Gifts of the Peramangk

by Dean Mayes

  “Don’t speak to me like that woman or I’ll fucking smash you,” Rex spat threateningly, waving his arms about. “I work too. I take whatever shit job I can get. I’ve been back and forth, back and forth Belle. Nobody wants a half caste coon working for them!”

  Though she wanted to lash out at him, Belle held her tongue, less at his threat of violence and more at the mention of that particular pejorative.

  “Don’t you stand there and wallow in self-pity! You don’t have that luxury.”

  Belle stepped to one side and gestured through the car’s window at the two frightened girls huddled inside.

  “These children are supposed to look up to you! And look at what you’re doing.”

  Rex glared through the window at Asher and Ruby. His eyes flicked between the two girls until they settled on Ruby.

  She retreated back as his glare seemed to drill into her—a mixture of hatred and revulsion. Ruby knew instinctively what he was thinking.

  Belle noticed her husband’s expression and shook her head.

  “D…don’t Rex,” was all she could manage as she wheeled away from him and climbed into the car. Belle started the engine and put the car into gear.

  Rex shook himself back to the present, realising that he was standing alone before the car.

  “Belle!” he shouted.

  “Get in!” Belle shouted at him.

  He stumbled and fell to the ground, completely missing the handle of the car door. Rex cursed into the night and shook his fist as he kicked and waved his arms like an upturned beetle on the ground.

  Belle shook her head and lowered it, closing her eyes and sighing wearily as Rex finally struggled to his feet and managed to get inside the car.

  She didn’t wait for him to close the door. Gunning the engine, she took off with a screech of tyres on bitumen as he fumbled with the seatbelt for several moments before giving up and lapsing into unconsciousness once more.

  In the back seat, Asher and Ruby huddled together as far away from Rex as they possibly could.

  Once home, Belle ordered the girls back to bed quickly, then struggled to get her semi conscious husband inside. All the while, he struck out at Belle, resisting her and cursing at her.

  Asher and Ruby huddled together in their bedroom, listening to Rex’s abusive shouting and hitting until Belle closed her bedroom door as well as the hallway door, where it continued on in muffled tones for another hour or more.

  Both girls quivered with fear but as Ruby held her cousin closer, she looked into Asher’s eyes and saw something there that frightened her even more than her uncle.

  A pure and burgeoning rage.

  Chapter 8

  Jeremy approached the burgundy Holden coupe from the opposite side of the street. It sat in the car park of a shopping mall, bathed in the orange glow of the mall’s lighting. A misty halo of light seemed to surround the vehicle, in part due to the steady rain that continued to fall from the night sky. Jeremy drew up the collar of his rain coat and looked up and down the street before crossing over.

  He was on edge, nervous and he felt a knot of tension in the pit of his stomach.

  He was about to participate in his first active run with the gang. He had no idea what they had planned. He hadn’t been told anything other than where to show up. Since Jeremy was the newest member, having been recruited into it by Mickey, he was rarely included in any of their discussions. Jeremy understood the hierarchy of the group and his place in it. He had to prove his worth and tonight was just a first step.

  Crossing over a verge that divided the car park from the pavement, Jeremy heard the click of a car door and a figure stepped out from the passenger side. It was Mickey. He acknowledged Jeremy with a simple nod.

  He had a cordial enough relationship with Mickey, but Jeremy did not regard him as a friend. He knew he had to be on his guard with Mickey as the older youth was unpredictable, likely to turn on him in an instant.

  Also athletic, Mickey stepped around the open door and shut it, standing in the rain, unaffected by it. He wore a similar black rain jacket to Jeremy, and a woollen beanie.

  He looked Jeremy up and down.

  “You ready?” Mickey asked bluntly, his expression blank.

  Jeremy nodded hurriedly, wiping the rain from his face.

  “Don’t speak. Don’t ask questions. Just do as you’re told,” Mickey ordered, ushering Jeremy toward the car.

  Jeremy approached hesitantly as Mickey pulled the passenger seat forward, allowing Jeremy access to the rear of the coupe.

  Inside, Jeremy was confronted by the same two individuals who had accompanied Mickey the other day.

  An obese teen shuffled into the middle of the seat, glaring malevolently at Jeremy. So large was he, the boy had been given the nickname “Jabba” after the character from the Star Wars movies. He was roughly the same age as Jeremy, but he had been in the gang for at least two years. Jabba’s role in the group was unmistakable. He was their heavy hitter. He wore his black hair long and curly and it was parted almost perfectly in the middle.

  Next to Jabba, sitting directly behind the driver’s seat, was a similarly dour looking individual who was the complete antithesis of his huge companion. Dubbed Spider, the Caucasian teen was thin, with sinewy arms and long legs which were drawn up in the cramped confines. He chewed on a wad of gum, working his jaw angrily and rolling his tongue around.

  Finally, sitting in the driver’s seat was Gavin, the leader of the group. In his early twenties, he was the oldest of all of them and the most malevolent. He commanded attention with a silent authority that few ever questioned. Tall, muscular and brooding, Gavin possessed piercing eyes and he wore a cleanly shaven beard and moustache on his chiselled visage.

  Jeremy settled into his seat, hoping that Gavin would acknowledge him but the leader did not look around. His gaze remained fixed straight ahead, out into the inky night.

  As Mickey himself sat down, Gavin started the car and gunned the engine. The car took off, its rear wheels spinning on the slick pavement of the car park.

  They coasted down the thoroughfare of the inner suburbs, heavy metal music blasting from the stereo. Jeremy watched Gavin in silence, was fascinated by the older youth who rarely, if ever, said anything. He never showed emotion but he commanded complete obedience from those who ran with him. He had a charisma that drew others toward him. Gavin had never so much as acknowledged Jeremy’s existence—other than when he instructed others, like Mickey, to demand his presence when it was called for.

  Reminded of his decision not to go with them the other day, Jeremy had no idea whether Gavin was angry with him for instead accompanying Ruby to the Conservatory. Nothing had been said then or since, when Mickey had contacted him about tonight.

  Maybe Gavin had decided to let it go, Jeremy thought. He hoped that was the case.

  Beside Jeremy, Jabba shuffled uncomfortably, annoyed at being flanked on both sides by Jeremy and Spider, neither of whom could prevent coming into contact with Jabba’s huge bulk. He flashed another glare at Jeremy, making clear his distaste for him. For his part, Jeremy had to stifle his sense of smell against Jabba’s appalling body odour, which was a pungent mix of fast food and faeces. It was rumoured that Jabba rarely wiped himself properly after using the toilet. Spider, beside him, was unaffected. His eyes were closed as he napped.

  After about twenty minutes, Gavin slowed the coupe and flicked a switch on the dashboard, shutting down the car’s headlights. Jeremy forgot about Jabba and the others and he craned his neck to see where they were. They turned off the main road and motored slowly down a side street flanking a strip mall that was populated by a variety of shops including a butcher, a hair dresser and a take away outlet. It also housed a larger liquor store. Despite some of the shops being lit from inside in addition to a trio of street lights that illuminated the parking space in front, at this late hour, none of them were open.

  Gavin circled the complex once, making a mental note of certain land m
arks. He pointed silently to a grey transmission box that stood on the opposite corner of the street and Mickey nodded in acknowledgement. Mickey put his gloved hands on a menacing pair of bolt cutters that sat between his legs and steeled himself as Gavin crossed over the street, slowing as he approached the box. Without stopping the vehicle, he nodded once at Mickey, who opened the door and leaped out onto the street, shutting the door behind him.

  Instantly dropping to his haunches, Mickey surveyed his surroundings, ensuring no one was in his vicinity, then he crept around to the front of the transmission box. He destroyed the padlock with the bolt cutters and threw open the door. Reaching into his pocket, Mickey revealed a pair of wire cutters and immediately went to work on the complex circuit boards inside the box, cutting through wires indiscriminately.

  Inside the car, the others watched the strip mall expectantly. Mickey’s actions had their desired effect as the lights in the car park as well as the shops flickered and died, enveloping the mall in darkness.

  This was Gavin’s cue to move. He gunned the engine and turned down the side street, looking for the narrow entrance to the rear of the strip mall. He found it and turned in, motoring up a short laneway that opened out into a compound-like parking area and loading zone.

  Both Jabba and Spider reacted, reaching into their clothing and pulling out a ski mask each. Jabba slapped Jeremy’s shoulder and pointed roughly at a rear pocket of the front passenger seat where a similar ski mask poked out. Jeremy took it out hesitantly and held it in his hands, the realisation of what they were about to do dawning on him.

  Skidding to a stop in the centre of the darkened car park, Gavin and the others exited the vehicle. The rain fell heavier now as Jeremy watched Spider lift the boot door of the car and take out two sheets of black plastic as well as a roll of electrical tape. He went to work on the license plates of the car, wrapping them in the plastic and securing them with the tape.

  Jabba, meanwhile, lifted a large object out of the boot which Jeremy identified as a sledge hammer. Wielding the heavy hammer effortlessly, Jabba swung it over his shoulder and walked over to Gavin, who was appraising the liquor store. There was a set of double glass doors in the centre of the building and off to one side, a large roller door—the loading dock for the liquor store. It was this roller door that commanded Gavin’s attention.

  Gavin gestured discreetly at the glass doors.

  “Get in there and make sure we’re clear. Their security system runs on a back up power source. Cops probably know already,” he muttered to Jabba, who nodded obediently. Jeremy realised that it was the first time he had heard Gavin speak tonight.

  Gavin turned to Mickey, who appeared from the laneway.

  “Keep watch. The minute you see anyone, buzz me.”

  Mickey nodded, feeling inside his jeans for the familiar bulk of his mobile phone. He trotted back off down the lane while Gavin looked across at Spider. Jeremy watched as they wordlessly acknowledged one another, then Gavin climbed into the vehicle and started the engine, while Spider walked up to Jeremy and grabbed his arm.

  “C’mon. Follow my lead and do exactly as I do.”

  Jabba sauntered toward the darkened entrance, his ski mask pulled down over his features, while Gavin turned the Holden coupe in a full circle until its rear lined up with the roller door of the loading dock. Jabba stepped up to the glass doors and, without any effort at all, he swung the heavy sledge hammer off his shoulder and gripped it in two hands like a baseball bat. Using all the force he could muster behind his huge frame, Jabba began counting out loud as the steel head of the hammer struck home, smashing dead centre into the double set of glass doors and completely obliterating them. The force of his swing was in fact, so powerful that it tore one of the doors completely off its hinges and catapulted it a full six feet inward. Glass rained everywhere but Jabba ignored it, stepping through the ruined entrance and into the darkness beyond.

  Dropping the sledge hammer, he instantly drew the can of spray paint out of his track pants and casually strode toward the tell-tale red light of a security camera, mounted high up on the ceiling inside the door. Still counting out loud—a methodical “Eight…Nine…Ten”—Jabba pointed the can at the camera and sprayed until it was covered in a thick coating of black paint. Then he turned to his right, toward the loading dock interior where he walked up to two more winking red lights and did the same.

  “Fifteen…sixteen…seventeen…”

  Outside Jeremy watched, his heart racing. He glanced over at Gavin inside the car and frowned, puzzled as he noticed that Gavin was mouthing numbers silently, evidently counting the seconds from the time Jabba had destroyed the door.

  Unbeknownst to Jeremy, the gang had mapped this hit out well before its execution. A full week prior, Gavin and Mickey had made several trips to the liquor store—ostensibly as customers—and had managed to “reccy” the building, its layout, its security system, power supply, loading dock and access points. They knew Mickey’s sabotage of the lights and main power would not extend to the store’s security system and silent alarm—but that didn’t matter. All they needed to do was to ensure their concealment here and now and the timing of their raid. They had garnered intelligence on when a significant stock delivery was to be made to this particular store, a delivery that would include top shelf liquor, worthy of a hit. That very delivery had been made earlier this very day.

  Gavin kept watch in the rear view mirror, looking toward the destroyed entrance, waiting for a sign from Jabba. As his count approached twenty seconds, Jabba had still not appeared at the entrance and Gavin smiled. He dropped the gear shift into reverse and, balancing his feet on the brake and the accelerator simultaneously, he revved the rumbling engine.

  “Twenty one…twenty two…twenty three…”

  Outside, Spider nudged Jeremy and pulled both his and Jeremy’s ski masks down over their faces.

  “Get ready.”

  At last, Gavin said aloud, “Twenty five,” and he planted his foot. The Holden’s tyres squealed on the slick pavement and it leaped backward, angling straight at the roller door. The flimsy metal of the roller door whined in protest and crumpled inward as the Holden punched through it, opening a gaping hole and revealing the loading dock to the elements.

  Gavin leaped from the driver’s seat and pounced up a set of stairs where Jabba was waiting at the top beside a pallet of boxes that contained bottles of spirits.

  “This is gonna be too easy,” Gavin grinned, surveying the pallet.

  Spider and Jeremy sprinted into the dock and positioned themselves just below Gavin and Jabba, who began handing them boxes of clinking bottles. Following Spider’s lead, Jeremy took a crate of whiskey, deposited it into the boot of the car then turned to receive another. He struggled to keep pace with Spider who moved swiftly and effortlessly, but Jeremy worked as hard as he could, receiving another and another, lining them up inside the boot space as carefully as he could. Sweat broke out on his brow underneath the thick wool of the ski mask.

  From somewhere in the distance, the wail of a police siren became audible. Jeremy felt his stomach lurch. He glanced sideways at Spider

  “C’mon!” Jabba snarled as he dropped a box at Jeremy, who wheeled around too late to catch it. It dropped straight through his arms and smashed on the floor—pungent whiskey leaking out from inside the ruined box.

  Jeremy looked up at Jabba startled.

  “Fucking forget about it!” Jabba hissed as he grabbed another box and dropped it at Jeremy. This time he caught it—but only barely—and deposited it roughly into the car boot, hearing glass clinking inside the box. He winced underneath his mask, knowing Gavin would be livid.

  The siren drew closer now. The four youths ramped up the pace, a silent desperation growing. After several minutes, they had lined the boot with two full layers of boxes. Suddenly, Mickey appeared in the ruined opening.

  “We’ve gotta split!” he hissed. “An old fart is standing on the porch of his house across
the street and the coppers are coming hard.”

  Both Gavin and Jabba leaped from the upper level of the dock and threw open the car doors. Spider slammed the car boot closed and signalled to Jeremy to retreat.

  Jeremy backed up from the car and started forward when he slipped on the whiskey covered concrete. Reflexively, he shot out his arm to break his fall, his palm crashing through the ruined box of whiskey bottles on the floor and he cried out in pain, feeling shards of broken glass cut deeply into his skin. Dizzy with nausea and pain, Jeremy tried to ignore it as he yanked his hand free.

  Within seconds they had all piled into the Holden. Mickey, now in the driver’s seat, wasted no time. He ignited the engine, threw it into gear. The Holden burst from the building, careened down the laneway and onto the street, its tyres squealing. Spying the figure of an elderly man waving his arms in the front yard of a house immediately opposite, Mickey spun the steering wheel hard left, directing the car away from the highway and instead into the dense residential area behind the strip mall.

  At the same moment, a single patrol car sped into view of the darkened strip mall from the highway. It veered over the intersection, through a red light and swung into the car park in front of the liquor store, just as the Holden disappeared from view.

  The youths in the coupe whooped victoriously as they sped away from the scene, satisfied that they had escaped without being seen. Jeremy watched the others distantly, cradling his injured hand which was bleeding profusely underneath the sleeve of his hoodie. He had pulled the sleeve down and gripped it with his hand to try and stem the blood.

  “That entrance was so fucken clean, man!” Spider leered at Jabba, who had crossed his hands over his bulging stomach and wore a satisfied grin. “You carved through it like it was paper.”

  Gavin turned in his seat and acknowledged Jabba admiringly.

  “It was nearly perfect. You had the timing down just like we practised.”

  “Near perfect?” Jabba retorted. “Fuck that bro, it was perfect. I moved like a ghost.”