CHAPTER 27

Devon

‘Do you feel like your personal safety is being threatened?’

Casey Marshall addressed the question to a kitchen full of Devon’s whanau, while he cringed in one corner. If only Emma were here and could see how pissed they all were, might teach her to pause for half-a-second next time she decided to do him a so-called favour.

‘Can’t get out the bloody gate without tripping over one of those porangi. Soon as I say I’ll set the dogs on them, they bugger off.’

This from Devon’s dad, Hutana, senior health and safety inspector. No one would dare point out any irony in that.

‘So that’s a “No” from you, Mr Pohio-Ladbrook.’ Casey glanced round the room. ‘Any of the rest of you felt in danger?’

‘In danger of unleashing an arse-kicking.’

That from Awi, one of Devon’s two older sisters, who both played in the front row of the Hampton women’s rugby team.

As the rest of the room muttered agreement, Casey said, ‘Can I be assured that no one here has lightly smacked, accidentally bumped or been aggressive in any physical way towards these people?’

‘Why are we the ones who need to watch out?’ said Devon’s cousin, Joel, who subscribed to magazines with titles like Reps and Flex. ‘They’re invading our privacy, interfering with our lives.’

‘I appreciate that,’ said Casey. ‘But there’s a difference between civil and criminal harassment, and I need to work out which we’re dealing with before I can act.’

‘Dad hasn’t actually set the dogs on them,’ said Devon. ‘As you might have guessed.’

Casey’s mouth twitched in acknowledgement. The Pohio-Ladbrook family canines were a pair of golden retrievers named Lolly and Dolly. Lolly was currently lying on her back under the kitchen table, having her belly rubbed by the toe of Casey’s shoe. Dolly was sprawled on the living room couch, asleep.

‘Have you found any of these people loitering on your property?’

To her credit, Constable Marshall was exploring all angles.

‘Not likely,’ said Devon’s dad. ‘They know they’ll get a bloody good hiding.’

‘So am I right in concluding that none of these people have been trespassing, and that you see them as more of a nuisance than a danger?’ said Casey.

‘Does moral danger count?’ said Devon’s mum, Jasmijn. ‘The mokos have seen some nasty stuff come through the mail, and one of the girls outside lifted her top right up and showed us her poho!’

‘Not ideal,’ said Casey. ‘But not easy to prosecute — unless you took photos?’

‘What am I?’ said Jasmijn, outraged. ‘Some kind of pervert?’

Casey drew a line through a note she’d made in her book. ‘Anything threatening in the mail?’

‘After the used undies, we stopped looking,’ said Awi. ‘Chuck the parcels and letters straight in the bin now.’

‘OK, why don’t you start dropping them off to the station,’ said Casey. ‘Give me something educational to do on lunch break other than the crossword.’

‘If you do spot a likely match for our tama here, can you pass on her name?’ Awi deflected Devon’s glare with a grin. ‘He’s been Mr Pukuriri for days now. Maybe some good loving would improve his mood.’

‘Yeah, cuz,’ said Joel. ‘Pick one, eh? Put us all out of your misery.’

Devon wanted to raise his middle finger to them both, but couldn’t deny they spoke the truth. If he’d insisted Emma take down the stupid online ad right away, then his family would never have been caught up in this farce. If he’d twigged to how he felt about Moana sooner, he wouldn’t be in a shitty mood 24/7. He needed to suck up the teasing, and pray that these fruitloops would lose interest in him soon and leave them all alone. As for Moana —well, the power of prayer only went so far. And murdering Brownie was probably out of the question.

Slotting the notebook into her top pocket, Constable Marshall stood to address the room.

‘As nothing you’ve described qualifies as trespassing or criminal harassment,’ she said, ‘best I can do is drive by each day and have a stern word with whoever’s hanging about.’

A murmur of discontent. Casey held up a placatory palm.

‘I know that’s not ideal,’ she said, ‘but if they’re basically harmless they should be easily scared off. Let me know immediately if anything changes. And drop off those parcels and letters, so I can keep an eye on the contents.’

‘Better wear protective gloves,’ said Awi. ‘Maybe a whole hazmat suit.’

‘What about the phone calls?’ said Devon’s mum.

‘If you’re getting regular calls from the same people,’ said Casey. ‘Then log the times and dates, and tell your phone company. They can bar them from calling you.’

‘So basically you’re saying we just have to put up with it?’ Joel stepped forward, arms tensed. ‘People can ruin our quality of life and we can’t do shit to stop them?’

Devon mentally rolled his eyes. Joel always had to be the tough guy.

But Casey was well used to young men with too much testosterone.

‘You’ve done the right thing and called me,’ she said. ‘Anything beyond that will almost certainly not be the right thing. Am I making myself clear?’

Sighs and feet scraping round the room. ‘Ye-es.’

‘Thanks for coming out on a Saturday morning,’ said Devon. ‘And I’m sorry for letting this get out of control.’

Casey nodded. ‘You and Emma still on speaking terms?’

Despite everything, Devon’s whanau still believed the sun shone out of Emma’s bum, so there was no point in slagging her off in front of them. If she set their house on fire, they’d probably compliment her on how evenly the flames were spreading.

‘She’s apologised,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘And I guess it’s not like she had any real clue how crazy this would get.’

Constable Marshall picked up her car keys, jinked them in her hand.

‘Personally,’ she said, ‘I’m amazed how often people believe “I didn’t mean to” is all the excuse they need.’

Devon arrived a half-hour early at the gym, intending to work off some steam on the punchbag before his two o’clock session with Logan. He was surprised to see Casey’s partner with a small boy, whom he vaguely recognised. And wasn’t that Bernard Weston’s wife — Patricia? — on one of the seats along the wall? Devon didn’t know they had a grandkid.

He had to pass her on the way to the changing room, so he nodded and said hello. She’d been concentrating on the boy and Logan, and took a moment to focus.

‘Devon, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Do you train here, too?’

Though she sounded fine, Devon could tell she was anxious about something, keen for reassurance. In his mind, he kissed goodbye to punchbag time and sat down next to her.

‘I imagine you’re very good at it.’

‘Kind of you to say,’ he said. ‘But to be good at this sport, I need way less aggression and way more self-control.’

‘You’ve always struck me as entirely self-possessed,’ said Patricia. ‘But I suppose we all react differently depending on the situation.’

‘Maybe that’s my problem.’ Devon lent forward, rested his elbows on his knees. ‘Bottle it up too much. Need to release it more often, so it doesn’t burst out in one go like a geyser.’

Patricia’s attention was on the boy again. Logan was helping him put on kick pads and gloves. The kid was impatient, raring to go, but Devon knew Logan would never let him start to spar until he was calm. Devon should teach the kid a few tricks about pretending to be calm, except that Logan knew him well enough now to see through his ruses.

‘That your grandson?’ he said to Patricia.

‘No.’ She sounded amused and sad at the same time. ‘Bernard and I have registered as respite caregivers for children in need. Reuben is with us for only another six days.’

‘Reuben, yeah.’

Devon recalled Sidney talking about Reuben. Problem kid, caused by problem home life was what he’d gathered. Not everyone was as lucky as he was, Devon reminded himself. There are a lot worse things a family can do than piss you off.

‘So why Muay Thai?’ he asked.

‘Do you think it’s a bad idea?’

Again that need for reassurance. Devon watched Logan guide Reuben into the starting positions. Saw that the kid was already getting frustrated. Little man just wanted to kick the shit out of something. Devon knew how that felt. He felt it right now watching Logan.

Devon liked the guy; he was a good teacher and not in the least bit arrogant. He also had the kind of chisel-jawed athletic looks that could model expensive jeans or underwear. Lucky bastard.

Shit. This had to stop before it destroyed him, and pissed off everyone else. The lady was waiting for an answer and it better be a fair one.

‘It might not turn out to be the right sport for Reuben,’ said Devon. ‘But he couldn’t be in better hands.’

As if to confirm it, Logan gave up on trying to coach positions. Instead, he held out the sparring pads and let Reuben flail at them with all his might. Why not? If the kid didn’t have fun, he wouldn’t want to come back.

Fun. Devon tried to recall the last time he’d had fun. He loved riding Tiu, but only if the beach was empty, no one there to stare or yell insults. He relished the challenge of studying, but he’d hardly call it fun. Work? The Boat Shed crew, Jacko, Gene, Sidney — they all accepted him, but they weren’t his friends. Lightning Tree felt like a second home when he was there, but his colleagues had their own lives and social circles that didn’t include him. He’d missed the boat with Moana, and Brownie had nailed it with the phrase ‘barely tolerated acquaintance’, so who did that leave? Emma, he guessed. Emma, who, right now, embodied the phrase, ‘With friends like these, who needs enemies?’

Reuben hurtled up to Patricia, red-faced and beaming.

‘I went smack, smack, pow!’ His demonstration required Devon and Patricia to move their heads out of the firing zone. ‘Pow! Wham! Pow!’

Logan approached, smile apologetic.

‘We’ll work on the discipline aspects,’ he said to Patricia. ‘After another couple of lessons, I’ll include him with a group of kids in his age-range. A little competition does wonders for motivating them to learn proper technique.’

Patricia, Devon observed, didn’t look entirely convinced. But she thanked Logan politely, and began to encourage a still air-kicking Reuben away.

‘Goodbye,’ she said to Devon. ‘Thank you for indulging me.’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Any time.’

Reuben stopped suddenly mid-hi-ya, fixed his big eyes on Devon.

‘You look like a girl,’ he said.

‘Reuben, dear, that’s not polite,’ said Patricia.

‘Are you a girl?’ said Reuben, undeterred. ‘With a deep voice?’

‘No, little man,’ said Devon. ‘I’m all dude. One hundred per cent. Don’t let appearances fool you.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Patricia.

Devon shrugged. ‘He’s a kid. Asking questions is what they do.’

‘POW!’

Seemed Reuben was done with biology, and was keen now to explore the laws of physics by kicking over a chair.

‘Time to go,’ said Patricia, firmly. And they went.

Devon could feel Logan staring at him. No doubt with a pitying expression. He forced himself to meet the guy’s eye.

But Logan’s face was Shaolin monk impassive.

‘Five minutes’, warm-up on the punching bag,’ was all he said. ‘Make it count.’

No problem with that, thought Devon as he headed to change. He was going to smash that sucker into oblivion. Wham, pow!

Waited tables all evening like he was on autopilot. Gene wasn’t a Saturday regular, and, usually, Devon liked having a break from being roasted, but tonight, he could have done with the stimulation. Jacko didn’t notice that Devon was barely present. None of the customers did, either. Perhaps he was good at pretending everything was hunky dory?

Last table was ready to leave by nine, and after clean up, that’d be Devon done. No movie later on with Brownie. He’d received that call before he started work.

‘Moana and I are going out tonight,’ Brownie said. ‘Is that all right with you?’

‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ said Devon.

‘Because she was your friend first?’

Brownie didn’t sound like he was taking the piss. But then this was a bloke who’d led a secret double-life for months.

‘My friend, not my property,’ said Devon. ‘I’ve got no say over what she does.’

‘So you don’t mind?’

‘Wouldn’t go that far.’

A short pause.

‘Noted,’ said Brownie. ‘Well, see you round, perhaps?’

‘Sure. Yeah.’

He’d hung up, and shut down, and that was how the evening had rolled. Now, he was holding the front door open for the last table. Jacko had already gone home to Mac, King the dog, and a well-earned beer in front of whatever TV programme Mac let him watch. Devon, as per routine, would do the final clean and lock up alone.

Or not.

‘Room for a little one?’

Dr G stood outside, making room for the last customers to pass.

‘Kitchen’s closed.’ Devon let him in, shut the door. ‘But you can have a drink if you want. Might join you.’

‘Yes, better not to drink alone. Although, of course, that was exactly my intention.’

Devon brought out a bottle of pinot, poured two glasses as Dr G settled at the bar.

‘Your date cancel on you?’

Dr G’s eyes widened. ‘My, er — Oh! You mean my regular Saturday engagement. Yes, this week, we brought it forward to Thursday.’

‘You’re never going to spill the beans, are you?’ said Devon, with a grin. ‘Be careful. Nature and small towns abhor a vacuum. What they don’t know, they make up. And then they convince themselves it’s all true.’

‘That is no doubt excellent advice.’

Devon envied his composure. Seemed everyone he knew had some core of certainty that kept them solid. Some were more rock-solid than others, of course.

‘So how’d last night go with Emma?’ he said. ‘Unless you’re keeping mum on that subject, too?’

If Dr G had been about to tell all, the moment was lost. Front door clattered open. In walked some dude.

‘We’re closed,’ Devon called out.

The dude strolled up to them. Devon’s woo-wah began to ping.

‘I was told to meet someone here.’

White man with dreads. Dressed like some kind of combat anarchist, though he wouldn’t last two seconds in the Crown. Handsome, if you liked the type. Which was, and Devon was never mistaken, Class 1 Arrogant Wanker.

‘You can meet them outside,’ said Devon. ‘We’re having a private drink.’

The bloke leaned one hip against the bar, one elbow on it.

‘You must be Devon. Emma’s told me all about you.’

Devon’s woo-wah went into hyperdrive.

‘And you are?’

‘Loko.’ A pause for obvious effect. ‘Her lover.’

Devon couldn’t help a quick glance at Dr G. Poor guy looked like he’d been freeze-framed, which meant, God damn her, that Emma had failed to mention she was playing the field.

Unless, of course, this whakahihi arse was doing the equivalent of pissing on a doorway, marking Emma as his territory. Something he’d never dare to do if she were present, owing to it guaranteeing him a swift kick in the nads.

Devon really wanted Emma to show up soon, and for completely contradictory reasons. He wanted to see her embarrassed and apologetic about how she’d strung poor Dr G along, but he also wanted to see her put this dreadlocked douche in his place. Because he was seriously making Devon’s shit itch.

‘Emma showed me your photo,’ said Loko. ‘You’re even more distinctive in person.’

Devon’s adrenaline began to pump. But no way was he going to react.

‘Emma thinks you should leave town,’ Loko continued. ‘She could be right. Conservative communities like this one don’t make it easy to be non-binary, do they?’

Now, that was some patronising fuckery right there. Couldn’t let that pass.

‘Non-binary?’

‘Does that term make you uncomfortable?’

‘I don’t give a fuck about gender. And I don’t care if people are queer, straight, bi, or if they reproduce by fucking parthenogenesis,’ said Devon. ‘But in the words of Popeye, I am what I am. And that’s the full hetero-normative. Sorry to disappoint.’

Loko nodded, slowly. ‘Your stance is completely understandable.’

‘What does that mean?’

Dude spread his hands in faux conciliatory fashion.

‘No judgement,’ he said. ‘It’s typical of small rural communities to privilege the cis-male, so it’s no surprise that you’d prefer to present as one.’

This douche-tard had a degree in patronising fuckery. Time to step it up a notch, and take a leaf out of the Pohio-Ladbrook ‘no one messes with us’ playbook.

‘So you’re saying if Gabriel’s Bay folk weren’t a bunch of backward shitheads, I could stop putting on a show?’

‘Devon, could I trouble you for another glass of that excellent wine?’

Being a medical man, Dr G had no doubt observed Devon’s blood pressure rising.

Without taking his eyes off Loko, Devon slid the bottle along the bar.

‘Help yourself, Doc.’

Then he rephrased his previous question less ambiguously.

‘So you’re dissing not only me but my friends and whanau? My kainga?’

Loko wore a tiny smile, like this was where he’d wanted the conversation to head the whole time. Maybe he was pissed off at Emma for two-timing him, and because she wasn’t here, her childhood friend became the next-best target? Or maybe he was a borderline psycho, who got his rocks off from getting under people’s skin?

‘May I also offer you a glass of wine, sir?’

Dr G, the peacemaker. The good guy, trying to do the right thing and defuse the situation.

‘No, you can’t,’ Devon told him. ‘Wine’s for friends only.’

Loko laughed.

‘I can see why Emma likes you,’ he said. ‘You’re loyal. And —what’s that word you all love to use here? Staunch. You’ll see off anything that threatens your familiar world, so you can keep your little circle safe. In its way, it’s admirable.’

The barbs were subtle. Nothing you should really take offence at. Unless you’d already hit peak pissed off …

‘Fuck you, man,’ said Devon. ‘We’re all good here. I’m good, he’s good — we don’t need your shit stirring, more-PC-than-thou blah blah. Why don’t you take your condescending bullshit and fuck off?’

‘Oh, I’ll be leaving soon enough.’

The dude’s smirk, the way his gaze swept over Dr G like he was of no consequence; Devon’s fists started to spasm.

‘I didn’t have high hopes for this place, so I can’t rightly say I’ve been disappointed. A few minor successes, but as I’d suspected, shifting attitudes in such a narrow, culturally repressive frame is like prising limpets off rocks without a knife.’

Loko kept his eyes on Devon.

‘So I’ll be heading away to where I can effect real change. And you can retreat safely back into your delusion that this place has anything to offer you.’

Slam of the front door. Emma hustled in, breathless.

‘Hey, so sorry I’m late.’

Douche-tard swivelled to face her. You could see him swell with self-importance. As far as he was concerned, he’d crushed Devon and his fellow small-town retards like a bug, and now he was being apologised to by his ‘lover’, an abasement which put him high in the catbird seat, preening. Far as he was concerned, he was king of the world, and he no longer had to pretend to be a compassionate, thoughtful guy.

‘No problem,’ said King Loko. ‘I’ve just been giving your friend some advice. Sadly, it seems he’s not man enough — so to speak — to take it.’

Devon wasn’t sure how he got out from behind the bar. He couldn’t remember the first punch, or how many came after. The geyser had blown, and he was a creature of boiling steam. An avenger from the molten abyss. Kia kiia ai!

And then his arms were pinned behind him, and someone was shouting. And gradually, his vision cleared and it was Dr G who held his arms, and Emma shouting, and Loko was on the ground with a bloodied face.

All Devon could think of to say was, ‘How come you’re so strong?’ to Dr G.

Who replied, ‘Treating meth addicts. The orderlies are not always close by.’

Emma was staring up at Devon, eyes wide and angry, tearful.

‘What the hell, Dev? What the hell?’

And he knew he’d have to come up with a better answer than the one in his mind right now. Which was: I didn’t mean to.