The Bombs That Brought Us Together (27 page)

‘And not a minute before.’

‘I know, Big Man, and I will. I am going to do the job, honest I am, but I just need a little something before tomorrow.’

‘No chance; she’ll have to wait.’

‘But if she waits she won’t make it; then if Mum doesn’t make tonight I won’t make it tomorrow, if you know what I mean?’

The Big Man’s eyes softened. He blew air out of his nose. He sank into his leather chair. Thinking time. Staring at me.

‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ he said.

‘What?’

‘You’ve compromised me.’

‘I … erm … didn’t … mean …’

‘And I don’t like being compromised, Charlie.’

‘Sorry, but it’s an emergency, Big Man.’

‘We live in a goddamn
emergency
, Law, don’t you see that?’

‘I do.’

‘And we’re going to do something about that, aren’t we?’

‘Yes.’ I did not hesitate.

‘Just as long as you know that.’

‘I do.’

‘Because we don’t want to live in an emergency any longer, isn’t that right?’

The pain was similar to badly needing to pee.

‘Big Man, I’m in a real hurry here. Can you please –’

It hit me on the chest.

His throw was strong. The inhaler bounced off me and on to the floor. We looked at it.

‘Well, pick it up, Charlie.’

‘Thanks, Big Man. Thanks a lot.’

‘Now get the hell out of here.’

‘OK, I will,’ I said, heading for my escape.

‘And Charlie?’

‘Yes.’

‘If you’re a no-show tomorrow it will be more than your mother’s air I will cut off. Get me?’

‘Get you,’ I said.

When I handed over the inhaler I went straight to bed. I lay trying not to think about it, telling myself that I was part of some sick joke. An elaborate hoax that Pav and his family, including his sister, were all in on. Or that this trip with The Big Man on his motorbike was nothing more than a great illusion I’d created. I popped my head under the covers, closed my eyes and attempted to run away from it. Scarper. Bolt. Skedaddle. Eventually I fell asleep. But I kept waking up. Suddenly I was back to square one again. My choice was simple: either I killed Captain Duda or The Big Man would bring untold pain down on my world. I think they call this a catch-22.

An effing living hell is what I called it.

Earlier, when Pav was sitting on the chair above the steel, I’d wanted to tell him everything. The lot. I had one day to go before the shooting; he needed to know the plan.

Did I say something?

Yes.

I did tell Pav.

‘Maybe you go get food, Charlie,’ Pav had said to me.

‘I think that’s a good idea,’ I’d said, and made to leave. But then the monster stopped me in my tracks.
HE’S YOUR ONLY HOPE, YOU CLOWN
. So I had turned to him and in all seriousness I said: ‘Pav, I’ve something I have to tell you. Something very important.’

‘What you tell, Charlie?’

‘I want you to listen and not get angry. Just listen, OK?’

‘I listen. I listen good,’ Pav had said, shifting himself into a comfortable position.

I cleared my throat.

‘Tomorrow …’

And I told him everything.

What I’d discovered about the two notes.

Everything.

On the morning of the shooting I left the house to go to school as normal. And so did Pav. Playing everything cool. Not drawing suspicion. Instead, we met at the bottom of our block before rushing to the hill. Time was against us. Against me. Pav had agreed with my hurried plan. Shoddy and ludicrous as it was.

We crouched down behind the boulders, giving us a good view when the truck chugged down the hill.

‘They drive up and down here all the time,’ I said. ‘Then they stop halfway down to see if there’s anything going on.’

‘And what I have to do again, Charlie?’

‘Walk towards that big hill.’

‘This hill?’

‘Yes, all you have to do is go up the hill and wait for them to come around once again.’

‘What if shoot at me?’

‘They won’t shoot you, Pav.’

‘What if don’t stop?’

‘They will stop, believe me.’

‘What if no stop though?’

‘Pav, your sister will surely spot her little brother standing all alone on the hill; believe me, they’ll stop.’

‘OK, I go,’ Pav said.

‘You have the two notes?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you know what you’re going to say?’

‘I know.’

‘And how you’re going to say it?’

‘I know. I know.’

‘Right, I’ll be here watching everything.’

‘OK, I back soon.’

‘Good luck, Pav.’

Pav rose, pulled up his trousers, fixed his school tie (strange) and began walking.

‘And Pav?’ I called to him.

‘What?’

‘Thanks, mate. Thanks for doing this. For helping me.’

‘We pals. You and me, Charlie Law. Pals always help, no?’

‘Yes.’

I watched the little figure of Pav get smaller as he walked away. On the hill he seemed positively tiny, like a lost boy looking for his mammy.

He paced. Back and forth. Again and again. No sign of the truck. He must’ve been twenty minutes on the hill and still no sign. More pacing. Back and forth. The Big Man would need patience waiting for me if this was how it was going to play out. Pav looked in my direction, put his arms out like a bird as if to say,
What the eff?
And just at that moment, that’s when I heard it: the sound of the stuttering engine, the wheels turning, slowly grinding its way up the hill. Pav obviously heard it too. He stood to attention. Like, really stood to attention. He fixed his clothes, pulled up his trousers. He put his hands in front of him, in the praying position.

Maybe because it was morning time the truck didn’t come to a sudden jolting stop. No, it came to slow retrospective halt. For sure someone in that truck knew who it was stopping for.

One of the thick necks came out and pushed Pav back with one hand. Pav returned the push. WHAT ARE YOU DOING, PAV? They played word tennis. The thick neck went for him again until the woman put an end to it. Chat was exchanged with the woman. His sister. Their lingo. The thick neck returned to the truck. Pav and his sister stood facing each other. Pav produced the notes from his pocket. I made out the small flecks of white paper. Pav’s sister read them. More speaking. Pav pointed towards me.

No!

I took out the steel.

I had a clear shot.

Two clear shots.

Bang! Bang!

Job done.

I could have done it then. The sister looked my way. Why didn’t she use the binoculars? Captain Duda returned to the truck, leaving Pav alone. A minute passed. Maybe two. The door swung open; she returned to her little brother. Further talk. Then came the thing that made my eyes widen and water. Captain Duda reached out and pulled Pav, her little brother, towards her. They hugged. They stopped hugging. More chat.
COME ON. DO IT. COME ON.
The sister jumped into the front of the truck. Pav jumped into the back. The truck hopped down the hill. It didn’t take its usual right at The Big Tree. This time it drove in the opposite direction.

I waited for about two more minutes before scarpering. Knowing that I’d have to return later in the day. Pav knew where to find me.

At two o’clock on the dot it wasn’t raining hard, just spitting. I was worried that my canvas backpack would weigh me down, hindering my escape. I had some books (why did I bring books?) and the steel inside. I felt that I had the load of the world in that backpack, that I was carrying a bag of
hammers around with me. The last thing I needed was the additional weight of a rain-soaked load.

As I walked, the steel constantly bounced off my lower back. Thankfully the safety was on, otherwise imagine! There’s no point talking about nerves. I was beyond nerves; my body had shifted to another stage, way past anything I’d ever experienced. Past what the bombs did to me or The Big Man’s threats or Erin F’s tender kiss. It was as if my body and mind weren’t my own any longer.

The rain’s spit plastered my face and the front part of my clothes.

I knew The Big Man would be watching my every move. Every step I took he’d have taken with me. No doubt about it. I got to the boulders just before two on the button. The rain drizzled down, my clothes soaked, hair matted. The constant sound of my sniffing echoed around my body. My back ached. This was not the best physical condition to be in. I dropped my bag of hammers to the ground and stretched out my back as best I could.

Not long to go.

I shuffled into my favourite position, on hunkers. Steadied my body, eyes peeled, ears adjusted. Listened to the rats scurrying around in my head. Rubbed Mum’s back in my mind, opening all the windows to allow the fresh air to circulate around her. I took deep breaths. Sniffed, wiped the rain away from my head. A mixture of sweat and rain really. I unzipped
the backpack and drew open the flaps like two miniature curtains. There it was. Lying on its side. Clean and ready to go. Loaded for action. No more mannequins; this was the real deal now. No more games. This time it was flesh, bone, blood, guts, brains. All I had to do was decide whose it was going to be.

Not long to go.

What if he’d planned it all? What if he was the one, you know, the grass, on the payroll of Old Country? His job to rid Little Town of all potential junior Rascals, to set me up.
Of course it was. Think about it. Think about Norman. Think about Max and Bones. You forgot about all them, didn’t you?

MENTAL MEMO:
ASK MORE PERTINENT QUESTIONS IN FUTURE. DON’T ALWAYS TAKE WHAT PEOPLE TELL YOU AS TRUTH.

Not long to go.

I took the thing out of the bag and positioned it comfortably in my hand. Dried my trigger finger as best I could. Stroked the trigger.
You’d better steady that thing, son. That’s not a bloody toy you have there.
I peeked through the V-shaped aimer. Everything was in place. Ears now waiting for the chug chug of the vehicle. That’s all I had left to do … apart from squeeze.

Not long to go.

Hunkered. Waiting. Wiping tears.

Just a matter of minutes.

Hunkered. Waiting. Holding tightly. Holding steady. Hand on the steel.

Anytime now.

Hunkered. Waiting. Aiming. Ready. Two hands on the steel.

Just a matter of …

The chug sound arrived. I watched it move up to the top of the hill and saunter down. Like clockwork. It stopped. Like clockwork. I waited. Aimed. Finger on the trigger. All set. Nothing happened. Shit! The rain. Please get out of the truck.
Please stay inside, you mean?
The rain. My breathing became short, loud spurts. It was an age until one of the thick necks exited. Not her. Then another thick neck came out. Still not her. I wiped snot away from my lip. Then it was her time. She appeared. Captain Duda. Into my view. No huddling for a chat this time. She was free. A target. A legitimate target. Pull! Get it over with. I blinked some water out of my aim eye. Not sure if it was tears or rain. I waited. The thick necks did their binocular routine, leaving her alone. I placed my wet finger on that trigger …

‘What are you waiting for, Charlie?’ The voice behind made me jump. I turned to see The Big Man standing ten feet behind me, all leather-clad and dripping wet hair hanging from him like an irritated apostle. Nostrils roaring. He was different, more menacing. Where was his motorbike? Why
was he on foot? This wasn’t part of the plan. Where was Pav? Where was everyone else? Where was the help? What had happened to the bloody plan?

‘Surprised?’ he said. I didn’t answer. He held his arms out in the crucifix position like he had that first time we met.

‘Big Man!’ I said.

‘What’s the delay, Charlie?’

‘Nothing, I was –’

‘I’d be thinking about that mummy of yours.’ The Big Man coughed, trying to imitate Mum’s chest struggle. ‘Think about that little mate of yours’ family. Oh, I know what they’ll do to them. To her.’ He smirked. ‘Think about that.’

‘Big Man, I was just –’

‘Think about that rat grass, Norman. Think about his bulging eyes with my hands squeezing the life out of him.’ He gritted his teeth and stepped closer. ‘So before you betray The Big Man, think carefully, Charlie Law.’ The bag of hammers was now inside my body, attacking my every bone, every muscle and every blood cell I had. The pain of hearing his words was excruciating. He nodded towards Captain Duda on the hill.

‘Go on, do it,’ he snarled.

‘Do it!’ he barked.

I couldn’t see properly; everything was a blur. The wind blew strong against my face. It felt like I was actually dying.

‘FUCKING DO IT!’ he screamed. ‘Do –’

BANG!

Both hands immediately reached for my ears. The sound was much louder than I’d imagined.

And it was done.

It was done.

Blood isn’t as red as, say, the colour red is. It’s deeper. Darker. Thicker. Like a stickier version of wine. The wine that Mum and Dad like to drink. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the blood. How it flowed from the nose and trickled out of the ear like hot gummy lava. I didn’t know that eyes could bleed. Of course I knew about the nose and mouth, but not the eyes. It looked like The Big Man was actually crying blood. And I watched that blood stream, gush, flood and spurt from every possible opening. I was mesmerised by this torrent, this river of red. It hypnotised me.

I wasn’t aware of where the bullet had hit. After hearing the loud bang, all I saw was The Big Man falling. Everything happened in slow motion. The thud when he rattled the ground was long and dull. He bounced once or
twice before rolling on to his back. Momentum taking him there.

I stood over him. I remember feeling calm and, I hate to say it, relief also. As if a tiny bullet had lifted a ton weight from my shoulders. And it had. I was no longer a killer, a murderer, nor a criminal. I was no Rascal. I was Charlie Law, schoolboy. I was Charlie Law, witness to a death in a war zone.

I heard The Big Man exhale his final breath on earth. Saw his eyes take their final flicker. The blood seeping from the wounded area formed a type of halo at the back of his head. I might’ve smiled at this, who knows?