Two Wolves
About the Book
One afternoon, police officers show up at Ben Silver's front door. Minutes after they leave, his parents arrive home. Ben and his little sister Olive are bundled into the car and told they're going on a holiday. But are they?
It doesn't take long for Ben to realise that his parents are in trouble. Ben's always dreamt of becoming a detective â his dad even calls him âCop'. Now Ben gathers evidence and tries to uncover what his parents have done.
The problem is, if he figures it out, what does he do? Tell someone? Or keep the secret and live life on the run?
âA high-stakes adventure that will keep you guessing and breathless until the very end.'
Michael Gerard Bauer, author of
Don't Call
Me Ishmael
Contents
Nine: In Which Ben Gets Caught
Ten: Culpam Poena Premit Comes
Thirteen: Detective Ben Silver
Twenty-One: Think I Better Run
Thirty-Seven: Within the Woods
âYou keep runnin', you'll only go to jail tired,' Ben Silver muttered.
He hit the photo button on his battered video camera and took another picture. He reached across his forest set and moved the legs on two small clay figures. Ben was eye-level with the action, peering between trees made from cellophane and toilet rolls and other found things.
He often mumbled his characters' lines as he shot a movie. Later, after he'd filmed everything, he would record the voices and add them to the pictures. He jotted the line in his brown leather notebook:
âYou keep runnin', you'll only go to jail tired.'
Ben took a bite from a microwaved jam doughnut. The jam was lava on his tongue and he dropped the doughnut onto the plate. The floor around him was littered with clothes, shoes, a game console, two controllers, a bike wheel with no tyre, a skateboard deck, schoolbooks, soccer boots, a jumbo-size packet of chips and plates from long-forgotten afternoon snacks. Ben's favourite place. It was dark with the curtains closed, the only light coming from two lamps trained on the stop-motion set on his desk. Outside, his dog Golden barked like mad.
Within the Woods
was Ben's seventh stop-motion movie. In this scene a zombie thief named Dario Savini was running down a forest track with Detective Ben Silver, Sydney's toughest cop, in pursuit. The detective was famous in Ben's movies for vanquishing werewolves, delinquent kids and zombies.
There was a heavy knock.
âHello. Police!'
Ben froze. He looked at his clay cop, but clay Ben just stood there on one foot, mid-stride, frozen.
Another heavy knock on the front door. It definitely didn't sound like Olive. She was in the backyard, playing pirates on the trampoline like she did every day after school.
Ben stood, walked quietly out of his bedroom and tiptoed up the hall, heart keeping time with his footsteps. He moved through the lounge room to the front widow and peered carefully from behind the dusty grey curtain.
It was raining and two police officers were huddled under the front awning. One fat. One skinny. Skinny was a lady. A couple of police cars were parked on the kerb with two more cops standing under dark blue umbrellas next to one of the cars. Ben's body surged with excitement and fear. His dream was to become a detective once he had finished high school.
Ben's little sister came in through the broken sliding back door, soaking wet. âWho is it?' Olive asked.
âShhh,' he whispered, raising a hand to tell her to stop, but Olive kept coming. She was small, white-blonde, seven years old, one of the smartest kids Ben knew. She had already read
The Hobbit
by herself. For three weeks afterwards she refused to speak unless people called her Gandalf.
The knock again. The lady officer walked past the window. Ben tucked himself in behind the curtain. The officer disappeared around the side of the house.
Olive shuffled in front of Ben. âPolice!' she said in a too-loud voice. He placed his hand over her mouth. She peeled it off. âThey're coming to get you for what you did.'
Ben swallowed hard and moved slowly toward the door, wondering if Olive was right. Earlier, he had tied her to a chair in the bathroom and dangled a cockroach in front of her face, then dipped her toothbrush in the toilet. But it seemed like overkill for four police officers to be assigned to the case, even if it was a slow Tuesday at the station.
Ben opened the door just enough to peek out.
âGood afternoon,' the policeman said.
âHello,' Ben said, squeezing his bottom lip.
The officer's hand rested on the butt of a gun nestled in the holster on his right hip. âAre your parents in?'
Ben shook his head, still looking at the officer through a thirty-centimetre gap between door and frame. Ben was pleased to see that being slightly overweight didn't stop you from getting into the force. Ben was slightly overweight himself. His nan said it was from the rotten dinners his parents fed him from the burger chain on the corner.
âCan you please tell me where they are?'
The murmur of the highway nearby and the low hum of the tall electrical tower in the empty block across the street filled the space between them.
âAt work.'
âYou sure about that? We just need to have a quick word to them,' the officer said, looking past Ben into the house.
âMm-hm.'
âHave you seen them this afternoon at all?'
Ben shook his head. âThey're at work till 4.30.'
The officer flipped open a small notebook with a leather cover. âRay Silver Motor Wreckers, 137 Hope Street?'
Ben nodded.
The female officer returned. âNo one round there,' she said, posting a tight-lipped smile to Ben.
âThank you for your help,' said the man and they turned to go.
âDo you want me to give them a message?' Ben asked.
âNo, we'll catch up with them,' said the lady officer.
They walked quickly into the rain and up the cracked concrete path, past the three rusted, doorless cars that sat in the long grass of the Silvers' front yard. Golden, a three-legged, sandy-coloured kelpie cross, was tied up to one of the decaying cars. She barked excitedly at the officers as they climbed into their vehicles. The hum of the electrical tower was swallowed by the roar of the police cars as they sped off up Cooper Street.
Ben Silver closed the door and stood there, not knowing what to do. Sweat trickled down both sides of his forehead.
âAre they going to put you in jail?' Olive asked.
He went to the coffee table and picked up the phone, thoughts whirling. He put the phone down. He squeezed his bottom lip.
âWhat did they want?' Olive asked. âDid they say that dipping your sister's toothbrush in the toilet was a very bad thing to do?'
Ben picked the phone up again and dialled the number for the wreckers. The phone rang. And rang.
He heard tyres skidding on gravel out the front.
âCop!' Ben's dad called from the car. That was his nickname for Ben, because he asked so many questions.
Ben raced to the door and looked out. The Green Machine, his father's 1967 Valiant 770, was parked half on the road, half on the footpath. Painted flames licked the side and bonnet of the car.
âLet's go!' Dad shouted. Mum walked quickly toward the house, high heels clattering on the wet path. Olive squeezed past Ben and ran out into the rain to meet her.
âGrab a few things to do in the car,' Mum said. âWe've got a surprise for you.'
âWhat is it? What is it?' Olive asked.
âIf I told you it wouldn't be a surprise. Quick as you can.'
Ben thought for a second and headed to his room. He grabbed his schoolbag, threw in his notebook and pencil, his camera, some batteries. He scurried up the hall, pulled the front door closed and jammed his feet into a pair of sneakers. He held his backpack over his head as an umbrella and ran up the path. The back door of the car hung open and Olive was inside. Mum slammed the front passenger door and strapped her belt.
âSee you in seven minutes,' Dad said into his phone. He threw it into Mum's lap. âTurn that off for me. Get in, Ben!' he said, revving the engine. The car jerked forward.
Ben slid into the back seat. âThe police just came to our house!' he said, breathless.
He heaved the door closed as Dad spun the car around, laying rubber on the road. âWhat are you doing? Where are we going?'
No one said anything.
âMum?'
âHolidays,' Mum said.
They had never been on a holiday before. Ben got up on his knees and looked through the dirty back window. Golden, the tripod dog, was still tied up to the rusted, doorless car on the front lawn.
âWhat about Gâ'
âNan's coming to get her,' Mum said. âPut your belt on.'
Ben heard a siren as the car swung around the corner onto the old highway.
âRed light!' Mum shouted.
Dad kept driving.
No one said anything for a few minutes. Olive sat there, looking out the window, sucking her thumb and clutching Bonzo, her dirty, grey stuffed rabbit.
Car yards flicked by.
âWhere are we going on holidays?' Ben asked.
Dad adjusted his side and rear-view mirrors, weaving between utes, vans and semitrailers.
âMum?'
She did not respond. Everything felt odd. Maybe it was because Ben had never been on holidays before. Maybe because the police had just knocked on their door. He slumped down on the back seat, thinking.
âWhy are we in such a damn hurry?' he asked.
âWatch your language!' Mum said.
âDid you hear me say that the
police
just came to our house?' Ben continued. âAnd why didn't you tell me this morning that we were going on holidays?'
Dad hit himself on the forehead four times with a balled fist. âThat kid asks so many questions!'
âSorry,' Ben said.
âDon't apologise all the time,' Dad snapped. âIt's weak.'
âSorry,' he said again.
âThe holiday was a surprise,' Mum told him. âYou're always asking about a holiday. This is it. Our first family holiday.'
It felt weird to hear Mum saying âfamily holiday'. They weren't really one of those family-movie-night, camp-in-the-backyard, let's-discuss-this-and-get-everyone's-opinion kind of families. They were more of a dinner-in-front-of-the-TV, key's-under-the-mat, if-you-want-breakfast-make-it-yourself kind of family.
âCan I bring a friend?' Ben asked.
âNo,' his parents both said at once.
âBut James took Gus when he went on holidays.'
No one said anything.
âWhere are we going?'
Rain drummed on the car roof as they charged past a petrol station, a funeral home, a chicken shop.
âJust up the coast,' Mum said, looking at Dad, whose eyes darted from road to rear-vision mirror and back again.
âWhere to? Gosford?'
âNo.'
âKings Bay? We're going to the beach at Kings Bay!' Ben said excitedly. He had wanted to go to Kings Bay ever since Nan had sent him a postcard from there when he was little.
âNo.'
Mum's phone pinged. She picked it up and started typing.
âTurn it off!' Dad said.
âWhy?'
Dad gave her a fierce look.
Mum switched off the phone.
Ben and Olive glanced sideways at one another. They had never seen their mother switch her phone off before.
âWe're not going to the cabin, are we?' Ben asked.
Mum turned and looked through the gap between headrest and seat. âYes, we're going to the cabin.'
âYessss!' Olive said, raising both arms in the air, then plugging her thumb back into her mouth.
âBoooooo!' Ben said. âI don't want to. I want to go home. I'm in the middle of my movie.'
He had been hearing about his grandfather's cabin in the hills behind Kings Bay all his life. When Dad was a kid Pop went up there, fishing and hunting rabbits, a couple of times a year. Dad said he was hardly ever allowed to go, even though he'd really wanted to.
Nature wasn't Ben's favourite thing â freaky insects, animals, dirt. He preferred being in his room playing games, watching TV, eating. This had never been a problem because the Silvers had not left the suburbs in the thirteen years since Ben was born.
âGet out of the way!' Dad yelled at someone through his open window.
Dad was skinny and serious. An ex-mechanic, salesman, now motor wrecker. He wore an armful of tattoos, black wraparound sunglasses and a dirty cap with a petrol company logo on it. In the rear-view mirror Ben could see Dad's chipped front tooth. He looked rat-like.
Ben sometimes wondered how Dad had ended up with Mum. April Silver: ten years younger than Dad, tall, brown hair. People said she could have been a model years ago, but then Ben was born and that changed everything. So now she worked at the wreckers instead. Dad thought he ran the business but Mum did. Ben knew.
Ben sat back and looked out the window at the signs going by. AAA Lighting. Craig's Concreting. The Golden Wok Chinese. He thought about police and squeezed his bottom lip. He closed his eyes and saw his stop-motion movie playing on the cinema screen at the back of his eyelids. He saw what he had already shot â the crime, the car chase, then the run through the forest. Maybe heading toward a creepy cabin. It wasn't in the script yet but maybe they would go to a cabin, the zombie thief's hideout â abandoned, trees hanging low over the roof.
The car jerked and revved hard as Dad flung it back a gear. Ben's eyes snapped open, ending his imaginary cinema show.
They hurried along the old highway, wipers scraping the windscreen. Ben didn't mind his Âcharacters going to a creepy cabin but he did not want to go to one himself. He wanted to be back in his room, happy, comfortable. He tried to think of anything that might stall them.
âWhat about clothes and stuff? I'm still in school uniform.'
âIt's all right,' Mum said. âWe'll get new ones.'
âNew clothes?'
âYep. That's what you do on holidays.'
Ben thought about this for a second. He had never heard of it before.
âI thought you guys hated holidays,' he said.
Dad laughed, which Ben liked. Usually Dad only laughed when he was with his mates.
âWhat about school?' Ben said. âDidn't we just have school holidays?'
âNow you've got more,' Mum said.
âCan you please tell Maugrim to slow down,' Olive said quietly, then stuck her thumb back into her mouth.
âYou tell him,' Ben said.
Olive shook her head. She had not spoken to Dad in over a week. One night at dinner, during the ads, she had called him Maugrim, the evil wolf from
The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe.
Dad was so angry when he found out who Maugrim was, he sent her to her room with no dessert and put Bonzo away for a week. Since then she had only spoken to Dad when necessary and only through an interpreter. Olive did that kind of thing sometimes. She was a tough little kid. Ben would never dare stand up to Dad like that.
Dad checked his rear-view and side mirrors and took a sharp right in front of oncoming traffic. Ben was thrown sideways toward Olive, who shoved him away. âGet off me. You stink like poo,' she said.
Ben sat up. Dad swung a fast left, then gunned it up a street lined with brown brick houses. They were a bit nicer than Ben's house. Most had basketball hoops and toys and bikes strewn around the yard. Two kids in yellow raincoats ran off the road as Dad powered toward them. A hundred metres further up, he pulled into a driveway where a man stood next to an empty garage. He wore a white, pinstriped business shirt and black pants. He was tall and skinny with ginger-coloured hair, thinning on top. Uncle Chris. Even though he lived so close, they had not seen Dad's brother in over a year. Dad drove into the garage, switched off the engine and got out.
âDoes Dad still think Uncle Chris is an idiot?' Olive asked.
âShhh,' Mum said. âHe's organised a new car for us to drive for the holiday.' She gathered her things.
âWhat?' Ben asked.
Mum ignored him. âEveryone out.'
Ben looked through the back window to where Dad was shaking his brother's hand. Uncle Chris gave Dad a grey nylon sports bag with black handles and looked over at Ben. Then they walked up the driveway to an old station wagon parked in the street.
