Payback
In the late afternoon,
Manx winds in the fishing line
and tosses the rod on the sand.
We look across the lake to Tipping Point.
Two men in fluoro vests are working
in Mr Beattie’s yard.
One of them holds a surveyor’s reflector,
while the other
maps the distance to each boundary.
‘Either Beattie died without anyone knowing,
or Patrick’s dad offered him
more than he could resist,’ I say.
‘Bastard,’ is all Manx says in reply.
A familiar BMW pulls up on Lake Road.
Mr Lloyd-Davis winds down the window.
‘Hey, I want a word with you two.’
Manx and I stand
but, as I’m about to walk towards the road,
Manx grabs my arm.
‘Make him come to us,’ he says.
Mr Lloyd-Davis strides down the bank,
pointing at Manx.
‘My son’s friend just told me
you’re the idiot who graffitied on my window.’
I can feel Manx tense beside me.
‘Angelo is a liar,’ I say.
Mr Lloyd-Davis remembers who I am.
‘You owe me thirty dollars,’ he says.
Then he steps up to Manx.
‘And you owe me the cost of a new door.’
He grabs Manx’s arm and says,
‘You’re coming with me.
We’ll see what your father has to say about this.’
Manx wriggles out of his grasp.
‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ he shouts,
his face turning red,
a vein throbbing in his neck.
Patrick’s father grabs Manx again,
but Manx pushes his hand away
and Mr Lloyd-Davis stumbles.
Swearing and still off-balance,
he swings a wild punch at Manx.
Manx sways out of the way
and hits Mr Lloyd-Davis once in the stomach.
He drops to his knees
as Manx steps forward to finish him off.
I jump between them.
‘No, Manx.’
Mr Lloyd-Davis springs to his feet
and takes a step backward.
‘That’s it, kid. You’re gone.
I’m calling the cops.’
Manx attempts to get past me,
but I hold him back.
I’m sweating and my voice breaks when I say,
‘Manx was only defending himself.
I’m a witness, sir.’
Manx relaxes, just a little,
so I seize my chance.
‘You … you threw the first punch.’
Mr Lloyd-Davis hesitates.
‘We don’t know who damaged your property,’ I say.
He dusts down his jacket
and walks back to the BMW.
When he opens the door,
he turns and shouts,
‘It’s not over.’
He guns the car down Lake Road.
Manx and I don’t say a word
until the sound of the engine fades.
Manx attempts a smile.
‘You know, Jonah.
You sounded like a twelve-year-old girl.’
I’m too scared to answer
in case my voice cracks again.