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.