Care Factor Zero (2 page)

‘Did you take this stuff?’ Larceny demanded, shaking Emma backwards and forwards like a rag doll. No answer.

‘Shit!’

Larceny knew an overdose when she saw one. What could she do? She didn’t need major grief and aggro right now; she was heading down to the beach to meet up with Jane and Cathy. They’d planned to do over some shops and get new gear. Larceny had a rep to maintain.

‘Everything all right?’

Larceny looked up as she tried to support Emma’s lolling head. A cop stood there staring at them both. She was young and earnest-looking, probably just out of cop school. Her peaked hat was pulled down low, practically perching on round, wire-framed glasses and she had a thick-set body on short, stocky legs.

‘Yeah.’

Larceny didn’t need cop trouble.

‘Your friend doesn’t look too good,’ said the cop, bending to take a closer look.

‘She’s just … the flu, ya know.’

Cheap wine fumes hit the cop’s nostrils and she narrowed her eyes.

‘I think your friend needs medical attention.’

‘Yeah, right.’

Larceny gave up. If the cop took charge she’d be free to go to her rendezvous. But Emma’d never forgive her for handing her over to a cop. There would be hospital forms, enquiries, serious shit. Well whose fault was that? Not hers. The cop felt for a pulse on Emma’s thin wrist then frowned. She unhooked her mobile and dialled.

‘Can you send an ambulance immediately to the mall? I’ve got an OD here.’

She pushed Larceny to one side, loosened Emma’s collar, laid her along the bench and started pressing on her chest. Larceny looked, shrugged, and gave up. She sidled away.

‘Hey. Come back here,’ said the cop, pausing in her ministrations, but Larceny, back straight and head up, was striding away on her long legs. She never got
involved. She was a loner, used people like Jane and Cathy when she needed them and trusted no one. Not even herself. She hated who she was and she hated everyone else. Friends were transient beings who were to be used, then discarded when Larceny moved on to fresher pastures. That was life — when she wanted to be bothered living. Sometimes she didn’t. There was a mass of scars on her arms, cuts going the right way down the veins, not across, but never deep enough to finish the job.

She walked quickly down the main street towards the beach front, turning along the esplanade to take a short cut round the sailing school where she knew Jane and Cathy would be waiting.

‘What kept you?’ asked Cathy belligerently.

She was a dumpy lump of a girl, dressed in baggy jeans that had seen better days and an army disposal duffle coat. Her round face was creased with disapproval and her eyes narrowed as she surveyed Larceny. Thick as pig shit, Larceny thought with satisfaction. She liked gathering a crew round her who were not very bright. She was the leader, and she didn’t like being challenged.

‘Cop trouble,’ she said.

Cathy looked scared. She didn’t like cops. Or
anyone else in authority. She was always in trouble at school for non-attendance, and so was Jane. They were a good pair, gullible, eager to please Larceny, and easy to manipulate.

Jane scuffed the toe of one dirty sneaker in the sand. She was thin, almost to the point of emaciation, with a sly, foxy face, mousy hair, and a bad attitude. She was street smart but not overly bright, couldn’t read or write despite her years of schooling.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘That kid, Emma. Goony and Avil. OD’ed in the mall,’ said Larceny shortly. Emma’s plight was already fading from her mind. She needed to get these two organised. Thursday was always busy with shoppers which made shoplifting easier. The stores had frantic staff who were occupied keeping customers happy, and Larceny needed clothes not only for herself but she had some orders to fill. Good 501s, quality tops, computer software, perfumes, cosmetics, underwear … there was a ready market.

‘We’ll do Myer first. They’ve got a stocktaking sale. Go for the dark colours so the dyes won’t be bad if we have to bust them off, and I need size 10 and 12 jeans.’

Cathy grinned as she opened the duffle coat, revealing a number of pockets sewn into it. Jane was swinging a large carry bag by its handle.

‘Let’s go.’

Larceny strode off with the other two scurrying to keep up. They crossed the road from the beach, walked along a street, up an alley, and reached the back entrance near the food hall of the busy shopping plaza.

‘Okay, you know what to do.’

They entered the rear doors of the big Myer store which was humming with activity. Larceny had already sussed the place out the day before, noting where the security cameras were and what the stock looked like. It was her job to act furtive and draw the eyes of the staff and security guards so that the other two could do their work.

She strolled right through the store up to the perfumery and liberally squirted Sunflower on one wrist. The assistant glared as Larceny fingered the different items, picking them up, glancing around casually, moving herself out of view, selecting one or two perfumes with a studied casualness, holding one close to her pocket then placing it back on the counter. It was a tantalising and convincing act. Out
of the corner of her eye she saw the security guard beginning to circle.

Larceny wandered towards the lingerie, conscious of the eyes watching her and also conscious of Cathy and Jane moving swiftly to the perfume counter. She fingered the lingerie, held it up, stroking the satin sensuously, then returned the items to the racks. She moved away, looked at some other items, then casually went back to her first choices. Picking up a delicate pair of briefs, she strolled to the counter.

‘How may I help you?’ asked the shop assistant, acting as if she wished she didn’t have to acknowledge Larceny’s presence at all.

‘How much?’

‘Twenty-five dollars,’ said the assistant, looking superior. ‘There’s the price tag on the garment.’

‘Twenty-five bucks for
this
?’

Larceny tossed the garment on the counter. Security circled, waiting and watching, as Cathy and Jane took advantage of the moment to stuff a number of items in bags and pockets, well out of range of the cameras.

She strolled across to the jeans piled on tables for the sale, fingered a few (they were the ones that
Cathy and Jane would nab later) and detoured to the Miss Shop. She repeated her fingering/admiring/glancing around process, ducking her head and averting her eyes when she met those of the security guy, who’d now been joined by another. They waited and watched like stalking wolves as she moved to the jewellery, selecting pieces and trying them on. Out of the corner of her eye she could see them practically slavering as she slipped some earrings into her pocket, then, as if shocked at what she’d been absentmindedly doing, she replaced them on the rack. If Cathy and Jane hadn’t stuffed up they’d be over at the designer tops by now. Larceny yawned, looking at her watch. A stroll back to hosiery should just about do it. She got there, looked around, pretended to notice security and the watching eyes of half a dozen staff who’d been following her progress through the store, and walked smartly to the exit. If they challenged her, there was nothing on her: not one item. They didn’t.

She headed up the street towards Johnny Rockets. Shoplifting was thirsty work. She needed a Coke and a cigarette. Ten minutes later Cathy and Jane joined her, looking triumphant.

‘They are all total losers in there,’ said Jane, opening her bag to reveal the contents. ‘Easy.’

‘Yeah. Easy,’ echoed Cathy, her coat bulging.

Stupid tubmongers, thought Larceny. Without her they’d be sprung straight off. They were getting too confident. Time she dumped them anyway.

Suddenly, she felt the greyness descending on her. It was always like this, coming out of nowhere for no apparent reason. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

‘You okay?’ asked Cathy.

‘Yeah. Look, we’ll dump the gear for now behind Youth Works. I’ll wait till it’s quiet, take it to Sammy and give you your cut later, okay?’

‘What about the rest? The computer stuff?’

‘Later.’

‘But —’

‘I said
later
!’

‘You look kinda weird,’ said Jane, peering suspiciously at Larceny as she held her throbbing head in her hands.

‘Yeah, I don’t feel too good. Might’ve been the skunk I smoked last night, okay? Let’s go.’

They dumped the stuff behind some big bins and Larceny said she’d meet them two hours later when
the heat had died down. Not that there was any heat, stupid bitches, but they believed her. The greyness was swamping her brain, and any moment the voices would start teasing, tantalising, tormenting. She knew she wasn’t mad, it was just the effects of the skunk. Had to be. She needed to stay off the chemically hyped hydroponics and go for the bush-grown variety.

As soon as the others were out of sight, she gathered up the goods in a couple of green plastic garbage bags she had stuffed in her pocket and lugged them down the street to Sammy Soul’s Pawn Shop. It was top gear and had to be worth a bit. He had jewellery, cameras, electronics and the regular goods up front, but he was a good fence for the designer stuff and perfumes she’d just had nicked.

Instead of going in the front door she sidled round the back and did the prearranged four sharp jabs on the doorbell. Sammy himself opened the door, his bald head with wispy tufts of greying hair, pointed nose and shrewd darting eyes. Larceny blinked and tried to stay with it, though the voices were starting to take over her brain. He
was
a rat. He was turning into one before her eyes.

‘Get him! Go on, get him,’ mocked a voice in her
head, the same one that had compelled her to hurt the stepsisters.

‘No time to deal. Hundred bucks the lot,’ said Sammy, peering in the bag she’d put on the ground.

‘Aw, come on. That lot’s worth at least five, six hundred,’ she said, trying to fight the voices, trying to stay in control.

‘A hundred. Take it or leave it!’

Larceny was filled with a wild, consuming anger. She blinked, trying to clear the grey clouds which were becoming fiery-red before her eyes like a blazing furnace.

‘KILL HIM!’ screamed the voice. It shrieked through her brain, making her wince.

‘You —’

Rage roared through her like an inferno. The steal was worth at least six hundred, maybe more. Sweat broke out on her forehead and she saw his rat face leering at her, teeth pointed and sharp. In her mind he was coming at her, going for her neck. Larceny was still holding the other bag. With phenomenal strength she swung it hard at his head. And swung it again. He crashed into the iron security door, blood gushing from his scalp as he crumpled at her feet. She dropped the bag, staring at the blood. He had to be
dead. No two ways about it.

‘Kick him. Kick him,’ screamed the voices in her head.

‘NO!’ shouted Larceny, holding her hands over her ears. She turned and ran blindly away, as if pursued by all the devils in hell.

Larceny got off the train, hiking her tote bag over her shoulder. She’d risked going back to the residential for it, cramming it with her meagre possessions.

‘Where ya goin’?’ Jake the handyman had asked when she sneaked down the hall.

‘Dunno. Melbourne, maybe.’

He hadn’t asked why: he knew better than that. And she knew he wouldn’t tell. He was okay. He’d been inside himself a few times.

She’d made her way to the railway station and caught the first train to Melbourne. She felt in her coat pocket. Ten bucks left. Ten bucks to start a new life. Not enough. She’d have to get some deals going in this city, and soon. But first …

She walked out into the street, straight over to a
newsstand and picked up the evening paper. Scanning the headlines she saw that there wasn’t anything about Sammy’s death.

‘Hey. No free reads. Pay up or put down,’ said the woman minding the stand.

Larceny turned, froze the woman with a scathing look and tossed the paper carelessly back on the pile. The woman shrank back from the cold hatred in her eyes. This one was
bad
.

So. Nothing about Sammy. Too early yet. Good. It would take the cops a while to track down the source of the stolen goods and round up Cathy and Jane
if
they were cop-smart enough. And by the time those two spilled their guts … This was a big city, with plenty of places to hide.

She strolled up Flinders Street, sussing out who was hanging round under the clocks. She knew Melbourne, knew where the street kids lived, knew some of them from her stays in homes and the psych hospital. She winced as she remembered those black days. Uncontrollable, they’d labelled her when she’d attacked one of the night nurses. The woman had been a pig bitch, a bully, who’d bossed all the inmates around, was handy with her fists and taunted them with malicious innuendos. After that the night nurses
were all scared of her. She’d attended classes, psych groups and individual counselling during the day, but every night she was escorted to a youth refuge. The workers there were cool, laid back, and didn’t give her any aggro. She’d kept to herself, stayed in her room, remained mute, and eventually they’d given up trying to get brownie points by being the ones to “cure” her.

Larceny grimaced. She knew she wasn’t mad. None of the psychologists and psychiatrists could put a label on what was wrong with her and it had pissed them right off. Bi polar? No. Manic depressive? No. Schizophrenic? They weren’t sure.

She’d stuffed them right up. She’d been cunning, playing their games. Shrewd observation of the signs and symptoms of mental illness had allowed her to mimic the different conditions. She had the shuffle, the pacing, the muttering, rocking back and forth, the craziness down to a fine art, and just when they’d thought they had her for straitjacket material, she would be damningly clear, calm and normal.

She’d started smoking dope when she was eleven, and she knew that if she smoked too much or used the potent skunk she’d hear the voices. Lots of kids
did. Saw things, too. So much for marijuana being a nice mellowing-out drug. Well, it did mellow her out, mask the shit, but the voices … She’d seen some kids get the same effect when they used LSD, magic mushies or Datura. Drug-induced psychosis, one psychiatrist had said when he’d seen Mikey totally out of his tree on Datura. Mikey. Nice kid. Larceny wondered what had happened to him. He was about the only human she’d ever really related to, ever really liked.

He was kind of innocent and gentle. They’d boiled up the lilies they’d nicked from the psych hospital garden. Typical, growing trumpet lilies in a psych hospital garden. Showed how dumb the doctors were. She’d been all right when she’d swigged the mix, hadn’t felt much apart from a mild buzz, but Mikey had thrown a serious psycho and they’d had to lock him up. She’d been regraded to a residential. Never saw him again.

Larceny went up the steps under the clocks and into the foyer of the railway station. People were hurrying round her, intent on their business, oblivious of the young girl with the wild red hair, strange icy green eyes and tight, pale face. She dug out the ten dollar note from her pocket and bought cigarettes, a
packet of crisps and a Coke. Then she moved over to a wall, dropped her tote bag at her feet, and turned, surveying the scenery, smoking, and sipping the Coke.

After a while she felt someone was watching her. She turned her head slightly. There was a guy looking at her. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He was wearing an expensive-looking black leather jacket which hung loosely from his slight frame, and tight black trousers. His dark eyes surveyed her curiously. Mid thirties, Larceny thought, though these days it was hard to tell ages. Thirteen year olds could look thirty, and sixty year olds, with the aid of cosmetic surgery, could look thirty. But you could usually tell by the eyes.

He was tanned, and lean. She met his eyes coldly. He was older than she’d thought. Late thirties. He didn’t look away. He unfolded himself from the wall and sauntered over, hands linked into the top of his belt.

‘New in town?’

His voice was deep, low and sexy. He was a stable owner on the prowl for new talent, Larceny decided, though
why
was a bit of a mystery, seeing as girls were dropping out of the sky to go on the game. Easy
money. They thought. Stupid bitches. It was a fool’s game, prostitution.

But this was cool. She’d play along, get some money out of him, then bail out. There was no way she was going on the game for some pimp. If she ever had to resort to selling her body, she’d be in charge of doing it, although she’d rather be dead first. The thought of anyone touching her made her freeze. It always had, as long as she could remember.

‘What’s it to you?’

‘Thought you might need a friend.’

‘You?’ There was scorn in her voice, and she tossed back her head mockingly, the mane of red hair swinging like a soft curtain against the wall behind her.

The man narrowed his eyes. This meeting wasn’t accidental: he’d followed her progress over the years she’d been in and out of residentials and institutions. There’d always been someone to relay the information. But he’d expected someone different now that they were finally face to face. Most of the street kids he knew, male or female, were desperate for affection, for just one person to care about them which made them easy prey.

This girl wasn’t the usual gullible but street-smart babe. Mad? He didn’t think so. He was impressed. She
was fire and ice. Interesting. Challenging. Intriguing. He put on his most winning smile. She probably
was
worth the bother.

‘Hungry?’ he asked.

‘Hardly.’ She indicated the empty crisp packet at her feet.

He grinned. She was smart, this one.

‘Cold?’

‘Hardly.’ She shrugged in the thick plaid jacket.

‘Lonely?’

‘Hardly.’ The green eyes flickered over him, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. ‘
You’re
here trying to give me grief, aren’t you, so how can I be lonely?’

He put out his hand. ‘I’m Nick Farino.’

She looked at it, and he dropped his hand to his side as his lips tightened. He wasn’t used to rejection. He didn’t like it.

‘Look, man, I’m not interested in whatever you’ve got to offer,’ she said curtly. ‘Do me a favour and piss off.’

Nick Farino wasn’t accustomed to being told to piss off, especially by a mere kid. He scowled.

‘I run a business,’ he began.

‘Not interested. I told ya, piss off.’

‘I need a receptionist.’

‘Oh,
please
!’

‘I do.’

‘I can’t type.’

‘You don’t need to type. You answer the phone, make bookings for the clients, that sort of thing.’

Larceny looked at him and decided to taunt him a bit. ‘You a doctor? Or a dentist? Or what?’ she asked demurely.

He didn’t answer, just looked back steadily. He was a sharp operator all right. She changed tactics.

‘The world’s full of receptionists busting to work, so why me?’

Nick Farino shrugged.

‘Dunno,’ he said, which was the first honest word he’d uttered for about a year. And he
didn’t
know. He’d just wanted to have a look at her when he’d learned that she’d done a runner and was at the station. But she drew him like a magnet, not in a sexy way. In fact she was more of a turn-off with her cold, blood-freezing eyes and her aura of icy anger. And now he’d met her, he needed to know more about her and what made her tick.

‘Look, man, thanks for the offer, but I don’t want to work, okay? I’m just cruising through.’

He was tempted to grab her, twist her arm up her back and frogmarch her down the street to his car. Babes usually fell all over him, and this one he wanted to control because somehow she was turning the tables and controlling him. He stepped towards her.

‘Don’t even
think
about it,’ she said softly but menacingly, as the city commuters bustled and jostled around them. He stopped short, frowning.

‘Wait here!’

With long strides he walked away towards the entrance and zapped down the steps. Larceny leaned back against the wall, bemused. She wasn’t frightened of him. Fear? When she’d been mauled by orderlies, pinched by nurses, pricked and poked at by doctors, yelled at by teachers, given grief by cops, moved in and out of a bunch of foster homes, and given the works by court magistrates?

But she
was
afraid of being shut up, caged in juvenile for what she’d done to Sammy, scared stiff of being slammed back into a psych hospital and doped up with antidepressants. She was terrified of losing her freedom, of being confined by walls and bars. No human could get near enough to her emotionally to be a threat, she made sure of that. Just the walls and bars … She could feel the grey mist beginning to swirl
up, seducing her thoughts, nagging and niggling, and soon the voices …

‘Right, kid. This is Stella.’

Larceny blinked, bringing herself out of the fog. Nick stood before her, half dragging a skinny old woman with a wrinkled face like a monkey, dyed black hair and a harassed expression.

‘This your number one babe? No wonder you’re desperate,’ said Larceny sarcastically, though her curiosity was aroused.

‘Stella runs the hot food stall across the street,’ said Nick impatiently. ‘I’ve decided she needs an assistant. You.’

‘This is crazy,’ said Larceny. ‘Are we on
Candid Camera
or something?’ She crossed her eyes and put out her tongue. ‘Where’s the hidden camera? Wait, don’t bother answering. I’ve wasted enough time hanging round this place. I’m outa here.’

She hefted the tote bag up from the floor and went to barge past Nick, but his arm shot out to grab her elbow. She froze. The ice-fire came into her eyes and Nick dropped his arm like it had been seared by a hotplate.

‘Don’t ever, ever touch me,’ she said softly, her eyes narrowed like a cat’s.

‘You’re mad!’

‘Maybe. Maybe not.
You’re
not gonna get the chance to find out, are you?’

Stella spoke. ‘The job. No strings, no trouble. Cash in hand.’

Larceny looked at the old woman. She gazed back. A tough old bird, shrewd and hardened with years of struggling against the odds.

‘Why me?’ she asked simply.

‘You’ve got spirit. And you’re not going to rip me off!’

‘You’re the only one on this planet who thinks so,’ said Larceny. ‘My name’s Larceny and larceny’s my game, man. Got to live up to my name.’

Stella chuckled. ‘Nothing to rip off except donuts, pies and hot coffee, luv. Are you coming? I’ve got Jack minding the stall and he’s not exactly the full falafel if you get my drift.’

Larceny gave herself a surreptitious pinch to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Or tripping out on the after effects of the skunk. No, she was here at Flinders Street station with a smooth-ball called Nick and a scrawny old woman called Stella who’d just given her a job. This was for real. Sammy Soul was the bad trip, the nightmare. She sighed.

‘Yeah. All right. Just for tonight, and no hassles.’

Following Nick and Stella she walked out into the rain-spattered street as the sky darkened, heralding a cold wintry Melbourne night. People scurried past, heads bent against the rain, eyes down, never smiling at each other in apology as they bumped shoulders. Like a mob of sheep, Larceny thought, all going somewhere, following the leader to the trains that would take them home to their safe, warm houses where they’d eat, watch tv and tumble into their beds before they got up again the next day and repeated it all. Forget it. It wasn’t for her.

They crossed the road and reached the stall. It was more or less just a hole in the wall. Seeing Stella, the old dude called Jack unfolded himself from a stool, nodded and shuffled off up the street.

‘He’s a man of few words. Dump your gear there.’

Stella pointed to a corner. Larceny dropped her tote bag and took off her coat. It was warm and steamy in the booth.

‘Right. This is how you make the coffee. Donuts and pies are in the warmer.’

Stella wasn’t exactly overflowing with the gift of the gab either, Larceny thought with a small secret smile. Good. Meaningless chatter got on her nerves.
She’d heard enough of it in the psych wards. That, and pompous psychological jargon.

It was basic. Easy. You put coffee in styrene cups, pies and donuts in bags, and took the money. The clientele was rough, street-tough: the misplaced, the lost and lonely dregs of the city who couldn’t afford more than a coffee and a donut.

‘I do sandwiches and rolls in the summer,’ Stella confided, as Larceny served an old drunk with shaking hands and rheumy eyes who coughed and wheezed as he handed over a two dollar coin.

‘Yeah. Right.’

A few streeties rolled up, their hard faces glistening in the rain, feral in their denims: the product of a society too busy dealing with enterprise bargaining, key performance indicators and an ailing economy to deal with its ailing youth. They cracked a few jokes with Stella when she gave them a couple of donuts and charged them less than the usual because she said that the jam had gone and leaked outa them.