there was to jump on her, or kick her around a bit, but it wasn’t much of a night for plans. Just as he lunged forward Justin reappeared around the corner, and the first Sharon knew of it was the sound of the two of them colliding above her as she rolled out of the way, and then the sound of Justin’s gun being knocked clear and hitting the wall.

  Sharon had never held a gun before. It was heavier than she expected. Not a shotgun like you’d normally see, or even a rifle, but a little handgun that you have to be a hard bastard to get hold of. Simon’s for sure. It was almost funny, the sight of two men wrestling each other to the floor, rolling in the torchlight, and one of them with his pants down.

  Now I need a camera.

  ‘Get off him or I’ll shoot your fat arse.’

  They stopped and looked up at her, like they were trying to work out if she was serious. Hutton slowly untangled himself and backed up against the wall, dressing himself as he went. Justin smiled, looking relieved, more relieved than he had a right to be.

  ‘Thanks Sharon. Here, give me the gun. I’ll sort this.’

  ‘No you fucken won’t. You get back against that wall too.’

  ‘Sharon, I…’

  ‘I mean it.’

  She pointed the gun straight at him. She didn’t know whether she’d pull the trigger if she had to. Neither did he. That was the thing about violence. You didn’t do much thinking.

  ‘Hey, what do you mean?’ He looked properly confused, not like he was putting it on. ‘I came back for you didn’t I?’

  ‘You knew didn’t you? You fucken knew all along. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Eh? Well, it was Simon’s idea. I mean, we thought, he thought, that if you knew you wouldn’t do it.’

  ‘No shit.’

  ‘But then, once it’d worked out, we thought you’d be sweet. Think about it Sharon. This can still turn out. Think about the money. Easiest money there is.’

  ‘Easy for you you mean.’

  ‘There’ll be more. You can earn money like you’ve never even thought about. That was the plan, to make you like a partner. It’s going to be sweet.’

  He looked at her and her face must’ve said it plain enough.

  ‘Simon didn’t want me to come back for you you know. I had to…’

  ‘Fuck up. I don’t want to hear. I don’t want to talk to you again. Never. Get it?’

  Justin looked at Hutton and he looked back. Awkward, embarrassed looks that said they’d rather be anywhere else right then. Sharon held the gun in front of her, using both hands like she’d seen on TV. She walked to the bed where Hutton had left his jacket and picked it up. Then she backed slowly out of the room.

  • • •

  Getting home was a blur. Stumbling through the streets, feeling the cold getting under the jacket, making her shiver as she ran. It was raining again and her bare feet picked their way through the puddles.

  She didn’t see the stares she must have got, dressed like a slut with an old man’s jacket thrown over the top, soaked to the skin. She didn’t hear the traffic that must have been there, on the busy road along the waterfront as she made her way to the station.

  She would have looked a mess, collapsed on the train, in a seat at the back of the carriage, where she could see people before they saw her, because all three faces from the apartment still haunted her. She must have looked so wild, so dangerous. When the guard asked for her ticket and she didn’t reply, he didn’t bother asking again. She could feel the gun digging into the small of her back and she kept herself awake playing the scene through in her mind, Simon appearing before her, her getting the shot away, just in time.

  When Sharon made it home the house was already quiet. She locked the door behind her then went through to the lounge and pulled all the curtains. She hurried through the routines she could manage, drying herself off and climbing into bed. At first she tried to stay awake, going back over the evening, trying to remember how it had been, so that it might let her go, but the images she got hold of twisted in her mind, and the pull of sleep was too strong.

  • • •

  ‘Sharon, look!’ Zinny’s little voice brought her back to the world the next morning. It was a good sound, a simple sound, and Sharon was smiling as she rolled over.

  ‘Look, a gun! Look!’ He was sitting over her, his big eyes too wide for his face, his mouth open with the excitement of the toy Sharon had brought home. And in the same instant she saw his fingers, so little he could get his whole hand in under the guard, jammed up against the trigger.

  ‘No Zinny! No!’

  Sharon saw his face drop in shock as her voice hit him and he was already crying when the gun went off. The bullet ripped a hole through the ceiling. The sound of the explosion quickly faded into the sound of Zinny’s howling, and Sharon’s sobs as she held him close, his small body moving in time to her own sickening fear.

  ‘What the fuck’s… Jesus.’ Kaz was standing over them, staring down at the gun.

  ‘Where did you get that? How the hell, did you… I can’t believe you Sharon. I just can’t believe you. Here Zinny, come here, it’s alright. It’s alright.’

  ‘I didn’t mean… I fell asleep. I was so tired, I didn’t think… It was just…’

  ‘You never think Sharon. You never fucken think.’

  Kaz came at her, already crying, and her hand caught the side of Sharon’s face hard, knocking her back in the bed.

  ‘Get out. Get out of my house before I do something I’ll regret. I swear I will. I don’t want to see you Sharon. I don’t want to see you until you’ve sorted yourself out. Pack some clothes.’

  Kaz stormed out, Zinny on her hip, leaving Sharon trying to swallow down the shock, block out the way it might have looked, if the bullet hadn’t missed.

  ten

  SHARON SPENT THE DAY wandering the town, trying to avoid places where she might meet someone she knew. She was waiting for school to be finished, so she could go round to Ms Komiko’s house. There was only one in the phone book, and she lived close enough, not driving out from the city every day like most of the teachers. Maybe Trish would still be there. Maybe she still had a chance.

  ‘No, sorry Sharon.’ Ms Komiko shook her head when Sharon finally found her house, just as it was getting dark. ‘Ms Black has gone back to Rotorua. Um, do you want her phone number? I think I have it.’

  ‘No, I mean, well did she leave any messages or anything?’

  ‘For you?’ Ms Komiko’s surprise made Sharon f
eel small.

  ‘No, just, oh, doesn’t matter. Bye then.’

  ‘Goodbye Sharon.’

  Sharon went down to the bridge. There was a place there she’d slept before, that you’d only see if you were looking for it. But it was too early to sleep, and her mind was too busy with things it couldn’t let go. Maybe she could just go back in the morning, say sorry, take Zinny out somewhere nice, offer to watch him for another weekend. Kaz’d get over it. It’d be sweet.

  But it wouldn’t be, not for Sharon. Because she kept seeing Hutton’s face, feeling his hand around her neck. And Justin, looking so surprised, like he didn’t get why she was angry, because all he’d been doing was what everybody always did. All he’d been doing was treating her like shit. And Zinny, who she could never hurt, thrown back by the force of the explosion. Sharon had to make it right. She understood that much. There had to be a way of making it right. And there was only one way she could think of that made any sense at all.

  So she went knocking on a door she never thought she’d see again, and fought back every instinct not to say it, when the door finally opened in her face. Her legs so much wanted to take her out of there, running in any direction so long as it was away, but she leant forward, like the extra weight on her feet might keep them in place.

  ‘Sharon,’ Mark’s mother sounded surprised, and concerned too. Like Sharon had been discussed one night, over dinner.

  ‘I, ah is Mark in?’ Sharon looked to the ground.

  Say it. You’ve got to say it.

  ‘I, ah, I kinda need his help. I kinda need help.’

  ‘Of course dear. Of course. Come in, please.’

  Mark’s mother hovered behind her as Sharon walked back into the house, like she wished there was something else she could do, clothes she could wash or bags she could carry.

  ‘Can I take your bag?’

  ‘Nah, it’s alright.’

  ‘Ah, Mark dear,’ Mark’s mother called up. ‘Mark. It’s Sharon.’

  She said the name slowly, like it was something that needed to be handled gently.

  ‘Just coming,’ muffled from up the stairs. Sharon heard a toilet flushing and Mark emerged, red-faced. Sharon relaxed a bit, just enough to smile.

  ‘Ah, hi.’

  He stopped halfway down the stairs, looking past her to his mother.

  ‘Ah, want to come up here? We can talk in my room.’

  ‘Yeah. Okay.’

  ‘Would you like a drink dear, or something to eat? There’s some dinner left, in the microwave, I could heat it up. And a juice, or some Coke I think we’ve got.’

  ‘Yeah, food would be good. And ah, Coke, um, please.’

  It was so unreal, so like something crap off television, that it was easy enough to believe it wasn’t really happening, and that made it easier to get through. Mark’s Mum brought up food and drink and then left them well alone. Mark sat there quietly, watching her eat. He didn’t say a thing until she did, didn’t rub it in, or mention the way she’d hit him.

  ‘You said your dad is on the board didn’t you?’

  ‘He’s the chairman.’

  ‘So, he could get me back in, if you asked?’

  ‘He said he would.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So you want to go back?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Why?’

  Sharon looked at him and wondered if it was possible to explain.

  Because I’ve got nothing. Because no one owes me anything. Because the only time anything good happens is when someone’s working an angle, trying to get something out of me. Because I want to win, I want to build up some credits. Because no one gives a shit, so I have to give a shit myself.

  ‘Dunno. I just want to give it a proper go, you know?’

  ‘They’ll be after you you know, after what you did.’

  ‘So what’s new?’

  She grinned, like it wasn’t such a problem, and he grinned back, like he understood. Part of Sharon wanted to thank him, but it felt too unnatural, and would only get complicated. It was her new rule, she’d decided it under the bridge. No more dreams. No more complications.

  ‘That’s Dad’s car. Come on down. We’ll explain.’

  Mark led the way down and reached the door just as it opened. Sharon was still halfway up the stairs, hanging back, feeling shamed already. Getting ready to swallow her feelings, say all the right things. But some things you’re never ready for.

  ‘Sharon, this is my father.’

  ‘Sharon, pleased to…’

  He looked up and the expression on his face was the exact same expression he’d worn in the apartment the night before. Stunned, helpless, like shock had wiped his brain clean of thought or feeling. Sharon stared back, refusing to look away.

  Some people call me Selina.

  ‘Um, what are you doing here?’

  His face flooded red and his voice was close to cracking. Somehow Mark didn’t seem to have noticed. Sharon looked down at him, feeling as powerful as she was disgusted.

  ‘I just came round to tell Mark I want to be reinstated at school. That’s not going to be a problem is it?’

  ‘Um, no, no of course it isn’t.’

  ‘Good. Thanks then Mark. I’ll just get my bag.’

  ‘You can stay if you like you know.’ Mark’s mother had appeared from the lounge. ‘There’s a spare bed all made up. That would be fine wouldn’t it?’

  ‘I’m sure she’d rather be getting home,’ the pervert replied.

  ‘Yeah, best I get going,’ Sharon smiled. She turned back up the stairs and picked up her bag from Mark’s room. When she came back down all three of them were still standing there, like actors waiting to be handed the next page of script. They all smiled at her as she opened the front door, and every smile said something different, but something equally fucked up. Sharon smiled back.

  I’m glad I’m not you.

  • • •

  Sharon didn’t go home that night. She’d do a day at school first, to show Kaz how sorry she was, to show she was taking it seriously. It wasn’t too cold, under the bridge’d be okay. First though she had something she needed to do. She walked across to the school, and around the back to the wall by the tennis courts. She found the spray can, in the hedge where she’d thrown it. Her tagging wasn’t that hot, nothing like Junior could do, but it’d be good enough. She made the words big; big and red and angry. She couldn’t remember all of it, but there was still enough to cover the wall.

  I hate feeling stupid

  I hate everyone who thinks they’re better than me

  I hate rules

  I hate running out of cigarettes

  I hate waiting

  I hate people who aren’t straight with their friends

  I hate people who give in

  About the Author

  BERNARD BECKETT was born in Featherston, New Zealand. He followed school with a degree in Economics then ‘fell in love with teaching’. The discovery of teaching drama and improvisation came next, along with an interest in outdoor education. He now teaches at Onslow College in Wellington where he first began writing and directing plays.

  Beckett’s debut novel Lester was published to wide acclaim in 1999. His second novel Red Cliff was featured in the List of Notable New Zealand Young Adult Books of 2000. Jolt Beckett’s third novel was a finalist in the 2002 New Zealand Post Children’s Book Awards. A prolific and energetic writer, he has two novels in line for publication and is currently working on another.

  Also by Bernard Beckett

  Lester 1999

  Red Cliff 2000

  Jolt 2001

  Copyright

  Published with the assistance of

  This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without the written permission of Longacre Press and the author.

  Bernard Beckett asserts his moral r
ight to be identified as the author of this work.

  © Bernard Beckett

  eISBN 978 1 77553 059 6

  First published by Longacre Press 2002

  Longacre is an imprint of the Penguin Random House group of companies, whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.

  penguinrandomhouse.co.nz

  Book and cover design by Christine Buess

  Printed by McPherson’s Printing Group, Australia