Animal Kingdom

by Stephen Sewell

  ‘These things never see me,’ J joked weakly as the dryer failed to activate. ‘I’m invisible.’ It wasn’t much of a joke, and it revealed more about him than he intended, but at least he was trying to be friendly.

  ‘No-one’s invisible,’ Baz said, smiling at him.

  Back in the restaurant, Baz asked for the bill. Talk of money added a new seriousness to the Codys’ parlour games.

  Lighting a fag, Craig leaned forwards, saying, ‘Roache says to pull your heads in.’

  That wasn’t what Baz was expecting to hear, or at least not in a busy restaurant. Maybe he was expecting to hear it sooner or later, but it still pulled him up sharp.

  ‘You’ve all got to pull your heads in,’ Craig added for emphasis.

  Taking a quick breath, Baz glanced uncertainly at his wife—who looked about as happy as a penguin in a shark tank in the present company—and then back at Craig, sitting next to Darren on the other side of the table. ‘Since when …’ he began.

  But, stepping up with the bill, the waitress noticed Craig’s cigarette and said, ‘Sir, there’s no smoking in here.’

  Craig acted hurt and surprised and waved his hand through the cloud, saying lamely, ‘It’s only a little bit,’ like he expected a special dispensation.

  As she stalked off to check with the manager, Baz looked back at Darren and, changing his mind, asked, ‘They’re not watching you?’

  Darren shook his head.

  Baz didn’t know why they were so focused on him and Pope; it wasn’t like they were the worst crooks in town.

  ‘Can’t you cut ’em in?’ Craig said. ‘Just give ’em a drink.’ Craig seemed to think that the psychos in Armed Robbery were just like his mates in the Drug Squad: in for a bit of a tickle whenever they could.

  ‘They don’t do business like that,’ Baz said.

  Craig didn’t like being told he didn’t know what he was talking about, even if it was coming from Baz, and pulled a face. It wasn’t his nuts on the chopping block; he was just passing on a message. They could take it or leave it. ‘Roache just says pull your heads in and everything’ll go away,’ he said.

  The waitress was back with the verdict. ‘Sir, you cannot smoke in here,’ she said, laying down the law.

  Wrong place, wrong time.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Craig snapped. It wasn’t a full snap, where you’d hear the twang of the rubber bands holding his brain together. Just a preview, to let her know what he was capable of.

  Jumping in to keep the peace, Baz stood up. ‘That’s all right,’ he said in that friendly voice he always had handy, ‘we’re done here.’ And, taking Catherine by the hand, he led her out, calling amiably to no-one in particular, ‘It’s good.’

  And it was good. Stepping out onto the street as the lights came on, they felt relaxed and easy. They had had a good feed and a few laughs at J’s expense when Craig told the story about the hoons and the gun. This was the way life was meant to be. It was a nice family moment that made J feel good to be there, like he really belonged. It felt so warm and natural, he could almost forget everything and just enjoy Nicky hanging around his neck, sweet and dreamy.

  ‘I’m going home, Mum,’ Darren said, swinging away down the street.

  ‘Well, come here and give us a kiss,’ Smurf cooed, opening her arms to her little boy.

  Glancing at the passers-by to see who might be watching, Darren slunk into his mother’s arms and received one of Smurf ’s big kisses on the lips before being rescued by Baz and Craig and sent on his way with a few manly thumps to the arm.

  No-one knew why she did it. She probably didn’t even know herself. It was just her way of showing affection.

  Of course, Smurf ’s idea of affection was about as personal as her idea of aggression. Aggression for Smurf wasn’t a word; it was a way of life. She’d had guns pointed at her. She’d been shot at. By people who liked her. Her idea of settling disputes could involve everything from having a quiet chat to making a call to some people she knew. Still, that was a few years ago now, when people were a lot rougher and more used to being shoved around. These days hardly anyone even touched, let alone slapped, one another. And that was one of the reasons everyone was so unhappy, Smurf thought. It’s not so bad to get slapped, she’d say. At least then you know someone cares.

  ‘Did you really point a gun at someone?’ Nicky whispered into J’s ear as he carried her down the footpath.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said sheepishly, and she hugged him tighter, like it was something that really turned her on.

  The party was breaking up, people were drifting away, and, putting his arm around Smurf, Baz led her off. J and Nicky followed, with Catherine bringing up the rear, sucking moodily on her cigarette as she wondered when the hell it was all going to end.

  Craig was back on the blower, doing whatever Craig did when he wanted to feel important. Which usually had something to do with drugs. And before they knew it, there he was chopping up some blow on the kitchen table back at the house. The perfect end to the perfect evening.

  ‘Mate, do you ever stop?’ Baz asked, irritated. He was on edge because of the earlier conversation, and he wasn’t sure how secure the house was, given how loose Craig was about that sort of thing. He could have a bug hanging off his ear-hole and he wouldn’t notice. ‘Every time I see you, you’re chopping in. Why don’t you try going to sleep, for once in your life?’

  ‘Baz, I sleep like a baby,’ Craig answered, unconcerned, as Nicky watched wide-eyed from where she was sitting on the sofa next to J.

  Looking up, Craig noticed her interest and asked, ‘Want some?’

  A shiver of excitement ran through the room. Even Smurf glanced across to see what she’d do.

  But, feeling like she needed protecting, J answered for her. ‘Oh, no, she’s all right.’

  ‘Says you,’ Nicky shot back, putting him in his place. She wasn’t going to let her boyfriend tell her what to do, even if he had pointed a gun at someone earlier in the day. She was in.

  ‘Don’t trample her freedom, mate,’ Craig said, acting like he was all for women’s lib. Glancing back at her, he made a show as he offered a gentlemanly ‘Sweetheart, would you like some?’

  Baz didn’t like it, but fundamentally Baz was a bit of a square. ‘Fuckin’ we’re all here havin’ a nice night,’ he said, ‘and you have to go and do your own thing.’

  Maybe he was still stewing about what Roache had said, but Craig didn’t care; he was already having a ball, giving everyone the shits. ‘Well, fuckin’ avert your eyes,’ he suggested, dividing the speed up into four fat little lines ready for the sniffing. ‘J, go and get us some drinks,’ he continued. ‘Get Baz a really big one. Loosen him up just a little bit.’

  J stood and went to the kitchen. He didn’t like leaving Nicky in there with Craig so he sent her home. But he knew there wasn’t much he could do about her interest in drugs and all that shit if she was that way inclined.

  J didn’t know what to think about that. Was that the reason they’d got together? Because she thought he was a bad boy? Was he? He didn’t know himself. He didn’t think so. Nicky had known his mother was a user, but that didn’t seem so bad now, compared with what he’d already seen. At least his mother had been able to hold down a job at the supermarket, but Craig and the others—this was their life. J just didn’t want to see Nicky get hurt by being caught up in all their shit. Why wouldn’t he feel protective of her around his family? She needed protection. Most people did.

  This was what he was thinking as he reached for the beer in the fridge. Looking up, he got the shock of his life. There, lurking in the shadows of the back door, was a man, watching him.

  Fuck.

  The man stepped towards him.

  It was Pope. His uncle.

  The fright made him drop one of the bottles and it smashed to the floor, but, raising his finger to his lips, Pope snuck forwards like it was supposed to be a surprise. J didn’t know what was going on. He knew it was his
Uncle Pope, though he didn’t know why he was here. J hadn’t seen him for maybe ten years, and the only thing he knew about him was that he could be a bit crazy. His mother had told him so.

  ‘You all right?’ Smurf called from the other room.

  Pope nodded to him to answer.

  ‘Yeah,’ J said, holding his breath and wondering what Pope was up to.

  ‘You better be cleaning that up,’ Craig called in a jokey, mocking kind of way.

  And if there was another thing J knew about Pope, it was that he wasn’t supposed to be here at all, if Craig and Roache were to be believed, because the cops were looking to make his life more than a misery.

  Cocking his finger like a gun, he aimed it at J’s head. ‘You ruined my surprise,’ he said.

  J gulped.

  Smurf was thrilled to see her eldest boy and was soon sitting in his lap, arm draped around his neck like a girlfriend.

  ‘They’re not actually going to shoot you; you know that, don’t you?’ Baz said. It seemed that, since the conversation at the restaurant, Baz had regained his confidence, come up with the answer that had previously eluded him.

  Pope didn’t know that, that they weren’t going to shoot him, and didn’t believe it, either. In fact, Baz’s bluff reassurance wasn’t really reassuring anyone, least of all Catherine, who was hovering on the edge getting more and more nervous at all this talk about people getting bumped and knocked.

  The Armed Robbery Squad were the hard men of the force and they liked using their guns, so, when they had you in their sights, it was trouble, and you’d have to be an idiot to ignore it. Baz wasn’t an idiot, not by a long shot, but he had the swagger of someone who’d been there before and thought he could ride the waves. Well, where else was he going to ride?

  ‘If they’ve got something, then let them come,’ he said confidently. ‘If they had anything on us, they’d be using it. But they don’t, so all they can do is sit in a car outside my house.’

  Catherine hated it when he said things like that. Like he had a direct line to the commissioner. How did he know? How did he know that’s all they’d do? And what about her and the baby? How did he think she felt, knowing they were being watched day and night by armed men who could walk straight into their house, guns blazing, as soon as they felt like it?

  But Baz could talk; he had the gift of the gab and an easy charm. ‘They’ve got bigger fish to fry,’ he continued. ‘Armed Rob’s getting shut down. Half those guys are gonna get shuffled over to the Major Crime Squad, and the rest’ll go, you know, they’ll go somewhere else, and their little club’ll fall to bits.’

  It all sounded so simple and obvious, as if there was nothing at all to worry about. And it was almost convincing. If you wanted to let yourself be convinced.

  ‘All they can do now is try and get over on us; and they’ve got over on you,’ Baz said to Pope. ‘They’ve made you run.’

  Pope was watching him, knowing he was wrong, but too thick to come up with a reason why. He liked Baz’s bravado but sometimes it gave him the shits as well. ‘You’re a fuck,’ he growled, unable to think of anything else to say. ‘You don’t have people out there saying they’re going to knock you.’

  ‘Baz, we should go,’ Catherine said, frightened. This wasn’t her favourite topic, and these weren’t her favourite people. She’d fallen in love with Baz because he was dashing and handsome and fun to be with, and he’d looked at her and seen a classy chick you could actually have a conversation with. And so they’d got together. And not just got together, but had a baby, a daughter together. And then she’d found out the Codys were her de facto family. That had never been part of the deal.

  ‘Yeah, in a minute, babe,’ Baz said. Baz loved calling her babe, especially at times like this, when she hated it. But the point was he hadn’t seen Pope since the robbery, and this was an important conversation.

  But Catherine was really antsy, like she couldn’t wait to get out of the place. Glancing at Smurf, she tried to explain. ‘It’s late,’ she said. ‘Charlie’s babysitting.’

  Like Smurf would understand. Her ideas of child-rearing weren’t exactly conventional.

  ‘We’re just talking,’ Baz said. ‘Call Charlie. Tell her I’ll pay her a thousand bucks if she stays overnight.’

  Catherine wondered how much he’d drunk. As if they had a thousand bucks to pay the babysitter. But she was no fool. He was worried himself, that’s what it was. She knew that. She knew he was trying to convince himself it was going to be all right; that’s why he was trying to act like a hot-shot, able to splurge a thousand bucks on the babysitter. But that didn’t make her feel any better.

  ‘Yeah, if nine grand a pop’s as good as it gets now,’ Catherine said, her voice trembling with tension, ‘I don’t know that you’ve got enough to give the babysitter.’

  ‘True,’ Baz chuckled. ‘That’s not untrue.’ You couldn’t take Baz down, because he didn’t really have tickets on himself, but he knew what she was saying, and he didn’t like it any more than she did. Business had gone to shit and it had suddenly become very, very dangerous.

  Just then Craig came in, looking like a ghost. ‘Hey, hey, you hear that?’ he asked anxiously, cocking his ear.

  The others glanced quickly about, trying to hear.

  ‘What?’ asked Smurf, getting off Pope and looking at the door.

  ‘Fucking listen,’ Craig said, moving towards the window.

  Baz was holding his breath. If this was it, there was nowhere they could go, and Catherine was there, caught right in the middle. Shifting in his seat, he hoped no-one went for their gun.

  Catherine was terrified. She wasn’t a gangster’s moll; she was an Our Lady of Mercy girl who just happened to like her men to have balls on them. But that wasn’t going to save her. She knew it: she just knew it was going to end like this.

  Stalking forwards, Craig strained to hear.

  There was a dog barking nearby.

  J swung around and could hear something rustling in the bushes outside.

  Every muscle in Craig’s body was tense as he cocked his head to listen to the night.

  There was something out there. Something in the dark.

  And then, as if hearing it again, he stepped carefully past Pope and stood statue-like, leaning towards the darkness. Someone went to say something and he hissed a quick ‘Shh …’ before, reaching out his hand, he held it up, saying, ‘Pull my finger.’

  Shit.

  ‘Pull my finger,’ he said again, laughing.

  Shit, double shit.

  The bastard was pulling their leg.

  Baz could have hit him, and Pope did, leaping from the armchair to attack him, laughing and relieved as the clown made farting sounds.

  ‘That’s it. Cut it out,’ Smurf said wearily as the boys tussled on the sofa.

  Catherine looked like she could cry, and J felt stunned, like he’d been hit in the head.

  It was too mad. This place was way too mad.

  FOUR

  Baz was going out. It was day, but it felt like something else, like the glary light of something that had been going on for way too long. Stepping into the kitchen, he saw Catherine vacuuming the rug.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked, turning the machine off. They knew each other so well, she could tell by the way he moved what he was up to.

  Reaching for the vitamins and a glass of water, he glanced at her. ‘Supermarket,’ he said.

  She knew he wasn’t telling the truth.

  ‘What to get?’

  ‘Not much,’ he answered, slipping the pill into his mouth and taking a sip of water. He’d been on this fertility treatment since they’d decided to have another go after the miscarriage. Not that the miscarriage was his fault—not that it was hers, either—it was just that the pregnancy had been a lot of work, and he seemed to be the problem. To look at him, you’d never guess, but that’s the way it was with these sorts of things. Appearances can be deceptive. Which was no surprise to
a bunch of crooks.

  ‘What?’ she persisted. It wasn’t that she kept him on a tight leash; it was just that, with all the trouble brewing, she wanted to know where he was and what was going on, just in case.

  Stepping past her to put the vacuum cleaner back on, Baz put his finger to his lips and lowered his voice. ‘I’m going to meet Pope,’ he whispered.

  That’s the way it was now: it wasn’t even safe to talk in their own home. No wonder he hadn’t felt like sex for weeks.

  The cops were on a bugging spree. They were bugging everything; they were even bugging members of parliament. All supposedly in the interests of preventing crime, but really in the interests of getting as much shit as they could on anyone who might oppose them.

  The mention of Pope was just the thing to put Catherine in a good mood. Biting her lip, she glanced away. ‘How long’s that car gonna stay parked outside our house?’ she wanted to know. As if it was his fault. Well, in a sense, it was his fault.

  ‘That’s what I’m gonna see him about,’ Baz said.

  ‘It’s been there for a week,’ she answered, as if he hadn’t noticed, and as if they hadn’t both lain awake worrying about it.

  ‘Yeah, well, this is what I’m gonna meet him about, isn’t it?’

  It wasn’t mean, and he wasn’t angry. He knew how hard it was for her, how frightened she was, and not for herself—she was as tough and as brave as they come—but for the baby. For them. For the life they were trying to make together. She was frightened that it was all just going to disappear in a puff of smoke one day, with a crowd of coppers kicking down the door and marching through the place like they owned it, because they did.

  That’s what it was: she was frightened that none of this was real—the vacuum cleaner, the vitamin pills, this normal life they’d tried to make for themselves and their daughter—none of it was real. It could all just disappear in a flash as soon as someone in one of those big towers overlooking the city said so. Catherine knew them, or imagined them: shadowy men in suits flicking through their files. Just when you thought they’d forgotten you and you’d gotten away, someone would turn up to remind you that you never would. That was the problem with crime. You think it’s a way out, but, once you’re in there, they never let you go.