by Jackson Lear
“But he’s an adult,” said Warrick. “They’re going to believe him over us.”
“Look, we’ll just give him the money, get the bag back, and we’ll be okay, okay?” Daniel led them around to James’ front door, which was a little difficult to figure out since they had never seen the front of James’ house. He lived along Strachen Road in a small cottage with a whitewash finish along the walls and a black tiled roof. There was a small garden in the front with tomatoes and onions growing in the sunlight. The property was lined with a low whitewash wall that could be easily stepped over by an adult. There was a strip of grassy land to the side of James’ house where he held a collection of second hand cars, sitting against the wall and waiting to be fixed up and sold, if he ever got around to them. Daniel approached the front gate and found it tricky to open. After some fiddling with the clasp in the back he was able to push through and head up to the large brown door.
“You’re sure this is the place?” Ian asked.
“Not really,” said Daniel. He rang the doorbell and waited.
“Maybe he’s not home.”
“Or maybe he knows we’re here and he’s just taking his time,” said Daniel. He tried the doorbell again and saw one of the curtains from the lounge move out of place. A whole minute later the tumblers on the lock fell and the door swung open.
“It’s you three,” said James, staring down at the boys with untold disdain in his eyes. He had bags under his eyes and his four day stubble held more grey than Daniel remembered seeing. “What do you want?”
“We’d like our bag back, please,” said Daniel.
“Uh huh. You’re ready to buy it back?”
“Yes.”
“Then come get it.” James left the door open and walked towards the kitchen. Daniel checked over his shoulder and wasn’t sure if he was supposed to go in alone. He whispered for Ian and Warrick to follow him. They did so and caught their first glimpse of the inside of James’ house. It smelled like dust. The carpet buckled throughout and the wallpaper looked ancient. Cobwebs lingered in the corners of the walls and in every light fixture. The TV was on in the lounge with the football on mute. Inside the kitchen the sink was half full of used pots and frying pans. Daniel guessed there were probably a couple of tea bags still in the sink, waiting to be thrown out.
James pulled their black bag out from under the kitchen table and dumped it on top. “There you go. A hundred and fifty pounds worth of porn, cigarettes, lighters, and beer.”
Daniel dug into his pocket and pulled out the bundle of notes. “It’s all here.”
James took the money and counted for himself, working slowly through the different denominations. He reached the end and stared back at Daniel. “You’re sure it’s all here?”
“Yes. Three twenties, five tens, and eight fives.”
James grunted and dropped the money into a drawer. He then stared down at Warrick. “What about you? What did you bring?”
Warrick’s pulse quickly rose with fright. “Fifty pounds. Daniel just gave it to you.”
“Yeah, but these two also brought me a bottle of whiskey. You didn’t. So far you haven’t given me as much as they have. So how are you going to make things even?”
Warrick gulped like a goldfish as he looked to his friends for help. “What do you want?”
James blew out a shot of breath that reeked of a fried breakfast of eggs and bacon. “A real man would know what to offer. A cowardly little kid doesn’t know what to give.” James looked over his kitchen and tapped the sink. “You can wash these dishes for a start. Dry them, put them away. You lot can figure out where they belong. Then we’re done. You can have your bag back and we never have to see each other again.” James threw a tea towel to Ian and scowled at Daniel. “Real clean, you know?” He left, went back to his TV, and blasted the football for all to hear.
The boys got to work without saying a word. Warrick washed the dishes and scrubbed the week old grime as hard as he could, while Ian dried and Daniel figured out where everything lived. After fifteen minutes of hard scrubbing and stacking, trying to create as little noise as possible, Daniel knocked on the lounge door. “We’re finished.”
James nodded, pulled himself up and went to inspect their efforts. He checked each cupboard and made sure that none of them had taken the money in the drawer.
“Good.” James reached for the black bag. In a split second he pulled his hand away again. There was a good chance that no one knew where these boys were right now or why they were in trouble.
He eyeballed Daniel in particular.
The kid’s steady glare faltered from a ‘fuck you’ to ‘please just let us go.’
The devil landed on James’ shoulder as he handed over the black bag full of the boys’ secrets.
“Thank you,” said Daniel.
“Yeah. Any of you fellas married?”
Daniel, Ian, and Warrick shook their heads at the bizarre question.
“You have girlfriends?”
They again shook their heads.
“Jesus, it’s that desperate for all of you, is it?” James reached into the high cupboard above the fridge, pulled out one of the bottles of whiskey from the day before and dropped four glasses onto the kitchen table.
“No thank you,” said Daniel.
“Don’t worry, it’s not punishment,” said James. “How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
“Ha. The shit I was doing when I was twelve would probably make your head spin.” James poured them each a glass of whiskey. “I want to thank you boys. You did all right. Maybe one day we’ll be friends. Maybe one day I’ll even give you a job. What do you want to be when you’re through with school?”
Daniel shrugged. He looked down at the bag in his hands and wanted to be done, but before he knew it James was pushing a glass of whiskey into his hands. “A vet.”
“With animals?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“My mum said I’d be good at it.”
“Your job will be mostly killing pets and dumping them in the bin.”
Daniel shied away as James leered for a moment too long.
“Have you ever met a vet?”
“No.”
James looked over to Ian. “What about you? What will you do when you’re done with school?”
“I want to be a pilot,” said Ian.
“No shit? Why?”
“I like airplanes.”
“You want to fly the small ones or the big ones?”
“The small ones.”
“Like those World War Two fighters?” James asked.
“I guess,” said Ian.
James pushed a glass of whiskey into Ian’s hand. “Do you know what a World War Two fighter looks like?”
“A little.”
“So you’ll sign up to the air force, is that it?”
“Yeah.”
James pushed a glass of whiskey into Warrick’s hand. “What about you?”
“I’m going to be an architect.”
“For houses?”
“Skyscrapers.”
“In London?”
“Yeah.”
“What about houses?”
“Just skyscrapers,” said Warrick.
“Why?”
“Because they’re big and everyone can see them.”
“And they’ll know you built it.”
“Yeah.”
James slugged his glass of whiskey. “I used to race cars. You may have seen some of them in the back. Volvo’s are especially useful. Go out onto a circuit and nail it, beat the other fuckers to the line. Good fun. You boys ever raced cars or go-karts?”
They all nodded. “We went go-karting for my birthday,” said Ian.
“None of you crashed?”
They all shook their heads.
“I crashed. Busted up my knee a couple of times. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like as a vet with your arm up a cow’s arse. One wrong move and it’ll
probably break you in half and your arm will be stuck there. And a pilot? Step in front of the wrong part and those propellers will cut you in two. I can’t say much about skyscrapers except people climb to the top and jump off to kill themselves.” He grinned, poured himself a refill and topped up each of the boy’s glasses, which they hadn’t yet started. “Go on, drink. I’m not mad at you boys any more. You did all right. You cleaned up my garden, you did what I asked you to, you put my dishes away. We’re okay. So have a drink. It’s what real men drink, not that stupid beer you brought. And if you’re going to do something illegal like drinking booze you might as well do it correctly.”
Daniel sniffed his whiskey and wished he hadn’t done that. But, under the pressure of appeasing James, he took a swig and tried not to throw up in his glass.
“The air force will be fun,” said James. “Some of the basic training is all right, hiking through the wilderness, learning to shoot, setting traps. You boys ever set traps before?”
“No,” they said, as they slowly sipped their drinks.
“You probably didn’t think of this, but I used to go to St. Bart’s.” From the look on their faces that had never occurred to them. “I probably went to school with your parents. Not that we would’ve been friends, unless one of your mum’s was a filthy slut and I shagged her on the top of one of my cars.” He nodded towards Daniel. “How old is your mum?”
“Forty two, I think.”
“Hmm. Maybe. What’s her name?”
“Carol.”
“I did fuck a Carol once, but she wouldn’t be forty two.” He looked over to Ian. “What about your mum?”
“Thirty six.”
“Name?”
“Claire.”
“Last name?”
“Baxter.”
A wry smile spread across James’ face. “Blonde girl?”
“Yeah.”
“I heard about her. I think I met her a few times. Your mum has some stories, let me tell you. What does she look like now?”
Ian shrugged. “Um, she’s still blonde.”
“Is she fat?”
“Not really. She’s always on a diet.”
“Yeah, that sounds like her. She was friends with that Polish girl, right?”
Ian twisted his face around, trying to rattle some kind of information to the surface of his brain. “I don’t know.”
An old name burst to the surface of James’ mind. “Anthony Baxter.”
Ian raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s my uncle.”
“Yeah, him and that Polish girl were always together, sneaking around like no one saw them. They were caught smoking as well, near the train tracks.” James took another swig of whiskey and smiled to himself. “So your mum is blonde Claire, hey? I still see her from time to time, out on the street, jogging up and down or doing the shopping. She’s a bit of a bitch, you know? She doesn’t smile or say hello. But I see her. And I remember her. And now you’re her kid.” James nodded to Warrick and hoped for a nice surprise. “Your turn.”
“My parents moved here two years ago.”
“So you’re an out-of-towner. Don’t quite fit in no matter where you are. Oh well.” He pushed the chairs out from the kitchen table and pointed for each boy to sit, which they did, though they angled themselves towards the door and counted down the seconds until they could leave.
“You know, when I was your age, me and my friends used to hang around the train tracks. Sometimes we’d play chicken. Other times we’d just sit around and watch the traffic drive by. Sometimes we’d go off and shoot at squirrels in the fields.” He smiled at Ian and nodded to himself. “Blonde Claire’s kid. Isn’t that something?”
Ian wasn’t sure what to do, so he sipped the whiskey, hoping that if he did it slowly enough it wouldn’t burn as hard as the previous time. He ended up dribbling it back into his glass.
James’ eyes glazed over for a moment. Daniel couldn’t help but link that look to every D-student in school during exam times as they stared up to the ceiling, willing the gods of divine inspiration to show them the answer on the test. Something was ticking over inside Mr McIntyre’s mind. Daniel broke eye contact and glanced back to the front door, missing the slightest curl form along the edge of James’ mouth.
“Wanna see something cool?” James asked. Without waiting for an answer he stood and went into the other room.
There was some shuffling of furniture and a couple of clasps being popped open, then the grunt of James standing up again. James returned with his hand covering a silver barrel and black pistol grip.
Warrick and Ian both pulled back, that moment of fright where they remembered clearly James threatening to stab them with a pitchfork. Daniel, though, leaned to one side to get a better look.
James held the gun out to Daniel and dropped it into his lap. “You ever see a real gun before?”
The three boys shook their heads. Daniel took the revolver and turned it over to see if there were any bullets inside.
“It’s not loaded,” said James. “That doesn’t mean you should stare down the barrel. I say it’s not loaded but it might be. Some people might forget if there’s a bullet inside. Some other people might know where a gun is hidden and put a bullet in there without telling anyone. But staring down a barrel with the cylinder in that position is like holding the tip of a knife to your throat as you feel a sneeze coming on. You might get lucky and not sneeze at all, or the blade is dull enough that you don’t cut yourself, but either way a lot of dumb kids stare down the barrel when they should know better.”
Daniel looked up to James. He had a curious sensation building in his groin, one of oncoming adulthood now that he was entrusted, even temporarily, with something that was limited to adults only. He felt a surge of pride run through his chest as he gripped the gun tighter. “How do you tell if it’s loaded?”
“You see that pin there? Pull it out.”
Daniel did as instructed and the cylinder popped out to the side. The six chambers were empty.
“You can now look down the barrel if you like, just don’t make a habit of it,” said James.
Daniel peered inside. He could see grooves spinning towards him.
“It’s a Smith & Wesson,” said James. “My dad had it and gave it to me a while back. It doesn’t have much range on it. But just know, I had that thing in my hand several nights when I saw you three in the back of my garden, smoking. I could see the lights of your cigarettes and I was damn near ready to shoot the three of you. So, I have spared your lives.”
Ian looked over at Daniel, confident now that the gun was empty and in the hands of a friend. “I heard you’re only supposed to put five bullets in it, even though it has room for six.”
James nodded. “You don’t keep a bullet in the chamber that lines up with the barrel. You see that part there? That’s called the hammer. That pulls back and snaps forward when you pull the trigger. That’s the part that hits the bullet. Get your finger or thumb caught in there, even when it’s empty, and it fucking kills. It’ll give you a blister that covers your entire thumb and it’ll feel like your whole hand is about to fall off. But yeah, if you keep a bullet in there, one little bump and that hammer might hit the bullet when you don’t want it to. If you have that gun in your pants like some black kid, you’re gonna end up shooting your dick off. Better to keep only five bullets in there than to lose your balls.”
“Have you fired it?” Ian asked.
“Of course.”
Daniel held the barrel up to his nose and sniffed it. He smiled, hoping that he could now recognise when a gun had been used or not. He closed the cylinder back into its rightful place. Ian nudged him.
“Can I hold it?”
“I guess,” said Daniel. He looked up to James for confirmation. James shrugged it off and Daniel handed it over.
“Cool,” mumbled Ian, surprised by how heavy it was.
“So, friendly warning,” said James. “Don’t come sneaking in here at night. I’m
sure we’re friends now, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to know you’re a friend until it’s too late, you got it?”
“Yeah,” said Ian, looking over the gun.
“You ever play guns?” James asked.
“No. My mum won’t let me.”
Warrick and Daniel shook their heads as well.
“Even fake guns?” James asked. “For fuck’s sake. Why not?”
“She says they’re dangerous and if someone sees me with a gun they might shoot me,” said Ian.
“You never even shot a tree?” James asked. “You can’t exactly hurt someone when you’re firing at trees.”
“She wouldn’t even give me a Soaker Blaster.”
“My dad’s fired some,” said Warrick. “He goes to a shooting range.”
“Uh, great,” says James. “Shooting paper targets. I bet if he tried to shoot an actual person he wouldn’t be so crash hot.”
Warrick’s voice fell quiet. “He says that’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point? Is he using that shit like some kind of new age yoga bullshit? Firing guns is relaxing or some crap?”
“I don’t know,” said Warrick.
“Does your mum fire guns as well?” James asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“I bet your dad goes off with his gun, fires it off, then comes home and fucks your mother stupid. Am I right?”
Warrick looked quickly to Daniel and Ian for help, but they were both wide eyed with surprise. “I don’t know.”
“Ha! Then that’s a no. Maybe he fires off his gun and begs your mum to stop farting in his face.”
Ian laughed. He pulled back on the hammer and rested his finger on the trigger. He clicked and heard a satisfying snap of the hammer.
“There you go,” said James. “Fire off a few rounds where you’re not going to shoot your balls off.”
Ian pulled back on the trigger a few more times, sending another snap of the hammer to satisfy his lust.
“Can I try?” Daniel asked.
Ian handed it over and Daniel fired off some imaginary bullets.
“You know when you’re older you can fire guns whenever you want? No one would let you now ‘cause you’re just kids. But when you’re men that’s when you can shoot a real gun.”