Bully

The suburb of Mount Druitt bakes in the sun in the city of Blacktown in the western suburbs of Sydney. John walks along the footpath next to the brown, bone-dry nature strip. The asphalt road shimmers in the heat as he trudges along. Dixon got stuck into him again today. Pushed him over, pushed him right in the back as he walked along and John fell arse over tit onto the ground. A few kids laughed but Dixon’s not after laughs, John gets the feeling Dixon might punch him soon. Lay into him because there’s viciousness in what he does. John plays cricket and rugby league, and nearly everyone likes him. Dixon has a shock of red hair, bad acne and he’s a very big kid for sixteen, fat and angry and he’s terrible at classes, a real dumb-arse. But John can’t figure out why Dixon hates him.

John can hear his old man in his ear. No mucking around, straight home from school, do your homework. Do what has to be done then you can relax. John started surfing last summer. His dad surprised him with a board for Christmas but no surfing on school days, and John looks at the heat rising from the road and wishes he was ducking under a wave at Bondi. The beach is miles away anyway, like going to another country. His dad drives him early on Saturday and Sunday mornings to Bondi. It’s not the closest beach but it’s John’s beach because this is where he learnt to surf. His dad works on the council driving a Bobcat. Hot honest work but you’d be stupid to think that his work defines him. Everyone says there’s more to Jim Reilly than meets the eye, a bit different, the blokes at work tell him, a strange one.

At home John makes a sandwich and a cup of tea. There’s this new kid at school, Andy, his parents are from the Philippines and they were living in Parramatta before they moved to Mount Druitt and this kid is dynamite, a very fast bowler. At cricket training he cleaned everyone up. John thinks Andy might be a better bowler than he is and it could push him from opening the bowling to first change. He’ll practise harder. The spectre of Dixon hangs over him though. John and his best friend Dom went to the nets after school to do extra cricket practice but Dixon sat and watched them from fifty yards away so they decided to cut it short and pack up. When John was walking away Dixon got up and stuck his hand out like it was a gun and pointed it at John and kept it on him as he walked away. What a wacko.

He takes the tea into his bedroom, sets it down on the desk. He’s in Year 11 at Chifley College Senior Campus. Years ago, a couple of years before he was born, some newspaper did a rotten story about how many students failed the HSC at his school and about how bad a school it was and his dad still goes ballistic whenever it gets mentioned and for some reason it does get mentioned by people. John is a better than average student but he gets bored and his old man rides him about less than satisfactory marks so he works harder and gets back up to speed again. He likes English and Politics best of all. Late last year he did this Politics test and blitzed it, got 95 out of 100. When he sat down and read the question for the essay he almost laughed because it was exactly what he thought it was going to be and he put his head down and wrote for two hours. It was the best feeling.

His dad comes home around 5 p.m. and knocks on his bedroom door and comes in.

John says, “Hi Dad, I’m nearly finished. I have some reading to do for English but I’ll do it later before I go to sleep.”

“Before you get on Facebook.”

“Oh, come on. It’s a novel. I can read fifty pages in bed. It’s not urgent. I wasn’t going to tell you, even.”

“OK, OK. But don’t try and put one over me. This year and next year are important. You know you’ll get your down time when you …”

“When I do what has to be done, yeah, I know, Dad.”

His father laughs and says, “Just think of it like a Buddhist mantra and we’ll be good. Are we good, John?”

“We’re good, Dad.” And his father closes the door.

Later while they’re having dinner his father asks, “Everything alright at school?”

“Yeah, mostly, but I think this new kid who started late at school is going to take my spot opening the bowling, he’s fast and accurate. Higgy has the downwind spot locked up and Andy might take the other end.”

“Don’t give up, yet. Come on, hang in there.”

“I’m just saying he’s fast.”

“Just so long as he doesn’t take that number seven guernsey from you in winter.”

“No way.”

“I’m leaving earlier than usual in the morning. A job has to be done before peak hour so get yourself up, have a good breakfast, no TV in the morning. Get to school on time.”

“Yes, yes and yes.”

John hears his dad leave and gets out of bed, makes a cup of tea and watches morning television for a while. It feels good not to be rushing around, his dad barking instructions about school work and about how he has to be a man. He has a shower and looks into his closet and at that moment decides not to go to school. He puts a pair of jeans and a T-shirt on, digs around for his boardies and puts them in his school bag with a towel and a hat. He calls Dom and asks him to get his older brother to ring the school and say he’s sick. Dom wants to come too but John says it would be too obvious if they both didn’t go to school. Dom agrees and says his brother will make the call. He goes back to watching television. He’ll leave at 9.30 so peak hour will be over and he’ll be less likely to see anyone who knows his dad or people from school.

He gets on the train and it is practically empty. The time between peak hour and the next wave of people. He sits upstairs and stares out the window. His plan is to go to Bondi and spend the day body surfing, he’ll get home before his dad like normal and make sure his boardies and towel are dry. He leans back and smiles. It’s the first time he’s ever done anything like this.

He puts his right foot under the seat, trying to get comfortable, and kicks something. He swings his leg under further and hits it again. He looks around. There’s someone at the other end of the carriage but that’s it. He reaches down and pulls out a small blue sports bag. He looks around again. All clear. He lifts it out and onto his lap. He wonders about CCTV on the train but can’t see any cameras. He unzips the bag and there’s a parcel wrapped in newspaper. He checks the carriage again as the train pulls out of Toongabbie. All clear. He slowly unwraps the newspaper. It’s heavy, whatever it is. He feels it first then sees it. A gun, dull metallic grey. A hand gun. Shit. Wow. He looks it over. It feels good in his hand but he needs time and a quiet space to check it out. He looks at it again slowly. What if it’s loaded? He sees the word Glock and 9mm on it. He thinks he’s heard of a Glock, maybe on one of those American cop shows. He wraps it back up and gets off at the next station, Pendle Hill, and changes platforms to go back home.

He gets off at Mount Druitt and the day is heating right up, it’s probably nearly eight to ten degrees hotter here than in Bondi. His heart beats faster, he hopes his dad isn’t home, couldn’t be, he’d never go home sick. He opens the front door and walks to the kitchen, opens the sports bag and takes out the gun wrapped in newspaper and lays it on the table. Now, we’ll see.

He gets his laptop from his room and logs on and Googles Glock 9mm hand gun, and finds a home page and instructions on how to use it. He finds the safety and makes sure it is on. Follows the directions and ejects the cartridge, two bullets missing. Where in the hell were they fired and at whom and why? He follows the instructions again and puts the cartridge back in, hears it click, holds the gun straight out with two hands like in the cop shows and says slowly, “How about it now, Dixon?” He laughs and puts the gun down. He looks through the bag and finds a side zip inside. He opens it and finds two more cartridges of bullets. He leaves everything out on the table and goes back to the internet and finds an online gun store. The Glock is worth US$649. He thinks about it. Yeah, I’ve got time. I can do it, he whispers to himself. He would like to keep the gun, it’s pretty cool, no, it’s way cool, but his dad would find it. Plus what would he do with it? He puts everything back together. He makes up his mind to go to a pawn shop but not around here, there’s a huge pawn shop on George Street in the city, right near a gun shop. Six hundred would be unreal.

He walks slowly to the station and sits on the platform and waits. Dom would be in General Maths now wondering what John is up to. Bloody Dixon will be gunning for him tomorrow after this day off. He looks out the window of the train and wishes he lived closer to the city.

He wanders through the tunnel from Central Station to George Street. A busker sings some old hippie song and some people pass by without looking at him, others smile, and one man throws a fifty-cent piece into his hat. John smiles at him and the busker nods back and it makes John feel good. He comes out on George Street and finds the pawn shop.

Inside he walks around and checks out all the goods for sale. This place has everything. Computers, pushbikes, cell phones, stereos, televisions and there’s even some stuffed animals for sale. It’s dark and cool with the aircon on. John finds the counter. He has photo ID. There shouldn’t be a problem. He waits at the counter but no one comes so he rings the bell.

A bald, middle-aged guy, running to fat, comes out from a curtain behind the counter and asks, “What can I do for you, young man?”

“I have something to sell.”

“Well, let’s see it.”

John decides to keep the bullets as a souvenir and then lifts out the gun, still wrapped in newspaper. The bald guy smiles and John unwraps the gun.

When he’s finished the pawn shop guy says, “Ah, now. This is something special. Where’d you get this, young man?”

“It was my dad’s; he said I could sell it because he doesn’t want it any more.”

“Let me look this up on the computer. Got ID, son? Let me see it.” John hands him his photo ID. “Hmm.” The pawn shop man writes down his name and address and says, “Ah, there it is. A Glock 17 9mm. Says they go for over $600 in the States, but I can’t buy it from you, son. You’re under eighteen. No pawn shop will buy it. Better get your old man to come in and I’ll see what I can do.”

John nods his head, disappointed. Coming all the way in here for nothing. What will he do with the gun now? The pawn shop man wraps it back up for him and John puts it in the bag and walks back to the station. The pawn shop guy calls the police.

John makes it home in plenty of time before his dad and takes the gun out one final time and holds it and mucks around pretending to fire it and then puts it away under the bed in the bag. He watches music clips on YouTube and goes to a rugby league website. He wants more than anything to play first-grade rugby league. He’s still pretty small but his dad reckons he will grow some more and he’s lifting free weights to increase his strength. His dad says when he turns seventeen he can join a gym and work out but not until he’s seventeen and once again he wonders why he can’t join the gym now. What possible difference could it make? His dad is always doing that, promising him stuff in the future. He always comes through, though. And then his dad knocks on the bedroom door and comes in. John gets a small fright when he sees him but smiles.

“Alright, John? Got much homework?”

“No, not too much.”

The doorbell goes and his father looks at John and says, “Is Dom coming over?”

“No, not that I know of.”

They both walk to the door and Jim Reilly opens the door and sees two men in suits on the steps. John gets nervous. Jim Reilly knows who they are before they speak and he gives John a withering look as if to say, What the hell have you done?

“Mr Reilly, I’m Detective Burrows and this is Detective Simpson, we’re from Parramatta CIB. Can we come in?”

“What’s this about?”

“It’s better that we come in.”

“Fine, come this way.”

They sit in the lounge room and Burrows says, “Your son tried to sell a hand gun to a pawn shop in George Street, in Sydney, this afternoon. He said his dad told him he could sell it. Anything either one of you wants to tell us? Because a gun like this was used in a robbery in Blacktown two days ago where two shots were fired.”

“Can I speak to my son in private for two minutes?”

“OK, where we can see you.”

His dad takes John into the kitchen and says, “Quickly now, where did you get it? What happened? The truth.”

“I found it in a sports bag on the train.”

“Where is it now?”

“Under the bed.”

“Go and get it, now, fast.” Jim Reilly goes back to the lounge. “My son found it on the train. He’s getting it now.”

John places the bag on the floor in front of the detectives. Simpson opens the bag and unwraps the gun and places it on the coffee table.

Burrows says, “You seen this gun before, Mr Reilly, Jim Reilly, am I right?”

“Yes, Jim. My son found it on a train.”

“It’s just with your record, Jim; we need to know these things.”

“That was a long time ago. I’m not that person any …”

“Calm down, Jim.” Burrows looks at John, who is looking at his father with new eyes.

“Didn’t tell your son about your past, Jim?”

“Shut your … leave my son out of this.”

“Easy now. We’ll take this bag and the gun and get some prints and DNA samples. You haven’t had any contact with this gun, Jim?”

“No.”

“Alright, we’ll drive you to the police station and take some prints and samples and then we’ll bring you home and if you’ve told us the truth that should be the end of it. You might have to fess up to your son though, Jim. Set him straight.” Jim Reilly wants to punch Burrows right in the mouth, rearrange that smarmy smile of his, but he just nods.

It happened just like Detective Burrows said it would and he took them home afterwards. At the station they had to explain where they were at 6 p.m. two days ago. They were both at a parent-teacher night.

At home John says, “What did you do, Dad?”

“I did something stupid, before I met your mother.”

“What, Dad?”

“I went to jail for three years. I was part of a hold-up. I didn’t carry a gun so I got off more lightly than the others. I did my time. You don’t have to be embarrassed about anything I’ve done. I look after you, don’t I? I take care of you. I love you. Never forget that.”

“I’m sorry for getting you into trouble.”

“No trouble, we didn’t do anything, did we. Your only crime is you got curious. Should have left the bag where it was, John.”

“Yeah, Dad. I took off from school today. I’m sorry.”

“Bit of a rough day, John, so we’ll forget about it. You’re nearly seventeen. That means if you get in any trouble you’re old enough to go to jail. Be good, keep away from idiots. Play your sport, work hard at school, everything else will take care of itself.”

“I might go to bed. I’m tired,” John says.

“Want something to eat first?”

“No, might just go to sleep.” But John doesn’t sleep for a long time. His dad was in jail. How could that be? He doesn’t know what to think. A robbery, an armed robbery, he wants to ask was it a bank or a TAB. What happened? What made him do it?

In the morning they shuffle around each other, not sure what to say. John finally asks, “Why’d you do it, Dad? The robbery, I mean.”

“Drugs. I was a drug addict.  Remember now what I said. Work hard at school, keep playing sport, don’t take drugs, John. Don’t listen to what anyone else says. Don’t take drugs.”

“Were you ever going to tell me about it?”

“No, I wasn’t going to tell you. I was never going to tell you. I’m not that person any more. I’m a good person, John. Your mother left us as soon as things got a little tough. Don’t be like her. She only wanted the good times. As soon as it got a little tough she took off. Never once has she phoned you, no Christmas cards, nothing. Be strong. Let’s leave it. I don’t want to talk about it any more.”

“Sorry. I’m going to school. See ya.”

At school he can’t think straight. He’s in class but his head is elsewhere. He tries to picture his dad storming into a bank or TAB and yelling, Hands up, put your hands up, don’t fucking move. It’s crazy. But like he said, he’s a different person now. John has seen druggies. They even shoot up behind the local shops and they scare him. The desperate way they look. He never would have known about his dad if he hadn’t taken the day off.

After school he’s walking along the footpath and Dixon pushes him in the back. He doesn’t fall over, but he loses balance a little. Dixon has a black eye and he charges at John.

“Heard the cops were at your place yesterday, Johnny boy.”

John turns and says, “Get lost you fat pig. No one likes you anyway.”

It’s kind of childish and he knows it but it pisses Dixon off and he comes at John and swings a punch which clips him on the ear and stings like hell. John takes a boxing stance he’s seen somewhere. Dixon comes at him again and hits his cheek, rattling his teeth, and John swings and kicks and gets Dixon in the balls, which clearly hurts him, but Dixon charges again and knocks John to the ground and starts laying into him, fist after fist. John is left bloodied on the side of the footpath and Dixon yells a final warning to him, “You better move schools, mate, or you’re done.”

When John gets home his father is in the lounge room and he looks up from the book he’s reading and says, “Crikey, what happened? Who was it?”

John shrugs and says, “Didn’t you go to work today?”

“No, I didn’t. What the hell happened, John? The truth.”

“Got bashed after school.”

“Who?”

“Dixon, that kid I told you about.”

“You didn’t say he was bullying you. Come here.”

Tears come from John’s eyes and his father brushes them away and says, “Come along, we’ve had a rough couple of days. I’ll fix you up.”

Jim Reilly patches his son up. Puts extra mercurochrome on him and some strip band-aids to make it look worse than it is and smiles at John and says,
“State of Origin players cop worse than this, don’t they?”

John smiles but it hurts. His father says, “Now, get in the car. We’re going to pay young Dixon a visit.” John doesn’t know if this is a good idea.

His father knocks on the door and John wonders how he knew where Dixon lived. A big fat bloke, a huge bloke, opens the door and stares at them.

Jim Reilly says, “Nathan, your boy bashed up my son after school. Is he home?”

“What the fuck do you want, Reilly?”

“Get your son out here to apologise to my son and to tell him it will never happen again.”

“Hey, stupid!” Dixon’s father yells and his son appears at the door. Nathan Dixon asks, “You bash this kid today?”

Dixon junior ducks his head and says, “Yeah, he was asking for it.”

Jim Reilly says, “Nathan, we have history, you know what that means. You don’t want to have to find your son a new school; you don’t want to lose your job. Get him to say sorry and that he won’t do it again.”

Nathan Dixon looks at his son and says, “Do it or you’ll cop it again, like last night.” And he points at John.

Dixon junior says, “Sorry, John, I promise I won’t do it again.”

Jim Reilly says, “Now both of you shake hands.” Dixon comes out and shakes hands with John and then turns and goes inside.

In the car on the way home it starts to rain heavily and John asks, “How do you know Mr Dixon?”

“I was in jail with him.”