Broken Toys

by Jackson Lear

  “I’m sorry!” screamed Warrick.

  “I don’t want sorry! I want those fucking cigarettes off my ground! And the cans of beer too. You’ve been drinking and pissing in my garden so unless you want me to drink and piss on top of the three of you, you’ll pick up your bloody cigarettes until there’s no more.” He looked up at Ian, the one farthest away and not pinned underneath Warrick. “You. You will pick them up.”

  “Okay,” said Ian, as quickly as he could to appease the man with a pitchfork an inch away from his friend’s face. He eased himself off the ground, well aware that Mr McIntyre had hit him and Daniel already. Such a thing should have been an impossible taboo for an adult to do, yet he had done it. Ian got to his feet, caught the seriousness in James’ face, and searched the ground for all the cigarette butts.

  James nodded down the path. “Further down there, where I can see you boys from my house. And pick up the lighters as well.”

  Ian edged along the path. He ran his hand through the long grass, finding a faded yellow lighter. He couldn’t remember who it originally belonged to but he wasn’t trying to keep score on who was guiltier than the rest. He fired through every possible excuse and story, anything to convince Mr McIntyre to let them go and to keep this whole mess a secret. He picked at least twenty butts off the path and found many more scattered in the unkempt grass.

  James grimaced as the boy kept moving farther away. He shot the pitchfork closer to Warrick’s face. “You run off on me, boy, and your friends will start to scream.”

  Warrick’s whimper quickly became a quiet sob. Daniel could feel the tears hit the back of his head. He wished Warrick wasn’t so heavy.

  “And quit fucking crying,” said James.

  Warrick sniffed.

  Ian found a used wrapper from a fresh pack of cigarettes. His hands were too full to carry everything, so he used the bottom of his t-shirt as a pouch. With any luck he had gathered enough litter to make amends. “I think I got it all,” he called out.

  James arched an eyebrow and gripped the pitchfork tighter. “Is that so? Let’s see if you’re right.”

  Ian returned with his heart lodged firmly in his throat. Each step shook his vision as he tried to ignore the image of what would happen if he slipped on the muddy path and spilled everything to the ground.

  James peered into the boy’s t-shirt. “You got everything?”

  “Yes,” said Ian.

  “You got every last wrapper, every match and lighter, and every beer can?”

  Ian felt his heart turn to ice. “I just picked up the cigarettes.”

  James released one hand from the pitchfork and belted Ian across the face. The fright caused Ian to drop everything from his t-shirt as he reached up to protect himself. He didn’t expect James to actually strike again, but James slammed the heel of his hand against Ian’s chest. The kid had covered his eyes and never saw it coming. The second sudden shock forced him off balance. He couldn’t get his hands down in time to protect his landing and he fell hard on his ass, compressing his torso like an accordion and knocking the wind out of him.

  “That doesn’t look like every cigarette or lighter either,” said James. “What about in there, where you punks actually smoke and drink? Do you think there are gypsies living inside there who feed off your matches once you go home for the night? No. That shit is still sitting in there. In my garden. In my fucking home. You little fucks have trespassed on my private property and have been using it as a toilet. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t kill any of you? Maybe I should hang your skulls so that when the next lot of kids come along, they’ll know not to stay. Do you want that? Your skull hanging against a tree, looking out onto the small patch of ground you three have been pissing on? That’s what you’ll be looking at from Hell for the rest of fucking time.”

  Warrick howled through a torrent of tears. Ian wasn’t far behind. Only Daniel was able to keep it together. “We’re sorry!”

  “I don’t want sorry! I want every last cigarette off the ground, and all I see are three dipshits who aren’t doing anything! It can’t be that hard!”

  “I’ll do it,” said Daniel. “I’ll get all of them.”

  James stared him down. There was something about this kid, something he resented more than the other two. They were weak, but this one ... he was the actual trouble maker. “You know what will happen if you don’t get them all?”

  “Yes,” said Daniel.

  “Good. What will happen?”

  “You’ll hit us,” said Daniel.

  “I’m glad we understand each other,” said James. “I will hit the three of you until you bleed and it will be your fault.”

  “I’ll get them all,” said Daniel. He tried to push Warrick off to the side but he was met with resistance until James raised one boot and pushed Warrick against the hips.

  “Thank you,” mumbled Daniel, as he climbed up to his feet.

  James leered at him and kept the pitchfork square in Warrick’s face. Daniel ducked under the vines into the Den and disappeared from sight. James edged his shoulders forward, bracing himself against the trouble maker. There was a chance there was something else behind those vines, a weapon, maybe. He expected to see a flick knife, but against a pitchfork the kid would have no chance. Maybe there was a BB gun. It would sting like hell, especially if he was shot in the face, but James could still drive the rusty forks into the fat kid’s cheek bone before the little one even fired his first shot. James looked across at Ian. “You. Pick your arse up and get cleaning.”

  Ian sniffed a nod and rolled onto his feet.

  James looked down at Warrick and stared into his blubbering face. “You can just stay there. I’m sure you’ve all had a turn to piss on that exact spot so you can breathe it in until your friends are done. Maybe I’ll piss on you as well. How about that?”

  Warrick closed his eyes and cried.

  “You’re crying like a girl,” said James. “Are you a girl?”

  Warrick raised one fist towards his face and covered himself.

  James tapped Warrick’s waist with his boot. “I asked you a question and you haven’t answered me. If you don’t answer me again I’m going to kick you so hard you’ll be shitting blood for a month. Are you a girl?”

  Warrick sobbed, but from under his wrist he was able to mutter a: “No.”

  “Then why are you fat like a girl?” James asked.

  “I don’t know,” mumbled Warrick.

  “‘I don’t know’ is not an answer. It’s a bullshit lie given by fat chicks. You ask them where they want to go and they say ‘I don’t know’, or when one of them is in a mood and you ask them what’s wrong, they say ‘I don’t know.’ You are fat like a girl, you know that?”

  “I’m not fat,” said Warrick.

  “You’re just a little short for your weight? How tall are you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  James rolled his eyes. “Heaven help me.”

  “I really don’t know,” said Warrick.

  “I bet you don’t know how fat you are either,” said James.

  Warrick shook his head.

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirteen and a half.”

  “And you’re drinking beer and smoking cigarettes as though you’re eighteen? Jesus H. And what’s with ‘and a half’? You’re not ‘and a half’. You’re thirteen. You stop being thirteen when you’re fourteen. You think that’s going to help you, fat girl? Saying that you’re ‘and a half’?”

  “I’m thirteen,” Warrick said.

  “Good. And your friends are thirteen as well?”

  “Yes. No. Daniel is twelve. He’s almost thirteen.”

  “Good for him. Which one is he?”

  Warrick leaned up and looked around. Ian was at the far end of the path again, picking up a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Ian kept a hidden eye on Warrick and James, making sure nothing was going to happen to any of his friends, but since he was just thirteen his only battle plan was
to run like hell and call the police. Warrick looked around and saw Daniel’s feet in the Den. With a shaky arm he pointed through the entry. “That’s Daniel.”

  “So two of you are thirteen and the other is twelve,” said James.

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting. I’ve never killed two thirteen year olds before.” James studied Warrick’s face again and wasn’t the least bit surprised when he was met with another round of tears. “Where did you get the beer?”

  “At home,” said Warrick.

  “Your dad drinks piss, you know that? Nothing but light beer, no wonder he doesn’t miss it. Did you ever think he knows it goes missing? He can’t be drunk enough to not remember.”

  “I don’t know,” said Warrick.

  “What else were you doing in there?” James asked, looking into the Den.

  “Just ... playing.”

  “Uh huh.” James nodded through the vines. “What’s his name?”

  “Daniel.”

  James bellowed again. “Daniel? Bring everything in there out here. If you have a small black bag, bring that out as well.”

  Daniel did as he was told. Lo and behold there was a small black bag now strapped to his back.

  “You didn’t have that before,” said James. “Open it.”

  “There’s just beer inside,” said Daniel.

  “Uh huh. Open it.”

  Daniel slid the backpack off his shoulders and unzipped the main section. Three full beer cans sat inside.

  “And the other section,” said James. A smile edged across his stubbled features as Daniel’s hands shook towards the zip. The boy jiggled the bag just enough to shift whatever was inside into a better hiding position, but he was not a master of sleight of hand. James snatched the bag from Daniel’s grip and took it for himself.

  “Oh look,” said James. He pulled out a trio of magazines and dropped them on top of Warrick. “Wank mags. That’s what you boys are into, is it? You like to drink beer and look at naked women? Did you get this from the fat kid’s dad as well?”

  “Yes,” said Daniel.

  “And so you sit in my garden, drinking beer and looking at porn, and you think I’m going to be okay with you sucking each other off? You think I’m going to like having a gay sex club in the back of my garden?”

  Daniel stiffened. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “So you were reading the articles?”

  “We weren’t ... you know.”

  “Jerking off?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But at home you do. At home when you think no one knows what you’re doing, you’re tugging on your little pecker, thinking about my garden. And you know what? That’s just as bad. If I wanted a gay sex club in my garden it’s up to me to have a gay sex club in my garden. It’s not up to you. I don’t need queer thirteen year olds tugging on each other so a twelve year old can watch and dream of being able to do the same one day.”

  “We weren’t,” said Daniel.

  “Well then, explain to me what you were doing,” said James. “And don’t lie. I’ll know when you lie. You kids might think you’re good at lying but you’ve only been lying for ten years. I’ve been lying for a lot longer and I know what boys lie about. So tell me, what were you doing in my garden?”

  Daniel stared back at Mr McIntyre. “We just started hanging out. Then someone brought a pack of cigarettes.”

  “Who?” James asked.

  “Ian.”

  “Who’s that?”

  Daniel pointed to Ian, who looked as though running was still his best option of getting out of there alive.

  “And you thought that would be funny?”

  Daniel shrugged. “We just hung out and someone brought cigarettes.”

  “Uh huh. And then beer. And then wank mags, is that right? Shit starts out funny then before you know it you’re tugging it out in front of your friends to see who has the biggest pea shooter, is that what you’re telling me?”

  Daniel’s eyes dropped towards the pitchfork as the winning combination of words failed to come to him.

  James looked over to Ian. “You miss any and I’ll stab you with this thing.” He then prodded Warrick with his foot. “You. Get up. You stay on the ground any longer and you’ll just piss yourself again.”

  Warrick sobbed and climbed to his feet. “I’m sorry.”

  James’ face contorted to look as though he was about to spit. “Ah shit, don’t tell me you’ve actually gone and pissed yourself? Did’ya crap your pants as well?”

  “N-no.”

  “Then what the fuck are you saying you’re sorry for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Another bullshit answer. ‘I don’t know’ and ‘I’m sorry.’ Are those the kind of answers you grow up with? No wonder you cry like a fat girl.” James turned to Daniel. “Doesn’t he cry like a fat girl?”

  Daniel caught himself from saying ‘I don’t know’ and he instead bit down on the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from saying anything at all.

  James smirked at the sight of the terrified boys. “Did you finish cleaning up in there?”

  “I think so,” said Daniel.

  “You know what happens if I go in there and find something that isn’t mine?”

  “Yes.”

  “What will happen?”

  “You’ll stab me,” said Daniel.

  “Yes I will. Where do you think I should stab you?”

  Daniel’s eyes fluttered. The worst pain he could come up with that would be appropriate was having an injection in the arm. He knew he could handle that kind of pain and hoped a pitchfork would feel only slightly worse. “The arm.”

  “No, it won’t be in the arm. It’ll be in your guts just under your belly. You got soft organs in there and if they’re popped by a rusty pitchfork you’ll be dead. No doctor could save you. Your friends couldn’t even save you. Now climb in there and make sure my garden is as clean as your mum’s pussy should be.”

  Daniel ducked back into the Den, looking for any last scrap of cigarette butt or broken tab from a beer can.

  “I want to go home,” mumbled Warrick.

  Another wry smile crossed James’ face. “Is that so? You just barge into my home and use it like a toilet, then you decide when you would like to go back to your nice home with internal plumbing? Well isn’t that good for you? I’ve got news you, fat girl. You’re not going home until I say you can go home. You’ve been trespassing on my property and you can go to jail for that. Jail, fat girl, and it’s what you deserve. I’ve caught you smoking here as well. That’s two lots of jail for you. Drinking as well. Do you think I’m stupid? I know you’re not old enough to drink. I know you stole this beer and those cigarettes so that makes you a thief as well. And porn mags. There’s no way you’re not going to jail for any of that, you little thief. They’ll send you to a gay prison where the fairies eat up the little boys like you. Is that what you want? You want to wake up with a man’s penis in your face, screaming at you to suck it until he jizzes down the inside of your throat? And you know why he’s there? Because he has fucking AIDS, so now you’ll be sucking on his AIDS dick and having his AIDS jizz sliding down your throat.”

  Warrick burst into another round of tears. He brought his hands up to his face so that no one could see him cry, but that allowed James a chance to poke him in the side with the pitchfork. The shock forced him onto his side as he cried, desperately hiding himself so no one should see him howl in shame.

  “You’ll all three be in jail.” James nudged the bag with three piss-weak cans of beer inside. “Which one of you lives the closest?”

  Two of the boys remained silent. The third simply wailed into the back of his fist.

  James sniffed the chilled air before his attention landed squarely on Ian. “I see. No one wants me to tell Mummy or Daddy on them.” He pointed off to the Den. “What’s his name?”

  “Daniel,” mumbled Ian.

  “What street does he live on?”

&
nbsp; Ian was about to blurt out ‘I don’t know’, half because there was a chance they could still get away from James and half because he genuinely didn’t know the name of the street. He knew how to walk there, but not the name of it. All he could do was shake his head as a bewildered look got the better of him.

  “For fuck’s sake,” James mumbled. He dropped to one knee and called out into the Den. “You. You live nearby?”

  “Yes,” said Daniel.

  “You live closer than the fat girl and stupid one?”

  “Uh ... yeah?”

  “Come out here.”

  Daniel ducked under the vines and stood at the entrance. It was close enough for him to still be skewered by the pitchfork, but at least the rage in Mr McIntyre’s face had faded. In its place was a simmering growl.

  James peered into Daniel’s hands. “Is that everything?”

  “I think so,” said Daniel, looking down at more litter than he cared for.

  “Put it in the bag,” said James.

  Daniel dumped the butts and lighters into the open black bag and dusted off his hands.

  “Now then, you’ve all been trespassing. Still, you might live close enough to be useful. You have a dad at your place?”

  “Yes,” said Daniel.

  “Is he a drinking man?”

  “Uh ... I guess.”

  James caught the uncertain look on Daniel’s face and rolled his eyes. “It means alcohol, for fuck’s sake. Does your dad drink beer, or whiskey, that kind of thing?”

  “Yes,” said Daniel, now aware of what James was talking about.

  “You know what whiskey looks like?”

  “Yes,” said Daniel. It looked a lot like apple juice in a short glass with ice. It was often sipped slowly in movies.

  “Here’s what you’re going to do,” said James. “You’re going to run home. You’re going to get me a bottle of your dad’s whiskey. You’re going to bring it back here. I don’t want your dad coming over here to see if you’re okay. I just want you to come back with a bottle of whiskey, got it?”