One Night Out Stealing (6 page)

Insolence to an officer, that’s what the charge was. Seven days in the Digger on number two diet. Teenagers, mere teenagers, and they were throwing us into cells for periods of solitary confinement, and on specified diets according to the gravity of the crime. Number one was cold potatoes, glass of milk, piece of bread for three meals a day three days on end, full normal rations on the fourth, then back to another regime of number one. It was assumed to be civilised. Number two was dripping to spread on the bread, and porridge for breakfast, soup and bread and dripping spread for lunch, spuds, bread and milk for tea.

They woke you up each morning, the six separated cells of you, at five thirty. A warning bang on your steel door, you had five minutes to get your bed made up in the required bedroll formation. You were unlocked separately to take your bedding to an empty cell, or if occupied, out behind the steel-grille entry door; and you collected it again, under escort, at nine at night. (When I was just sixteen.)

On your second day, two officers came to your cell: one stood at the door, the other ordered you to your feet. Name! Mahia. Bang. He punched you on the chest – Sir. Sir. You gonna be insolent to an officer again. No, sir.
Oooofff,
a piledriver again in the gut. You fell on the concrete floor. He ordered you, GET UP! You did. His pal at
the door smirked at you: I don’t think this one’ll be back here again. They left. You heard the process being repeated in muffled form next door. You thought you wanted to die, at only sixteen, but mainly because they took away your right to reply. Explain yourself.

That afternoon they returned. And you backed into a corner, wondering why they hadn’t had enough. But it was an offer. Of two cigarettes if you’d donate blood. They’d also let you have a longer shower tonight as well. You got taken out into the main wing, and it was like seeing it again: it was a big space of landings two high, and steel stairs and echoing screw footsteps and inmates behind cell doors yelling out occasional obscenities.

There were these guys in white coats who smiled at you and were very gentle as you sat on a chair and they put this thing around your arm, which they pumped up. You thought of the two smokes this was going to be rewarded with, and were struck by the kindness of their manner. Too soon it was over, part of you was dark red in a plastic container and a screw was taking you back to your cell, over a lino floor polished over and over by some teenage set of designated cleaners meant to be training for rehabilitation, but really they were learning to be adult forms of what they were then – criminals.

Back in your cell the screw gave you your two smokes and a piece of striker and only one match. Then he left you. So you tremblingly lit the smoke, fearing you’d blow it and have the smokes but no means of igniting. You lit the other off the first and you felt sick halfway through smoking the second. And you felt you’d been cheated.

On the third day they made a mistake: they let you have a choice from a selection of books, most of them insulting
nursery-rhyme
stuff deliberately chosen by Mr Stone, the unhappy screw on day duty in charge of the Digger. He thought it was really funny just grabbing any old books from, Sonny presumed, the borstal library, except what would it be doing with nursery-rhyme books in a place with young men? But it was a mistake all the same, because Sonny lucked onto a book that from page one put an end to the sentence. An end. They’d fucked up. They’d unknowingly released him with five hundred and sixty pages of freedom. So when the nights came with bedding return Sonny was disappointed. And so the seven-day sentence ended just half an hour after he’d read the last page of the book. And he was still soaring free with its characters and southern American settings and voice twangs and Yank peculiarisms when
Mr Stone opened his cell door and told him it was over and I better not be seeing you again.

All them years ago like yesterday. And what’d a man come to? This? Is this what he amounted to?

The rain came down harder. Buckets of the stuff, endless buckets; pelting so hard it stung a man’s scalp, the backs of his hands. Could have been a reminder, in symbolic form, of being assailed by the fists of his fellow prison inmates the first sentence he did, and first met Jube; belted up for being the thinker type, no other reason on earth. For simply having a mind that was curious. (Oh fuckem all, the boobheads of the world.) He tried to tell em he was one of them, he was no threat, and even when he put it to em that if he was so brainy as they said, what the hell was he doing inside, they didn’t hear.

They did not hear.

A woman appeared below, she wore a purple plastic raincoat with a hood that was up, and big yellow buttons blurred in the downpour. She disappeared where Jube’s side of the bank turned to rock formation. But very soon came another, her arrival being announced by the sharp ring of heel on pathway, clik-clik-clik-clik. When across from Sonny rose the apparition that had to be Jube; yet it couldn’t be, it was too real, too crazy, and anyway where was his signal? Nor did his plan at any stage mention a woman being the victim.

But training had Sonny shooting a look over his shoulder for the all-clear, scanning the almost-dark park, then it hit him that the attack was about to take place and that it was a woman. He buried his face in his hands, but that didn’t work so he pulled them away. And the figure below was three parts across Sonny’s framed vision. And the figure opposite – (
Jeezuz!
)
Well, he was flailing. His arms were clawing the air. Then a leg shot out at an awkward angle, then it – the figure that had to be Jube, as unbelievable as it was – flipped entirely. Man, his big spoon feet just went out from under him.

Then down he tumbled, as the unsuspecting woman clik-
clik
-clikked
her way out of sight, though Sonny didn’t have his eyes on her but on Jube. Him sliding down the slope all arms and legs, and then an audible thunk followed by a stifled groan as he hit the pathway. Smack dab on his bum. And the would-be victim gone.
Just Jube there, sat on his dumb white arse with hands behind supporting him. And Sonny holding back his laughter for all he could.

Rain falling.

Jube scrambling to his feet, shaking himself. Looking up at Sonny’s position, Sonny?

Sonny.

Sonny!
The fuck are ya? Sonny? Jube staring up at the bushes. Then behind him. Back Sonny’s way again, Sonny! hissing it out. Then he turned and scrambled back up the slope, slipping and sliding in his haste. A few moments to catch his breath. Sonny? Lighter-toned this time. And Sonny stretching the moment. SONNY! For fuck’s sake, man, the fuck are ya?

Yeow?

Sonny? That you? Where the fuck ya been?

For a crap, man. Couldn’t hold off any longer. Wha’s up?

How long you been crapping?

Oh, bout five – hey, I didn’t exactly
time
it, man. Everything alright?

Sure is. But let me know next time will ya? I mighta been doing the bizzo. So what’d ya use for paper – leaves? Hahaha!

Yeow, leaves, brother. But Jube?

Yep?

You think I woulda been better sliding down the bank on my arse?

Wha’?

Well I woulda been as clean as a whistle by the time I got to the, uh, the bottom …

I don’t get ya, man?

Oh, I think you did – HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Know sumpin, Sonny? You’re an arsehole.

Woman pushing a pram – (the hell is she doing out in this weather with a lil bubs?) – though the rain’d eased off quite a bit. She was partly beneath an umbrella, which was mostly tended the way of her carriaged child (all tucked up in there) as she hit the lamplight, a portrait of motherhood, leaned forward to protect her child, who didn’t really need it. Then gone. The outjutting of rock and night just swallowed them. And one of her elevated observers promising himself that if Jube’d made a move on her he’d’ve yelled her a warning, and if it still came to it he’d have – (I’d’ve charged
down the bank and knocked him for six. I think.) Sonny hoped.

Next: it might have been a statue, a dark, moving statue wrapped in a stylish overcoat moving quite swiftly, with no heels ringing her coming. An arm across from Sonny shot up, and the figure immediately followed. Sonny groaned inside: it
was
to be a woman. Hating Jube. And himself.

Eyes back at the pathway to catch the shape of Jube loping up behind the coated figure. And fist clubbing her to the ground. Sonny glanced over his shoulder for danger signs; just street lights
ribboning
off in the distance of wet gloom. Back to the woman and this cry escaping her just a single, O. Like that.

The same echoed in his heart.

Then the two of them, racing headlong through the dark off where the path was lighted; over slippery rolls and down into troughs. Balance an uncanny finding of both them. Running.
Running
. (We’re always –)
ahuurgh,
Sonny sucking in breath – (running from things. Crime deed –) –
ahuurgh
–
(cops –) –
ahuurgh
– (from life –
this
lousy life.)

Yet here, between his own sucks and blows and frantic haste, was the other of them, Jube, dragging in breath even as he was laughing.

Two Big Macs with large fries times two, my man, and puddit right here, Sonny, my main man. Hahahahaha. Catch up on all the lost cigarettes, one after the sweet other. Man, is this good or what? Two dozen cold cans, Lion Red a course, my good man, thank you very much. Filler up, please, and ya bedda givus fifty bucks of vouchers while you’re at it. Oh, and a carton of Pall Mall filter, make that two cartons, just in case, eh mate? hahahaha. Ya never know when ya might run out.

Off we go, down with the windows, on with the heater, that’ll dry us out. Pass me another can, Sonny, I gotta thirst – Like an elephant. You got it, Sonny-boy: like a fucking elephant.

Four hundred and thirty … forty … fifty … sixty – We
still
got four sixty bucks left, Sonny. Oh but can ya
believe
it?
Hahahahaha
, ain’t life sweet sometimes? And how’s ya clothes, they startin to dry yet? Maybe you want a bit more speed with the ole heater – HAHAHAHAHA!! Come on now, Sonny, lighten up, bud. The woman’ll be okay. She just got a knock on the back of the
neck. You’re worried, we’ll get a paper first thing – that’s if we ain’t hungover and forget – HAHAHAHAHA!!

And hey, don’t the sea look nice at this time a night? Lookit that, a fountain stuck out there middle of the fucking sea. Din’t notice that before, did you, Sonny? Hey, come on now,
cheer
up. Get a few cans down ya gut, that’ll fix it. It was only a lil whack, Sonny. You’ll see.
Read
all
about
it!
Read
all
about
it! 
HAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHA
!!
Oh man, but this’s too fucking funny for words, man. Pass me another can, bro! Ladalaladedumdedumdedaaaa!

(Life, eh?)

Oh man, Sonny shaking his head as he and Jube left the bar, Why do I fall for your fuckin dreams and schemes everytime, man? That’s the second time we hung around in that creepy joint with all them wasted alky dudes outta their fuckin heads and us waiting for
Pete
to show up – again.
Again,
Jube. Well, at least we’re leaving with bread in our pockets –
Your
pocket, ya mean. You been rationing out that dough like I’m your kid on pocket money. Stopping in the street to stare up at the taller Jube, annoyed that he was grinning. The hell’s that look for? Pocket? Money? Geddit, Sonny?

Jeeeeez, Sonny hissing his exasperation. Ya call that funny? Oh, I heard worse, Sonny my main – And I
ain’t
your main lil man. Listen, listen for a minute, will ya? at Jube resuming walking, heading for his car. Jube, we can’t go on like this. Jube? Jube! But Jube was laughing. In the busy – even for this sleazy area – pedestrian five of Wellington evening Jube was weaving in and out and laughing. And calling over his shoulder at Sonny having to trot to catch up with him, Let’s go find another bar. Another bar, eh Jube? You goddit, Sonny. And what, hang around for
Pete
again? Aw, now now, Sonny. No fuckin now nows, man, I’m about sick of this. And why’re we hanging around Wellington still anyrate? Told ya, gonna hot that area up the hill where we broke down other day, that’s what we’re doing. But, man, there’s areas all over fuckin Auckland just as good. Jube’s head going from side to side. Not the same. Why not the same? Cos it ain’t. Sonny behind him sarcasming, Cos it ain’t. Cos it ain’t. That’s a reason, Jube: cos it ain’t? Reason nuff for me, Son.

Following the striding Jube, how the beer gave him confidence that he didn’t otherwise have; though it did the same for Sonny, he wasn’t denying that. (Cept I know it don’t make me get that show-off
swagger like Jube’s got on.) A kid selling newspapers, Sonny digging in his pocket, not even loose change. Hey, Jube, givus some change for a paper. Jube? Jube! at him still walking, having to run around in front of Jube to halt the man. Some change, will ya; I wanna buy a paper. And anyrate why’re you still holding out on me, man? I was part of the job. Oh yeah? Yeah. Like as in what? Like as in I kept watch. So gimme gimme. Oh man, but you must think you’re sumpin else giving me out the money like that, as Jube made a job of counting out from a handful of coins, How much does a paper cost? Fuck you, man, I’ll remember this.

In Jube’s car. Sonny scanning the front page. Whatcha lookin for, Sonny-boy – a job? Hahahahaha! Situations Vacant are in the back pages, cuz, hahahahaha. The jerk with his irritating laugh as he revved his engine up, and Sonny didn’t even have to look to know that Jube’s eyes’d be out on the pavement scanning for fans. (Pathetic jerk.)

Sonny found it on page three; just a little mention, of a woman who’d been assaulted and robbed in a central city park, had been discharged from hospital and her injuries were not serious. Hey, Jube, I found it, Sonny put on a grave tone, gave the same face to Jube as he stopped for a traffic light. He saw the wince around Jube’s eyes, then his features tighten, as he stared straight ahead. Sonny made out to be reading direct from the newspaper: Says here the woman is in a serious condition … in intensive care. She regained consciousness at one stage and it is believed she was able to give a good description of her attacker – Hey? How come? I hit the bitch from behind. She’s lying, man. The bitch is lying. Let me finish it, will ya? Where was I … She describes her attacker as – oh listen to this, Jube – as tall, with a moustache, bad breath and very very ugly – HAHAHAHAHAHA!! Got ya this time, Jube McCall. Though the look on Jube’s face didn’t have him agreeing or seeing the humour. He just drove.

Jube picked a bar at a big-city roundabout, That’ll do the boys.

Two jugs, buddy. Lion Red, a course. Only wankers drink any other brand, eh mate? Jube not catching the barman’s cold look in reply. Place was quite busy. Least it ain’t sleazeville, eh Sonny? Nope. Sonny looking at the pool table. I’ll go put our name up on the board. He walked over to the blackboard, nodding cordially to a group obviously playing partners. Maoris. One of them gave Sonny a typical lift of eyebrows greeting of one Maori to another. Made
Sonny feel warm. Even if he didn’t particularly feel of any race, Maori or white; as he was in about exact half proportions. If anything, he identified with the Maori side of himself, but hardly gave any of it a thought.

He and Jube drank their beer and watched the games progress till it was their turn. Jube looked at Sonny with that self-assured look of his when he was a good part pissed: I’m feeling like I did in the park other night, bro. Lucky. Puddit here, he stuck his hand and shook Sonny’s hand, as if they were about to enter a competition of epic proportions. Sonny let go of Jube’s hand quickly.

… these two fullas, eh – from Auckland, eh – played us in pool. Came walking in here bout, what time, Bull, ha’pass five? Yeah, ha’pass five, eh, and we weren’t even warmed up. Our first jugs. Bull made it a jug a corner, and we thought we were gonna wastem eh. A fuckin hour later and their table’s lined up with our jugs. Yeh, in
our
pub, and here’s these strangers from Auckland fucking cleaning us up, eh.

So Tama takes over from Bull – eh Bull? cos you’re fuckin useless, eh? hahaha – cos he was getting wild at these fullas still winning. Tin-arsing, more like it. They couldn’t do a thing wrong. And us getting broker and broker from having to buy em jugs. Tama tole the main fulla, the Pakeha cunt, the smart-arse one, make it singles, you and me, ten bucks a game. But the Pakeha says no, keep it doubles, but ten bucks a corner’s alright cos they already had enough jugs to las em all night. Laughing at us, eh? That’s what the cunt was doing: laughing at us. So Tama goes yeah, alright, ten bucks a corner.

Well, first game was nothing in it, eh. Was me: I fucked up on the black when they had one more to go. Hey, and the Honky’s got the nerve to laugh at me for jawing the black. I felt like jawing him, eh – witha fuckin right. So they won that game. But when this white shet comes over to me, sticks out his whiteman freckle-hand saying gimme gimme, I was this close – this close to up and smackinim one. But Tama gives me a look not to, eh. Not yet. So I gave this Honky shet his ten bucks, and Tama gave his mate his ten – Maori he was too. Don’t ask me what he was doing teamed up with a fuckin white wankah like this. Wasn’t as if he wassa
tough-lookin
fulla either, the Maori guy, jussa, you know, a ornry-looking 
fulla, eh. Eh Bull, the Maori fulla was alright, eh? Yeh, even Bull thought he was alright, this Maori mate of the egg.

Eh, but as if it’s not bad enough them beating us on the table, this Pakeha cunt has to start talking league. How Auckland always wastes Wellington. And I tole him, What about Wainui then? How come they won the national championships then, cunt? But he juss said something smart, eh, cos he fuckin knew Wellington’s got the best club in the country. Man, was I getting wilder. Felt like going up toim and saying, Come on then, you and me, man. Auckland against Wellington, then see how you go. I’da givim fuckin
Auckland
alright. Punchland, eh Bull? Give the cunt punchland.

New game. Well, bugger me days if this Honky piece a shet don’t up and pot al their balls one turn, eh. Only left em the black. Then the Maori fulla he tin-arses the black, so me and Tama we’re doing twenty apiece and juss about broke. Then this Jube fulla comes up with his gimme gimme shet – man, I was just about to up and smackim when Tama’s brother grabs me. Coolit, Joe, he says. They won fair and square. I thought he was serious for a minit, eh, till I looked at his face and he gave me a sly wink. So I knew it was gonna be on soon.

The Maori fulla – Sonny – I’ll say this for him: he was giving us back our jugs they won earlier. He didn’t even want the last ten he and his mate won. I felt sorry forim, eh, what we were gonna have to do to him and his arsehole mate. Not his mate, but him, the little Maori fulla. But oh well, such is life, eh boys? Such is life in the Roundabout Tavern: issa quick and the dead in here, eh boys? HAHAHAHA!

It was worse with this Sonny fulla trying to talk, be friendly, you know? But, man, I wasn’t gonna con
verse
witha dude taking my money – and my fuckin pride – so I hardly said nothing back to him, eh. Just: Yep. Nope. Uh. And he wassa smooth-looking dude, eh Bull? Half-caste, eh, he mussa been a half-carse. Looked more like that Eytalian fulla, you knowim, the fulla owns the fishnchips place at the Naenae shops. The one always looking in that mirror he’s got by the till at him fuckin self. Well, this’s what this Sonny looked like – Well, till we had to make a couple
al
ter
ay
shuns to his face – HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! But you shoulda seen what we did to his mate; the Maori fulla got off light.

I go to take my shot and Tama whispers to me when I pass, It’s on. So my heart it’s going to fuckin town, eh. Cos I’m
dy
in
to smack
this Honky. Man couldn’t concentrate on his shot then; not that it maddered, hahaha, seein as the game wasn’t gonna last for much longer. I just whacked at a ball, then it’s the Honk’s turn. Down he goes and Tama goes, Hey, you moved the white, man. Game shot. Strict fouls in our pub. I never saw the white move, so I knew this was it, cuzzy; we are gonna be getting it
on,
hahahaha. And here’s me, here’s me making out I wasn’t interested but I’m
easing
myself up to where the action was gonna be, my eyes making out I’m half sleepy from the beer – No, make that me making out I was sussing out the lie of the table for my partner’s next shot, hahaha!

The Honky goes, No way, bud. You know how they go: Bud. Bud, they call you. Man, I hate fuckin bud, dudes calling me bud. And Tama don’t like it either. No way,
bud,
this cunt says, you’re just trying to set us up. And Tama goes, Wha’? What was that, man? And this Jube goes, Can’t ya take a loss like men? And Tama steps up closer and goes, What was that you said, white man? And me, I knew Tama wanted that Honky juss as bad for himself, so I moved closer over to the Maori fulla, even though I was feeling a bit, you know, sorry for him, eh. Then I says to him, You’re a fuckin cheat, juss like your whiteman mate here. Just to work myself up, eh, cos he really didn’t deserve it, he was juss in the wrong place, eh. Oh man, so this Sonny guy looks at me with these big innocent eyes – fuckin near broke my heart, and thassa truth. You know, like a big ole dog wondering what the fuck he’s done wrong why you’re dealing to him? Oh man.

Man, but I had to do the business right then or I’da never done it, eh. Too soft. Too much the Maori aroha in my heart; and after all, he was one of our own, even if he did come from Auckland. Like hitting your own liddle brother.

I smackedim. Fuckin had to, before his big brown eyes had me up and buying him a fuckin beer! Hahahahaha!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! I’m a funny bastard, eh? But that’s how I felt, eh. But he don’t go down with that first shot. No way. And not as if he was a big cunt or nothin, jussa small fulla really. You know, average to small. He just wobbles and then those fuckin eyes’re looking at me again! But me, I was too embarrassed he didn’t go down, and I could see out the corner of my eye Tama and Marty having it out with the Honky, so I goes, Oh well, in my mind, and let this lil fulla have it –
Boom.
Right between the fuckin eyes. And he goes down.

I look at the other fullas, and hello, this Honky dude is slugging
it out with the Motu brothers. They’re throwing punches atim from everywhere, but he’s throwing them straight back, eh, I’ll say that for him. And boy, the looks on those brothers’ faces, hahahahaha; were they fuckin surprised at what they’d picked on. Me too. But I still wanted this cunt badly, eh, so over I go. And Tama he’s starting to do more dancing and blocking than punching, cos this Pakeha’s real tough; and Marty he’s got that worried look, not cos he was scared, you know what Marty’s like, he don’t mind even if he gets a hiding as long as he has a scrap. But he was worried this Jube fulla was gonna clean the both them up.

I seen this gap, eh, in the fulla’s guard. So I in –
booom.
Smack on the chin. But when he juss looks at me with these mad blue eyes, I thought, Oh-oh, whadda we got here, a fuckin escaped loony from the sylum? So I hittim again. And his eyes go funny, so I know I’ve hit the right spot – thank fuckin chrise, eh Bull? As for you, Bull Hapeta, where the fuckin hell were you, now I think of it? What? HAHAHAHAHAHA!! In the blimmin toilet … Oh yeah. So his eyes go funny and his guard drops. And, brother, you do not drop your guard when that mad Marty’s around, you don’t. Cos in he goes, Marty; fuckin fists pumping like Sugar Ray Leonard I tell you. Down the fulla goes, and the brothers are into him with the boot. Kicked the fuckin shet out of him. Then they wanna work over the Maori fulla, eh, who’s up on his feet and trying to stop them kicking his mate’s head in. But I stopped them, Tama and Marty. Leavim alone, I toldem, he wasn’t doing nothin much wrong, was his Pakeha mate not him.

So they drag this Jube fulla outta the bar, throw him out in the carpark. His mate picks him up and we see them drive past, right out that window there, eh Bull? Or were you in the toilet hiding again? And you know what, the Honky fulla’s giving us all in here the evils, eh.

He drives round and round the roundabout – tha’s why they call it a roundabout I spose, hahahaha – bout four fuckin times, slow as. Slow as, eh Bull? And fuck the traffic too, he wasn’t worrying bout slowing up the traffic; just us. Giving us the evil eye. Never seen nothing like it. Not in all the years I – we, hahahaha – we been beating up wankers, for one to go like that; round and round and round, his face all beat up but not so we couldn’t see his evils. And Marty wanting to go out and givim some more, but me and Tama said you’re on your fuckin own, bro, that fulla’s fuckin
mad in the head. He mighta had a shotgun sittin in there or sumpin.

The last time he drove past he pointed: one-two-three times, eh. And we could tell he was saying, I’m coming back for you. And I don’t mind admitting, boys, it put the shits up in me I can tell you. Mean to say, a ornry fight a man don’t think twice about it. But this cunt didn’t turn out no ornry fight. Musta done a bidda time inside too, by the tats onim. A fuckin jailbird, eh boys? He and his mate musta been a cupla jailbirds. Anyone here been to jail …? Nope? Nor me. Oh well, mussa been jail made him like that. But wouldn’t surprise me he turned up here one day, outta the blue, with a whole lotta mates to get his revenge. And I spose Bull here would just happen to wanna go to the toilet, hahahahaha! HAHAHAHAHAHA!! Oh well.