Disharmony Page 4

  ‘Argh! Aunty, what are you doing?’

  Tamas swung his hips away from the blows. Samantha knew that although those shoulders could have picked Esmeralda up and carried her easily, he did not dare pull away from his aunty when she was in a mood like this. Although the spoon couldn’t be hurting him much, Oody raced around madly, barking like a machine gun, weaving in and out of Esmeralda’s legs.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ Tamas yelled. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’

  Oody’s barking drew Hero, the tiny dog racing in as quickly as his name would imply. Bo followed, waving a stick with a hanky for a flag, hollering at the top of his lungs, just because he could and everyone else was. Lala limped along behind them, shaking her fist in the air, yelling at Bo to calm down. Samantha hid her laughter behind her hands as Mirela stood up and did a special belly dance for her cousin, mimicking Tamas’s attempts to dodge the spoon. Mirela shouted with laughter and her black hair streamed around her face like ribbons.

  Samantha’s chest felt warm, like her heart was smiling too. The Gaje might telephone the police if they were watching a scene like this, but this was her crazy family and they’d die for one another.

  Dwight Juvenile Justice Detention Centre, Sydney, Australia

  June 27, 9.50 a.m.

  Luke sat in the locker room, wrapped in his towel, squashed between Zac and Jonas, all waiting for their turn in the shower. Rain hammered down on the tin roof above them, drowning the voices of the other boys also wrapped in towels, shivering, waiting.

  Even with the noise of the rain, no one dared speak much above a whisper. Dorm Four had been told that in addition to no TV tonight, they were in ‘silent mode’ – no speaking until morning. Not that many people were talking to Zac and Luke.

  Jonas moved to scrunch even closer to the strip heater on the wall. ‘It’s friggin’ freezing,’ he said, his lips blue.

  Luke turned to Zac. ‘What classes have you got today, Zac?’ he asked.

  ‘Metalwork,’ said Zac, swimming in one of the towels that barely met in the middle around Jonas’s waist. ‘And um, landscaping, I think. You?’

  ‘Same,’ Luke grinned. ‘You must be in Section Six too.’

  ‘Man, Holt hates you guys,’ said Jonas.

  ‘What’s wrong with Section Six?’ asked Zac. ‘Metalwork doesn’t sound that bad.’

  ‘All the Sections get to do metalwork, idiot,’ said Jonas. ‘And everyone gets computer lab too – well, except Black, here. He could probably teach that class, but he’s banned from the lab. But that’s not what you need to understand about Section Six. Section Six is where they put all the crabs.’

  ‘Crabs?’ said Zac.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Luke. ‘Losers who don’t do what they’re told.’

  ‘People who screw everything up for the rest of us,’ said Jonas, frowning. ‘Do you know that Terminator III is on at eight-thirty? You guys better watch your backs tonight.’

  ‘Holt’s not on tonight,’ said Zac.

  ‘Holt’s not the only one you need to worry about in here, Nguyen,’ said Jonas. ‘Holt gets other people to do his counselling for him.’

  ‘What’s counselling?’ asked Zac.

  ‘What Luke got last night,’ said Jonas.

  ‘From Jason Taylor?’ said Zac. ‘And that fat Toad? Whatever.’

  Luke laughed. His lip split a little and he tasted metal. He wiped the smear of blood with the back of his hand.

  ‘At least we got metalwork next,’ he said. ‘Best class of the week. Landscaping’s gonna suck in this weather, though.’

  ‘I don’t know…’ said Zac, standing as Hong Lo, Kitkat and Barry walked into the locker rooms, faces red from their hot showers. His eyes met Luke’s. ‘I’m pretty good with plants.’

  ***

  ‘Mr Blainey is one of the reasons that metalwork is the best class of the week,’ said Luke to Zac, pointing with his chin at the crumpled-looking man at the front of the cold room.

  They were sharing the back work table, Luke ensuring he got there first, just as he did for every metalwork class.

  Zac studied their teacher: his glowing crimson cheeks and nose; his oversized, stained woollen jumper. ‘So he’s good at metalwork?’ he said, frowning.

  ‘Oh, he’s a great teacher,’ said Luke. ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘Okay, Section Six, what are you up to today?’ asked Mr Blainey, flipping a page on a clipboard. ‘Ah, that’s right, still on toolboxes. Have to stay basic for you boys, don’t we? Clarkson, get up here and unlock the supply cupboard. Those of you who’ve got a toolbox started can approach single file and take your project. If you haven’t started making a toolbox yet, you’ll find instructions and equipment in the boxes on my desk. Take only one kit. And please remember, any screwing around and you’ll have no visitors this weekend and no privileges for the rest of your stay here. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Blainey,’ chorused Section Six.

  ‘And don’t forget – it’s two people only on the grinder at a time. Fifteen-minute shifts.’ Blainey positioned himself back behind his desk.

  Luke queued for the supply cupboard while Zac collected his starter kit from the teacher’s desk. He figured that he should be feeling a thousand times worse after the run this morning, but for some reason the exercise and the hot shower had actually helped. At least it didn’t hurt so much to breathe, but he figured that he wasn’t going to be seeing much out of his eye for a while.

  When he’d collected his half-constructed metal toolbox, he made his way back to the desk where Zac waited.

  Zac ran a finger down the instruction sheet in his hand.

  ‘Seems pretty lame,’ said Zac. ‘Who wants to make a toolbox? What am I gonna do with that?’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Luke. ‘I much prefer the actual tools myself.’

  He reached carefully under the workbench, eyes on Mr Blainey who had reclined further in his chair and put his feet up on the desk.

  ‘Good old Blainey,’ he said. ‘Almost asleep already. He’s a drunk, you know.’

  From under the bench he pulled out two pieces of metal: an oversized nail and a flat narrow piece that was as long as his hand.

  ‘What are they?’ asked Zac.

  ‘Not finished yet, is what they are right now,’ said Luke. ‘But what they will be is a pick and a torque wrench.’

  Zac raised his eyebrows, his face a question.

  ‘A lock-picking set,’ Luke smiled. ‘I stashed these here last week.’

  Zac looked sceptical. ‘How are you gonna pick a lock with them?’

  Luke glanced around. Everyone was bent over their desks, filing. Clarkson and Hooley were on the grinder. Luke was up next. He checked his watch. Five minutes to go.

  ‘Have you ever even seen a lock-picking set, Nguyen?’ he said.

  ‘Ah, no. It’s not the kind of thing we had hanging around my house.’

  ‘Well, it’s exactly the kind of thing we had hanging around my house. Well, the house of Foster Parents Number Six, anyway.’

  Good old Dick and Frances. I wonder whether they’re happy with their new kitchen, he thought. They never did thank me for setting fire to their old one.

  ‘My foster father was a locksmith,’ he said. And a violent bible-basher who flogged me every night to beat the devil out of me. ‘Best foster placement I ever had. I used to practise with his tools every night, and when I left, he donated them to me.’

  Well, maybe not exactly donated.

  ‘Cool,’ said Zac. ‘So how do you do it?’

  ‘With a lot of practice. But once you get it, you just get it, and it’s so easy. See this nail? Watch this.’

  He used a pair of pliers to bend the top quarter of the nail over to a ninety-degree angle. Then he tossed it high in the air, caught it, and twirled it in his fingers in front of Zac’s eyes.

  ‘See, now it’s a torque wrench. And now I’m gonna grind this other bit of metal so that this end bends up a little, and th
at’ll be my rake. You use the rake as your scrubber.’

  ‘You use the rake as your scrubber?’ Zac snorted. ‘What the hell language are you speaking? What are you talking about?’

  Luke used the tools to demonstrate his words.

  ‘Look. You put both of these inside the barrel of most locks and you can open it in ten seconds. Inside the lock there are these five little pins, and you use the rake to scrub over them. It sort of loosens them, and then this torque wrench,’ he twirled the nail between his fingers, ‘will engage the lock. You hit the sweet spot and pop, it’s open.’

  Zac stared at the nail and piece of metal and raised an eyebrow again. Yeah right, he said, without saying anything.

  Luke sighed. ‘It’s actually easier to do it than to explain it. Anyway, these are just the most basic tools. But they’ll crack any of the crappy old tumbler locks they use around this place.’

  ‘Well, I’d have to see that to believe it,’ said Zac.

  Luke grinned. ‘Maybe you’ll get to one day, but right now, it’s our turn on the grinder. Bring your stuff. I need you for cover.’

  He made his way over to the grinding table with his soon-to-be-very-useful tools hidden in the toolbox. He helped Zac unpack his kit, keeping half an eye on Blainey. The teacher had his open-mouthed-snore-thing going on. Pretty soon he’d have a stream of spit connecting his lip to his shirt collar.

  Luke quickly shaped his rake, sparks flaring briefly from the screaming hot metal as he pressed it against the grinder.

  The reshaping took just a couple of minutes. He studied his new tool, still hot from the grinder. He felt Zac watching him and gave him a quick grin before slipping the rake into his sock, next to the nail.

  He straightened, studied Blainey: dead flesh, or as good as, anyway. He turned to Zac, who had deftly begun the first stage of his toolbox, his beetle-black hair a glossy hardhat.

  ‘You get used to it. The neglect, I mean. You know, I could be here welding your thumb to your ankle, and Blainey would snooze on regardless. What happens is that they send us all the teachers who have been kicked out of the education system. But you look like you’ve done this before, anyway.’

  ‘Well, it’s not that hard to read instructions,’ said Zac.

  ‘It is for ninety per cent of the kids in here,’ said Luke. ‘Most of them can’t read the exit sign over there.’

  Zac continued to work with the tin in front of him.

  ‘But doesn’t everyone steal all this stuff?’ he said after a moment. ‘I mean, what with Blainey sleeping?’

  ‘We get searched,’ said Luke. ‘Well, we’re supposed to. He wakes up when the bell goes and does a basic search. But this is why I love Blainey. He’s never very dedicated at doing anything, if you know what I mean.’

  Zac nodded.

  Luke watched him, and decided to try his special guessing game – figuring people out. Understanding why people did things had kept him alive more than once. Let’s see, what would little Zac Nguyen be locked up in here for? Stealing a car? Hmm, maybe.

  ‘How long is your sentence, Zac?’ he asked.

  Zac kept his eyes on his work. ‘That’s usually the second question people ask in here. Aren’t you supposed to ask me what I’m in for?’

  ‘Aren’t you innocent anyway? Everyone else in here seems to be.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Zac laughed. ‘Well, I got twelve months.’

  Luke whistled. Okay, all right, so it’s either a repeat offence or maybe he screwed up a suspended committal – he got charged again when he was on a bond for something else.

  ‘Ever been in before?’ he asked.

  ‘Nope.’

  Something pretty serious, then.

  ‘How many times had you been to court before this one?’ he asked.

  ‘Never,’ said Zac.

  So… maybe he stole a car and someone got hurt?

  ‘Did you steal a car and kill someone?’ said Luke.

  ‘Ah… No. Not lately.’ Zac stared at him. ‘Why don’t you just ask me what I’m in for?’

  ‘What are you in for?’

  ‘Assault.’

  ‘Right. That makes sense. With the whole ninja thing you did last night. Thanks for doing that, by the way.’

  ‘I hate bullies.’

  ‘Well, you’re gonna love it in here then, Nguyen,’ said Luke, beginning to pack up. ‘Because that’s exactly how the screws control us. They’ve got their own little private army. They’re the generals, Toad and his buddies are the soldiers, and we’re the enemy. Oh, and you do know that Taylor, Toad and Holt are now gonna make it their life’s mission to make you sorry you were born?’

  Zac shrugged.

  ‘Come on,’ Luke said. ‘We gotta get off this machine. Watson’s waiting for his turn.’

  Back at their bench, Luke shaped a handle for Zac’s toolbox using a spare piece of tin. ‘That must have been a pretty bad assault,’ he said, positioning the handle. He knew that first-offence assault charges usually didn’t involve a custodial sentence, let alone twelve months.

  Zac’s mouth turned down a little. ‘He was a bad guy. I taught him a lesson.’

  ‘You must have done, to get twelve months.’

  ‘He had people around him with a lot of money and a good lawyer, that’s all.’

  ‘So what did you do to him?’

  Luke always asked for the war stories. It was worth a shot to see whether something could shock him, make his heart race a little like he heard people talk about. It hadn’t happened yet. But Nguyen seemed different to everyone else.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ said Zac, turning to face him. Luke was only average height, but Zac had to tilt his head back to eyeball him. ‘I’m here,’ he said. ‘Who cares how I got here?’

  ‘All right, all right. Don’t get all emotional, Princess.’

  ‘Why are you in here?’ said Zac. ‘Why don’t you tell me something about yourself for once?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ said Luke.

  He laughed when he saw Zac’s face. This guy has anger issues. I like him. I’d like to have some anger issues. They sound like fun.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘We’ll bond later. The bell’s about to go.’

  JUNE 27, 12.30 P.M.

  In the dining hall, Luke took a seat in the Section Six area. He thought that maybe he was hungry now, but he wasn’t sure how well he was going to be able to chew with his mouth hurting this bad. He prodded gingerly at his jaw. He had a terrible headache radiating right from that spot.

  A wrapped sandwich and an apple sat on his plate; two big plastic jugs of water waited in the middle of the table. Mmm, yum. Not.

  Although they weren’t allowed to begin eating until instructed, Luke flipped the sandwich over to see what their lunch would be today.

  Please don’t be tuna, please don’t be tuna, he told the sandwich. The smell gave it away. Tuna. He took a closer look. Tuna and mayonnaise. Ick. The bread was sodden; he could feel it limp and oozing through the clingwrap. Despite his still-healing lip, he smiled widely: Toad was on permanent kitchen duty and would be watching for his reaction. If he grimaced, he’d be eating tuna every day until he got out of here.

  It was moments like these that he hated Zecko Sevic the most. He wouldn’t be in here if it wasn’t for him.

  He’d dealt just fine with the welfare department until Zecko had been hired and appointed his case manager. For his first twelve years, Welfare didn’t make much of a fuss of Luke at all. And that had been fine by him. The only time they made contact was when he’d stuffed up another foster care arrangement. They’d give him a new case manager who would go about doing their best to find him another family. And that was that. Until case manager Zecko Sevic came on the scene. After Dick and Frances.

  Although Luke had made certain that Dick knew he’d done the fiery redecoration of their kitchen, he’d also ensured that no one could actually prove it, so nobody came right out and accused him. But
Zecko seemed to have it sussed and he made it his mission to take Luke under his wing. Maybe that could have been a good thing for a kid in the welfare system who actually wanted an adult to help them. But it wasn’t the fact that Luke didn’t need or want any help that made Zecko the biggest pain in the butt. The problem with Zecko was that every time he took Luke ‘under his wing’, Luke came close to being taken off the welfare books. Permanently. As in dead.

  Like the time Zecko had arranged for him to clean the second-floor windows at the rec centre. And then pushed the scaffolding out from under him. Luke had managed to grab hold of a ledge at the last minute, yelling and shouting until help arrived; Zecko was well gone by then.

  And then there was that weekend when Zecko arranged a camping trip for twenty under-privileged kids. Zecko had been in a great mood on the bus all the way to the river campsite. He’d been smiling fit to burst when he taught them all to make damper. And when he got a rifle out of the back of the bus and told them he was going to teach them all to shoot, he’d been positively beaming. Luke dodged two stray bullets that weekend and slept under the bus with one eye open.

  He knew there was no point trying to tell anyone about Zecko – who was going to believe him? But he’d spent a lot of nights after that camping trip coming up with a plan to get him out of the way.

  Then Zecko tried again. This time, on the way to a new foster placement, he’d gone all out. In a backstreet in Stanmore, Zecko gunned his departmental Holden up to seventy and aimed the passenger side straight for the corner of a factory. Luke had seen the crazy in Zecko’s eyes just in time and hurled himself across the seat, pushing with all his might at the steering wheel. The Holden got a new front end after it hit a row of wheelie bins. Zecko got a bravery award for wrestling control of the car from a suicidal juvenile delinquent. Two civilians on the street got twenty grand from the media for their mobile phone footage of the crash. And Luke got eight months in Dwight. His past computer-fraud charges didn’t help in court.

  Now, in the Dwight dining hall, Luke cut his eyes to the Section One tables, suddenly salivating at the smell wafting over from there. Toad waved back at him, gesturing to his plate as if it were a prize. Oh my God. They had meat pies. Sausage rolls. Sauce. And in the centre of each table – two-litre bottles of Coke. Oh man. Luke waved back to Toad and blew him a kiss for good measure.