Care Factor Zero Page 9

  ‘Where’re you sleepin’, then? Got a spare bed?’ asked Jane, with that foxy look on her face again. She was street smart, a real survivor, but definitely not to be trusted at all.

  ‘Plenty of spare beds,’ said Larceny laconically.

  ‘Great. Where?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Roof over my head. Food on tap. What more could I want?’

  ‘You live here?’

  ‘And other places,’ said Larceny shortly, thinking of the filthy one-room flat and Lynx’s Toorak mansion.

  ‘I’m gonna find Paul. He said to meet him here, cause this is where he hangs. Have you seen him?’

  ‘Nup. Don’t want to, either. He’s bad news.’

  ‘He’s got some good deals going on,’ said Jane.

  ‘Yeah? In his head!’

  Jane pulled off the rucksack and squatted beside Larceny. ‘He’s into some network. Moving stuff, ya know?’

  ‘I thought after his last time in court he was going straight? That’s what he told me, although I didn’t trust him. He’s always too smooth. I thought his mum turned up and was going to reform him?’

  ‘Yeah, well, he went to live with her for a while. She told him she’d always wanted him but after her mental breakdown when he was a baby she couldn’t cope, see, so she stayed in Queensland and his old man took him and his two brothers down here and brought them up.’

  ‘Dragged them down, more like,’ said Larceny. Paul’s old man was a known small-time crim. ‘So what happened with his mum and going straight?’

  ‘Dunno. She just couldn’t control him.’

  ‘Yeah? Maybe he’s old enough and stupid enough now to control himself,’ spat Larceny with a sudden surge of viciousness. Paul had a mother, which is more than she did. Larceny had spotted them walking together through the mall. Paul’s mum had looked nice: a little woman with an anxious expression but a kind, gentle face. Controlling Paul would’ve been hopeless for her. Schools couldn’t do it. Cops and courts couldn’t do it. Youth training centres couldn’t do it. Why the hell had she even tried to do it? She’d been doomed to failure before she even started!

  ‘You sure you haven’t seen him around?’

  ‘No.’

  Jane bit her lip and looked worried. Then she shrugged. ‘No sweat. I’ll cruise with you for a bit.’

  ‘Yeah. Great.’ Larceny’s voice was heavy with sarcasm, but it was wasted on Jane, who’d dragged out a packet of cigarettes and looked like she was settling in for the duration. ‘Anyway, seeing as you’re here, tell me about Cathy. Why did she go to pieces about Emma?’

  ‘Didn’t you know? They’re half-sisters. Same father, different mothers or something.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, she didn’t worry too much about Emma when she was alive,’ said Larceny. ‘If that had been my half-sister I’d have —’

  Then she stopped. Her half-sister? She had found it hard not to kill her own two stepsisters. What was she thinking? Living in this city was softening her brain.

  ‘It’s getting colder,’ said Jane, shivering. ‘Are you sure you wanna sleep the night here?’

  ‘Dunno. What have you got in mind: rooms at the Parkroyal or something?’

  ‘It’s my first time here. I thought …’ Jane’s voice trailed away and she looked scared. For such a street-smart kid she wasn’t doing a great job of controlling herself. She’d always run with a pack of ferals and liked showing off to the crew. Alone she was just a marshmallow. But then lots of so-called tough kids were. Larceny groaned inwardly. She didn’t want to be stuck with Jane. Or anyone else. Life was hard enough without hangers-on dragging along. Unless of course …

  ‘Wanna do a couple of shops?’ she asked. She might as well make use of Jane if she was going to hang about.

  ‘Yeah, well, I —’

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Miss Bitch,’ said a familiar, hard voice.

  Larceny looked up. It was Bex, looking tough, rough and unforgiving.

  ‘Glad to see you too,’ she said.

  ‘This is our patch. Get lost,’ said Bex.

  ‘Yeah?’

  Larceny got to her feet. This little bitch wasn’t going to tell her to get lost.

  ‘Hi, Larce.’

  It was Comma, clutching a swag of magazines, with Frantik close on her heels. He still looked kind of spacey. He had the shakes, bad.

  ‘Hey, man. You okay?’

  ‘No thanks to you,’ hissed Bex. She looked at Jane. ‘She left him in the hospital, just walked out on him.’

  ‘Aw, grow a brain, Bex,’ said Larceny. ‘Lynx and I couldn’t do anything, could we? What did you expect us to do, sit and hold his hand?’

  ‘I was fine,’ said Frantik, his hands twitching. ‘They pumped some shit into me and put me under observation, but I split when I got the chance. Larce is right. She and Lynx couldn’t have done anything else. Where is he, by the way?’ His eyes darted about, searching.

  ‘Home on an H trip,’ said Larceny shortly. ‘And how come you guys are here, anyway? I thought you had it all together. Place to stay, all the comforts of home.’

  ‘Yeah, well Sal and Lisa came back,’ said Comma as Jane stood up. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Jane. This is Comma, Bex and Frantik,’ said Larceny. ‘The Melbourne crew. They run this place. They run Flinders Street station. They think’

  Bex glared and clenched her fists. Larceny smiled nicely at her, just to wind her up.

  ‘I’m looking for a guy called Paul,’ said Jane. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Nah. Never heard of him,’ Bex replied shortly, jamming her hands in her pockets. She knew she didn’t stand a chance: Larceny was taller, stronger and meaner. And she was a nutter, and therefore unpredictable. It was more face-saving to split. ‘Come on, we’re outa here.’ She turned and wheeled away.

  Jane looked at Larceny. ‘Are we going too?’

  ‘Suit yourself. I’m not.’

  Jane looked undecided as Comma shrugged and followed Bex. Frantik ambled after them, shaking his head from side to side as if to clear it from whatever drug-demons were dancing in his brain.

  ‘Wait for me!’ Jane grabbed her rucksack and ran after Frantik. Larceny smiled. Alone again. That’s what she preferred. She sat back down against the wall on her haunches and gazed at the passing crowd. She’d do some people-watching to fill in the time, then she’d buy something to eat, maybe drop in on Stella’s hot food van. Might do some work if Stella offered it. She didn’t need the money but it was something to do, something to fill in the time. Just as long as Nick Farino didn’t try and give her aggro. Nah, she’d given him the flick.

  Her mind wandered. Sammy Soul was still alive. Had he reported her to the cops? No, that was doubtful, Sammy was the type who didn’t want cops sniffing about. And Emma. Dead. She’d been quite a nice kid, no trouble, kept to herself, usually dead drunk sleeping it off in the mall. And Cathy was her half-sister?

  She hadn’t known that. Paul was in Melbourne somewhere. Well, his parole officer wouldn’t be too thrilled that he’d done a runner. Paul was a dipstick. Always in trouble. The last time he’d got nicked for doing a burg he’d got let off with a warning, ‘Behave yourself or else,’ and he’d walked straight out of court into a store and taken a carton of cigarettes. Dumb. It was almost as if he was begging them to lock him up. He’d got hauled back before the beak and given a good behaviour bond. It was a joke. Still, what was the system supposed to do with losers like Paul?

  Maybe they shouldn’t have let him become a loser in the first place!

  All bloody losers. Jane. She’d been in and out of homes since she was six and her parents had split. Cathy, thick as two bricks, a school drop-out at the age of eleven. Bex. Comma. Frantik. They’d all lost the plot. And Lynx. He was the dumbest of them all. Good home, rich parents, all he had to do was play ball and go through with the dentist thing, forget about being Indian/Fijian, and he was set up for life. Who needed to cruise with losers?

>   She didn’t. She was the legendary Larceny Leyton. She didn’t need anyone. She wasn’t a loser, she was a survivor with a high IQ. Society. Everybody — they could all go to hell!

  She put her head on her knees and pressed her eyes hard so that the tears wouldn’t flow, would stay dammed up inside. Larceny Leyton had no patience with self-pity or tears.

  ‘Hello.’

  She looked up. A weird sight met her eyes. There was a thin man about sixty gazing at her. He was dressed like a businessman or executive, but somehow it looked all wrong, He was wearing a cream suit with flared trousers, black shirt, green and mauve tie, and a brown felt hat. A long white silk scarf completed his ensemble. An expensive-looking black umbrella with a carved gold handle was non-chalantly being swung from his hand. He had the most peculiar-looking face, flattened and creaseless like a cardboard overlay, with black beady eyes like currants staring curiously at her. Then he smiled.

  ‘Come and have some tea with me,’ he said in an odd singsong sort of voice. ‘There’s some seats round the corner. It’s not good for you to sit on the cold floor.’

  ‘I don’t feel like tea, thanks. I’ve just eaten.’

  ‘No, I mean a cup of tea.’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Come. I’m sure you will like it.’

  ‘No, I don’t —’

  ‘You will come!’

  It was an order, not an invitation. He poked her playfully with the point of his furled umbrella. Short of creating a fuss there was nothing she could do but pacify him and have the tea. He couldn’t attack her in the middle of the station, could he?

  Heaving a sigh, she got to her feet. He was nuts, she was sure: she’d seen enough weirdos in psych hospitals to recognise the signs. Probably harmless. Probably lonely. It was easier to have the tea and then bail. Holding her arm he steered her towards the seats. Resisting the urge to pull away, hating to be held, she kept walking beside him.

  ‘There, my dear.’ He pulled her down onto a bench and waved his hand imperiously at the woman behind the snack bar.

  ‘Tea please, Mildred.’

  ‘Okay, Sir Harold,’ said the woman with a resigned smile.

  So he was known. He must be one of the many wandering characters who had been turfed out of his mental home when the government had closed it down. Another lost and lonely soul.

  The woman brought over a tray with two cups and saucers, a silver teapot, a matching milk jug and sugar bowl and put it down on the seat between them. Her name tag said “Denise”.

  ‘There you go, Sir Harold,’ she said, as if she was serving him in a posh dining room at a table with a crisp white cloth. Larceny gave her a brief smile. The woman was kind. She obviously pandered to this old man’s fantasies and cared a few minutes every day for him by serving him and his “guest”.

  ‘Thank you, Mildred,’ he said graciously. Then he turned to Larceny.

  ‘I gave her this teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl,’ he said. ‘Family heirlooms. Do you know, she only had these teabags, and little paper packets of sugar? And she had to pour the milk from a carton. Isn’t that dreadful? Did you know I’m really Jesus, the Son of God? I was crucified on the Cross!’

  Larceny looked at him. ‘Did it hurt?’

  He blinked. No one had ever asked him that before. Some people turned away, shocked. Some people tried to bombard him with trick questions. Others in white coats tried to inject him or push pills down his throat. He thought about it. Did it hurt? Did what hurt? He’d already forgotten, his short-term circuiting brain leaping across another neuro-transmitter to a different topic.

  ‘I was born in a castle,’ he said, pouring tea into the cups. ‘I’m from the French nobility. And you, my dear?’

  ‘I was probably born in a cardboard box,’ said Larceny, grinning at him.

  ‘Oh, very droll, my dear. Very droll.’ He looked at her quizzically, head on one side like a sparrow. ‘Milk?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Good.’ He leaned forward as he handed her the tea. ‘I shot President Kennedy!’

  ‘Why?’

  He blinked again. No one had ever asked him why, either. He was beginning to enjoy chatting to this young lady. She was intelligent. He opened his mouth to explain why, but the thought went fleeing out of his head. ‘Sugar?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You look like Isadora Dalleau, my dear,’ he said, studying her face intently. ‘She was married to my friend Count Hugo Dalleau, you know. The same red hair. The same green eyes.’

  ‘Maybe I’m related,’ said Larceny with a grin. It would be nice to be related to a countess.

  He looked at his watch. ‘My goodness, how the time flies. I’m late for my appointment.’

  He leapt to his feet, bowing as he kissed her hand, and was gone, melting into the crowd before Larceny had time to collect her thoughts. She stared at the teacup still in her hand, at the silver teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl. Remnants of his past life or props for the present?

  She’d enjoyed his old-world charm. Typical. The one person she’d actually liked had whizzed off. A real crazy. Maybe that’s why she’d got on so well with him. Two nuts together. But she wasn’t really mad. Just those voices taunting, going on and on …

  ‘Thanks, love. He often can’t find anyone to chat with him. He’s totally batty but quite harmless.’

  ‘Huh?’

  Denise, alias Mildred, was scooping up the tray. She rushed back to her food stall. It was closing time. The shutters were going down and the traders were packing up.

  Larceny decided to lie down on the bench.

  ‘Don’t settle there, love,’ said Denise, walking past with her overcoat on, obviously heading for home. ‘That’s Solomon’s permanent bench.’

  Larceny wondered whether she should fight someone called Solomon for bench rights and decided she couldn’t be bothered. She went back to her wall space and hunkered down, sitting on her tote bag. It looked like she’d be in for a long, cold night.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘Hi, there.’

  Shit. What now? Couldn’t she be left alone?

  Larceny raised her head and groaned. A Salvo. That was all she needed. She put her head back down on her knees again.

  ‘I thought you might like a warm bed for the night,’ said the Salvo in a kindly voice. Why did religious types always have the same tone of voice, like they were doing you a big favour by noticing your existence?

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. I’m waiting for someone,’ Larceny lied. She looked round. She must’ve been sitting against the wall for hours. Her legs were cold and stiff, and round her the night people were drifting in and settling down for the evening.

  ‘I’m Kevin,’ he said, squatting down beside her. She shot him a sideways look. Young, earnest, a pink face, wire-rimmed glasses behind which grey eyes regarded her compassionately. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Good question.’

  Who was she? Larceny Leyton, fifteen-nearly-sixteen, female, loner, mad.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  He was persistent.

  ‘Larceny.’

  ‘Larceny? That’s an odd—er—what’s your last name?’

  ‘Leyton.’

  ‘Oh. Well, Larceny Leyton, you look like you could do with a nice hot meal and a nice warm bed.’

  ‘Why?’

  Her question threw him. He frowned.

  ‘You’re sitting here alone. You’ve been here for quite some time.’

  He’d been watching her. Creep. She was about to tell him to get lost when out of the corner of her eye she noticed a guy in a black leather jacket walking through the far doorway near the clocks. Was it Nick? She wasn’t sure but …

  ‘Yeah. Right. I’ll take the bed,’ she said, jumping to her feet. ‘Let’s go.’

  Kevin was taken aback. Her sudden change of heart had shocked him and thrown him off balance. He got awkwardly to his feet as she faced him, clutching her bag. Then she wheeled aw
ay, making for the exit into Swanston Street. He followed, striding to keep up with her. She paused in the street, looking back at him.

  ‘So. Where’s the warm bed?’ She waved a hand at the crawling traffic, the driving rain.

  ‘Not far. We can walk.’

  ‘You’ll get wet!’

  She said it with a trace of sarcasm in her voice, and, as if to make her point, she pulled up her hood.

  ‘I’ve got a brolly.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Umbrella.’

  She hadn’t noticed it. In his hand. He undid the tab and opening up the umbrella, raised it high above his head.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Sure. Take me to your leader, Kevin.’

  They walked across with the lights along Flinders Street and down another street to a dark, grim-looking building. A few vagrants were shambling through the entrance, wet and cold, wrapped in their personal misery. Larceny jammed on her brakes.

  ‘Hang on, man. I’m not going in there with them.’

  ‘No, the adolescent accommodation is next door. This is where the food is, Larceny.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  She was frightened. To be classified as a vagrant, to line up in a soup kitchen with the lost and lonely, to be a charity case? Forget it.

  ‘It’s good food. There’s tomato soup, roast chicken, and banana custard.’

  ‘I hate tomato soup, chicken and custard,’ she snapped.

  ‘Well —’ Kevin seemed nonplussed. His job was to rescue the homeless, provide food and shelter, and do God’s work. No one had ever complained about the food before. Maybe she was just an ungrateful little street kid who was on the run for kicks. Then he saw the hunted look in her eyes, and realised with shock that she was scared.

  He capitulated. ‘Would you rather have a burger and fries?’ he said.

  ‘They make burgers and fries in there?’ She jerked her thumb at the doorway.

  ‘No. At Burgermania down the street. I’ll treat you.’

  ‘No. I’ll treat you!’

  She grinned at him, and it was as if a halogen light had been switched on from the inside. She was radiant! He blinked. She was beautiful in a wild, untamed sort of way. He saw the intelligent acknowledgment of his surprise gleaming in her eyes and the mocking smile curving her lips. He was so astounded that he caved in straight away.