Read Dead Dog in the Still of the Night Online
Authors: Archimede Fusillo
Tags: #Children's Books, #Growing Up & Facts of Life, #Family Life, #Friendship; Social Skills & School Life, #Emotions & Feelings, #Children's eBooks
Dead Dog in the Still of the Night (6 page)
The air between the two brothers was suddenly edged with threat.
Primo swallowed. As he watched his brother replace the remaining bottle, Primo realised that something significant had shifted in their relationship. For the first time in their lives, Adrian needed him and not the other way around. Some vague notion fiddled at the back of his mind.
‘Yeah, I’ve spoken to Tone,’ he replied.
‘And?’
Primo hesitated. ‘And ...’ The words picked their own course. ‘And he reckons for a grand they can set something up to warn her away.’
‘A thousand dollars? Are you sure?’
Primo nodded and reached for a second towel. He didn’t meet his brother’s probing stare.
‘I don’t want any physical stuff,’ Adrian said effusively. ‘Just a warning. Tone’s clear on that, yeah? His old man has been known to get carried away.’
Primo wrapped his head in the towel and nodded. What do you know, big brother? he thought. Nothing except what you’ve heard, and that’s mostly crap.
‘A grand?’ Adrian asked again.
‘Maybe a bit more,’ Primo added with conviction. ‘Two, tops.’
Primo stopped talking. Waiting while the fish circled the bait.
Finally Adrian punched Primo playfully on the chest. ‘You’re not a kid anymore, are you?’ he said almost admiringly. ‘You and Tone both, eh.’
When his brother left, Primo allowed himself a deep breath and stared into the mirror.
‘You don’t live here anymore, Ad,’ he said into his reflection. ‘The rules have changed. You’re like a visitor passing through.’
‘I didn’t think your brother would’ve bought that crap about my old man.’ Tone didn’t try to disguise his annoyance, irritably tapping his fingers on the hearse’s steering wheel. ‘I thought Ad was a smart guy.’
Primo scowled out at the Fitzroy street they were parked in. ‘My brother’s a smart guy in deep trouble,’ he replied. ‘And smart people in deep trouble think stupid things. Do stupid things, Tone.’
‘He won’t dud you, Prims?’ Tone asked. ‘What if he pikes on the deal? What if we get the Fiat repaired and Ad doesn’t cough up the grand?’
‘He won’t dud me, not when he thinks your old man is involved,’ Primo reassured him.
‘Yeah, well, you see, that sort of bugs me a bit too,’ Tone admitted, passing Primo a cigarette. ‘Your brother thinking that somehow my old man has these connections with …’ He shrugged.
‘Bad people?’ Primo finished for him. ‘Tone, even you have to admit your old man never played down the rumours.’
Tone squirmed, uncomfortable with the open whispers about why his father had succeeded so well in a business so many others had failed at. Or why, of the three pizza shops within a few blocks of each other, only ‘Bits and Pizzas’ had survived.
‘It’s my mum’s
casalinga
cooking that keeps the clients coming back,’ Tone muttered. ‘She’s better than any of those celebrity chef wannabes, and ten times cheaper.’
‘Yeah, maybe. But even when we were kids, your old man used to scare us into doing odd jobs we didn’t want to do by suggesting there might be hell to pay if we didn’t.’ Primo smiled at Tone.
‘He works like a slave, Prims. He’s built that business up from nothing. Him and Mum both, you know,’ Tone said forcefully.
Primo raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you going to help me here or not?’
Tone shook his head and ambled out of the hearse, asking over his shoulder, ‘So how will this Crystal bird know why there’s a dead dog on her doorstep, Prims? Could be she sees it as just some sick prank.’
‘Bit of a coincidence don’t you think, Tone? This Crystal chick is in deep with some guy who keeps calling her to say she needs to pretend like he never existed, keeps pleading with her not to wreck his entire life, and then there’s a dead dog on her doorstep,’ he said slowly. ‘You reckon she’s not going to put two and two together and come up with, “I’d better back off here”?’
Tone ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the hearse. ‘You need to be sure she knows what’s what. She needs to know that it means only dogs dob, yeah?’
‘So, what? I rock up to her door, knock, and do a PowerPoint presentation?’ Primo tossed his smouldering cigarette aside and exhaled loudly. ‘I don’t think so, Tone. And hey, I need the money right now.’
Tone forced a grin, slapped his thighs and shook his head again. ‘Your brother’s half right, Prims,’ he said finally. ‘But not about my old man. My cousin, Alfie, now
he
knows people, Prims. Alfie could probably get someone to drop off the surprise. Someone that would make you piss your pants if they turned up at your door unexpectedly. Someone not connected to Ad, or you, Prims.’
‘No,’ Primo said firmly. ‘No. We don’t need others getting involved. We just drop the dog off and hope she makes the link.’
‘And what if this Crystal chick goes to the cops? What then, Prims?’
The afternoon had cooled quickly since Tone had replied to his text to collect him, and Primo stared out at the closing sky and sighed deeply. A chill went down his spine and he shook it off.
‘What is she going to tell the cops? “There’s a dead dog on my doorstep, and I know it’s the guy I slept with from the office who put it there. It’s his way of scaring me off because I’m trying to fleece him”? Doubt it, Tone. You just need to ring Ad, tell him that a warning has been put out, and if the whole thing fizzes to nothing ...’ He shrugged. ‘Who is Ad going to blame? He’s a coward, Tone. If he wasn’t, he would of dealt with the situation out front, like a man.’
He’s like the old man, Tone, Primo wanted to add, but didn’t.
‘Prims?’ Tone said. ‘Prims, I’m your best mate, and I’m in if you say we run with it. I just want to be sure we don’t do this for nothing. I’m putting it out there that this is full of much weirdness, you know.’
Primo held his hand out to Tone who took it quickly.
‘You have got the right address, yeah?’ Tone asked.
‘Ad gave it to me to pass on,’ Primo replied and patted the back pocket of his jeans. He stared fixedly at Tone. For some reason he didn’t feel the elation he had expected at getting Tone to help. His satisfaction was tempered with an unsettling sense of foreboding.
‘Careful,’ Tone chastised him and pulled open the hearse’s tailgate as Primo looked yet again at the address. ‘I’m going to have to hose this all out,’ Tone complained.
The dog’s carcass slapped hard on the road’s surface when Primo yanked it from the back of the hearse.
‘It’s that one.’ With a nod from Tone, Primo picked up his end of the bundle. They skulked forward into the shadows of the front yard.
This was the seedier part of Fitzroy, tired and forlorn, not the hip end of Brunswick Street with its myriad cafes and retro clothes shops that hung second-hand woollen vests and porkpie hats from twisted coat hangers outside their front doors. This part of Fitzroy oozed makeshift respectability, more veneer than reality. There was no hefty aroma of roasted Arabica beans here, just a hint of sordid waste tucked out of sight.
The front yard of the house was overgrown with thistles and onion weed. The brick-paved driveway – or what had once passed for a driveway – was buckled and led untidily toward a wooden gate hanging from one hinge, stopping it from toppling over completely. There was a veranda of sorts, but it too was barely hanging on, the struts and supports leaning outward into the yard like buck teeth.
A welcome mat sat by the front door.
‘We’ll leave Rover there,’ Primo said flatly. He’d hoped for something more. Something that said the woman was just another middle-management bimbo with pretensions about being important.
They moved swiftly, hidden by the overgrown vegetation and the shadows of the early night.
Tone put his end down, crouched, and whispered, ‘Do we leave it in the tarp?’
Primo didn’t respond, so Tone began to unfurl his end.
‘Of course not,’ Tone said to himself. ‘What would be the point of that, eh?’
Primo stared down the length of the veranda. Two scarred kiddie bikes stood propped against an upended mini trampoline. Toy cars and an armless doll lay amongst them, and a tipped over bucket spewed little green plastic soldiers.
Tone tugged at the tarp and the dead animal rolled out onto the veranda with a gentle thud.
‘Ad never said nothing about her having kids,’ Primo spat. ‘What if the kids find it?’
‘You don’t know they’re hers,’ Tone replied, manoeuvering the carcass with the tips of his shoes so that it was right on the welcome mat. ‘Could be her younger brothers and sisters. Could be some nephews. What difference does it make anyway? You had us bury the stinking thing in the flower bed of an old people’s Home, so don’t go all soft on me about kids finding the dog.’
‘Little kids could find the dog, Tone,’ Primo said slowly. He bent down to push the dead dog back onto the tarp, but already Tone had it rolled up and was backing off the veranda.
‘Tone!’ Primo snapped.
Primo looked at the dog, its snout matted with grime, tongue lolling out, eyes ablaze with death, and vomit rose in his throat, tangy and sharp.
‘Shit!’ he hissed and searched around for something to cover the carcass. A light went on just behind the frosted imitation lead lighting of the front door.
‘Prims!’ Tone was waving at him to move.
Primo heard shuffling behind the door, followed by the voice of a woman, irritated, her words unclear.
‘Prims!’
Primo’s gaze switched between the dead animal and the front door. There was a shadow behind the glass.
‘Primo! Move your arse!’
Primo jumped at the touch of a hand on his elbow. ‘Come on!’ Tone’s voice was a sharp thing amid the gathering noise inside Primo’s head.
Half stumbling, Primo allowed himself to be dragged back into the street, careening into Tone.
He was still looking at the house when Tone shoved him head first into the front passenger seat. Tone tossed the tarp in, covering Primo’s head as the hearse pulled out into the road.
‘It’s done,’ Tone said thickly. ‘It’s done so just get over it. Don’t go all soft on me now, Prims.’
What sort of sick mind thinks dropping a stinking dead dog on someone’s doorstep is okay? Primo asked himself.
He opened the window and heaved the soiled tarp out. It caught in the slipstream for an instant, ballooned out like a parachute, and then folded itself against the car before being torn away as Tone took a sharp right-hander.
Primo turned in his seat and watched the tarp weave and scatter itself across two lanes of traffic, a kind of imitation bullfighter’s cloak that charged into cars blindly. Brakes squealed as drivers took evasive action a fraction of a second too late.
When Primo swallowed, the vomit stung his throat and he dry-retched.
They drove back to their own familiar turf just a few kilometres away, Tone steering with the casual ease of someone in his element. Primo fidgeted, moving himself back and forth, tugging the seatbelt, tapping his fingertips on the dashboard, and finally pulling out his mobile and dialling.
‘Ordering pizza?’ Tone said flippantly. ‘I know a place that does deliveries.’
‘Tell Ad it’s been taken care of,’ Primo said and held the mobile out toward Tone’s mouth.
Tone hesitated and Primo snatched the phone back.
‘Ad,’ he said into the phone when he heard his brother’s voice. ‘Tone called. Said to tell you: Let dead dogs lie. No. I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. You work it out.’ Primo hung up.
He exhaled loudly and closed his eyes.
‘“Let dead dogs lie”?’ Tone parodied. ‘Where did you get that line from, a B-grade movie?’ He laughed. ‘You sounded like a wannabe, Prims. “Let dead dogs lie”. What was that?’
Primo pushed the palms of his hands deep into the orbs of his eyes and sighed. An almost suffocatingly deep stillness inside his head had succeeded the clamorous noise he had felt at the woman’s house.
‘I’ll get my cousin to pick up Bambino’s door first thing in the morning. That okay with you, Prims?’ Tone asked suddenly.
Primo nodded. Tone smiled.
‘I’m sort of glad we dug the dog up again, Prims,’ Tone said. ‘I wasn’t real comfortable about it being there with all those poor old people, you know.’
Yeah, Primo thought bitterly. A rotting dead dog on a stranger’s front door is so much better, so much more comforting.
Santo found Primo in the garage by Bambino.
‘What’re you doing in here?’ he hollered. ‘You know Dad doesn’t want anyone touching the car. Dad doesn’t even want you moving the tarp. You understand, Primo?’
Unnerved by his brother’s unannounced appearance, Primo didn’t answer. He glanced at the Fiat, satisfying himself that the dust cover was secured firmly enough that Santo wouldn’t spot the missing front door.
‘You listening to me, Primo?’ Santo pressed. ‘You’ve got no business with my car.’ Santo reverentially touched the dust cover that shrouded the little car. ‘And shouldn’t you be studying or something instead of slacking off in here?’
Primo blinked.
‘Just because I don’t live here anymore doesn’t mean I’m any less interested in what goes on,’ Santo said. ‘And that especially includes anything to do with this car. You got that, Primo? Dad promised me this car when he dies, and I intend to make sure it stays safe and sound.’
Primo blinked again. Of course Santo believed the Fiat was his. How convenient, Primo thought.
Santo was tall and imposing. He’d been a karate junkie as a younger man and his physique, though not pristine, still showed signs of the black belt athlete he’d once been. Santo could still look after himself.
When his eldest brother threaded an arm through his, Primo didn’t resist.
Santo turned him toward the house. ‘I came to tell Mum some news,’ he announced, walking Primo with the confidence of a guard leading a shackled prisoner. ‘It’s the big four-o for me this year. Time for me to make some changes in my life. Forty, Primo. Can you believe that? I can’t.’
Primo made a move to dislodge Santo’s arm but his brother pulled him closer and leaned in.
‘Only reason I found you was I wanted to pay my respects to Bambino. That little car and me go back a
long
way. Further than anyone in this house, except Dad. Did you know I was the first person Dad told about buying the car? Said it was his special treat for all the hard work he’d done. He was going to take it around Australia with Mum.’
Primo stiffened and Santo let him go. Primo knew what was coming.
‘But then things changed, you know,’ Santo said with a light-hearted punch to Primo’s jaw. ‘Things got complicated again, and he never took the trip. Three little people started appearing in his life. Suddenly everything the old man had hoped to do with the car was over. I wasn’t surprised really, when the old man told me the Fiat would someday be mine. I mean, like I said, I was there from the start.’
They were at the back door and about to walk into the house when Adrian appeared around the corner of the driveway.
‘Santo?’ Adrian said with unease.
‘All we need is Kathleen and the family’s all together again,’ Santo said. ‘Save for Papa, eh?’ he added and pushed Primo ahead, holding the door open to allow Adrian to pass through.
Once inside, Santo pulled up the armchair their father used to sit on and crossed his legs comfortably at the ankles.
‘You boys are looking good,’ he muttered. ‘This is one comfortable chair, eh?’ Then to Adrian, ‘Why don’t you sit? We should talk about all this ...’ He waved a hand over his head. ‘This unhappiness that’s going on in your life.’
Primo saw Adrian bite his bottom lip, but he sat nonetheless, leaning slightly forward, hands clasped.
‘Primo,’ Santo said, ‘grab two glasses and the scotch, will you.’
Primo glanced at Adrian. Adrian nodded faintly, and Primo retrieved the glasses and the scotch, handing them to Santo who measured out two nips.
‘Primo? Want some?’ Santo asked.
‘I’m right,’ he replied.
Santo grinned and just as Primo made to leave he said, ‘Mum tells me you and the old man had a bit of a disagreement, Primo.’
Primo tensed. He almost reached up and touched his bruised cheek, but pulled back in time.
‘It was nothing,’ he said.
Santo’s eyes met Primo’s, only breaking contact to turn his attention to Adrian.
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘How you going with Stella and the kid? Her brothers aren’t giving you grief, I hope. ’Cause if they are, you know, I’m always happy to help out. They need to mind their own business is what they need to do, so …’
‘No, no grief,’ Adrian said softly. He was talking to Santo but looking at Primo.
Santo pressed his mouth into a tight line and raised his glass. ‘Salute to that!’ he said.
Adrian followed suit gingerly. ‘Yeah, salute to that, eh.’
Primo again made to move and again Santo stopped him, lifting a hand and splaying his fingers. He pursed his lips. ‘This travelling about all over the place really makes these family get-togethers difficult, doesn’t it?’ he said and brushed at something on the sleeve of his expensive leather jacket. He cocked his head at Primo.
‘You like this?’ he asked. ‘Guy I got it off reckons it’s from Florence. That’s in Italy by the way,’ he said, offering up his left arm for Primo to touch. Primo turned toward the hallway. ‘Where you going, little brother?’
‘Got to get some homework done before the footy starts,’ Primo said over his shoulder.
‘Homework on a Saturday night?’ Santo looked at Adrian and smirked. ‘Since when does a teenager do homework on a Saturday night?’ Then to Primo, ‘I’m surprised to find you at home at all, mate. Didn’t you just get your licence? When I was your age there was no way you’d of found me at home with the oldies on a Saturday night. Not even Ad here was ever home on a Saturday night, I reckon.’
Primo clenched his jaw. Santo was always looking for ways to show how much more he’d done, how much better he’d been at the same age compared to his brothers.
‘That’s probably true,’ Primo replied soberly, turning to face Santo. ‘But you never got past Year 10, mate, so there wouldn’t of been too much homework for you at my age. Unless, back then, the dole had a homework component.’
Primo saw Adrian flinch. Santo always had that effect on Adrian. It was as though Adrian feared Santo might think less of him if he didn’t agree with everything their eldest brother did or said. Pathetic.
‘
Touché
, my little man,’ Santo shot back, his eyes tight slits. He looked at Adrian. ‘You could take a bit of Primo’s attitude and show some backbone to that woman causing you grief.’
‘She won’t be bothering me anymore,’ Adrian said in a rush. ‘She’s come to her senses. Right, Primo?’
Now it was Primo who flinched. What was Adrian thinking?
Primo stared at Adrian and shook his head almost imperceptibly.
The three brothers looked at one another awkwardly, then Santo sat up straight-backed in sudden realisation.
‘So? You both just going to stand there like two sooky-eyed girls, or is one of you going to fill me in?’ Santo was leaning forward now, hands clasped between his knees, feet firmly on the floor. ‘She’s been taken care of? How?’ He cocked his head again, the smile disappearing. ‘What did you morons do?’
The question hung in the air a few seconds too long, bringing Santo to his feet.
Primo walked into the hallway.
‘Adrian?’ he heard Santo say at his back. ‘What the hell have you done?’
Dinner was late. Primo heard his mother arrive at the back door with their father, and give a whoop of delight at finding Santo waiting for her.
‘Adrian, why didn’t you bring Beth here for dinner?’ she asked when they were all at the table.
‘Stella arranged to have a few of Beth’s friends to the house for a sleepover.’
‘Not “the house”, Adrian,’ his mother corrected him. ‘Your home. Yours and Stella’s home.’
Adrian made a muted sound of understanding and changed the subject to his meeting with the parish priest, and how they had decided Stella needed to meet with them to nut out a compromise so he could move back home.
‘Be man enough to just walk back in, Adrian. It’s what I would’ve done in your place.’ Santo emphasised his point by slapping the table. ‘Maybe you should talk to her, Mum? She’s still a kid, yeah?’ He looked across at Adrian, and asked, ‘She twenty yet, Ad?’
Primo kept his eyes lowered. Sure, he wanted to say, Mum can offer Stella advice about how to turn the other cheek and pretend like it’s all someone else’s fault.
‘Twenty-five soon actually,’ Adrian finally answered.
‘Sorry, I forgot,’ Santo said, smiling maliciously. ‘She’s the older woman. That’s why she hassled you into getting hitched, Ad. So she wouldn’t be left on the shelf with a bun in the oven, eh?’
‘Storming back into the house won’t help anyone,’ Primo heard his mother say. ‘It doesn’t work that way.’
Primo heard Santo laugh. He looked up into his crunched-up face.
‘It’s okay, Mum,’ Santo was saying. ‘Adrian’s taking care of it all as we speak. Aren’t you, mate?’
Primo looked across at Adrian and held his brother’s gaze. You haven’t told Santo, have you? Please, Primo prayed under his breath, please tell me you haven’t told Santo.
Adrian grinned ridiculously and nodded.
‘What does that mean?’ their mother asked, her tone concerned. ‘Adrian?’
Primo let his gaze move across the four faces at the table: his father, Santo, Adrian, and his mother. Only his mother looked slightly perturbed.
‘Nothing, Mum,’ Adrian said finally. ‘It means nothing. It’s just Santo’s way.’
‘Santo?’
‘Well, in a manner of speaking, yes, it is my way,’ he said cryptically. ‘And I’m glad to see that all the balls in this family aren’t at this end of the table, eh Dad?’
The old man reached for the vinegar and attempted to pour some into his glass. Santo, sitting closest to him, snatched it off him.
‘Why you here?’ the old man asked. The question seemed to be general.
Santo poured out a glass of wine and handed it to his father.
Primo stole a glance at his mother. Her chin had dropped, her lips were pursed and he thought she was trying to work out Santo’s comment.
‘I very good driver,’ the old man announced, steering an imaginary car around an imaginary corner. ‘I want buy new car. A Fiat 500. Red one. The Bambino with suicide doors.’ He smiled at his family, then picked up his fork and stabbed another slice of zucchini.
‘You already ...’ Primo’s mother began, but the words evaporated and she looked down at her empty plate.
Primo felt the usual bile rise in his throat. His father’s comments were becoming more unpredictable. It was frightening. Primo looked at his father closely, at the deep furrows that had formed on his face, the lines that dug into his skull.
‘Thanks for dinner,’ he said and made to rise from his place. Santo motioned firmly for him to sit.
‘You haven’t heard my news yet,’ Santo announced. He looked at Primo and smiled. ‘You want to hear my news, right, Primo?’
Not really, Primo thought. I don’t really care what you’re up to, apart from thinking the Fiat is somehow automatically yours.
‘Sure,’ Primo mumbled, lowering himself back into his chair.
Santo clapped, startling the old man, who dropped his fork with a clutter and swore loudly.
‘I know there’s been a lot of, well, a lot of challenging news lately, let’s say,’ he began, and Primo saw Adrian become engrossed with the pasta dregs on his plate.
‘Papa, Mum, little bros.’ Santo got to his feet. ‘I’m going to reopen the
ufficino
, the workshop. With the help of some good friends of mine. Local boys.’
There was silence. Santo stood where he was, arms out as though for an embrace, looking around the table, settling on Primo.
Unsettled by the grin shot at him, Primo said the first thing that popped into his head, ‘The same friends you went into the sunglasses business with? The one’s who tried to pass forgeries off as the real deal?’
Santo huffed and tapped a finger on the tip of his nose absentmindedly. ‘All the important bits and knobs are there already, Mum,’ he said, ignoring Primo. ‘Dad didn’t sell anything. Sure, I need to get some modern gear in there too. But really, all I need is two good experienced mechanics, maybe an apprentice, and someone to oversee the operation. Someone to get the clients through the doors. Oh, and they won’t be wooden anymore,’ he continued. ‘I want a classy shop front. Something that will bring in clients with cars that matter. Beemas, Mercs, Alfas, and of course Fiats. The odd sixty-nine HT Monaro GTS 350 maybe, top end stuff like that, yeah?’
Primo looked at his mum. He knew she was thinking exactly the same thought. Yes, it can fail. But his mother stayed silent, and Primo decided it would be prudent to do likewise, at least for the time being.
‘And that’s where Bambino comes in.’ Santo smiled and lightly, yet reverentially, touched the old man on the shoulder. ‘I’m going to put Bambino on display in the window, for all to see. The cashed-up car enthusiasts, they see the 500D, and they’re
in
.’
‘Maybe you can put Dad on part-time,’ Primo said, his resolve to keep calm sullied by his brother’s cockiness. But his brutal sarcasm was too obvious to invite laughter, even from Santo.
Santo said, ‘In time I’ll buy out your shares in the place.’ He pointed at his brothers. ‘And Kath’s too. Not straight away, you understand? Got to get the old place making a profit first. But it can’t take long, eh?’ He grinned and ruffled Primo’s hair. ‘You’re a one-fourth owner of a business venture, little man. Think about that. Pretty cool.’
