Ghost River (20 page)

‘Why don't you open it up and see?'

Ren was as curious as Sonny to know who had sent the letter. He followed Sonny into the kitchen and watched as his friend tore the envelope open and slowly read the letter under his breath. Ren picked up the envelope from the floor. Sonny's name and address was written on the front in pencil and the address of a religious charity was stamped on the back.

‘Jesus,' Sonny whispered to himself.

‘What?'

‘This don't make any sense.'

He read the letter over again to be sure he had understood it. When he finished he handed it to Ren.

‘You want me to read it?'

‘Yep.'

Dear Sonny

I have been wrong to wait until this time to write you. Please forgive me that. I left you alone sure that I was going to finish my life. And I just about did that. Knowing I was a coward and thinking about you and the wrong I have done by you has gone some way to saving me. I don't have time to go into details at this time but I am being helped by good people who got me away from the alcohol and into regular work. I expect that your uncle Rory has been taking good care of you and that you are in better hands without me there to be a nuisance. I do not blame you at all if that is what you are thinking. You are a good boy at heart. You will know I had the rent paid up to save Rory any grief with money. You are smart enough to know that I didn't have as much as a red cent to my name. I have been in work for some time now and with a weekly pay packet I have slowly managed to pay off a loan I took out for the rent. It has been paid in full. I will return home someday. It will be soon I hope. I expect to be a better man and a better father to you. I am praying that you will be able to forgive me for my wrongs I have done to you. And to your mother who I drove from your life.

May God bless you

Your father

‘What's he mean with that?
God bless you.
The arsehole,' Sonny said.

Ren slowly folded the letter, put it back in the envelope and handed it to Sonny. He couldn't understand why Sonny was so angry. ‘This is good news. Your old man is off the drink and he's working and making some money. With Rory being sick it will be good to have him back home.'

Sonny slammed the table so hard with his fist a glass sitting on the top bounced off and smashed on the floor. ‘If you think that's all it means, Ren, you don't know anything. I'm supposed to be the dumb one, not you.'

‘I don't get it, Sonny.'

‘That cunt. Vincent.'

‘What's this got to do with him?'

‘It has everything to do with him.
Think.
My old man took a loan from him and since then I've been Vincent's boy because he told me he hadn't been paid. All along he's been getting his money. Fuck this, I'm not running another message for him.'

‘You sure?'

‘Course I'm sure.'

‘Then you'll need to stay away from him until your dad gets home and can prove the money was paid back.'

‘You reckon Vincent's going to give a shit about what my old man has to say? And just because he says he's off the drink in a letter he's written it doesn't mean I can believe a word of it. Or that he'll turn up here sober. He promised me plenty of times before and fucked up the same day. No reason to believe him now.'

‘You don't have to. Wait and see. It don't hurt to give him a chance.'

Sonny picked up the letter and tapped the envelope on the table. ‘And what am I supposed to do about Vincent while I'm waiting? I don't wanna do one more run for that bastard.'

‘For now, maybe you have to. Pretend nothing's happened. Run the messages until your father's back.'

‘No! I'm not doing it.'

‘Then you'll have to stay away from the pub.'

‘Can't do that if I want to keep my job.'

‘Then quit your job. Doesn't make any difference if you're planning to take off anyway.'

Sonny swept the mess of broken glass into a pan and emptied it in a bin under the sink. ‘Fuck Vincent. And fuck Foy too. You know what should happen?'

‘Not exactly.'

‘Somebody should fix the cunts. Both of them.'

‘Somebody should. And someday it will probably happen. Between the two of them they'd have an army of enemies, and with a bit of luck their turn will come. But it won't be you or me getting revenge, Sonny.'

CHAPTER 16

Sonny felt terrible about having to quit the job at the paper shop. He enjoyed the work, had saved some money and felt he would be letting Brixey down, who had given him a go when no one else would. It didn't stop raining at all that week. Sonny spent his days delivering the papers of a morning through streets awash with storms, visiting Rory at the hospital, where he was able to convince a social worker that he and his
brother
, Ren, were staying with an aunty in Collingwood. He also avoided the pub and kept an eye out for Foy, in case Vincent set the copper on him. By the end of the week he knew he couldn't wait any longer to break the bad news to Brixey.

‘This is it for me,' he told Ren as they packed up the newsstand for the night. ‘I'm gonna let Brixey know when we get back to the shop. Tomorrow I'll go see Rory, and then I'm taking off.'

‘Why don't you wait until your father gets back and you can sort something out?'

‘Number one, because I already told you, it won't matter what he has to say. Vincent will use me for as long as it suits him. If my old man tries standing up to him he'll end up with a belting. Or something worse. And number two, waiting for my father to come home could take forever.'

‘It would have taken a lot for him to sit down and write the letter. Maybe he's changed?'

‘I don't have time to wait round and find out. Come on, let's get back to the shop.'

Brixey was seated at his usual spot, perched on the stool behind the counter, pencilling returns into a dog-eared exercise book. He alternated between a red and black pencil, sticking whichever one he wasn't using behind his ear. When the boys entered the shop, Brixey looked over the top of the reading glasses that hung around his neck from a chain when he wasn't wearing them. Sonny had been on edge all week and Brixey knew there was something wrong without needing to be told. He licked the end of his red pencil and continued his arithmetic. The paperboys knew better than to interrupt him when he was working on the nightly figures. But Sonny had no choice.

‘Wait here,' he said to Ren. ‘I have to get something from the back room before I talk to him.'

Sonny walked through the shop to the room where the lockers and prams were kept. Brixey's eyes followed him. Ren heard the locker door slam loudly a couple of times. He thought that maybe someone had stolen Sonny's money. He was relieved when he spotted a cloth money bag bulging from Sonny's front pocket when he came back into the shop. Brixey put the ledger book away in a drawer beneath the counter and brushed pencil shavings from his dustcoat.

‘Sonny, you've been jittery on me all week, coming in late, forgetting your orders. I've been patient with you, but it's time for an explanation.'

‘I know,' Sonny said. ‘There's something important that I need to talk to you about.'

Brixey looked over at Ren. ‘Don't tell me.' He smiled. ‘You two are getting married.'

‘My uncle, Rory. He's in the hospital, real sick. The doctors say he could be in there a long time before he's good enough to come home. I been real worried about him.'

‘Oh, that's no good,' Brixey let his glasses drop to his chest. ‘He's a top bloke, old Rory. You wanna take some time off to look after him? Your job will be here for you. I might even promote Spike while you're away.'

Spike smiled and puffed his chest out.

‘Thanks, Rory, but this has to be my last day,' Sonny said. ‘I can't come back to work.'

‘
Can't?
Why not?'

‘It's not only Rory. I've got myself in trouble.'

‘Jesus. What sort of trouble?'

Sonny looked over at Ren for support. ‘It don't matter. I can't tell you.'

‘Of course you can. I might be able to help you out.'

‘No one can help me.'

Although Sonny was clearly upset Brixey couldn't help himself but laugh. ‘Bullshit. Even an accused murderer is entitled to a defence. Why don't you try me?'

‘Tell him, Sonny,' Ren said.

‘Do you know who Vincent is?' Sonny whispered, as if the man was standing over his shoulder.

‘Who don't?' Brixey growled, not bothering to lower his own voice.

Sonny's eyes searched the shop before going on. ‘I've been doing jobs for him.'

‘For Vincent? How'd you get involved with a menace like him? I give you plenty of work here, don't I?'

‘I never wanted to work for him. He forced me into it. Told me that my father owed him money and had shot through on him without paying up. Now I found out it's not true. My old man paid the money he owed. Every cent of it. But Vincent never let on. He's had me running round for him and won't let me quit. Once a week I do a delivery for him, from the pub. With Ren. I missed last week and the next morning Foy was out the front here. I reckon he was looking for me.'

Brixey was losing track of the story. ‘What's Foy got to do with it?'

‘Him and Vincent, they do business together. After that night Foy tried to grab me out front of the shop, when you come and helped me and Ren out, he never come near me. Vincent called him off.'

‘Of course they'd work together. Arseholes like them two are made for each other.' Brixey shook his head in disgust.

Sonny took the handwritten letter out of his pocket and handed it to Brixey. ‘My father wrote me this. Vincent's been lying to me all along.'

Brixey whispered
the no good prick
to himself as he read the letter. ‘And what's this job you've been doing for him? Sonny, please don't tell me you've been out thieving for him.'

‘It's nothing like that. I run messages on the street. Envelopes with money in them. He said it was a one-off, because the police were watching him from a van in the street. But the van hasn't been there since the first night. He conned me.'

Brixey stuck a finger in the air like he'd had a brainwave. ‘Let me take a guess here. You making deliveries to Chris the Greek by any chance?'

‘How'd you know that?' Ren butted in.

‘Because Vincent is mad on the punt and has always bet more than he can afford. And Chris the Greek happens to run the only SP book along the strip. He covers the lot. Horses. Dogs. The fucken cockroach derby. And a brick on the card game out of the shop itself. That's a wog-only show, of course. I'll guarantee you now, either Vincent laid a big losing bet he's had trouble covering. Or he took a loan from Chris and he's scratching to pay him back. The Greek can't tolerate bad debts. It's a terrible look for business.'

‘Why would he send us over there,' Ren said, ‘if the cops aren't even watching?'

‘Just because the van's gone from the street, it don't mean the two of them are not being tracked. There could be some truth in the story. Even if there's not, Vincent could have sent himself crazy with fear. Or if he's madder than even I know, it could be his way of showing disrespect without having the balls to front up himself. Sending a couple of kids over there with a fold of money is as good as telling Chris to go fuck himself.'

‘Chris doesn't look so tough,' Sonny said.

‘You don't think so? Don't be fooled by the friendly old Greek. He gets round in his woollen cardigan, not saying much, smiling when he has to, playing the harmless wog. Just the way he likes it. And all the while he has the street in his hand.'

Brixey leaned back in his chair. ‘I shouldn't be telling you this, but you're in so much trouble anyway it's time you heard a story for once that might actually teach you something. You remember the bloke they found dead in the waiting room on the railway platform last year?'

‘Yeah,' Sonny said. ‘He was a debt collector and they say he got on the wrong side of Vincent and he was killed. Every kid in the shop knows that story.'

‘Well, they know nothing. Vincent had nothing to do with the murder.'

‘Who killed him then?' Ren asked.

‘No one can say, for certain. Me in particular. And I wouldn't be careless enough to make an accusation. But what I do know is the same fella had been dodging the Greek over a gambling debt for months. Big money. More than ten thousand dollars. I also know that a couple of nights before he was killed he'd been in the pub mouthing off that
the wog can fuck himself
.
Then he showed up dead. There weren't a lot of questions asked over that one. Even by the police. A debt collector paying for his own greed, having his throat cut. You could even call it an act of God.'

Ren put his hand to his throat and thought about the old man who'd been slicing cake for him each week.

‘Don't worry, the Greek wouldn't have done it himself,' Brixey added, to Ren's relief. ‘It could have been one of the others in the shop. Or maybe they pay a merchant seaman, in town on a Greek liner. Does the job for them, gets his pay and leaves port on the quiet. That's how they like to work. No showboat stuff, the Greeks. Clean up any mess with a minimum of attention.'

The bell over the shop door rang. Rodney, Vincent's offsider, was standing in the doorway.

‘Here you are, boys.' He smiled, although it wasn't much of a smile. ‘The boss has been looking for you. Sent me to collect. This is a work night for you, Sonny.'

Neither Sonny nor Ren moved. Brixey got down from his chair and walked around to the front counter.

‘I'm sorry, mate, but I can't let them leave the shop just yet. The buggers haven't cleaned up.'

Rodney clicked his fingers together. ‘Move your arse, Sonny. And you shut the fuck up, old man. Unless you want the heel of a boot shaving your chin.'

Brixey wasn't prepared to back away. ‘Come on, mate. They're only kids. Too young for this sort of business.'

‘What business?' Rodney asked, like he didn't have a clue what Brixey was talking about. ‘They don't have anything to be worried about. I've been as good as an uncle to them. Haven't I boys?'

Brixey put himself between the boys, Rodney and the front door. Rodney hit him so quickly in the stomach nobody saw it. Brixey fell to his knees.

‘Arsehole,' he groaned.

Rodney leaned over him, stood on Brixey's hand with a heel and drove it into the floor. Spike, who'd been watching the action from the back of the shop picked up a long wooden pole with a hook on the end. Brixey used it to pull the metal grill down over the front door of a night. Spike charged at Rodney, waving the pole like a long-blade.

‘Leave Brixey alone! Fucken leave him!'

Spike swung the pole at Rodney's head, who snatched it in his hand, tore it away from Spike and almost speared him in the side of the head with it. Spike had enough commonsense in him to keep on running, out of the shop. Rodney snapped the pole over his knee and threw it to the ground. He dug the heel of his boot into Brixey's hand one more time and looked down at him. ‘Do yourself a favour, old man, and don't get up. Don't follow us. And talk to nobody. Unless you're ready for a Jewish stocktake in here. I'll put a match to the joint with you tied to a fucken chair.'

Rodney grabbed hold of the boys, one under each arm, and dragged them across the street and into the pub.

‘Upstairs,' he ordered.

Every drinker at the hotel looked away as Rodney marched the boys through the bar and pushed them up the stairs into the back room. Vincent was sitting at the desk, the telephone in one hand and a glass of whisky in the other.

‘I know,' he spoke urgently into the receiver. ‘It was supposed to be last week. Of course you're right, but that's a whack and a half in one hit.' Vincent looked across at Rodney and raised his eyebrows. Although the room was ice cold, Ren noticed that Vincent's face was flushed and he was sweating heavily. ‘Let me sort something and get back to you.' He slammed the phone down. ‘The fucken wog wants the lot tonight.'

‘You got it, Vince?'

‘You know I don't have it. Now he's talking extras for late payment. Thinks he's running a fucken bank over there.'

‘He is. Sort of.'

‘Shut up!'

Vincent stood up, picked up the chair and threw it against the wall. It smashed into pieces. He yanked the refrigerator door open. Bottles of beer fell from a shelf and rolled across the floor. Rodney ran around picking them up while Vincent took a tin box out of the fridge. He sat on the couch, took a small key from his pocket, opened the box and took out a bundle of notes along with the pocketbook the boys saw him writing in each week. He offered Sonny a seat next to him.

‘You been avoiding me, Sonny. I haven't seen you in the pub all week. Just when I have an important job for you to do. I shouldn't need to send Rodney out looking for you. You're on my payroll now, Sonny. And don't you forget that you still owe me.'

Ren began shaking. He shut his eyes and concentrated hard, willing himself to calm down. He could hear Vincent counting the notes.

‘How much is there?' Rodney asked.

‘Just on three thousand.'

‘You owe him almost twelve. You're not even close.'

‘It's worse than that. This is supposed to go to Foy. Only reason I've been holding on to it.'

‘Foy? How much is he into you for?'

Vincent looked over at Sonny and nodded towards the street. ‘That landlord, the one who did us the favour, out of the fucken blue he decided he wanted his money. I got Foy to have a talk to him. I still owe him the fee.'

Rodney looked a little insulted. ‘You should have asked me, Vince. I'd have done it for nothing.'

‘I needed a guarantee there'd be no comeback. There is none, once Foy knocks at the door.' Vincent picked up the pile of notes and counted them again. ‘But he'll have to wait. The old wolf across the road is howling louder.'

Vincent walked to the corner window and looked across the intersection and down to the Greek club. ‘I'll pay what I've got in hand. It'll be enough to keep him off my back for a few days. Then me and you will have to come up with a way to sort this out. I'm not paying any more. The old man will have to go away.'