Raw (10 page)

The basketball bounced across the yard until it stopped at Brett's feet. He bent down, picked it up and passed it back to the guys playing a game of one-on-one under a bug-swamped lightbulb.

‘Thanks,' one of the basketballers said, nodding.

‘No problem.' Brett dusted his hands.

The two guys went back to their game and he moved on.

It was too hot inside The yoBs' House (as it was now known after some joker rearranged the lettering above the front entrance), so Brett had stepped out for a while to enjoy the cool night breeze. It was half an hour before lights out and a lot of the guys were mucking round in the common room or getting ready for bed. So Brett loned it. It wasn't often a guy got the chance to be by himself in a detention centre
anyway. He picked a spot near the homestead and lay back in the soft grass, using his hands as a pillow. A westerly glided over him, bringing with it the buzz of the bush night life.

He'd survived his first week. It didn't sound like much but in here each day felt like it was a hundred hours long. He still hated the place and didn't know if coming back had been the right decision. He always loathed and welcomed the new morning the most. He loathed it because it meant another day of chores and being away from home, but welcomed it because sometimes the nights were dark in more ways than one. The previous night he'd heard muffled screams for about half an hour. After that, just lonely crying. He'd also heard laughter coming from the same room. Brett didn't know what had happened and didn't want to.

During that week, he'd been suffering from mixed emotions. He missed home but not his parents' nagging. He was glad to be away from it. But there was a sense of loneliness here that he hated. A sense of no emotional support whatsoever. When he did think of home — and it was harder to ignore when you couldn't get to sleep at night — he tried to block it out with other thoughts. Like the girl.

She'd been on his mind more than he cared to
admit. He had a crush on a girl whose name he didn't even know. It was embarrassing. He was sixteen — not thirteen and bitten by puppy love. What's more, he didn't even know if she liked him. He could be getting all mushy over some chick who mightn't even cross the road to spit at him. He didn't want to get burnt again. But try as he might, she was always on his mind. Maybe it was the way she walked. Her face. Her smile. Her spirit. He saw something in her which made him take notice.

“A good looking guy like you …”

Why did she say that? It could mean anything. Anything! But secretly he hoped it meant something more.

A hot, sticky tongue licked his ear and woke him.

‘Blue!' he said, trying to push the cattle dog away from his face. ‘Get off me would you!'

Brett sat up and managed to restrain her. It didn't take much. A few scratches along her neck and she was sitting next to him, wanting more.

Wiping his face, Brett was about to throw a stick for her to chase when he heard Josh's voice floating through an open window. He and Sam were next door in the homestead.

‘Ready to go?' Josh asked. ‘The bait's loaded onto the ute and the tank's full. I reckon we can
poison most of the mice in the east field tonight.'

‘One thing first,' Sam said. ‘I've been thinking about the fight the other day in the mess hall between Brett Dalton and Tyson Jones. You don't know anything about that do you?'

‘Only what I saw.'

‘You didn't have anything to do with it, did you?'

‘No! Definitely not. Why?'

‘Because I thought it might have something to do with your fight in the bathroom.'

‘No. Tyson probably took on Dalton because Dalton's bad news. He's got an attitude problem.'

‘That, and the fact that no one's forgiven him for running away and getting them all into trouble, huh? Don't look surprised. I've been watching to see how the guys would react. It's true isn't it? Josh?'

He didn't answer.

‘Well, I want you to pass on the word that it ends now. Got it? I know he's caused some trouble round here, but he's taking time to settle in. You're all like that when you first come here. You yourself should know that.' Josh still didn't say anything so Sam added, ‘If there are any problems, tell me first. I'll deal with them. Not the boys. Okay? Brett's been here a week now —'

‘Does that include Tuesday and Wednesday?'

‘Josh,' Sam warned. ‘I've dealt with that. Brett wanted a second chance so I gave it to him. He probably learnt more in those two days than he cares to admit.'

‘Why didn't you ring the cops?'

‘The same reason I didn't ring them either of the times you ran away. I knew you were smart enough to come back. And I would've rung them if Brett had stayed out there any longer.'

The stablehand stayed quiet. Brett could imagine him glaring at Sam across a desk, wanting to curse and shout the old man down but deciding against it because they were “friends”.

He couldn't help but grin. Not because Josh was copping flak but because Sam was sticking up for him. Also, Brett found it interesting to learn that Mr Goody Two Football Boots wasn't as perfect as he'd imagined.

 

A minute later, the flyscreen slapped open. Led by a bitter Josh, Sam stepped out onto the verandah and casually closed the door behind him. It was Brett's cue to leave. He threw the stick for Blue to chase then slipped back inside The House.

He made it as far as the common room before
hidden hands grabbed him in the darkness! They seized his mouth, arms, legs and chest. Frantically, he lashed out to free himself with his elbows and feet. He bit down on the fingers gagging his mouth but a slap to the temple quickly sent his mind spinning.

Dazed, Brett was aware he was being lugged down a corridor before stopping. The voices said the coast was clear then dragged him into what he guessed was a bedroom. With a
thump
, he was thrown onto the ground. His head hit the floorboards but fear overcame the pain. He had to get out of there!

‘No you don't, Pretty Boy!'

Two hands pushed his shoulders back onto the ground, while two others held his ankles. A knee slammed into his chest and he couldn't breathe. He tried yelling for help, but a fifth hand silenced him.

‘Stop squirming! It'll only make things worse!'

It was Tyson. It had to be. And the two guys holding him down had to be his thugs. Brett knew he was dead.

‘You just don't know how to keep out of trouble, do you? Staying outside after curfew is a no-no round here, haven't you heard? Or were you thinking of making another break for it and getting the rest of us grounded again? Huh?'

The knee again.

‘
Huh
!'

‘Let's make sure he remembers this time,' one of the thugs said.

‘Yer,' the other joined in. ‘Cut off the Pretty Boy's hair.'

Brett's eyes widened. He flailed about to get them off him! But it was hopeless. Tyson crushed his knee even deeper into his chest. He yanked up a handful of Brett's hair then started sawing off tufts with some sort of blade.

Brett screamed. But no one was listening.

 

He tapped his plastic shaver on the edge of the sink, watching as blood and the rest of his hair swirled down the plughole. He hadn't dared look in the mirror yet. He knew what he'd see. They'd done this to him! They'd attacked him and threatened him and taken away something that was his! And what had remained was not worth keeping. Getting rid of the remnants was the final humiliation.

He still didn't look at himself when he turned the bathroom lights off. He couldn't. He had to get out of there. Hugging himself, Brett dragged his feet back to his room. He had to hide.

‘Where have you been?' Frog whispered, spooked by the sudden appearance of his roommate.

‘Go to sleep, Frog!'

‘But where have you been? Sam'll ground you if he finds out —'

‘FROG! SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP!'

The kid started whimpering but he didn't say another word. Brett knew he'd been hard on him, but he didn't care. He fell onto his bed and crawled under the sheets, curled up in a ball and forced himself to cry.

The homestead's screen door slapped open and nearly flung Brett back down the front steps.

‘Sorry, mate. You okay?' Sam asked.

‘Yer. You scared me, that's all,' Brett answered.

‘Nearly gotcha, didn't he?' a stranger said with a yellow toothy grin.

Brett nodded and half-smiled back, not knowing what to say.

‘Brett, I'd like you to meet an old friend of mine,' Sam said to fill the pause. ‘Brett Dalton, meet Charlie Walker.'

‘Nice to meet you, Brett.'

Brett raised his hand to shake the stranger's and say hello but there was no hand to shake! Charlie didn't have any arms!

Clumsily, Brett pocketed his and said, ‘You too.'

‘Well, I can't stand round here any longer,' Charlie said. ‘My missus is waiting for me. I'll see you in two weeks at the rodeo, Sam. Give me a call if you need any help organising that ride to Boomi.'

He said goodbye and slid inside his ute where his wife was waiting. Brett watched them leave before asking, ‘What happened to his arms? Was he in a war or something?'

‘No,' Sam said, opening the screen door. ‘He smokes.'

Brett froze. He looked at Sam but the old man's eyes said he wasn't lying. A stinging sensation snaked down both of Brett's arms and he had to ball his fists to make sure he still had them. Smoking did
that
?

He followed Sam into the homestead. The old man was waiting for him just inside the door. ‘Got something for me?'

Brett's shoulders sank. He reached into his top pocket and pulled out three smokes he'd traded off one of the guys. He slapped them into Sam's rough hands, hating the way the old man kept reading his mind.

‘I'm glad you're here,' Sam said. ‘I've got something for you.'

He led Brett into the kitchen and picked an envelope off the table. He handed it to him and Brett
flipped it over to see who the sender was: MAUREEN DALTON. Mum! Quickly, he ripped the top off and pulled out the letter. On two small pieces of paper in blue ink she had written:

 

Dear Brett,

I haven't heard from you yet so I thought I might write. How is your stay going? Have you met any new friends yet? Is it hot in Mungindi at the moment? It's boiling here.

The doctor says your sister is going to have her baby very soon now. Everyone's arguing over whether it will be a boy or a girl. Your father's hoping for a boy, but I'm not fussed. As long as the child's healthy that's the main thing. I'm just not sure if I'm ready to be a grandmother yet. It's good to start feeling like a family again.

I heard the other day your friend Rebecca is missing. She left home with a man and her mother hasn't seen her since. Do you know where she might have gone? Her mother is worried about her (when she's sober that is).

Four letters arrived for you last week. They were all from companies you applied for jobs with. I hope you don't mind that I opened them. You know I wouldn't normally but because you're so far away I had to just in case they offered you a position. Their answers were all the same, however. They said they didn't have any jobs available at the moment and that they'd put your details
on file. I'm sorry. Something will come up soon. Maybe you can go back to school when you come home or even try looking for work there at Mungindi.

I hope to see you soon. Lots of love. Mum.

 

‘Good news?' Sam asked.

Brett nodded and tucked the letter into his back pocket. The letter was exactly what he needed right now. ‘I'm going to be an uncle.'

‘Congratulations. I'm sorry I don't have any cigars to pass round.'

Brett paled and Sam — was it? yes! it was! — he grinned under his brown moustache. The sly, old geezer.

‘How are the guys?' Sam asked, walking over to the fridge.

‘Some are pretty rapt. Others aren't. They look like they would've preferred it if their parents stayed away.'

‘Like Tyson Jones?'

‘Yer. His parents would've slapped him into a coma if Mr Andrews hadn't stepped in. He'll have a headache for the next week.'

It was open day at The Farm. Parents and families had a chance to catch up face-to-face with the guys. Like Brett said, for some it hadn't been hugs and
kisses. His own parents were allowed to come, but he didn't pass on the message. He didn't want them to see him in here. He knew it would upset them. It wouldn't make it any easier for him seeing his mother break down, then watching her go home again.

It would remind him too much of his parents' three year separation.

‘What did you want me for?' he asked.

‘Sit down,' Sam said, offering Brett a lemonade. They did so and started drinking.

‘Did you get those cuts on your head looked at by Mary?'

Brett instinctively reached up and ran his hand over his bald head half-hidden by one of Frog's caps. ‘They're only shaving nicks.'

‘Why'd you shave it off in the first place?'

‘Most other guys here have tough haircuts. I thought I'd get one too.'

‘We do cut people's hair every four weeks here, you know.'

‘Yer, I heard that. But I couldn't wait.'

Brett had heard a lot of other things too, like: “Egghead”, “Chrome dome” and “Skinhead”.

‘Can I go now?' he asked, starting to rise.

‘Not yet. I want to know who did that to you.'

‘Nobody. I did it myself. I wanted a change, that's all.'

Sam sighed. ‘Brett, don't lie to me. I know someone did that to you. I want to know who.'

‘Why?'

‘So I can deal with it.'

Brett stood up and pulled his cap low. ‘Sorry, Sam. Leave it alone.'

‘Why do you boys always protect each other?' He was on his feet too now. ‘Can't you see, it just lets those who do it keep on doing it?'

‘Why do you think, Sam? You're smart enough. You know the score. You figure it out.'

He charged out the screen door and headed towards the stables. Sam chased him as far as the verandah and shouted, ‘Don't shut me out, Brett. I
do
know the score and that's why I'm worried about you.'