Animal Kingdom (3 page)

He tried to distract himself by looking at the sky. There were sort of hazy, filmy clouds streaked overhead and a plane really high up was leaving a white trail behind.

A car pulled up beside them with a couple of hoons looking for a bit of aggro. ‘Hey, buddy, hey,' the short-haired Leb on the passenger side yelled, and, slowly looking up from his mobile like something rising from the swamp, Craig squinted, skewering the bogan with his gaze.

‘The light's green, you idiot,' the guy persisted, unable to read the deathly stillness behind Craig's eyes.

But Craig just let him hang there, not saying anything.

‘You got a staring problem, mate?' the Leb taunted, a nasty sneer smeared across his lips. ‘What the fuck are you looking at?'

Craig just smiled that mean, hungry, predatory smile of his. The kind of smile you save for tasty tidbits.

‘Ya fuckin' gimmick,' the Leb snarled incomprehensibly as the car raced off.

Reaching under the seat, Craig pulled out a black 9mm and handed it to J, and, putting the car into gear, took off after them.

J had never held a gun before or even to his knowledge been in a room where there was one. So to have it sitting there in his lap like a cold, hard fact, with his hand wrapped around its textured grip, was something more than a new experience: it was an epiphany.

‘Is this thing loaded?' he asked.

Craig looked at him, like
What do you expect?

What was he supposed to do with it? What had Craig handed it to him for? But Craig wasn't answering any questions as he shot along the Parade, weaving in and out of the traffic after the other car. And there was no question he meant to end it on his own terms.

Chasing the hoons through the back streets, Craig was obviously enjoying himself. There was nothing like the thrill of the chase to get the blood pumping.

And so were the two Lebs. Hanging a left, taking a right. Everyone wants to be a gangster. Chucking a handbrake turn like they'd seen in
Tokyo Drift
, ducking and weaving as they raced ahead of them, doing burnouts and wheelies, tear-arsing around corners—this was the most fun anyone had had for quite a while.

With Craig tailgating them the whole way and J hanging on for dear life.

They'd brake and Craig would swerve; Craig'd started overtaking and they'd do a U-ey. Great fun all round.

And all with deadly serious intent. The boys had picked the wrong nose to pull, and Craig was going to stick something long and hard right up them and then squeeze the trigger.

J still didn't know what his role was going to be. Getting in the car for a ride with your uncle and winding up an accessory to murder wasn't exactly his idea of a fun family day out, but maybe it wasn't murder Craig was thinking of. Maybe it was something worse. Things were moving a bit too fast for him to really suss how mad it was all going to get. Still, seeing where it had started, and given the nature of his family, J was definitely apprehensive.

Cornering the Lebs in a dead-end street with a narrow, dirty lane the only way out, Craig saw the Jap bomb they were driving slow to a halt in front of him, and, putting on his own brakes, waited to see what would happen next.

And then the real fun began.

The short-fused git who had started it all hopped out, roaring like King Kong on heat. ‘Come on, come outside! I'll deck you, mate!' he bellowed, thumping his chest. ‘Come outside!'

‘Go get him, tiger,' Craig said.

‘And do what?' J asked nervously.

‘Let him know who's the real king,' Craig answered as the guy stomped around, revving himself up and calling ‘Come on, idiot! Come outside!'

You could see this was what the Leb had been looking for. After a week of shit or his girlfriend dumping him or something, he was just looking to get his rocks off and
let it rip
back-street style. He had no idea who he was dealing with and how out of his league he was.

Struggling with his door, J clambered out, still uncertain what he was going to do, and looking like what he was: a pale, frightened schoolboy. The Leb guy was going to eat him; he was going to pulverise him. But, raising the gun, J pointed it straight at him.

Wasn't that a game-changer!

Throwing his hands up, Big Mouth started to back off fast. ‘Hey, hey, hey—hey, brother,' the guy said, ‘just relax, man,' like he was a UN peacekeeper. ‘I just wanted to have a chat to him.'

But J wasn't anyone's brother, and certainly not this idiot's. He was the man with the gun, and, while it might have been shaking in his hand, it was still his finger on the trigger, and his eye looking down the barrel.

Craig was loving it, chuckling as the Leb shat bricks.

The driver had already made himself scarce, like the good friend he was, and was swinging the car around to take off as fast as his two-stroke shit-box could manage, when the Leb noticed him running and, turning tail himself, squawked, ‘Fuck this, man,' and jumped in. Slamming into the laneway, they were so anxious to get away that they scraped both sides of their car as they barrelled through the garbage cans, disappearing in a cloud of flying shit and rubbish as the neighbours started piling out to see what the commotion was.

Craig was cracking up. It was just the sort of happy ending he liked, the kind of thing to make getting up in the morning worthwhile.

‘How'd that feel?' he beamed as J got back in the car, still trembling; but J didn't know what he felt—he was still in shock.

‘Did you get a stiffy?' Craig asked enthusiastically, imagining that J was just as big a dick as he was.

J hadn't noticed. Maybe he had, but he'd been packing it as much as the Leb guy.

Reaching over and grabbing him by the neck, his uncle gave him a knuckle haircut, shaking him good-naturedly. ‘A bit of fun, hey?' he cried happily.

It wasn't J's idea of fun; he was just glad it was over. But at least Craig was in a better mood than when they'd left the pet shop. Maybe Craig was right, and it was fun, and J just had to loosen up a bit and learn how to live.

Wait till Craig told Darren about this. And there they were thinking J might not have what it took to be a Cody. Son of a gun, that sister of theirs hadn't turned him into a nancy boy after all. He was one mean dude.

That night, they ate out. They tended to eat out or get takeaway—pizza, KFC, ribs—nobody did much cooking. Smurf said she'd done enough when they were kids; she wasn't going to do it now they were all adults. J didn't believe it and had never seen her cook a thing. His own mother had been the same. Couldn't cook an egg. J'd learned a little bit at school but wasn't much better. He'd probably be the same when he had his own place. Didn't much like food, anyhow.

But if he was a mean dude, he didn't feel like it. Not right afterwards, anyway. Once he'd calmed down and put the gun away it was okay. He even started to feel good. Not cocky, exactly, but the sight of those two guys running for it had been pretty funny, and they'd sure done some damage to their car as they'd scraped their way down the lane to get away. That would teach them for being rude. J didn't want to repeat it, but in the end he wasn't upset that it had happened.

So by the time they'd all gone down to the local Vietnamese for a bit of Asian, he'd started to chill.

Craig was still in a good mood from the day's adventure, or maybe he was just pissed after a few beers, but he was joking around with Nicky on the other side of the table, trying to get her to open her mouth so he could throw a prawn in it.

Nicky was J's girlfriend from school, and this was the first time she'd ever met his
other
family, the one he'd never mentioned before. Not because he was ashamed of them—he hardly even knew them—just that he didn't want her family to know he was part of the Cody clan and all that it involved. Smurf and his uncles were what you'd call
well known
to the police and anyone who read the Sunday papers. Not for anything really bad: mainly for the company they kept.

Right now the company they were keeping was their own, and that was wild enough. You could see Nicky was a bit overwhelmed because, the fact was, they were overwhelming.

‘I'll give you a hundred bucks,' Craig was saying, taking aim with the prawn.

Nicky was tempted, but wasn't sure if he was taking the piss.

‘Honey, people are watching,' Smurf scolded, but you could see she was enjoying it too.

‘Yeah, come on, Craig,' Darren said, sounding like he was bawling him out, but really egging him on.

Smurf smiled indulgently at her sons. There was nothing like a bit of good, harmless fun, a bit of horseplay to blow off tension and make you feel at home.

‘Two hundred,' Craig said, raising the stakes. ‘I'll give you two hundred bucks.'

That was definitely worth making yourself look like an idiot, even if she wasn't sure he'd pay up. Still, there was something weirdly sexual that she couldn't quite put her finger on about having someone toss something into your mouth.

‘Would you fucking motivate your girlfriend?' Craig said to J, exasperated.

Baz could see Nicky was getting a little nervous and came to her rescue. ‘Mate, just let her alone.'

But Craig wasn't letting anyone alone, especially not the pretty little pale girl with the dark hair and brown eyes J had brought to their table to play with. Flicking the prawn expertly through the air, he landed it with a plop in her giggling mouth.

‘That's the way—awesome!' he shouted, punching the air as she collapsed chortling and glancing around, embarrassed at what she'd just realised she'd let him do.

‘Hey, so Nicole's a sweetie,' Baz said a little later as he dried his hands under the electric dryer while J stood at the urinal. ‘Where'd you find her?'

‘Found her at school,' J said, finishing up and heading for the door. He wasn't forthcoming at the best of times. He'd found keeping your trap shut was the best policy.

‘Where you going?' Baz asked.

‘What?' J said, not sure what he was getting at.

‘You wash your hands?'

J still didn't get it. ‘No,' he answered blankly.

‘Well, you had your hands on your cock,' Baz said.

J looked away, embarrassed. What business was it of
Baz's
what J did with his cock?

‘Your hands go anywhere near your arse or your cock, you wash 'em after.'

Geez, since when was Baz put in charge of the personal hygiene brigade?

‘Little bit of soap,' he said, leading J to the basin.

J couldn't believe he was letting him do this.

‘Now some water. Get a lather going.'

Fuck, how old did he think he was? J knew how to wash his hands; he just … didn't.

‘Okay, that's enough. Now rinse,' Baz said.

J was
so
embarrassed.

‘Now stick your hands under there,' Baz continued, leading him to the dryer.

It wasn't that Baz was being mean—not in the way Craig or Darren would have done it, like browbeating him or anything, making him look like an idiot so they could feel good about themselves. Baz was just making a point, and the point was, you wash your hands after you go to the toilet. Fair enough.

‘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.'