The Second Son, page 34
I can keep my brother’s secret. Ivan paid with his life.
I could hurt Marko, but what’s the point? Marko was a sniper in a dirty war. He saw his mother and father shot and his sister gang-raped to death. He’ll carry the guilt for the rest of his life. When Marko killed his best friend, he was avenging his sister’s honour, as well as Amy’s.
Standing in the rain between the house and the side fence, I realise I have to accept that sometimes people are driven to do things they don’t understand, driven by needs they don’t want to acknowledge. Ivan was brought up in a household where violence was always the solution. He sheltered me from a lot of it. So is it all really Dad’s fault? I never got to meet my father’s parents, but Dad’s stories about his childhood in the old country were scary, awful.
I know I’m programmed for violence too. I snatched a man from his home and threatened to burn him alive. I’m ultimately responsible for his death, and I know the pain and regret I’ve been ignoring will catch up with me. And there’s Ink Slater. I don’t ever want to take another life.
And now I’ve got close to three million in walking money, my enemies are behind bars and our crew is free. Our whole crew, free to make different choices.
The rain stops as abruptly as it started. The storm has moved on.
We are all products of our past to a greater or lesser degree. But we do get to choose our own future. I want a different future.
Ivan is gone, but Amy and Sasha are here, and I need to get them away from this life, so Sasha will never need to know how to use a gun.
AMY
Branka couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to move straight into Ivan’s house.
‘I change the sheets on his bed. Is all ready for you two. You can leave Sasha with me if you want.’
Sasha has been clingy, so I don’t think I’ll be leaving him anywhere for a while, and I certainly don’t want to set foot in Ivan’s house, let alone sleep in his bed. The thought makes me gag. Johnny gets it immediately.
‘We need a break, Mum,’ he explains. ‘We’ll go into town. We can afford to splash out for a couple of weeks.’
On Airbnb, I find a three-bedroom apartment at the end of Macquarie Street, near the Opera House, and book it until the first of January. We’ll have Christmas and New Year’s Eve overlooking Sydney Harbour.
Very conveniently, Ink Slater left my car keys in my handbag. After collecting our suitcases from Mum and Dad’s, we drive into town in the Mini. At least Sasha and I now have clothes, and I can replenish Johnny’s wardrobe while we’re in town.
By the time we get to Macquarie Street, it’s dusk. The bats are wheeling above our heads. We walk along the harbour foreshore, Sasha between us, holding our hands as if he can tie us together himself. Over dinner in a Thai restaurant, Johnny and I pretend that everything is okay again—for our boy.
When we finally tuck him up in bed, in his own room, we wander back out to the balcony. The Bridge is lit up like a like a giant Christmas decoration. Ferries and hydrofoils make busy trails in and out of Circular Quay. Straight ahead, the Opera House is poised at an angle I’ve never seen before, as if it’s about to take flight or sail away, those impossible curves all lit up. The air coming off the harbour is salty and strong. Over to my right, the twinkling lights of harbourside suburbs dance on the water.
‘It must be amazing to live here, or in one of those mansions by the water,’ Johnny says, as he hands me a glass of rosé and takes a sip of his beer.
‘Too rich for our blood, though, right?’
‘Does that mean you still want to move up north, Ames?’
‘Do I have a choice?’ Our eyes meet.
‘It’s your choice what happens next. What do you want?’
‘Peace.’ I sigh and lift my glass.
‘Peace.’ He clinks his beer bottle against my wine glass.
‘And no Novaks in the same neighbourhood,’ I continue, while I’ve got the chance. ‘Or bikies, or gangs of any description. And no more crime. You’ve got to go straight.’ I study his face, trying to gauge if it’s sunk in just how serious I am.
‘Fair enough. I think I’m ready. North Coast?’
‘Yeah, that should be far enough away.’
We talk long into the night. Johnny makes me go through everything one more time, and then we agree to pack it away. That dark night, when Ivan raped me, is no longer a secret between us, no longer something I have to hide. But the pain is still just under my skin. Johnny says he understands, but he doesn’t. How can he? He’s dragging around his own demons.
We lie beside each other, but don’t touch, the sounds of the harbour slowly lulling us to sleep.
JOHNNY
Looking around the warehouse, I know I’m going to miss these big, ugly men. Dad is sitting at a card table. Josef hands him grey plastic shopping bags full of cash, one for each man, as they step forward to collect their share. Dad dispenses the cash like a king. King of the Croats. I smile to myself. Fuck, yeah, I’ll miss this lot.
Beers are passed around and it starts to feel like a party. Anto still has his arm in a sling, but otherwise seems fine. He’s kicking back on the sofa, a beer in his good hand, a shopping bag of cash in his lap.
Once everyone is paid, Dad stands up and clears his throat. It sounds like an elephant coughing. The men settle and turn towards the boss.
‘You all be careful. No new car, new boat. Not be stupid fucks. Okay?’ Dad glares around at the group of men, one face at a time, until he gets to me.
‘This was Johnny’s plan. Was good plan. His Amy and Sasha taken, but he bring them home. His house burned, but he can build new house. Ordinary house. Not stupid, big house. Ink Slater is dead and Hyde fuckers pay for long time. The rest of bikies? They run. Is good. I say thank you to my son.’ Dad raises his beer, then sits down to a round of applause.
This is my opportunity, no better time will come, so I stand up and wait for quiet.
‘Thanks, Dad. It was a wild ride, wasn’t it?’
‘Luna fucking Park, mate,’ says Bigsie, and everyone laughs.
‘I promised you I’d find Ivan’s killer. Ink Slater denied it, but the gun used to kill my brother was found in his possession. I think we got our man.’
This brings a round of applause. I take care not to look at Marko and I have to hope Dad never works it out.
‘I’ve been doing some thinking,’ I continue. ‘I reckon we’ve all got some choices now that we didn’t have before. Money gives you choices, doesn’t it?’ Everyone is nodding; there’s even a slight tilt of the head from my father.
‘I’ve been talking to Amy and we’ve decided to move up to the North Coast. We’ll try a nice little town called Hallows Head, south of Byron, see if we like it. I’m going to start a security company, installing burglar alarms.’
‘So you can go back later and get in easy?’ asks Stump, a confused frown on his face.
‘No, really. I figure if I don’t know how to protect people from criminals like us, who does?’
Everyone is quiet for a second. Do they think I’m having them on? Or are they wondering whether to take offence at being called criminals? Not likely.
‘Reckon you’ll need any help?’ Anto speaks up. ‘I want out, I’m over it. I don’t want to get shot again, like ever. Lexy and I have been talking about getting out of Sydney. We drove up to the North Coast on our honeymoon. Fucking gorgeous.’
‘Why not?’ A grin breaks out on my face at the thought of Anto and Lexy coming too. ‘Awesome. Amy will be stoked to have Lexy close by.’
‘I’m not going anywhere. Sydney is home,’ says Baz, as if someone is telling him he has to leave.
I glance at Dad, wondering what’s going on behind his massive forehead.
He stands up again, and everyone shuts up.
‘This not good idea.’ Dad’s face is impassive. I have no idea what’s coming next, but I’m curious about my body’s reaction—and there isn’t one. Maybe I don’t care what my father thinks anymore.
‘Who will look after fish shops?’ he asks, going straight for my weak point. He knows I’ve always tried to protect those families.
‘I’m settling their accounts with you.’ I hand him a manila folder and he sits back down to open it. One page, ten names next to ten loan amounts, all under $20,000 but all impossible to pay off on the wage we give them. A total of $157,570. I hand him the cash in a brown-paper bag. ‘They can stay in our rental properties, work in our fish shops and survive on the rent we charge and the wages we give them. But if they want something different, you have to let them go. Okay, Dad?’
He looks pissed off with me but then his mouth curls into a begrudging smile. ‘If they want, I let them go. Agreed. You have any other surprises for me, my son?’
‘I’ve been training Blocker on the books. He’s dyslexic too, so I figured he might have the knack for it.’ Blocker grins as faces around the circle turn towards him in surprise. ‘Looks like I was right. But I’ll keep an eye on things for the next few months, until he’s confident.’
‘I still don’t like your plan,’ Dad says, then he shrugs. ‘But is your plan, my son. So maybe is better plan than I think.’ This is a big admission from him, and he seems a bit startled by it as he leans back in his chair.
My surprise must be showing on my face, because Dad starts laughing. A rare raucous sound, contagious. It makes me smile.
‘No worry, Johnny. I not come visit and burgle your new customers. I have plenty of money.’
Marko is looking at me. He appears relaxed, but there’s a coiled quality in the set of his shoulders and a question in his sad brown eyes. This is my last chance to expose him.
‘I want to thank you all for helping me protect my family.’ I deliver the line straight to Marko and his question is answered.
He raises his beer bottle.
‘Živjeli, Johnny! Živjeli, Anto! Živjeli!’ The crew drink to our health.
With Doug and Kerry’s permission, Flynn will wake up to a golden labrador pup on Christmas morning. I’ve already made sure Granny Slater is okay and Mum has been dropping around to see her. I feel like I’ve fulfilled my obligations. I’m free to go.
I relax at last and raise my beer in salute.
AMY
The view from the balcony is like a postcard—a wide expanse of blue ocean and the sun sending an orange glow down to the surf club and the houses along the beach.
Johnny is manning his new barbecue, pork chops and ćevapi sizzling on the grill. Branka is in the kitchen, giving Lexy instructions on the art of cooking Croatian blitva, as opposed to Serbian blitva. It’s all silverbeet and potatoes to me.
As I gaze out towards the water, Johnny catches my eye and raises his beer bottle. I spread my arms to encompass it all and smile. Drifting to the edge of the balcony, I give thanks for the view I can’t believe I own. We bought this place the moment we saw it, only two months ago. It already feels like home.
Sasha still has nightmares. So do I.
I had to force myself to make love to Johnny the first time since the rape. It was hard, but each time it gets easier to forget his brother on top of me. I’m healing. We’re all healing.
After turning the sausages again, Johnny joins me and we look down on our front garden, ringed by red and pink hibiscus bushes in full bloom, palm trees swaying in the blessedly cool sea breeze. Milan is sitting on a bench under the shade of a big old frangipani, a carpet of yellow and white flowers on the bright green lawn around him. He and Branka are visiting for a week. Driving through town yesterday, I spotted Branka checking out real-estate shop windows. Please, God, no. Maybe a holiday place, but if they retire up here, I will lose it, or worse. Lexy and Anto bought a place three blocks away and I’m happy about that, in a guarded way.
I’m waiting to see if Johnny is able to give up the adrenaline rush of his old job and live an ordinary life.
Milan is smoking a hand-rolled cigarette, his boots planted in the grass, his bottle of beer glistening on the bench beside him as he watches a heroic game of soccer. Anto takes a flying leap but misses the ball and Sasha scores again, straight into the net Johnny set up yesterday. My gorgeous boy dances around as if he’s just won the World Cup, blond hair burnished gold by the setting sun.
Johnny is standing behind me. He kisses me on the back of the neck and places a business card on the balcony railing in front of me.
NOVAK AND SON
SECURITY SYSTEMS. NO JOB TOO SMALL.
Novak and Son, hey? I haven’t told him yet.
I pull his hand down onto my belly and wonder if it’s a boy or a girl growing inside me.
JOHNNY
My arms are around Amy, my face buried in her hair, when I feel my phone vibrate in the back pocket of my board shorts. Strolling back to the grill, I pull out the phone. Antonio Fazzini. What does he want?
‘Johnny?’ The voice is like gravel in my ear.
‘Yeah.’ I don’t say his name. I don’t want to bring the old life onto my new balcony.
‘I got good news and bad news. We’ve been cleaning up that problem we discussed over lunch at your dad’s place.’
‘Okay…’ I’m not admitting to anything on the phone.
‘But we can’t get to the twins. The screws are keeping ’em in protective custody, till after the trial. They know they’ve made some serious enemies, so they won’t be talking to the pigs. Doesn’t matter, we’ll take care of them sooner or later. No problem.’
‘Okay,’ I say again. I’ve got a nasty feeling I’m about to find out the bad news.
Fazzini coughs once, then continues.
‘You probably knew Ink Slater had a younger brother. Jackson. I hear they let him visit the Hyde twins, cos he’s some kinda Special Ops war hero. Just got back from Afghanistan. He knows what happened to his brother. That piece of scum deserved to die, but you know how it is with family. The word is out. He’s coming after you and Amy. Thought you oughta know.’
I end the call and look across at my beautiful wife as she stares out to sea.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This is my first book and it was a wild ride to publication.
My agent in London, Alice Lutyens, you’re a rock star. Thank you for believing in this book and steering me so skilfully through unchartered waters. And Pippa, my agent in Sydney, well done, mate. You’re a dead-set treasure. Anna, Jack, Katie, Sophia, Caitlyn, Ali and all those at Curtis Brown who worked hard to get me here, thank you. And David Forrer at Inkwell Management in New York, thank you for taking my book on.
Penny Hueston, my insanely talented editor at Text Publishing, thank you for being so patient and teaching me so much. And my very debonair publisher, Michael Heyward, thank you for having faith in me. To Stef, Kate, Shalini, Lara, Jamila, Emily B, Emily M, Imogen, Julia and all my Texters, thank you for working so hard to get this book into bookstores and online. I hope we can meet in the boardroom for more rakia shots soon. Živjeli!
Without the online First Draft Course at the Writers’ Studio, Sydney, led by the inestimable Zahid Gamieldien, I would still be noodling around going nowhere. Johnny Novak owes you his life, Zahid. Anytime you need a big man with a gun, he’s there for you, although Amy might prove more useful.
The Curtis Brown Creative online Six-Month Novel-Writing Course was unforgettable and crucial to any success I may ever have as a writer. The September Tribe, my course buddies, provided motivation, critical thought, inspiration and seemingly endless enthusiasm. Emma, Veena, Paul and Tina, you’re in my heart. Our tutor, the scary/lovely Lisa O’Donnell, pushed me harder and further than I wanted to go, but I needed it. Thank you.
Rufus Purdy, your words of validation, along with the editing report from Write Here, put me on the right track to impress Alice. You had a critical impact on my future.
Marina Nestoriadis, thank you for checking the manuscript for me. Your feedback was invaluable.
The APH. Charlie Tyler and Robbie Glen, finding you was such a gift. Thanks for lending me your names and riding the waves with me. You keep me sane. You’re both such gifted authors and I look forward to reading your books for years to come.
Marilyn Peck and Colin Peck, my darling parents, your endless encouragement has always been my greatest strength.
Sharon Elliott Dunne, your belief is the wind in my sails. And Maz Farrelly, my friend, coach and cheerleader, thank you.
Thank you to the Denton, Pensa, Cetnic and Protic clans for letting me into your eye-opening, never dull Croatian-Australian world.
And for Barry ‘Baz’ Bandur, in memoriam. Our crazy Croat, the one who died too young.
To all my friends, who never forgot to ask, ‘How’s the book going?’, thank you for your friendship and support.
Lastly, Stead Denton. My husband, my ideal reader, my inspiration, the one I’ll always love, the one I try to entertain. Thank you for being so patient and supportive and always sending me upstairs to write.
Loraine Peck started her career as a portrait painter and magician’s assistant in Sydney. After being sawn-in-half one too many times, she switched to dealing blackjack on the Gold Coast. Bartending and slinging lobsters in the US led to a sales job in the movie industry, before she was propelled into a career in marketing in Australia, the Middle East, Asia and the US. Consumed by a desire to write crime thrillers, she decided to stop everything and do a writing course—to learn how to write the kind of book she loves to read.
The Second Son is her first novel and she is at work on the sequel.
Loraine and her husband spend their time between Sydney and the Gold Coast.
PRAISE FOR THE SECOND SON
