Care Factor Zero Page 4

  Nick saw her look of madness. It was true, then. Pity. She would’ve been good on the game. Tiger-wild. But he couldn’t take a chance with an unstable, temperamental bitch. The fork was raised higher.

  ‘I’ll kill you,’ she hissed, standing up, poised to lunge with the fork. She couldn’t kill him with a fork, but she could take out one of his eyes. He knew he had to be cool. Any sign of fear from him and she’d strike.

  ‘Give me the fork.’

  ‘No.’

  He put out his hand, palm upwards. Larceny raised her arm. She looked at him, ready to plunge it down hard on his hand if he showed any fear, but his face was expressionless. She leaned over the table, her face an angry mask, and raised her arm higher. His eyes followed her arm and widened slightly as he sucked in his breath. Then he immediately seemed to gain control of himself. He leaned forward.

  ‘Give me the fork.’

  His eyes stayed on her face.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Give me the fork!’

  His voice was devoid of expression and thus controlling in its unemotive tone. Suddenly, with an angry resistance, she dropped it into his outstretched hand. He’d won!

  ‘That’s better.’

  She slumped at the table, waiting warily to see what he would do. But part of her felt triumphant. The grey mists had come, but there had been no voices. The anger had come from her own will. So, she was not defeated! She’d lost the battle but not the war. With herself. She straightened her shoulders and faced him.

  ‘What do you want?’ she said.

  ‘Not what I first thought,’ he said coldly. ‘I was going to give you a job. But you’re too unstable. You’re mad.’

  Larceny smiled. She was calm. Rational.

  ‘Mad? I don’t think so. Work for you? No way!’

  Nick felt confused. She was completely sane at the moment, back in control of the situation and herself.

  ‘Right. I’ve eaten. I’m outa here.’

  ‘Relax. There’s no hurry. Do you smoke?’

  He didn’t mean cigarettes. He uncoiled himself, went over to a drawer and pulled out a small carved box. Inside were neatly rolled reefers. He proffered the box.

  Larceny blinked. She could almost feel the mellowing-out, the taste on her tongue.

  ‘It’s top stuff.’

  Tempted, Larceny stared at the box.

  ‘Go on, take it,’ said a voice in her head.

  ‘No!’ she snapped, pushing the box away.

  ‘You don’t do any drugs at all?’

  He sounded surprised.

  ‘No.’

  She thought of all the shit she’d used in the past, dope, alcohol, pills. And the junk they’d stuffed into her when she’d stayed in psych hospitals: valium, serapax, ritilin, injections of modecate when she’d gone off the planet. And lithium. All of it had made her dopey and controllable, but it hadn’t got rid of the demons in her head. Or the anger. Or the bitterness.

  ‘Nothing at all?’

  ‘No. Cigarettes, coffee, some alcohol. Not that it’s any of your business!’

  ‘Most runners are into drugs.’

  ‘Who said I’m a runner? Who said anything? Just leave me alone will you? I don’t need you or anyone else!’

  She jumped to her feet and grabbed her bag.

  ‘I’m outa here. Now!’

  She thought he’d try to stop her, but he didn’t. He just sat watching her with his brooding dark eyes, as she hoisted up her bag, wheeled, and headed for the door. She expected him to follow, to pull her, and shove some narcotic into her arm. He didn’t move.

  She stormed down the passage to the front door. Expecting deadlocks or some complicated device, Larceny was surprised when the handle turned easily as she grabbed it. She swept down the front steps into the street, pausing to gaze up briefly through the rain at the apartment building. He was standing on the balcony looking down at her, the roof sheltering him from the rain.

  ‘Loser!’ mouthed Larceny up at him, and did the famous finger salute. Then, turning her back, she headed off down the street.

  Nick smiled to himself. He’d finally met her and satisfied his curiosity. She could run, but it wouldn’t do her any good. Eventually he’d track her down through his vast network which stretched like tentacles through the underworld. He was a powerful man with powerful connections. The little shit thought she’d beaten him, but when he was ready, he’d reel her back in. He’d changed his mind. He could use her in his business. Some men would find her instability exciting.

  He went back to reading his paper. Something had thrown her when she’d been reading it. His curiosity was piqued. Why had she done a runner? Jake’d said on the phone that something had really upset her. Well, upset or not, dressed up in the right gear she’d be a stunner. Was she mad? Or just very clever? He tossed the paper down and went to make a phone call.

  Larceny kept walking through the driving rain. Her jacket soon became sodden, and her hair hung in damp strands round her head. She walked with determination towards the city, down Domain Road, across St Kilda Road, over the bridge, and back through the misery of a wintry Melbourne day to Flinders Street station.

  It was the only home she had.

  She took off her jacket. It was cold. She was better wearing the wet jacket than not, so she put it on again. She wandered up and down, bought a magazine and a cup of coffee, though she wasn’t really hungry. It was just something to do. She looked at her watch and sighed. It was only nine. How was she going to fill in the day? Maybe suss out a few stores? Or get a tram down to St Kilda beach and look at the bay for a while? In the rain? Nah.

  She headed off across the street and spent the next few hours walking and watching, going in and out of shops, fingering the goods just for the hell of it, buying a burger when she finally felt hungry. She found herself gravitating back to Flinders Street station again. Loneliness gripped her like spiteful pincers round her heart. No one knew her, no one cared. Well, she didn’t care about anyone, either. She had money in her pocket, food in her belly and a roof over her head, if the cops didn’t give her grief. Who cared if nobody cared?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘Hey, Larceny!’

  Someone knew her name? She swung round, and there was Lynx and several of the streeties, another guy and two girls. A nice, neat foursome. What did they want with her?

  She faced them warily.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Lynx.

  ‘Sunbaking, what do you think?’

  He laughed, running his hands through his shiny black hair. He did it gracefully. A poser? He squatted down against the wall, hunkering on his heels. The other three lounged, watching her, idly interested to see what would happen next. Lynx didn’t usually chat up strays. It was out of character. One of the girls, short and dumpy, pulled out a packet of smokes and offered one to Larceny. She hesitated. Then she took it.

  ‘This is Frantik.’

  He jerked his thumb at the tall rangy guy dressed in denim who stood staring at Larceny. He had a shaved head and his scalp looked blue with cold. His eyes were darting all over the place. Coming down off something, Larceny thought; speed or maybe ecstasy. He swung a rucksack by one strap, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards like a pendulum.

  ‘This is Comma and this is Bex,’ said Lynx.

  ‘I’m Comma,’ said the dumpy one.

  The other one, spike-haired and tough-looking, flicked her eyes insolently over Larceny, then turned her head and kissed Comma full on the lips. So that’s how it is, thought Larceny. Did it mean that Lynx and Frantik were an item, too? Not that she cared. Sex meant letting someone get physically close to her, and the thought was repugnant. Her sexuality wasn’t an issue. She didn’t know whether she was hetero, gay or bi. If she had to define herself, she would’ve said asexual. Asexual. That was it. She didn’t get urges and she didn’t fancy anyone, not even herself!

  ‘Where are you from?’ asked Bex in a bored voice, deliberately draping her arm r
ound Comma to mark out her territory.

  ‘Everywhere and nowhere.’

  Frantik nodded.

  ‘I know that scene, man,’ he said. His voice was deep and gruff. What was he called? Frantik, wasn’t it? Larceny frowned. She knew that name from somewhere …

  ‘I’ve seen your work,’ she said suddenly, remembering the graffiti she’d seen on walls. ‘You’re good.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Lynx was still studying her through slitted eyes. She locked eyes with him. His nationality puzzled her. Greek? No. Maybe Puerto Rican? He grinned.

  ‘Indian/Fijian,’ he said, reading her mind. ‘I’m the only one in Australia.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I’m the only one I’ve met, that’s why.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Bex impatiently. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Why?’ said Lynx, still staring at Larceny. ‘What’s your hurry?’

  Bex looked bored. She whispered something to Comma and they both giggled, looking at Larceny.

  ‘We’re going down to the beach. See ya.’

  They walked off, arm in arm. Frantik unfolded himself from the wall and followed. Lynx stayed put, hands on his knees, gazing up.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘Coming to the beach?’

  ‘In the rain?’

  ‘Why not?’

  He stood up. Larceny considered his question.

  ‘Yeah, why not. I’m not doing anything else right now.’

  The others were waiting, huddled against the outside wall like wet sparrows. In the grey light they were pinched, defeated and tired. The girls’ faces had a white, pasty look that came from a diet of junk food, drugs, and bad living. Frantik had dark smudges under his eyes and deeply hollowed cheeks that gave his face an almost skeletal appearance. His hand shook as he lit a smoke. Lynx looked like the only one of the three who still had life on the menu.

  ‘You got any money?’ asked Comma, looking at Larceny.

  ‘Some.’

  ‘Enough for tram fares and maybe something to eat?’

  ‘Yeah. Enough.’

  They straggled across the road, Larceny shivering in her damp coat, the others apparently unaware of the drizzling rain, and got on a tram heading along St Kilda Road.

  ‘How do we tell if it’s going to the beach?’ asked Larceny, knowing that the trams went up Domain Road, Commercial Road and other places in the wrong direction.

  ‘This one is,’ said Bex, looking impatient. She held onto Comma’s hand, then, meeting Larceny’s stare, kissed Comma on the mouth again. And she gazed round to see if she was shocking any of the other passengers. One woman looked scandalised, several men looked amused, and the rest stared straight ahead.

  Larceny checked out the commuters. Sometimes she studied people, wondering what was going on in their heads, where they lived, what they did all day long. It wasn’t the end of a working day, so these were either shift workers or on the dole or the retired rich. No, not the retired rich: they drove cars or hailed taxis. They didn’t catch trams. One woman clutching four large plastic bags rocked with the motion of the tram, jabbering to herself, a fleck of spittle on her lips. She looked dirty and unwashed, a piece of human garbage on a city tram. Will that be me one day? Larceny thought, shuddering.

  ‘So,’ said Lynx, breaking into her thoughts, as Frantik looked out the window and Bex mauled Comma, ‘tell me about yourself.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘All right, all right. Don’t get shitty. You don’t have to. I’ll tell you about me.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to listen?’

  Larceny didn’t mind hearing other people’s stories. Some kids could spin good shit. But she never got emotionally involved. And she didn’t like to reveal much about herself. People sometimes wanted to get closer: she didn’t let them. Once she started showing any weakness or emotional need they would want something back from her, more and more: emotional stuff she couldn’t give. It was too scary. If you did begin to care about someone they would ultimately reject you.

  Hidden memories that Larceny couldn’t erase began to surface. Her dad. Those stepsisters with their big blue eyes, blonde hair, and cute ways that made her want to throw up, to punch them and hurt them for being Dad’s little angels. That’s what he called them. His little angels.

  ‘Put your fingers in your ears, I don’t care. I’m still gonna tell you about me anyway,’ said Lynx butting into her thoughts, his chocolate eyes like deep river pools in his dark face. She’d seen river pools when she’d escaped from one of her foster homes. So nice, the Frasers, or was it the Wilsons? So many foster families; they got mixed up in her head. Then she remembered. The Wilsons. A regular Brady Bunch family. Christians. Good people. Didn’t yell, didn’t swear, sat at the meal table sharing conversation, their lives, with her. Only she didn’t want to share.

  ‘Why me?’ she’d shouted at them when they’d tried to come too close and get into her head. She’d picked up her roast dinner and flung it at the wall. The plate had shattered, spattering meat, vegetables and gravy all over the place. They’d all stared in horror at the mess, then at her with fear in their eyes. That had made her even madder.

  ‘Why can’t you just get on with your lives and leave me alone?’ she’d shrieked.

  She’d rushed from the house, their fear shaking her last vestige of solidarity, their Brady Bunch niceness too cloyingly suffocating. She’d run through the park to the river and flung herself face down on the bank. She’d stared at the brown sluggish water until she was mesmerised. The treacle-deep pool below called to her seductively, luring her into its depths. Silently waiting, it reminded her of the brown sugar she’d once smoked in a cig. Chasing the Dragon, the Cambodian guy had called it. You felt a rush, then dreamy, seduced by the heroin, lulled into euphoria. The thick and syrupy pool promised a deeper oblivion.

  ‘LARCENY! NO!’ It is not God’s will!’ Mr Wilson had yelled, rushing up from behind and pulling her back from the brink.

  ‘It’s my will!’ she’d shrieked, as he’d dragged her kicking and screaming back to the house. She’d rocked backwards and forwards, muttering and gibbering until the ambulance arrived to take her back to the psych ward.

  Funny thing, that. You weren’t allowed to kill yourself! Why not? Who really cared?

  ‘You with me, Larceny?’

  Lynx’s voice shattered her thoughts, sending them scattering back into the dark recesses of her mind.

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  ‘So, I decided that I wanted to get out of that orphanage and fast. I was going nowhere.’

  ‘What orphanage?’

  ‘I knew you weren’t listening. The orphanage in Fiji. Anyway, I read this magazine that said all these people couldn’t have kids of their own and were desperate to adopt one. They mainly wanted babies, but there weren’t enough to go round. Not Australian and American ones. They were madly adopting kids with missing arms and legs, all that. So I figured I was good-looking and cute. I’d got all my arms and legs. There must be someone out there who’d want me. So I put myself up for adoption.’

  Larceny focused on him, the dark thoughts pushed away. Adoption? He’d decided to be adopted?

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘I told you. Six.’ She hadn’t heard that bit. She felt annoyed because she’d probably missed lots of interesting info.

  The tram bumped and lurched round the corner and stopped so the woman with the bags could get off. Larceny followed her with hooded eyes.

  ‘That’s you,’ said a voice in her head.

  No. Please. Don’t let me end up like that! She determinedly snuffed out the voice and dragged her thoughts back to Lynx.

  ‘Did it work? Did you get adopted?’

  ‘Yeah. A teacher at a private school and her dentist husband adopted me. They already had two kids, girls, but they couldn’t have any more kids and they wanted a boy. Cost them nearly thirty thousand, with documents
, papers, passports, tickets. I know because they told me thirty thousand times.’

  ‘Least you know how much you’re worth,’ said Larceny with a sudden grin that transformed her face from mundane to beautiful. ‘I’m worth nothing.’

  ‘It’s more if you add up all the private school fees, the violin lessons, horse-riding, snow skiing, sailing camps. Oh, rowing. And I nearly forgot a brief stint on the sax.’

  He grinned wickedly. ‘You see, dear Larceny, I’m an ungrateful rich little shit. I’ve had all this money spent on me. I’ve been adopted, given the family’s name. On the surface I’m this Aussie called Marcus J Manchester. But you see, deep down I’m still an Indian/Fijian called Imran Parjuda.’

  ‘But you’ve been here since you were six. Surely you can’t remember much about Fiji?’ said Larceny.

  ‘I can’t explain. There’s this sort of tugging feeling, like you’re in one place and you want to be somewhere else. Kids can be uprooted but they still can’t belong — well, I don’t know about everyone else, but I can’t.’

  ‘But you got what you wanted. You chose to be adopted.’

  ‘Yeah, well when you’re six, you’re not great at making life choices sometimes. I realise I’m ungrateful. I’ve been told enough times. All the money spent on me, love and attention showered on me, and I still turned out bad. Isn’t that a shame? Must be in my genes.’

  He shrugged but his eyes burned black with anger.

  ‘Why?’ asked Larceny.

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘I still can’t understand why you don’t forget about being born Fijian. Just lap it all up and live happily ever after.’

  ‘You ever tried being the only Indian/Fijian kid in an all white household with two golden-haired white sisters, in an all white school, in an all white society?’

  ‘But you couldn’t have been the only dark-skinned kid,’ said Larceny. ‘Private schools are full of non-white kids. There’s Asians galore.’

  ‘Asians are not black.’

  ‘Neither are you,’ Larceny pointed out.

  ‘I didn’t belong. I should never have left the orphanage. It was crappy there, but at least if I’d stayed in Fiji I would’ve been with my own people. Well … sort of, because I wasn’t Fijian and I wasn’t Indian, but at least I was in my own country. You can’t know what it feels like, so forget it. We’re here. Everybody out.’