Authors: Margaret Clark
‘Wait for me!’ Jane grabbed her rucksack and ran after Frantik. Larceny smiled. Alone again. That’s what she preferred. She sat back down against the wall on her haunches and gazed at the passing crowd. She’d do some people-watching to fill in the time, then she’d buy something to eat, maybe drop in on Stella’s hot food van. Might do some work if Stella offered it. She didn’t need the money but it was something to do, something to fill in the time. Just as long as Nick Farino didn’t try and give her aggro. Nah, she’d given him the flick.
Her mind wandered. Sammy Soul was still alive. Had he reported her to the cops? No, that was doubtful, Sammy was the type who didn’t want cops sniffing about. And Emma. Dead. She’d been quite a nice kid, no trouble, kept to herself, usually dead drunk sleeping it off in the mall. And Cathy was her half-sister?
She hadn’t known that. Paul was in Melbourne somewhere. Well, his parole officer wouldn’t be too thrilled that he’d done a runner. Paul was a dipstick. Always in trouble. The last time he’d got nicked for doing a burg he’d got let off with a warning, ‘Behave yourself or else,’ and he’d walked straight out of court into a store and taken a carton of cigarettes.
Dumb. It was almost as if he was begging them to lock him up. He’d got hauled back before the beak and given a good behaviour bond. It was a joke. Still, what was the system supposed to do with losers like Paul?
Maybe they shouldn’t have let him become a loser in the first place!
All bloody losers. Jane. She’d been in and out of homes since she was six and her parents had split. Cathy, thick as two bricks, a school drop-out at the age of eleven. Bex. Comma. Frantik. They’d all lost the plot. And Lynx. He was the dumbest of them all. Good home, rich parents, all he had to do was play ball and go through with the dentist thing, forget about being Indian/Fijian, and he was set up for life. Who needed to cruise with losers?
She didn’t. She was the legendary Larceny Leyton. She didn’t need
anyone
. She wasn’t a loser, she was a survivor with a high IQ. Society. Everybody — they could all go to hell!
She put her head on her knees and pressed her eyes hard so that the tears wouldn’t flow, would stay dammed up inside. Larceny Leyton had no patience with self-pity or tears.
‘Hello.’
She looked up. A weird sight met her eyes. There was a thin man about sixty gazing at her. He was dressed like a businessman or executive, but somehow it looked all wrong, He was wearing a cream suit with flared trousers, black shirt, green and mauve tie, and a brown felt hat. A long white silk scarf completed his ensemble. An expensive-looking black umbrella with a carved gold handle was non-chalantly being swung from his hand. He had the most peculiar-looking face, flattened and creaseless like a cardboard overlay, with black beady eyes like currants staring curiously at her. Then he smiled.
‘Come and have some tea with me,’ he said in an odd singsong sort of voice. ‘There’s some seats round the corner. It’s not good for you to sit on the cold floor.’
‘I don’t feel like tea, thanks. I’ve just eaten.’
‘No, I mean a cup of tea.’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Come. I’m sure you will like it.’
‘No, I don’t —’
‘You will come!’
It was an order, not an invitation. He poked her playfully with the point of his furled umbrella. Short of creating a fuss there was nothing she could do but
pacify him and have the tea. He couldn’t attack her in the middle of the station, could he?
Heaving a sigh, she got to her feet. He was nuts, she was sure: she’d seen enough weirdos in psych hospitals to recognise the signs. Probably harmless. Probably lonely. It was easier to have the tea and then bail. Holding her arm he steered her towards the seats. Resisting the urge to pull away, hating to be held, she kept walking beside him.
‘There, my dear.’ He pulled her down onto a bench and waved his hand imperiously at the woman behind the snack bar.
‘Tea please, Mildred.’
‘Okay, Sir Harold,’ said the woman with a resigned smile.
So he was known. He must be one of the many wandering characters who had been turfed out of his mental home when the government had closed it down. Another lost and lonely soul.
The woman brought over a tray with two cups and saucers, a silver teapot, a matching milk jug and sugar bowl and put it down on the seat between them. Her name tag said “Denise”.
‘There you go, Sir Harold,’ she said, as if she was serving him in a posh dining room at a table with a
crisp white cloth. Larceny gave her a brief smile. The woman was kind. She obviously pandered to this old man’s fantasies and cared a few minutes every day for him by serving him and his “guest”.
‘Thank you, Mildred,’ he said graciously. Then he turned to Larceny.
‘I gave her this teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl,’ he said. ‘Family heirlooms. Do you know, she only had these teabags, and little paper packets of sugar? And she had to pour the milk from a carton. Isn’t that dreadful? Did you know I’m really Jesus, the Son of God? I was crucified on the Cross!’
Larceny looked at him. ‘Did it hurt?’
He blinked. No one had ever asked him that before. Some people turned away, shocked. Some people tried to bombard him with trick questions. Others in white coats tried to inject him or push pills down his throat. He thought about it. Did it hurt? Did
what
hurt? He’d already forgotten, his short-term circuiting brain leaping across another neuro-transmitter to a different topic.
‘I was born in a castle,’ he said, pouring tea into the cups. ‘I’m from the French nobility. And you, my dear?’
‘I was probably born in a cardboard box,’ said Larceny, grinning at him.
‘Oh, very droll, my dear. Very droll.’ He looked at her quizzically, head on one side like a sparrow. ‘Milk?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Good.’ He leaned forward as he handed her the tea. ‘I shot President Kennedy!’
‘Why?’
He blinked again. No one had ever asked him why, either. He was beginning to enjoy chatting to this young lady. She was intelligent. He opened his mouth to explain why, but the thought went fleeing out of his head. ‘Sugar?’ he asked politely.
‘Thanks.’
‘You look like Isadora Dalleau, my dear,’ he said, studying her face intently. ‘She was married to my friend Count Hugo Dalleau, you know. The same red hair. The same green eyes.’
‘Maybe I’m related,’ said Larceny with a grin. It would be nice to be related to a countess.
He looked at his watch. ‘My goodness, how the time flies. I’m late for my appointment.’
He leapt to his feet, bowing as he kissed her hand, and was gone, melting into the crowd before Larceny had time to collect her thoughts. She stared at the teacup still in her hand, at the silver teapot, milk jug
and sugar bowl. Remnants of his past life or props for the present?
She’d enjoyed his old-world charm. Typical. The one person she’d actually liked had whizzed off. A real crazy. Maybe that’s why she’d got on so well with him. Two nuts together. But she wasn’t really mad. Just those voices taunting, going on and on …
‘Thanks, love. He often can’t find anyone to chat with him. He’s totally batty but quite harmless.’
‘Huh?’
Denise, alias Mildred, was scooping up the tray. She rushed back to her food stall. It was closing time. The shutters were going down and the traders were packing up.
Larceny decided to lie down on the bench.
‘Don’t settle there, love,’ said Denise, walking past with her overcoat on, obviously heading for home. ‘That’s Solomon’s permanent bench.’
Larceny wondered whether she should fight someone called Solomon for bench rights and decided she couldn’t be bothered. She went back to her wall space and hunkered down, sitting on her tote bag. It looked like she’d be in for a long, cold night.
‘Hi, there.’
Shit. What now? Couldn’t she be left alone?
Larceny raised her head and groaned. A Salvo. That was all she needed. She put her head back down on her knees again.
‘I thought you might like a warm bed for the night,’ said the Salvo in a kindly voice. Why did religious types always have the same tone of voice, like they were doing you a big favour by noticing your existence?
‘I’m fine, thanks. I’m waiting for someone,’ Larceny lied. She looked round. She must’ve been sitting against the wall for hours. Her legs were cold and stiff, and round her the night people were drifting in and settling down for the evening.
‘I’m Kevin,’ he said, squatting down beside her. She shot him a sideways look. Young, earnest, a pink face, wire-rimmed glasses behind which grey eyes regarded her compassionately. ‘Who are you?’
‘Good question.’
Who
was
she? Larceny Leyton, fifteen-nearly-sixteen, female, loner,
mad
.
‘What’s your name?’
He was persistent.
‘Larceny.’
‘Larceny? That’s an odd—er—what’s your last name?’
‘Leyton.’
‘Oh. Well, Larceny Leyton, you look like you could do with a nice hot meal and a nice warm bed.’
‘Why?’
Her question threw him. He frowned.
‘You’re sitting here alone. You’ve been here for quite some time.’
He’d been watching her. Creep. She was about to tell him to get lost when out of the corner of her eye she noticed a guy in a black leather jacket walking through the far doorway near the clocks. Was it Nick? She wasn’t sure but …
‘Yeah. Right. I’ll take the bed,’ she said, jumping to her feet. ‘Let’s go.’
Kevin was taken aback. Her sudden change of heart had shocked him and thrown him off balance. He got awkwardly to his feet as she faced him, clutching her bag. Then she wheeled away, making for the exit into Swanston Street. He followed, striding to keep up with her. She paused in the street, looking back at him.
‘So. Where’s the warm bed?’ She waved a hand at the crawling traffic, the driving rain.
‘Not far. We can walk.’
‘You’ll get wet!’
She said it with a trace of sarcasm in her voice, and, as if to make her point, she pulled up her hood.
‘I’ve got a brolly.’
‘A
what
?’
‘Umbrella.’
She hadn’t noticed it. In his hand. He undid the tab and opening up the umbrella, raised it high above his head.
‘Ready?’
‘Sure. Take me to your leader, Kevin.’
They walked across with the lights along Flinders Street and down another street to a dark, grim-looking building. A few vagrants were shambling through the entrance, wet and cold, wrapped in their
personal misery. Larceny jammed on her brakes.
‘Hang on, man. I’m not going in there with them.’
‘No, the adolescent accommodation is next door. This is where the food is, Larceny.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
She was frightened. To be classified as a vagrant, to line up in a soup kitchen with the lost and lonely, to be a charity case? Forget it.
‘It’s good food. There’s tomato soup, roast chicken, and banana custard.’
‘I hate tomato soup, chicken and custard,’ she snapped.
‘Well —’ Kevin seemed nonplussed. His job was to rescue the homeless, provide food and shelter, and do God’s work. No one had ever complained about the food before. Maybe she was just an ungrateful little street kid who was on the run for kicks. Then he saw the hunted look in her eyes, and realised with shock that she was scared.
He capitulated. ‘Would you rather have a burger and fries?’ he said.
‘They make burgers and fries in
there
?’ She jerked her thumb at the doorway.
‘No. At Burgermania down the street. I’ll treat you.’
‘No. I’ll treat
you
!’
She grinned at him, and it was as if a halogen light had been switched on from the inside. She was radiant! He blinked. She was beautiful in a wild, untamed sort of way. He saw the intelligent acknowledgment of his surprise gleaming in her eyes and the mocking smile curving her lips. He was so astounded that he caved in straight away.
‘Okay. I don’t get treated very often.’
‘I’ll just bet you don’t.’
He had a sudden awful thought that maybe her money wasn’t honestly acquired, but wisely bit his tongue as they walked round the corner and down another street towards the welcoming big pink plastic icon that symbolised Burgermania.
They went inside. It was noisy, warm and steamy with bodies and food. A few customers looked with surprise at the young Salvo and the wild-looking girl at his side, then went on eating. It was none of their business. Kevin and Larceny walked up to the counter and gave their orders.
‘Eat in or takeaway?’ asked the girl whose picture beamed at them from the wall behind her announcing that she was crew person of the month. Her badge said “Katie”. Katie the Crew Person of the Month, thought Larceny. Was that her fifteen minutes of
fame? Andy Warhol had said that everyone on the planet got to have fifteen minutes of fame. So where was hers?
‘We’ll eat here,’ said Kevin, as Larceny wondered what you had to do to be crew person of the month. Flog more burgers? Be nice to the customers? Make the most money? Be a team player? But then, who cared? And who wanted to jerk burgers round all day long? Who wanted to be famous anyway?
Katie was quick. That’s how she got to be crew person, Larceny decided, and as if by magic two burgers, fries and Cokes appeared on the trays. Rummaging in her pocket she found a twenty and passed it over. Katie’s lightning fingers moved across the till keyboard, then she handed over the change.
‘Thanks.’
Larceny pocketed the change, and picked up her tray. Kevin followed her with his tray to a spare table.
‘This is a first,’ said Larceny, biting into the thick burger, melted cheese dribbling down her chin.
‘A first? Burgermania?’
‘No. Having a meal with a rep from God. What’s it like, being a Salvo?’
‘It’s exhausting sometimes, but it has its rewards.’
‘Yeah? Like what?’
‘Like rescuing kids off the streets.’
‘Meaning me?’ She looked at him over the top of her burger.
‘You. And others.’
‘What if I don’t want to be rescued? What if I’m too bad to be saved?’
‘You are one of God’s children,’ he said seriously.
‘One of God’s children, eh? So. What’s He or She done for me?’ She took a sip of her Coke, watching him warily.
Kevin considered this carefully. ‘You’re alive, you’re well, you’re in a country where there’re no wars and oppression, you’re —’
‘Oh, per-
lease
. Spare me the sermon, Kev. My life’s a shithole.’
‘But it needn’t be like that. If you put your life in God’s care …’
Larceny banged her Coke down so hard it slopped all over the table.
‘Forget it, man. I don’t trust anybody with my life, especially some spirit in the sky who’s done absolutely zip for me so far, except maybe let me find some money in this coat pocket.’
‘Maybe you haven’t given God a chance.’
‘And maybe God hasn’t given
me
a chance.’
She felt the anger bubbling up, the grey mist swirling into her brain. She gripped the cup so hard that it split and the Coke ran in a brown sticky river all over the table top.
‘I’m outa here.’ She jumped up, stuffing the last of her chips in her mouth.
‘Wait!’
He was on his feet, coming at her, reaching for her with his hands. She snatched up the umbrella, holding it like a lance, jabbing him back. There was a stunned silence as the diners watched in horror, their forgotten burgers halfway to their lips.
‘Larceny. Calm down. Look, just sit here quietly and we’ll talk this through.’
But the voices were taunting, chanting, now screeching in her head.
‘Kill. Kill!’
She went for his face with the umbrella, belting him with it, wielding it like a sword. He ducked, trying to cover his head with his hands. She was like a mad thing, hitting, striking out with a demented fury as he backed away. His glasses fell off and crunched under her feet as she lunged again.
‘Hey. Stop it!’
A big burly man leapt up from his seat and tried to
grab the umbrella from her. She whirled and kicked out at him. Chairs crashed, people screamed as she lashed out blindly, consumed by a red rage that ripped through her, giving her superhuman strength. Kids started crying and people cowered in their seats as they watched her assault with astounded eyes.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ cried a woman above the din.
‘She’s psycho. Probably on drugs,’ said a man, ducking as Larceny crashed through the melee, swiping wildly with the umbrella. It hit a chair and broke in half.
‘That’s enough.’
The big guy grabbed her and pinned her arms behind her back, She struggled, kicked, spat and swore as two cops came charging through the door. Katie had been super quick on the phone. They must’ve been practically cruising past the door! Larceny fought and struggled as hands seized her. The cuffs went on. Suddenly, beaten and defeated she slumped and would have fallen if one of the cops hadn’t caught her. All the anger and rage drained out, and she was just a confused, scared kid.
‘What the hell happened here?’ asked the cop, staring at her bent head and then at the chaos round him.
‘She’s sick, man. A total psycho,’ said a young guy in the corner. Kids were still wailing as the cops hustled her through the door and out into the street. Kevin followed, wiping bits of burger from his uniform.
‘Do you know this young woman?’ asked a cop.
‘Yes. Well, I know her name but no personal details. We were having a meal and she suddenly went berserk.’
Larceny looked at him from under her tangled mane of red hair and blinked. Where was she? She twisted her head and looked down at her hands. What was she doing handcuffed? What had happened? Who was this Salvo?
Then it came rushing back. The voices. Telling her to kill. Oh, God. Had she
killed
somebody? Was she truly
mad
? She looked at Kevin.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t control them any more. The voices. I can’t make them stop. I
can’t
.’
She started to cry, great gut-wrenching sobs.
‘We’d better get her to hospital,’ said one of the cops. ‘She’s a real nut case. On drugs for sure.’
They put her in the cop car. Kevin got in beside her and put his arm round her. For once she didn’t flinch away. She was too tired, too scared and too lonely inside.
‘I’m here with you,’ he said. ‘You’ll be all right soon. Tell me, has this happened before?’
Before? thought Larceny dully. A thousand times before. She thought she’d beaten the voices, had them under control. Thought it was the dope she’d choofed, all the psycho drugs they’d given her over the years that had caused the voices. She hadn’t smoked dope for weeks, hadn’t taken her antidepressants,
knew
she could beat the bloody voices in the end, control her rages. And now this!
They arrived at Emergency. And it was the Alfred. It seemed ironic that she was being admitted to the very hospital where she’d brought Frantik when he’d got his bad whack. He’d walked out, but would she be able to do the same? They’d pump her full of sedatives then send her back to a psych hospital, more drugs, more shrinks trying to shrink up her brain.
‘I’ll stay with her,’ said Kevin, as they took her into a cubicle. ‘I don’t think you need to be here,’ he said to the cops, as one cautiously undid her handcuffs. Fool. I
diot
, thought Larceny, looking at the cop underneath her lashes. Did he think she was going to attack him? She didn’t have the strength left to swat a mosquito. A nurse peeled off her coat and took off her shoes. A doctor arrived looking harassed. Wet
nights in the big city always brought a multitude of accidents. He had a pedestrian with a head injury, a couple of whiplash victims from back-enders, more road accident victims with lacerations, suspected broken bones and internal bruising, a drunk who’d fallen down some stairs, and a kid with second degree burns from falling onto a heater. There was no room, there were no beds, and he was tired. He pulled back her sleeve to inject her with a sedative in case she started performing again and saw the scars.
‘Shit!’
He seldom swore and was seldom shocked. He’d seen it all before. But the multiple scars told their own terrible tale. Kevin sucked in his breath and the two cops looked at each other over Larceny’s head.
‘Maybe we should stay,’ said the older one.
‘No, she’ll be fine. I’ll sedate her and you can talk to her in the morning,’ said the doctor, noting with professional eyes her waxy pallor and exhausted face. ‘She needs to sleep. We’ll run some blood tests and find out what she’s been using.’
‘Nothing,’ mumbled Larceny, but her tongue felt too big for her mouth, and she only managed a weak whimper as the needle slid into her arm.
When she woke up it was dark. She was in a
hospital ward. Someone was snoring in the corner bed, and there was a faint light from the nurses’ station down the hall. Cautiously she turned her head, expecting to find cops and security glaring down at her, but there was no one. Not even Kevin, God’s messenger and willing worker. So much for keeping his word. Larceny’s lips curved contemptuously. She’d let down her guard for two seconds, had a meal with a Salvo, and look what had happened. She’d really lost it. She raised her head and everything spun round. She wasn’t used to medication any more. While she was on loads of antidepressants and modecate she didn’t get angry and the voices went away, but who wanted to go through life doped up to the eyeballs? What the hell was wrong with her?
She wasn’t schizo. Sir Harold, the old guy in the cream suit, now
that
was schizo, slipping in and out of reality with delusions that he was the Son of God.
That
was
really
schizo. She was normal, except for the voices. Once she got rid of them, she’d be okay. No, not normal; she had a high IQ. Did people with high IQs hear voices in their heads? She’d never thought to ask the shrinks.