Behind the Hood (Behind the Lives) (2 page)

“I’d love to see him fuckin’ try. Plus, you owe me, bitch.”

Maia knew she should keep her mouth shut; that whenever she spoke it got her into trouble. Her mother had told her countless times, “You speak too much, Maia, you should listen more.”

She grinned, unable to help herself. “What do I owe you? More bruised balls?”

She heard a slicing noise behind her, the sound of a switchblade being opened. Shit!

“Get her,” Tama yelled.

Maia took off, her legs pumping hard and fast. Behind her boots pounded the pavement. The trainers she’d swiped from her brother were too big and clunky, making it difficult to pick up speed. She could hear someone getting closer, no doubt Tama. Damn, the prick was fast.

Fingers brushed her arm. As she turned sharply, leaping over the bushes on her left, something metallic clattered onto the pavement behind her. Tama swore at Mikey.

Maia ran down the little slope and across the driveway, ploughing into the back of a car as it pulled out of a space. Someone grabbed her hood, yanking it off. Her thick brown hair spilled out. She screamed and swung out with her arms, connecting with Mikey. He yelped and let go. She ran in between cars, almost bashing into someone as they opened up their door, then shot into the video shop, only stopping once she was in front of the counter.

The twenty-something clerk looked up from his magazine. Short, with a badly pocked face, he was dressed in a yellow uniform that clashed with his bright orange hair. He appeared confused, until he glanced over at the boys entering the shop. Maia could see fear changing his facial features.

“Can I please use your phone, Mista?” She moved around the side of the counter as the boys stopped at the other end.

The clerk picked up the phone.

Tama pointed his blade at him. “Drop it or I’ll slice you.”

The clerk did as instructed and held up his hands. “I want no trouble, man.”

“Then stay outta my fuckin’ business.”

Behind Tama, Mikey grabbed a packet of chips from the stand in front of the counter and opened it. He was tall and skinny, dressed in the gang’s uniform of black boots, jeans, and hoodie. He started to munch on the chips, his eyes wandering up to the movie playing on the television screen above Maia’s head.

The four other thugs took Mikey’s lead and grabbed a packet each. Maia couldn’t remember their names, didn’t want to either. A woman and her young son, no older than eight, quickly exited the store. Maia looked up the aisle, past the rows of DVDs and videos at a man, her eyes pleading with him to help her. He was big, with broad shoulders and muscular arms, possibly a body builder. He looked from her to Tama and shook his head, backing away down the aisle. She wanted to scream at him, “Help me,” but decided it would set Tama off.

To her left, familiar faces peered back at her from the shelves. Bruce Willis, Tom Cruise, Jackie Chan, all pretend heroes she wished were real.

She moved behind the candy display. “C’mon, Tama, I wuz only jokin’ ‘bout the balls comment. You know I can’t help myself...” she gabbled nervously with a wide grin on her face. Dammit! Why did she always have to grin when she was scared shitless?

Tama waved her over with his switchblade. “If ya nice to me, I won’t hurt cha.”

Maia bit down on her lip, stopping a derogatory remark from escaping her mouth. She knew what Tama meant by being nice, and she wasn’t going to take it lying down—or any other fucking position.

A woman screamed on the television behind her, an actress she didn’t know. Probably another bimbo in a slasher movie, she thought. Maia wanted to laugh, or cry, at the irony. Outside car doors slammed, followed by a rowdy bunch of teenagers entering the store. They took one look at Tama and his gang and left, followed by more doors slamming and the screech of tyres.

Maia knew she was in for it now. Absolutely no one was willing to help her. “C’mon, no fair, six against one.” She scanned the shop, weighing up her options. There was no way she could make it past them and out the front door. She glanced at the back room. Most places had a back door. Didn’t they?

A police siren came closer. She prayed it was going to stop, but doubted it. Claydon, the shithole, was one of the most policed areas in Auckland. The problem was there were never enough police to cover the sprawling suburb, where poorly built fibrolite houses, factories and graffiti walls populated the landscape. As she’d guessed, the police car drove past, the sound of the siren disappearing down the highway to help some other victim.

Tama smiled lewdly. “I’ll get rid of the others if ya come with me.”

Mikey mumbled something then jerked back as Tama turned on him.

“Fuckin’ shut it, Mikey,” Tama snapped.

Maia saw her opportunity. She took off down the aisle, past the big wimp and into the backroom, quickly locking the door as Tama bashed into it. God, she was lucky the door had a lock. Breathing heavily, she switched on the light and scanned the room. She swore loudly. A bench, sink, a small table and chair, but no backdoor! She looked up at the window above the bench, wondering whether she could slip through it. More bangs sounded on the other side of the door. Well, she’d give it a damn good try.

She pulled herself up onto the bench. Her hand connected with a coffee mug. It toppled over and fell to the floor, smashing across the lino. She pushed open the window. Tama continued to thump against the door. It sounded like he was ramming it with his shoulder. She wished it was his head.

The noise stopped. “Open the fuckin’ door, Maia!”

“Fuck off,” she yelled back.

More thumps started up, along with a litany of swear words that would make even her stepdad blush. She pushed her head through and gripped onto the aluminium frame. A welcoming breeze hit her flushed face. She wiggled through enough to get half of her body out just as the door crashed open. In a panic, she pushed herself forward, scraping her stomach against the metal. Someone grabbed one of her feet. She kicked at them and pushed again. Her shoe came off in their hands as she fell through the window.

She hit the ground, landing on her back. Her breath pushed out, winding her. Stunned, she lay looking up at the sky. “I see stars.” She knew it wasn’t funny, but like grinning she said the stupidest things when she was scared or in pain.

Her attention shifted to Mikey as he tried to fit through the window. He got halfway and started yelling, “I’m stuck, pull me back ... Ow! That fuckin’ hurts. Stop yankin’ me.”

Maia still couldn’t believe Mikey was chasing her. She thought he was different from the others, only hanging out with them because of his cousin. Even after he tried to grab her, she had hoped he’d change his mind and help her. Fuck, she was a moron for even thinking that. He was the same as Tama, wanting a piece of her and not giving a stuff how he got it.

“You bastard,” she shouted. “I can’t believe I liked you.”

Mikey stopped wriggling and stared down at her with a stunned expression. He closed his eyes for a moment, and shook his head, clearly upset. Before he looked away, she could have sworn he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Maia pushed herself up and wobbled on her feet. Feeling woozy, and hurting like hell, she staggered across the concrete towards a wooden fence. The sound of boots hitting the ground caught her attention. She glanced over her shoulder, and breathed in sharply as Tama advanced on her.

There was no one else behind him, only a dumpster and a few cars. They were alone, his mates gone like he’d promised.

Maia grabbed the fence and flung a leg over. An arm wrapped around her waist, dragging her back. Screaming, she struck out with her right elbow, hitting Tama in the ribs.

He swore, and let go. She lunged for the fence as something hit her back.

Tama spun her around, and flattened his bloodied knife against her left cheek. “Stop fightin’ me or I’ll stick ya again.”

Maia sucked in a breath. He’d stabbed her? But it had felt like a punch.

He kissed her roughly, suffocating her with the smell of booze and weed. Her tears mingled with the blood on her cheek as he tugged at her track pants.

Shouting erupted from the other side of the building. A dog barked, followed by the thud of boots and something scrambling across the concrete.

Tama glanced over his shoulder and hollered, “Fuck!” He pushed her aside and lunged for the fence.

As the large dog leapt at Tama, Maia collapsed in a heap.

2

Tama

Tama sprinted across Batton’s Place. He had a stitch in his side and he felt crook from running so hard.

When the police showed up behind the video store he’d hightailed it out of there. A couple of pigs had given chase, but he was too quick for the donut swirling brigade. He didn’t appreciate it, though, when that damn police dog attacked him. Stupid mutt got a boot in the face for his trouble. He’d never liked German Shepherds. Vicious shits.

Tama headed down his driveway. Shit, the lounge lights were on. Usually his mother was in bed by now. He didn’t have time to explain things. He needed to get in and out of the house fast. Grab some cash and clothes before the pigs showed up. He’d also wanted to do that with Maia. He would have been in and out in no time, just a regular quickie. She would have enjoyed it too, but the bloody stupid bitch didn’t know when to shut up and take it—all ten fucking inches. Well, he didn’t have to listen to her smart mouth anymore; there were plenty of other pretty girls he could get. That was, as long as the pigs didn’t get him first.

Out of breath, he stumbled up the porch steps, knocking over a pile of rubbish bags. Even before he opened the ranch-slider he could hear his mother’s voice. She was rambling to one of her spirit guides again, probably asking advice from the American Indian dude she’d tacked up on the wall. Pocahontas, or whatever name she called him. Nah, that was a chick in the cartoon his sister liked.

His mother smiled at him from the vinyl couch she thought he’d bought her. He’d told her countless times that it was from an inorganic collection, but she never remembered. Her mind hadn’t been right since his dad died in a car crash eight years ago. Since then, she’d gradually allowed her obsession with spirits, and other shit he didn’t believe in, to take over her mind. He had to admit her twice into the psych ward after her attempts at suicide. Each time he’d tried to reason with her, asking, “What was the point of havin’ spiritual guides if they didn’t help ya?” But she never answered the question.

She got off the couch, and walked towards him. She had mousy brown hair, a small nose and was short, only just reaching five-foot. But she was so proud of that last inch, lording it over her neighbour, Betsy Joy, who was four-foot-eleven.

Tama grinned as he pictured Betsy with her husband, big fat Bob the Blob. He’d always wondered how the hell the fat bastard could find his dick under all the blubber. Well, since Betsy was still alive he knew who went on top.

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.