The Bombs That Brought Us Together (28 page)

My arm hung down by my side, still clutching the gun. When I realised this, and all that had befallen me, shock set in. Severe shock. My body caved to the intensity of the moment. My shaking was uncontrollable, my lungs ached with the rapid intakes of air I was trying to pour into them and my brain trembled at the realisation that I might be next. Next to get a bullet in the back of the head. I opened my mouth and howled. Not like a wolf, but like an abandoned child. I couldn’t move my legs. I suppose real terror does that: it renders you immobile. That’s what I was. A statue. Just waiting for a bullet that would force me to join The Big Man. I closed my eyes. Waited.

‘Drop gun!’ a voice bellowed. An Old Country voice.

I opened my hand. The gun fell.

And I waited.

‘You can move now, boy,’ the voice said. I remained in my position. ‘You can move now.’ I was stuck.

‘It OK, you safe.’ The voice had his hand on my shoulder. ‘You safe with us now, boy.’

And when I opened my eyes, safe was exactly what I felt.

WHY I TOLD PAV ABOUT BUMPING OFF HIS SISTER

•
His mum was at the end of her tether with the desire to find her only daughter.
There’s no way I was adding to her misery, especially since I knew how and where to find her.

•
I was terrified of becoming a murderer, terrified I’d have to spend fifty years in solitary, terrified I’d have to spend the rest of my life guilt-ridden and regretful.
Even though at the time the freedoms we had were rubbish, I was convinced that things could get better. I needed my freedom if I wanted to have dreams.

•
Pav was my mate. My best mate. It was a duty of one mate to inform the other whenever the chips were
down.
And at that time my chips were so down that they’d need a gravedigger to get them up.

•
I think deep down Pav wanted his sister back in his family’s life.
I could help him do that, with a brilliant plan, however ill-conceived.

•
It was those notes. Something wasn’t right. Something was amiss, but I cracked it.
That’s when the plan was put into action.

WHAT HAPPENED WHEN I TOLD PAV I’D BEEN ASSIGNED TO BUMP OFF HIS SISTER

(And how he was going to help me get out of this sticky wicket)

•
Not long after the words came out of my mouth, Pav wanted to wring my neck.

•
After I explained what The Big Man had asked me to do, and what it meant for me, he didn’t want to throttle me any longer.

•
I cried.

•
He cried.

•
We cried.

•
He slumped on the chair and said nothing for a while. His sobs weren’t as bad as mine.

•
Our little cry made things seem better and brighter.

•
He grilled me for ages about his sister, what happened when she and her cohorts duffed me up and just how
she was causing eruptions in The Big Man’s camp by hassling their daily dealings and stopping them ripping off everyone in Little Town. We agreed that she was actually doing a good thing.

•
He proclaimed that he was going to bump The Big Man off himself in order to save my and his sister’s arse. I put a stop to such mental talk and informed him of my master plan.

•
I produced the notes and explained the master plan idea.

•
Pav wasn’t exactly ecstatic but decided to go along with it, for the sake of his buddy and Captain Duda.

•
Tears turned to smiles; he was eager to get the plan into action.

MENTAL MEMO:
IF I EVER GET MARRIED TO ERIN F (OH, YES, PLEASE), PAV WILL BE MY BEST MAN. I’D HELP HIM WITH THE SPEECH!

It was during that weekend before the ‘next Tuesday’ that I had read and reread those notes more closely. Two and two made four on the Sunday night. Hit me like an Old Country bomb. I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been in not noticing anything. Some detective I’d make.

Pav’s note read:

Dear Scum
… blah blah …
you lot better
…
and then
… blah blah … strong rope …
mother and father will be
… blah …
you all will wish that
… blah …
now
…
or else
…

No signature. No goodbyes. No see you later.

I sat on my bed with Pav’s note beside me. Trying to figure it out. On the floor, in the back pocket of my crumpled-up school trousers, the note given to me by The Big Man bulged. My eyes closed in on themselves. I pictured the
content of The Big Man’s note alongside the one sitting on my bed.

I pictured hard.

The words leapt off the paper.

I had watched him write that note to me.

The one with ‘next Tuesday’
when
and
where
details in it.

The death note.

My mouth was dry.

My lips parted.

I wetted them with my tongue.

Opened my mouth wider.

I knew exactly why I was doing this.

I was waiting, waiting for it to cement itself, waiting for it to smack me good and hard, uppercut style, on the chin. The knockout blow.

Then it arrived.

WHOOSH!

How utterly thick had I been? This was a brainless schoolboy error on my part. How could I not have seen this sooner? How could someone who reads tons of books and listens intently in class have missed this glaring piece of evidence?

I produced the notes the night before the mission. The night I told Pav everything. Right before The Big Man had given me the emergency inhaler. Right before he threatened me, us, again.

‘Look at both of them,’ I said, handing Pav the two notes.

‘What I look for?’

‘Look, closely.’

I so hoped he would see exactly what I’d seen, that I wasn’t slowly going demented.

‘Do you see anything?’ I said. ‘Any similarity? Anything at all?’

‘What similarity?’

‘Look at the paper, feel it.’ Pav rubbed the two notes between each set of fingers.

‘They same, no?’ he said.

‘Exactly. They’re the same.’

‘They same paper, Charlie.’

‘Look at the writing.’ I pointed at the words on each note, trying to direct his eye.

‘What I see?’

‘Look at the letter
i
; there are loads of them. Look how the dots at the top are similar.’

‘I see. I see.’

‘Now look at the letters
g
,
d
and
b.
’

Pav scanned.

‘Same loops, eh?’ I said.

‘It is same. I think yes.’

‘And the style of the writing leans to the right.’ I illustrated this with my hand.

‘Yes. It true, Charlie. It go right.’

‘Now look at the colour of the ink.’

‘Also same?’

‘Pav?’

‘What?’

‘If it’s the same paper, the same writing style and the same bloody pen … You know what that means, don’t you?’

‘Same person,’ Pav said.

‘Spot on, Pav. It is the same person.’

‘Big Man?’

‘The Big Man himself.’

‘Fook me, Charlie.’

‘That’s who sent that note to you.’

‘Big Man bastard! But why?’

‘To put the fear of God into you,’ I said.

‘But I no threat to Big Man, Charlie. I no understand.’

‘It’s easy. The Big Man does want to get rid of you and your mum and dad. He wants to drive all Old Country people out of Little Town. But really, he wants to get at me. He wants to control me. He wants me to know that you’re genuinely scared.’

Pav glared at me. He was seething. I think he growled.

‘This not happen, Charlie. I have to make this not happen.’

‘I think I know how, Pav.’

‘How we make?’

‘First you have to go to your sister and show her the notes. Tell her everything.’

‘My sister? No ways.’ He shook his head. ‘I no do.’

‘It’s our only hope, Pav. You have to.’

Pav’s baby blue blinders controlled mine. He sat down.

‘Speak,’ he said. ‘I listen.’

‘Look, I know how to find your sister. I know where she patrols. The plan is simple. You go to her, show her the notes, explain to her what is supposed to be happening. Where and when.’

‘Simple for you,’ Pav said. ‘My sister is not the good person, Charlie.’

‘Do it for your mum. Do it for your sister. You don’t want any harm to come to her, do you?’ I looked at my shoes. ‘Do it for me, Pav. I can’t kill anyone. I don’t want to be a killer. But if I don’t, The Big Man will sort me out. And your family. He owns me, and in some way he owns you too.’

‘Short and curlies, right?’ Pav said.

‘Short and curlies, and then some,’ I said.

Pav looked at his shoes. He snorted.

‘Then what?’ he said.

‘Maybe your sister can stop The Big Man doing all this bad shit. Before it all gets out of hand.’

‘Put Big Man in jail maybe?’

‘Hopefully,’ I said. There was a silence while Pav swirled the idea around. ‘It’ll be worth it, Pav.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise.’

‘OK, I do it for this reasons.’

‘You will?’

‘I do it.’

‘Brilliant.’

‘When we do?’

‘Tomorrow morning, Pav.’

‘Tomorrow morning?’

‘Time is running out; we have no other days.’

‘OK, we go tomorrow morning.’

‘So, we’ll meet at the bottom of the block as if we’re going to school. We’ll go to the hill and you wait until Captain … er … your sister’s patrol passes. They’ll stop no bother. Then you simply explain to her what is about to happen that afternoon. Easy!’

‘For you easy! What if no stop truck?’

‘You’ll have to wave your arms around.’

‘I can do,’ Pav said. ‘I can do.’

And he did. Only they didn’t arrest The Big Man that morning. They couldn’t find him in his skanky flat or in any of his regular hangouts. So Captain Duda decided that 
I
 was the one who’d bring
him
to
them
. Charlie Law, The Big Man’s little lap dog. Knowing that The Big Man had me by the short and curlies, they gathered that he wouldn’t be too far away when I brought his gun to the hill at two o’clock in the rain to kill Pav’s sister. And they were right.

We made the list together. I wrote it out in my best handwriting, but then I ripped it up and told Pav to write it instead. He should practise. He needed the practice. It was time to be ruthless with him. A no-mercy approach was my new philosophy. No more Mr Nice Guy teacher.

The list wasn’t very extensive:

Mineral water, still and sparkling (my choice)

Orange juice (Pav’s)

Four chocolate bars (both)

Dried fruit and nut selection (my choice)

Bunch of flowers (Pav’s)

Plastic cups (both)

Paper plates (both)

Crisps (Pav’s)

Assorted finger snacks (my choice)

Both our mums and dads gave us money to buy the stuff. I think Pav’s sister gave him a cheeky backhander too. It’d be good having a big sis or bro to hand me money from time to time. Think Mum and Dad are too old for that nonsense now. Who knows? We’ll see.

We went to the shops in the morning to get the gear. It was the first time I’d ever shopped for my own stuff that wasn’t a book. When we walked past The New Bookshop I tried to drag Pav inside for a quick browse, but he was having none of it.

‘Don’t be crazy academic, Charlie. We have the ton work to do.’ Trying to get Pav inside the bookshop was a bit like asking the old Regime to vote for free elections. Things were about to get rougher for Pav though, you see; we had made a pact to drag his scrawny arse in there, and the school library, as much as possible. He would have no choice other than to learn the lingo properly.

When the shed was all set we sat in the chairs and tried to slow our heartbeats down. My backside was flapping. Pav’s was crawling in ants. We constantly hopped off the chairs to arrange or rearrange things. Fluff up the flowers. Anything other than sitting and waiting.

‘Oh, shitting hells,’ Pav said, ‘I forget something.’

‘What?’

‘I back in minute.’

‘Don’t leave me here alone, Pav,’ I said. ‘What if they come and you’re not …’

But it was too late; he was out of there like a blue-arsed fly. While Pav was off doing God knows what, I considered painting the shed the following summer. They sold cheap paint and brushes at the new DIY store. It could be a summer activity the four of us could partake in. Man, imagine having a television in here? What a dream that would be. I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to rig up electricity.

I looked at the stuff we’d bought: the lovely flowers, the bright orange juice, the reds, maroons and yellows of the dried fruit and the allure of the chocolate. All these colours were the same as my outlook. My eyes floated to the once loose floorboard. I was glad that Pav had borrowed his dad’s hammer and nailed it down.

‘God, I thought you were never coming back, Pav,’ I said, which wasn’t true.

‘I forget this.’ From a bag Pav produced a Moleskine notebook and a pen. The pen with the four different colour choices.
The
Moleskine notebook and pen.

‘Is that the one given to you by The Big … ?’ I said.

‘Yes. I save it in room, but I give as a gift today,’ Pav said. He opened the Moleskine and removed – o
h, not another blinking note –
a pristine white handkerchief. Not one of your
throwaways; this was the real deal. One hundred per cent cotton.

‘You forgot that as well?’ I said.

‘Yes.’

‘I could’ve given you one, Pav.’

‘Not this one.’

‘Why? What’s so special about that one?’

‘It not mine. Look.’ He showed the hanky. The letters ML were positioned in one of the top corners.

‘ML, that’s …’ Then I remembered.

‘Mercy Lewis,’ Pav said. ‘She give me when dickhead numpties batter lights in of me. Today I return to Mercy with notebook and big thank you.’