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Telling the truth proved cathartic, and Wiri stuck close enough to it he didn’t need to remember complicated lies. He detailed his turbulent upbringing until the moment Hana absorbed him into her tight-knit family, and listed the events which had sullied the Du Rose name during his lifetime.
Jet gave an affirming nod as they balled up the paper bags from their pies and carried their drink bottles from Mari’s store. She clicked the bolt on the door behind them and dropped the blind. “I thought I knew the name,” he concluded. He nudged Wiri’s shoulder with his as they stopped on the curb facing the main street. “Can you give me advanced warning if you feel like murdering someone?”
“I’ll think about it.” Wiri grinned and shook his head. “I don’t look for trouble, dude. It just finds me.”
Jet snorted. He tilted his head back to swallow the last of his soda before shoving the empty bottle into the street bin. “If I had a dollar for every criminal who says that, I wouldn’t need to work.”
Wiri tossed the remains of his uneaten pie into the bin, and he kept the drink bottle in his hand. Jet’s low key reaction reinforced his faith in him, but he didn’t regret keeping his relationship with Phoenix to himself. He couldn’t bear to listen to another’s speculation on whether they would make it. They had to make it. He had no Plan B.
Once in the truck, Jet guided him to a supermarket on the outskirts of the town. He made excuses for his lack of car ownership, not that Wiri cared. They separated at the front doors and Wiri bought basic supplies and enough packet meals to last him for the rest of the week. He wandered the aisles, marvelling at the cost of basic foods in a tiny town held captive by the store’s proximity. He regretted not stopping in Hamilton and stocking up on supplies in one of the more competitive chains.
Phoenix’s favourite cereal soothed his angst as he picked up the yellow box and turned it over in his hands. A cartoon character paraded across the front, a spoon lifted to his teddy bear mouth. His lips parted at the astronomical price and he set it back on the shelf with the others. The boulder pressed against his lungs, causing him to take shallow breaths. If they headed off the beaten track to hide from the Du Roses, he’d need even more money for The Plan than he’d anticipated.
Wiri shoved a packet of cheap oats into the trolley and kept pushing. He’d slather on cocoa powder and chopped banana in Hana’s kitchen, but he flicked through his mental shopping list and discarded both expensive items. Powdered milk with an unknown brand dropped into the trolley as he continued searching for food, which wouldn’t break the bank. He rounded the end of the aisle without looking up and a metallic clash cut across the classical music piping through the overhead speakers. “Sorry!” he gushed. “My fault.”
The man sneered at him from behind the other trolley. Wine bottles and packet meals slid towards the front end to reveal junk food and a lonely lettuce. He lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head as though looking into Wiri’s soul. Then he leaned his forearms over the trolley handle and surveyed the teenager with disdain. “What are you sorry for?” he asked. His tone held a hidden depth, something black and sticky beneath the smooth surface. He raised a quizzical eyebrow as he peered into Wiri’s trolley. “So, kid,” he said, “why are you in our town? They’ve cast you out of the whānau, or you’re on the run. Which is it?”
Wiri swallowed. His skin prickled with the exposure, like a spider beneath the microscope of a boy known for pulling off their legs. “Excuse me,” he managed, keeping his voice light. He drew the trolley back and tried to angle it around the man and his feast for one.
Hendricks shifted his trolley forward with enough speed to block Wiri’s route. “Which is it?” he growled. “I love a good mystery.”
Wiri ground his teeth. “No mystery.” He forced a laugh into his voice. “I’m nobody. Just here to work.”
Hendricks pressed his lips together, and they disappeared, leaving white, bloodless lines in their place. “On the run then,” he said. His eyes danced with the unexpected intrigue delivered from a routine supermarket visit. Wiri moved his feet and Hendricks shoved his trolley again, anticipating the power bunching in the teenager’s muscles as he prepared to push through the non-existent gap by force. “What are you running from, young Mr Nobody?” he whispered. He cocked his head and studied Wiri’s face. “A crime? A debt? An angry father with a shotgun?”
His laughter rang out through the supermarket. It echoed off the metal shelving. An older woman pushed her trolley around the corner, took one look at Hendricks and reversed. She gave Wiri a tight-lipped look of sympathy, but didn’t offer assistance.
A thwack made Wiri jump. He turned to find the yellow box of cereal face down on the smooth linoleum floor. He turned on wooden limbs and stalked back to right it, abandoning his trolley. It took all his resolve not to keep walking, to arrive outside in the car park with nothing to show for his foray into the adult world. The yellow box teetered at the edge of the shelf, the cartoon bear appealing to him for rescue. Wiri walked back to his trolley, sensing Hendricks boring holes in him as he returned. The man’s gaze burned and Wiri sensed hatred gaining a foothold in his heart.
He let it, drawing on the reserves of power it afforded.
Reaching for his trolley, he seized the handle and gave it a mammoth shove. Metal ground against metal as Hendricks released his trolley, and it flew by him. His eyes widened as it cannoned past the end of the aisle and kept going, pinging off a chilled shelf containing shrink-wrapped meat. Wiri’s trolley chased Hendricks’, crashing into it again until they parted ways and disappeared in opposite directions.
“Better now, Mr Kingii?” Hendricks squared up to him, although Wiri acknowledged it wouldn’t be a fair fight. But as he looked down at him, he saw the man’s eyes held an unhinged quality which he’d seen in his mother. She’d had nothing to lose, either. Except him, and that hadn’t seemed enough to stop her.
His fists balled by his sides and his jaw worked with a mixture of anger and fear. Hendricks lifted a sharp finger and jabbed Wiri’s chest muscle. “I had intended to leave you alone, kid,” he hissed. “Even though your truck is registered at CircleLine Holdings Ltd. I pitied you down here all alone.” He leaned closer, his breath warming Wiri’s chin and snaking up into his nostrils. “Especially now I know you’re from the stupid side of the family.”
The teenager forced himself to stop his lungs from inhaling the other man’s acid. Hendricks flicked his finger like an old dad joke, catching Wiri’s nose with his fingernail. Then he laughed. “You’ll keep,” he said with a chuckle. “Another time.” He winked at him, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Next time, you won’t see me coming.”
He took a calculated step backwards, not taking his gaze off Wiri. Rage boiled in the teenager’s chest like lava contacting water. The moment consolidated all his pent-up angst, the disappointment he anticipated from the Du Roses, and the permanent terror of loss combining into a volcanic misery. As Hendricks stepped out of range, Wiri played through a mental forecast of how he’d kill the man. He’d run at him, catching his flaccid stomach with his head. Once he’d got him onto the ground, he’d beat him to death with the neat rows of plastic milk bottles until Hendricks drowned beneath the white powder.
Wiri drew in a gigantic breath which filled his lungs and puffed his chest until it strained at his shirt. An inner voice, which sounded a lot like his mother’s, urged him on. It dismissed the consequences as incidental as long as it banished the pain for an hour. A minute. A millisecond.
Anger made his stride longer and fury infused his fingers with power. Hendricks baulked at whatever he saw in Wiri’s eyes, perhaps recognising the signs he’d pushed him too far. His eyes bulged like boiled eggs in his pink face, as Wiri lifted him by the throat and jammed him against the shelf. The structure shook beneath the force. Hendricks tore at Wiri’s hand with his nails, drawing blood as he sought to release himself.
“No, boy.” The gentle timbre penetrated the red mist which coloured Wiri’s vision. A firm hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. “Let him go, son. He’s not worth it.”
Locked in a war with his own soul, Wiri didn’t command his fingers to release the man and the soles of Hendricks’ expensive shoes scrabbled for purchase on the lowest shelf. He kicked over cartons of long-life milk, scattering them like fallen bricks across the aisle as he struggled to take the pressure off his throat.
The hand of the newcomer moved along Wiri’s shoulder and tapped the bulging biceps doing all the work. “Stop!” he snapped. “Put the man back on his feet.”
The pincer of Wiri’s fingers and thumb snapped open and Hendricks sank to the floor. He slid until his head sagged against the edge of the second shelf, his spine collapsed and contorted on the linoleum like a discarded toy. Wiri’s fingers remained open and in mid-air, twitching as though still drawing energy and pleasure from the action.
Hendricks flipped onto his hands and knees, scrambling to his feet with an air of panic. His jacket parted at the back to expose his fitted shirt tucked into his trousers. Striped boxer shorts poked above the waistband. It reminded Wiri of a child at school who’d tucked every item of clothing into the next layer. Trousers into socks. Shirt into underwear. Jumper into trousers. He glared at the man who’d intervened. “Whatever, Ted!” he snarled, like a teenager brawling with a classmate. “You still owe me.”
Wiri’s body trembled as the adrenaline withdrew from his system. He tested the urge to kill Hendricks and found it dissipating like fog. The rational side of his brain hard wired him back into the discomfort of the boulder and reasserted The Plan. A prison sentence would mark the end of its feasibility forever. He gulped, the sound loud despite the overhead crescendo of a maniac on a piano. Regret laced his vision as Hendricks reached the end of the aisle and passed out of sight.
Ted slapped Wiri on the back. “Don’t be a dickhead all your life,” he growled. “That man will always win, no matter what you do to shake him. He’ll be hurling curses with his last breath.” With that insightful piece of information, Ted spun on the rubber heels of his gumboots and stamped away. His cap clung to his wispy hair and his boots made a hollow, echoing appeal as he moved out of sight. At the end nearest the cashier, he used an experienced sleight of hand to pocket a fistful of chocolate bars and an energy drink.
Wiri ran a hand across his mouth, the fingers jerky and shaking. He forced a stabilising breath into his lungs and commanded his feet to go in search of his trolley. Hatred took hold in his heart, not just for Hendricks, but for himself. He’d spent years taming the beast in his soul, forged by his parents’ inappropriate union. Kane had terrified him. Anahera had mystified him. He’d wanted love and received only violence and confusion.
He reached the end of the aisle, finding his trolley slewed across the main thoroughfare. The bottle of fizzy drink he’d allowed himself lay on the bottom, bubbles rising in a threat to burst as soon as he touched the lid. He took time to stand it up again, leaning it against the metal struts and putting a block of cheese and a loaf of bread in front of it to hold it still. He wheeled back to the site of his failure, his loss of control evident in the scattered cartons of milk. Picking each one up and placing it on the shelf, he vowed not to let Hendricks get the better of him again.
He rose after placing the last box back onto the shelf and turning it so its label faced the aisle. His heart lurched at the sight of Vaughan striding towards him. Small town gossip travelled fast, but if someone had summoned his employer already, it had excelled. “Hey.” Vaughan jerked his chin upwards in greeting. He carried a cauliflower under one arm and three zucchinis bunched in his right hand. “Leilah’s making soup. You want some?”
Wiri choked on his reply, licking his lips before answering. “We went to the cafe,” he stammered. “I had a pie.”
“All good.” Vaughan continued past him, oblivious to Wiri’s inner turmoil. “See you tomorrow then.”
Wiri bent double and placed his palms on his knees. His breath caught in his chest. The swearword which leached from his lips just made him dirtier.
***
Jet waited for him outside, a single plastic bag sitting next to him on the asphalt. He shrugged as he eyed his supplies against Wiri’s. “I eat at my brother’s a lot,” he confessed. “You should come over with me one night.”
Wiri gave an upward jerk of his head but didn’t commit to anything. He had no desire to spend an evening shooting the breeze with two cops. It would only be a hop, skip, and a jump to a link with Hana’s son. One wrong word and Detective Inspector Bodie Singh Johal would be on his doorstep to investigate the lie.
Darkness nipped at the mountain as they travelled back to the farm. A yellow glow lit up Vaughan’s house as it perched on the lower slopes. Wiri drove with care, keen not to invite criticism from his passenger. Their house blended into the mountain and Wiri regretted not leaving at least a bedroom lamp shining. The shadowy structure created a stark contrast to Hana’s house with its teenage voices, light and endless supply of hot water and food.
In the seconds before Wiri indicated and turned onto the driveway, he discerned the smallest flicker of light at the front of the property. He must have made a sound because Jet turned to face him. “What’s wrong?”
Wiri wrinkled his nose. “Just tired maybe. Thought I saw something on the deck at the front of the house.”
Jet leaned forward to peer through the windscreen. The headlights picked out the fence line and the reflection of cow irises as they raised their black and white heads to stare at the truck’s progress. “On the deck?” Jet’s body stiffened and Wiri frowned.
“It’s probably nothing, mate.” He waved away the cop’s concern and released the yawn playing at the corners of his mouth.
But it wasn’t nothing.
As Wiri locked up the truck and the men walked towards the house, they smelled tobacco smoke. The man from the supermarket leaned with his elbows on the balustrade. He kept his gaze directed towards the glow of the town in the distance. Lifting his right hand, he took a hard drag on the cigarette lodged between his index and middle finger. Wiri realised he’d seen the resulting orange flare from the road. He glanced at Jet, looking for direction.
“Hendricks.” Jet spat the word as though he’d swallowed something unpleasant.
“Officer.” The man turned and Wiri’s heart sank when he jerked his head towards him. “I’m here to make an assault complaint.” He dragged the baseball cap from his head to reveal a mop of tangled greying curls which didn’t fit the neat suit into which he’d poured his body. “It’s in the public interest. Can’t have folk going around attacking the good people of this town. Can we?” He grinned at Wiri like a horror film clown.
Wiri swallowed, The Plan screaming at him for his stupidity.
Jet shrugged and shifted behind him towards the front door. He removed a bunch of keys from his pocket and jangled them. “Come to the station tomorrow. The desk sergeant can take a statement.”
“I wanna do it now.” Hendricks spoke to Jet but kept his gaze fixed on Wiri. His gimlet eyes sparkled in the death throes of the sunset. The blackness of night and of something else clung around his shoulders like a cloak. “I might have another incident to report, too. Or perhaps my new friend here can help me.”
“I’m off duty.” Jet maintained an even tone, not allowing the man to push him into doing his bidding. But Wiri observed the rigidity of his shoulders and sensed something deeper at play between the men. “Go to the station tomorrow.” Jet didn’t turn around, but the man hadn’t finished. He tapped the brim of his cap against his thigh.
“So, you don’t mind being my witness, do you, Wiremu Kingii?” His irises glittered in reflected light as the moon slid from behind a cloud.
“What?” Wiri cocked his head and his brows formed a line of confusion beneath his fringe. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.” He kept on the right side of politeness but infused enough dismissal into his tone to make Hendricks wince as though he’d hit him.
“Is that right?” Hendricks took a step towards him and the air crackled. “Nice of you to clear Vaughan’s debt at the lumber yard, son.” Wiri got the sense that he’d stepped into a crucial conversation without realising and had missed the first important markers. He held his breath as the man took another drag of his cigarette and exhaled into Wiri’s face. “Wish you hadn’t done that.” He stared up into Wiri’s eyes, his expression angular and his irises flickering. “You can make it up to me, can’t you? You witnessed Vaughan point a gun at me.” He jerked his head towards Jet. “Tell the nice police officer what you saw.”
This.
Logan had trained him for this.
Wiri played catch-up in his brain, understanding the veiled threat and preparing himself for whatever came next. He’d made a mistake at the supermarket, allowing Hendricks to catch him by surprise. This time, he’d finish the confrontation as a winner. Logan expected nothing less, especially from him. It would always be different for him because of his genetics.
He was a Du Rose.
Du Roses didn’t lose.
Wiri allowed himself a slow blink which took in Jet still by the front door. His right hand rested on the key in the lock, but he’d turned his body to face them. His eyes glinted in the light from the hallway, which he’d flicked on with his left hand. They radiated confusion and a laser sharp awareness of danger. Wiri hardened his jaw. “Get off our property,” he said to Hendricks. The raspy depth of his voice registered the warning in Hendricks’ brain as he paused in the process of flicking ash onto the deck. His body straightened as though in shock.
“But it’s not your property, is it Wiremu Kingii?”
His persistent use of Anahera’s maiden name seemed to light a fuse deep in Wiri’s gut. His mother’s depression had coloured the earlier years of his life, but he chose to believe she’d loved him. Still loved him perhaps. The fuse burned to the point of pain and he yearned to knock her precious name out of Hendricks’ mouth, to pound his smug face until he chewed on his own teeth. Wiri’s quick brain ran through a lightning speed version of how he’d put the man on the ground.
Step back, balance, fists up, right hook to the nose, throat, guts and then groin. He gave himself three seconds to drop the man on the deck and another to push him between the posts holding up the balustrade. Then he glanced at Jet and saw him give the slightest shake of his head. It was enough to stall the angry clamour in his mind.
Wiri grimaced as though he’d vomited in his own mouth. He took a long step towards Hendricks, landing close enough to put them toe to toe. The stench of cigarette smoke curled around his head as he stood over the man, taller by at least the length of his old school ruler. He left him no personal space as he spoke into his face, their breaths mingling. “Piss off!” he growled.
The smug smile remained on Hendricks’ lips, but to his credit, he tried not to display his fear. Wiri smelled it rising from him like a haze and a latent thread of satisfaction coursed through his body. The sense of victory shocked him, reminding him of his father’s blood still occupying his veins. It would always be there, the dark thread of inherited sickness which encouraged vengeance, violence and mania. Kane Du Rose tore down his house with his own hands, over and over again, until his body failed him. Wiri plugged into his familial lack of boundaries as he glared at Hendricks and saw the moment the man glimpsed the craziness he projected.
Hendricks took a step back and Wiri had never felt stronger or more defiled than in that moment. The man edged around him, but not before flicking his cigarette over the deck and into the scrubby grass to the side of it. “Your funeral,” he hissed. He traversed the porch steps in one jump and dug his hands into the pockets of his expensive jacket.
His heels crunched in the grit as he set off walking along the driveway. Wiri didn’t watch him leave, too busy battling the monster unleashed from his soul. He closed his eyes and controlled his breathing, pushing his father’s spirit back into Pandora’s Box and slamming the lid. He hadn’t heard Jet speaking and jerked away as the other man touched him.
“Wiri.” Jet pinched his left biceps hard enough to cause pain. Wiri shoved at his hand and swore at him. He licked his lips as adrenaline surged through his body. He’d all but buried Hendricks in his imagination, and the chill it left behind seemed both familiar and frightening. It rocked his soul and challenged what he knew of himself.
A voice in his head told him he didn’t deserve Phoenix. He shook the condemnation away and grappled with his right hand until he found the balustrade and gripped its angular edges. Its solidity grounded him and he blew out a ragged breath.
Jet swore again and ducked beneath the balustrade to the right. He disappeared and Wiri closed his eyes against the sound of him stamping out the cigarette as its heat took hold of the tinder dry grass in front of the porch.
Wiri had gathered himself together by the time Jet returned, but his knees shook with the nauseous fragility rampaging through his gut.
“Must have left his car on the main road,” Jet said. He waited as Wiri removed his boots, his behaviour both attentive and concerned. “Mate?” He paused until Wiri looked up at him. Then he delivered his warning. “Don’t get on the wrong side of that guy. Tane’s tried and failed to get him to court. He’s got some nasty connections.”
Wiri snorted, the sound hollow and without mirth. “So have I,” he replied, his tone hard. He realised his error as the police officer blinked back at him.
Not willing to talk any more, he waved his hand at Jet and jerked his head towards the corridor leading to his bedroom. “Night,” he said, his steps laboured and his shoulders sagging. He closed his door and leaned against it. His mind’s eye showed him a vision of his father, his handsome features screwed into a sneer. “No,” Wiri sighed, lacking the energy to fight the image and knowing he’d appear to torture him in his dreams.
Conceived in spite and raised in deceit.
Wiri shook his head against his fate. He yearned for Hana’s simple honesty to wash him clean. Fumbling in his pocket, he tugged his phone free and dialled, longing to hear her voice. He let his spine slide down the door as she answered, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles. Her sunshine soothed his bones and chased the vileness from his blood. He was her son at that moment, and she was his ma. Nothing else mattered.
Later, as Wiri stripped and crawled into bed, he pushed his fingers beneath his pillow and felt for Phoenix’s bracelet. He’d left it near the edge, knowing he’d seek it when his chest seemed most hollow, and not wanting to search his bag for it in the night.
“What?” he said out loud, flicking on the lamp and sitting up to tug the bedding free. The beads weren’t where he left them. Sickness rose into Wiri’s throat as he hunted, eventually finding them sitting on the skirting board beneath the head of the bed. He lifted them and pressed the plastic jewels against his lips, his heart still thudding with the anticipated sting of loss.
Another sense added itself without invitation. Fear.
Someone had searched his room and caused the bracelet to slip behind the bed. Gratitude filled Wiri’s heart that they hadn’t removed his treasure, but anxiety marred its deliciousness.
Who had trespassed into his private place?
Not Jet. They left together. Maybe Hendricks had a key to Leilah’s house.
His eyes narrowed to slits of anger and his teeth clenched as his accusatory thoughts strayed towards the man on the deck. Wiri rolled the beads against his palm, lodging his second grievance against Hendricks. “I’ll kill him,” he whispered, pressing a kiss over the biggest bead clinging to the narrow elastic thread. It sparkled in the lamp light, a fake diamond patina glinting through the moulded plastic.
“That’s my boy,” his father’s ghost chuckled. “That’s my boy.”
