Through the Eye of the Hook

6:23am
The alley exists beneath a tall slice that separates two abandoned buildings. It once had a name but now it is marked by a bent street-pole with no sign. A streak of light pierces a rusty hole in a fence at the back of the alley, casting a beam across the lane. Tiny remnants play in the light and hover around Van, crawling towards his eye. A truck’s horn bellows as it heads through the city and Van pushes himself up off the pile of yellowed newspapers, dusts himself off and shakes the blood back into his left arm. The air is heating up and it rises, pulling a cool morning breeze, between the buildings and through the littered lane.

“Who’s a pretty boy?”, torpedoes through the alleyway.

Van stands tall and still. Two men walk up to him and one of them pulls out a switchblade.

“Hand over the jewels punk. Both of ‘em”.

The silver tip of the knife motions for Van to react. He reaches behind his neck and undoes the clasp on his gold chain. Van throws the chain up into the air, aiming for it to land behind the two men, and runs to a stack of red and blue pallets next to the fence. He climbs to the top of the splintering stack and stands level with the corrugated tin. The two men close in behind him and Van jumps, pushing his navy sole into the pallets as he leaves. The two men grasp at the pallets and yell. Van hears a short rain of thuds as each pallet in the stack lands like a lopped tree. The two men groan but are soon silent. Van looks around, sees no-one and runs out from the back of the alleyway. Motorbikes splatter in the distance and the roars fuel Van’s legs. He runs with images of the round symbol on the mens’ black leather jackets. He feels like the razor-blade disc is trailing him, spinning by the hairs at the back of his neck. The land behind the city slopes down towards the bay and Van runs along the path of least resistance, like a gush of stormwater.

6:34am
A silver blade cuts with practiced precision, taking the head almost clean off in one straight motion. The man’s right hand releases its grip on the handle and his left hand throws the flesh into a nearby bucket. A thick mist creeps over him and through the algae-covered pylons, hovering amongst the warped ribs of the jetty.

Van crouches, shivering under the pale, orange streaked sky. He watches the old man on the jetty through the tall grass. The man effortlessly pierces a limp, fleshy prawn. With a flick he casts the bait out into their world. Van’s breath slows as the clicking ‘whir’ fills the bay. Birds are gathering in a committed air and land attack, trying to steal the easy prey on the jetty. The man yells at the birds and stamps his feet whilst sliding another hook into the flesh of his bait.
The old man jostles out of his chair as one of his lines is pulled straight. He engages in a battle, arching back and pulling, then leaning forward quickly to wind in some precious ground. Using a force that is only ever drawn upon in such situations, the fish has the power of ten but it isn’t enough. Clicking twirls sound the death call as it is pulled from its home and held flat on the jetty to face the crusty blade. The man’s eyes sparkle as he gazes across the emerald water, the knife parting the head from the body. A cool breeze rolls through and picks at the waters surface, leaving white scars that quickly heal. Through the grass, Van spies some movements across the bay.

6:56am
A cracked leaf spirals down in front of Van and it hits his shoulder before falling to the bitumen. He is jogging through a quieter part of the suburb to the sounds of dishes clanging and hair-dryers blowing. The streets flow into gates and up to driveways which lead to houses with groomed gardens and sniffling dogs. Van looks at his clothes and sniffs his sleeve. Arriving at the front fence of the property, he looks through the metal bars to see if anyone is around. A garbage truck comes around the corner and two men jump off the back. Van eases the front gate open, then closes it, all in time with the clinks and thuds of the garbage being thrown into the truck. He creeps toward the house, then stays close to the walls and below the windows. Two minutes; one hundred and twenty seconds, and counting.

Van steps across to the window and looks inside. The door’s still closed. He shakes the sliding window free from its catch, steps through the window, lies flat on the mattress and pulls the sheets over him.

For almost six months there had always been two knocks on the door and they land on time. She peeps in, “Van, it’s seven o’clock. I’m going to meet Margaret for a walk. I’ve left your lunch in the kitchen. Have a good day”.

He hears her walk away and then reverse out of the driveway. He looks at his calendar and sees sixty-five squares that separate him from the freedom of being eighteen years old. The lady who owns the house has become accustomed to her guests turning eighteen and having the desire to drive themselves off into the sunrise. He gets out of his bed and steps into the bathroom to prepare himself for the day.

7:19am
A small hatchback, barely big enough to seat five people, revs at the bottom of his driveway. Its horn is pressed and tapped a few times. Van grabs his bag and tie and strides through the kitchen. He picks up the brown paper bag and jogs out to the car. Mike, JD and Raz are in the back seat and Van gets in the front next to Tom.

“Don’t even ask me JD, I’ll tell you at the pit”. Van says as he puts on his seatbelt.

The four guys are pumped, like they are every morning, nodding smiles at each other to the music Tom has chosen.
“Oh, it stinks in here! Raz, was that you again?” JD quizzes with disgust.
Mike pipes up, “Fwaah, who let the cat out of the morgue?”
“You idiots, I went fishing this morning. Some of the stuff’s still in the back”, Tom says.

Van sits through the giggles and pokes, then asks Tom where he went fishing. Tom says that he was in the bay and had lots of nibbles but that the ones he caught were too small to keep. Van stares at the dashboard and hears the boys in the back seat. He grabs the side of Tom’s seat and glares back, “Enough already!”. The three in the back seat glance at each other and make some attempt to hold back their laughter. Tom hits the brakes hard and reverses into a parking space outside the coffee shop.

They all get their usual orders and hang outside. Van feels the hot, ground bean in his mouth and stares past the cup at the footpath.

“You alright Van?” JD asks, tilting his cup.
“Yep”, Van responds.
“It’s just that…”
“I’m okay JD, we’ll talk soon, don’t worry”, Van spatters.

Tom leans on his car, with the door wide open, and rests his elbow and his coffee on the roof. Van hears the start of a news-story on Tom’s radio and runs over to the car.

…“The two men were found this morning in the city’s central business district. The authorities were alerted by garbage collectors who discovered the bodies. Both victims appear to have suffered severe head traumas and, at this stage, the motive is unclear. Police have detained three males, aged between nineteen and twenty-three, for questioning. The identities of the victims have not yet been determined”…

Van watches a stream of brown liquid fall and sees his coffee cup roll out of his fingers.
“What the hell?” Tom shouts, looking at his trousers then looking up at Van.
“Van, are you...” Tom begins.

Usually, after the coffee-stop, the atmosphere in the car would rise with the volume. Words form on the boys lips but no sounds follow. Tom would usually shout out random abuse to the closed windows of other vehicles, but today he looked straight ahead and occasionally at Van.

7:38am
The car is parked in its usual spot behind the gym and the five boys, with their ten eyes, look at the lawn at their feet as they walk towards the pit. Tom is first to crawl through the fence and he reaches into his pocket for the key.

The boys turn on the four flashlights in the pit and sit on their makeshift chairs. The circular room is almost quiet enough to hear the bears that were once kept within its concrete walls. The shadows on the walls stiffen and all eyes turn to Van.

“Last night I did it. I spent a night on the street. I took nothing but the clothes I was wearing and I wore the gold chain and the diamond stud. I slept under a pile of newspapers. Then, just after I woke up this morning, I got jumped”.

Tom straightens, “No way!”
Mike’s eyebrows tilt, “Are you serious?”
JD laughs and squeezes his knees.
“What happened?”, Raz asks.

“I don’t know. I woke up and these guys pulled knives on me. They got the necklace. That’s it”, Van replies.

“Now way!”, Tom repeats.
“That’s crap”, Mike follows.
Raz speaks up over JD’s laughter, “What really happened?”

“There’s not much to say, it all happened pretty fast”, Van replies as he takes the diamond stud out of his ear and puts it on the old school desk in the middle of the pit. He turns to JD, “JD, now it’s your turn. Tonight we are going to watch you swim out to Bear Island, in the middle of the harbour, and wait for you to come back with the sign from the end of the jetty.”

JD looks like a goldfish, stuck in a bowl in his head and trying to escape. Van looks again at JD, “You were the one who said we had to earn our place in the group”.

The ‘ten to eight’ bell rings and JD walks towards his bag.

“Tonight it is”, JD mutters, “I’m looking forward to it”.

The five boys do up their top buttons, pull their ties, straighten their badges and leave the pit.

Van and Tom walk through the blue uniforms towards their geography class and Van feels a flick on his ear. He clutches his lobe and turns around to see Harry.

“Did you guys hear about the two Kapitos who got knocked-off this morning? Someone dumped a load of pallets on them. My brother told me and I also just heard it on the news”.

“Yeah I heard”, Tom said, “What did your brother have to say about it?”

Harry looked at them, “You can’t tell anyone. This is serious. My brother was the one who came up with it. There were these two new guys and they had to rob someone in the street to prove themselves. I think they tried to mug the wrong guys. No one knows who killed them yet. I guess the new guys weren’t Kapito quality”.

Harry pauses and his eyes twinkle, “When are you going to give me a chance to join up with you guys?”

“You’re crazy aren’t you Harry”, Tom says as he looks Harry up and down, “You really think you could handle it with us?”

Tom whispers to Van that Harry should go with JD tonight to see how serious he is, but Van folds his arms.

Tom looks over at Harry, “Soon Harry, we’ll think up a good challenge for you. You better get to French now, run along!”

Harry doesn’t respond and paces away down the corridor.

Tom chuckles and shoulders Van in a way to tell him to chuckle too, but Van just stands there, staring out the window.

“Van? Are you alright? Harry could be okay, he’s got connections. What’s up? Is it your ear? Hold on”. Tom presses his earphone into his ear and turns up the news report. The ‘eight o’clock’ bell rings and Tom tries to find a quiet section of the corridor. The classrooms start to fill but Tom remains outside, listening.

Van sees Tom’s eyes widen and he looks for exit routes, but Tom smiles and walks over towards Van with an exaggerated stagger.

“You could be right. Maybe you did get jumped after all!”, Tom says with pressed lips as he pats Van on both shoulders, “You cheeky little bastard. Maybe you weren’t lying. They found a gold chain!”

Van swallows and smiles back at Tom, “How cool would it be if that was mine?”

“It probably is. The guys who got it probably took out the Kapitos”, Tom says.

“Yeah”, Van replies as they walk towards their classroom.

Tom and Van walk into their geography class and Mr Hardy points at the clock, showing three minutes past eight.
“Having trouble reading the time today are you Gentlemen?”, Mr Hardy says to them as they walk into the room.

“No sir. It won’t happen again sir”, Tom replies without looking up.
“I want to see a change in your attitudes. The way you two are going lately it will be one of you who wakes up, or doesn’t wake up, under a pile of pallets”, Mr Hardy harps.

“What do you mean sir?”, Tom asks.

“Didn’t you see the news this morning? A couple of gangsters were killed in the city. They say it could be the start of a large-scale gang riot. They say they’ve even got the riot-squad on standby. You don’t want to end up like that do you?”, Mr Hardy quizzes.

“No sir”, Tom mumbles.

“Van”, he probes.

“No Sir”, Van says.

“Okay, let’s move on. Who wants to discuss last night’s homework?”, Mr Hardy asks to the class.

Van opens his book, looks out the window and folds his arms across yesterday’s page.

A light drizzle forms spots on the windows and Mr Hardy begins to ramble about the rain. Eventually the spots become drops and spontaneously slide down to the white, wooden frame.

A pen pokes Van on the arm and he looks up and sees Tom with his finger pressed again to his ear.

“What?”, Van snaps with pointed eyebrows.

“They found the guy”, Tom mouths, still listening to the latest news report.

“Who?”, Van mouths back.

Mr Hardy sees the boys and yells, “Thomas Forsyth. Get that thing out of your ear”

“Sorry sir. I just wanted to hear the latest about what happened in the city this morning. They caught the guy sir”, Tom replies.

“What did you expect? They always get caught in the end. Now if I see that thing again it’ll go in the bin. Do you understand?” Mr Hardy says.

“Yes sir”, Tom replies.

“So Thomas, what did you get for part b of question 8?”, Mr Hardy enquires.

Tom flicks through his pages curiously.

“Anyone else not do last nights homework?”, Mr Hardy asks as he scans the room.

Tom looks at Van and sees his, and all the other hands, remain on the desks. Tom’s head shakes and grumbles.

“Good. Thomas, you can see me this afternoon for detention”, Mr Hardy says as he spreads his shoulders.

Van scribbles a note, folds it in half a few times and slides it over to Tom.

Tom unfolds the note under the desk while keeping an eye out for Mr Hardy. He holds it in front of his stomach and looks down.

Ha! It’s only a crime if you get caught.