His mother’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “What’ve ya done, Son?”
He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. The shit he’d taken earlier was still fucking with his head. He looked back at his mother, who was staring at his hands and jeans. Her face appeared all puckered and creased as though she was going to cry.
“Why’s there blood on your hands?”
“Can’t talk now. Gotta get outta here before the pigs show up.”
“Whose blood is that?”
Grunting, he headed for his bedroom. He couldn’t let her distract him. The sirens in the distance were growing louder. Although it was the music of his neighbourhood, he knew the pigs would soon be performing in his dead-end street.
He kicked open his door, and switched on the light. The shit-brown curtains were closed and the room smelled of BO from the dirty clothes strewn over the floor. He’d shout at his mother for not cleaning it up if he wasn’t leaving for good. She worked as a cleaning lady, for Christ’s sake!
He snatched up his backpack off the floor and rifled through the wardrobe, stuffing clothes and shoes into it, then yanked open a drawer and grabbed his underwear and condoms. After pulling on his bag, he pushed past his mother and into her room, going straight for her jewellery box. He knew she stashed her grocery money there. Every Saturday he’d gotten into the habit of swiping some for booze.
She followed him. “No, boy, you can’t leave me.”
Without replying, he took the stash. Shit, he’d forgotten to wash his hands. Now there was blood on the money. He jammed it into his pocket and strode out of the room and into the bathroom. Soap and water soon removed the blood. He gave his face a quick rinse, then headed to his sister’s room and gave her a kiss. The little girl slept soundlessly under her pink Barbie duvet, her curly brown hair spread out on her pillow. Caitlin looked just like their mother; never going to win any beauty contests, but sweet nonetheless.
His mother grabbed his arm. “Please, Tama, don’t go.”
“Sorry, I hafta...”
She started sobbing. For fuck’s sake, she was giving him the guilts. He didn’t want to leave her alone to raise his half-sister. But then again, why should he blame himself? Yeah! It was his stepdad’s fault for going up north. The stupid git got thrown in the slammer. Unlike Seth, there was no way Tama was going to prison. He wouldn’t let the pigs catch him.
“I’ll visit when I can,” he added.
Her grip tightened. Dammit, she never listened. He shook her off, strode through to the dining-room, and yanked open the back ranch-slider. He could hear the sirens coming along Banks Street, almost at his road. He had to split. Now!
“Tama, don’t go!”
“Bye, Mum. Love ya.” He didn’t look back, just leapt over the railing that ran along the rear porch. He raced up the sloping backyard, clambered over the wire fence and onto the back of Claydon Primary School. The sirens were now playing their symphony down his street, the police lights providing special effects.
“Man, I need to piss,” he muttered, now regretting all the booze he’d drunk. Well, there was no way he’d risk stopping here. He sprinted across the grass and through a gate that led onto Finley Park.
Swings and slides filled the space behind Tama, while a network of playing fields lay before him. On his right, Auckland’s Sky Tower poked out from behind distant hills, the pointy structure bathed in mauve coloured lights. Beyond the park and a row of houses, the darkened waters of Manukau harbour merged with the night. Tama loved Finley Park. Ever since he was four he’d played touch rugby here, but much preferred the full on contact that came with the rugby matches held on Saturdays. Maia had ruined all of that for him now. No more rugby games. One stab wasn’t enough; he should have gutted the bitch.
He kept his eyes peeled for cops as he cut across the fields and over the road, past the Marae—the land where the Maori meeting house stood. Red stained carvings framed the triangular-shaped building, broken up blue and green Paua shells used for the eyes of the carved Maori faces. A naked, carved warrior, with a large head displaying a moko, stood at the apex. Tama ran a hand over his head, proud to show his heritage through his tattoo.
The street was dark, with hardly any lamp-posts to light up the night. For once the council’s cheap arse budget benefitted Tama, allowing him to take cover in the dark. He could just make out the road leading onto Jayden Green’s house. Good ole Jay would help him out, possibly giving him some cash or weed. Man, he wanted something harder to take off the edge. The cheap weed and beer he’d had earlier wasn’t enough for the excitement of the night.
Shit, he really needed to take a leak now or he’d be adding different bodily fluids to his jeans. He darted into the bushes, did the business, then took off down the dimly lit street. He ran past Jayden’s mouldy picket-fence, up the front steps of the square box his mate called home, and banged on the front door.
Lights went on, followed by shouting. “You fuckin’ answer it.” “No you.” “You effin’ ho.”
Tama looked at his neon watch. It was just past ten-thirty. Jayden and Leila were acting like two old farts going to bed so early. He sniggered. Maybe they hadn’t been sleeping.
A door slammed inside, followed by approaching footsteps. The front door creaked open a fraction.
Tama kicked it. “It’s me, fuckin’ open up.”
Jayden slipped the chain off and opened the door. He looked like he’d dressed hastily. The fly on his jeans was down, and he was shirtless, revealing a podgy gut and man boobs.
“Whatcha doin’ ‘ere?” Jayden asked. His eyes widened as he looked down at Tama’s blood stained pants. “Oh, shit, Tama, who’d ja cut?”
Tama pushed past and headed for the kitchen. After all that running, he was thirsty as hell.
Jayden grabbed his arm. Tama shook him off and opened the fridge. No matter how hard Jayden tried to appear tough he always looked comical. Except for being taller, and two shades lighter, his face looked just like Gary Coleman, with his wide nose, big lips, and fat cheeks. Tama had thought it was hilarious after he’d seen a rerun of Different Strokes a few months back, and had taken to teasing Jayden about it. Jayden would get mad and continually repeat, “I dunno who he iz.”
Tama took a can and sat down at the oval dining table. Jayden stood over him as he downed the beer. His mate looked like he was pouting and about to say, “What’chu talkin’ ‘bout, Willis?” It didn’t help Jayden’s case that his pronunciation was as poor as his pocket.
“For fuck’s sake! Answer me. Who’d ja cut?”
“Nike’s sister. Li’l bitch smart-mouthed me.”
Jayden’s hand swiped out, whacking Tama across the head. “Ya effin’ bastard. She’s just a kid.”
Tama jumped up and slammed him into the wall. “You fuckin’ touch me again, and I’ll waste ya.”
Jayden held his hands up. “Then I won’t help ya.”
“Whatever.” Tama pushed Jayden into the passage. “Just gimme some cash, weed, and a coat hanger, then I’ll shove off.”
Jayden glared at him. “Why should I fuckin’ give ya anything?”
Tama idly stroked the top of his switchblade. “Cos you’re my mate.”
Jayden’s gaze dropped to Tama’s hand. “You ain’t gonna cut me. Anyway, I’m skint. I can only give ya weed.”
Tama frowned. “Of course I ain’t gonna cut ya. Why would ja think that? You’re my mate.”
“You were strokin’ yo blade.”
“So? I stroke my dick too; don’t mean I stick it into every cunt I see.”
Jayden sniggered. “S’pose so.”
Something banged on the other side of the wall. Tama heard Leila’s voice, but couldn’t distinguish her words.
“What ‘bout Leila? She have any dough?” Tama asked.
Jayden grimaced. “Fuck no. She’s the reason I’m skint.”
Tama sighed. The weed would just have to do. He could always sell it if need be. “Gimme what ya got.
”
The door next to them creaked open and a bleary eyed Leila poked her head out, her afro out of control. “Will ya shut the fuck up so I can sleep?” She closed the door without so much as a, “What’s that blood on your pants?” or “Do ya wanna cuppa?”
Tama never understood why a hot piece like Leila was with Jayden. Even worse, she married him. Who the hell got hitched at eighteen, other than the freak Nike? Yeah, Jayden was a nice bloke, but all his mate could do well was grow weed and fix cars. Everything else he failed miserably at, including in the bedroom. Tama had heard all about it from Leila when he popped in for his regular visits while Jayden was at work.
Jayden followed Leila into the bedroom.
“Bloody turn off the light,” Leila yelled.
Jayden countered with a “Bitch” then a moment later he was back, slamming the door shut behind him.
“You ain’t gettin’ any for that,” Leila shouted.
Jayden ignored her and handed Tama the coat hanger and a bag of weed.
Tama stuffed the weed into his backpack. He held onto the coat hanger as he slapped Jayden across the arm. “You’re a good mate.”
Jayden nodded. “Where ya headin’ to?”
Tama rolled his eyes. Although Jayden was big, he was a wimp when it came to standing up to Maia’s brother. Jayden had made the one mistake of teasing Nike about his name in ninth grade, calling him, “Sneaker Boy.” Nike had made him pay for it ever since. Tama remembered walking into the Men’s once and seeing Nike holding Jayden’s head in the toilet bowl, flushing it. Both Tama and Nike had left school for good that day with more than a few bruises.
“I ain’t tellin’ ya that. You’ll spill when Nike comes round.”
Jayden ran a hand over his head. “Shit, he’s gonna do his nut in. Ya better take off before he finds out.”
Tama gave Jayden another friendly slap on the arm and strode towards the front door. He stepped outside and pumped his fists together in a gang salute. Jayden returned the gesture.
Tama took off, sprinting up the road. A parked Mazda caught his eye. He bent the coat hanger, angled it through the top of the window and down to hook it under the lock. In no time he was in the car working at the wires.
The car refused to start. Tama swore, realising it was just a wreck. In the distance sirens blared. He didn’t have time for this. He wanted to go to the real north, not some fucking prison.
Tama grabbed his bag and took off running, wishing he’d stabbed Maia’s brother instead. He hated the bastard! Nike thought he was better than him, that he wasn’t worth shit. Tama slowed to a stop. Nike would come after him regardless, whether he went to Kaitaia or Timbuktu. It may take a while, but Nike would eventually catch up with him. The bastard was like that, never able to let something go. No, he couldn’t leave until he’d taken care of Nike. Plus, Nike’s wife was pretty. God, he liked Jess, always had. She should have been his, not that prick’s. Yeah, he could also take care of Jess in a totally different way.
3
Nike
Sweat glistened across Nike’s chest. He grabbed Jess’s hips, scared that if she went any faster he’d shoot his load. He didn’t want to come yet; he wanted to make it last as long as possible. But fuck, she wasn’t helping. She just kept swaying her hips back and forth making his dick want to explode.
Jess gazed down at him with hooded eyes, her dark mascara and eyeliner smeared. He wiped it with a thumb and kissed her lips, loving the taste of the strawberry gloss. He wondered whether he could put it on her other lips and lick it off.
His hands moved back to her hips as she picked up speed. “Slower,” he gasped.
“No, I need it now.” Her voice was breathless, needy.
He tightened his grip. “I wanna make it last.”
A playful smile spread across her face as her fingers went for his ribs. Nike let go and grabbed her wrists, pulling her against his chest. She nuzzled into his neck, her lips working their way up to his left ear. He groaned as her body rocked against his. No longer able to control himself, he rolled her onto her back and started pumping fast, pistoning in and out, harder and harder.
Jess cried out, “Yessss ... fuck, yesssss!”
Her body clamped down, milking him for all he was worth. Nike closed his eyes as bliss overtook his body.
After the last pump, he withdrew and flopped onto his back. Jess got up and gingerly ran off to the shower, cupping herself so that his seed didn’t spill out. Nike couldn’t be arsed having a shower, he just wanted to sleep.
Water splashed in the next room. He imagined Jess lathering up her gorgeous tits. His balls tingled. He thought about it running over her plump arse, more than a handful. His cock began to harden. His baby had back alright, just the way he liked it. He didn’t like skinny chicks. They looked too brittle for a good fuck.
Jess started singing. Nike closed his eyes and grinned as she butchered a Beyoncé song. Jess thought she could sing because she scored well in Playstation’s karaoke games. He’d told her enough times that the machine was tone deaf, but she didn’t believe him.
Loud rap music started up from a neighbouring flat followed by a baby’s cries. Nike’s eyes snapped open, fucked off that the new neighbours had woken Jake again. He’d spoken to them only an hour ago.
He swung his legs out of bed, snatched up his briefs, and pulled them on. The phone went off. He grabbed it. “What?”
The sound of his mother crying made him straighten, her sobs drowning out her words.
“Mum, calm down. I can’t understand you.”
His stepdad’s raspy voice came over the line. “Maia’s been stabbed,” Rory said. “We’re at the hospital.”
Nike opened his mouth, but nothing came out. In the next room, the shower turned off followed by cupboards being opened and closed. Who would stab his li’l sis? She was just a kid.
Rory answered his unspoken question, “Tama did it.”
Nike gripped the phone. That fucker! He was going to kill him. The sick bastard was always harassing Maia for sex. Nike froze. Oh God, no ... did Tama rape her?
Jess walked in naked, with her hair wrapped in a towel and growling about the neighbours. In a daze, Nike watched her pull open a drawer. It scraped and got stuck halfway. She swore and yanked it open.
“You there, Nike?” Rory asked.
Nike snapped to. “How bad?”
“We don’t know. She’s still in surgery.”
“Did he...” Nike’s voice broke. “Did he rape her?”
“The cops only said she was stabbed.”
Jess’s head whipped around at Nike’s words. She walked towards him, her heavy breasts swaying. An uninvited trickle of breast milk glistened on her caramel-coloured skin. “What’s happened?” she asked.
“I’ll be there soon.” Nike hung up. “Maia’s been stabbed. I’ve gotta go.”
Jess stood still for a moment, her face shocked. “I’m comin’ too.”
“No, you stay with Jakey.” Nike ran into the bathroom. He could hear her rifling through the wardrobe as he took off his briefs and stepped into the shower.
After a quick clean, he grabbed fresh briefs and hopped into them, then threw on a shirt, his black courier jacket, and the jeans off the floor.
“I told ja to stay put,” he snapped as Jess grabbed her purse. He loved her, but shit, the woman never listened.
“I’ll get Jakey.” She ran out of the room.
Nike jammed his feet into his boots and shoved his wallet into his back pocket. He didn’t have time to argue. Anyway, he knew it would do no good. Since meeting Jess three years ago, at the age of fifteen, he’d found out that she was an expert at getting her own way.
He strode down the passage and into the small lounge. On the other side of the wall the rap music blared loudly, shaking the cheap shelves that Nike had haphazardly nailed up. Jake continued to cry as Jess pulled him out of his cot.
Nike grabbed his keys off the wall and opened the ranch-slider for J
ess and Jake, then locked up. They headed for the yellow courier van. Jess put Jake in his car-seat, while Nike revved up the engine. As soon as she was in he took off towards the hospital.
***
Middleton hospital—Nike hated the place. He’d been in there enough times to know. Nothing too serious: a broken nose, arm, finger and toe, a stabbed arm, and when he was four, a piece of Lego stuck up his nose. He’d jammed the stormtrooper helmet pretty far.
The Middleton waiting room was just like any other hospital. There was a lot of waiting, waiting, and ... more waiting. They’d been there since eleven and it was now going on midnight. Maia was still in surgery. The bastard Tama had stabbed her between the shoulder blades. His mother said Maia had come in without any breathing problems, so it looked like the knife hadn’t pierced her lungs. The police had left before Nike had gotten there, asked all the questions they could. Nike didn’t want them here anyway. They needed to get out there and look for Tama, just like he would once he knew his sister was going to pull through.
Nike pulled out a 7-up from the vending machine, and sat down next to Jess. Jake lay snuggled under a baby blanket, suckling from her breast. Nike opened the can, and took a swig, while he eyeballed the back of Rory’s bald head. His forty-year-old stepdad was sitting a few seats away, busy on his iPhone. Rory was addicted to the internet and was on it for most of the day. Nike didn’t understand why his mother put up with him. What kind of man sent his woman out to work while he sat on his arse? A fucking lazy one.
Nike glanced at his mother. She was pacing in front of the nurses’ station, her gaze following every doctor who walked past. She was overweight and had bad eczema around her mouth. As usual, he thought she looked exhausted, much older than her thirty-eight years. At times he worried that she was going to end up like his nanna, dying before she hit forty.
Behind the Hood (Behind the Lives) Page 2