Jamaal's head pounded. He'd been out of the hospital less than an hour. The doctors had told him to rest for a week, but he went where he was told by Sebastian. For now. He had just to pick up some money from one of Sebastian's clients, drop off a video to another, and he could go home. He thought of his fat wife and daughters waiting there, and decided instead to play some cards when he'd finished for the day. He consoled himself with revenge fantasies directed towards the person who'd almost cracked his skull last week. He felt himself grow hard as he replayed the violent images in his mind.
'Can't you close your mouth when you eat?' Jamaal Mahmoud hissed, staring at his dining companion in disgust. He stood up from the plastic table, pushing his half-finished meal away from him. Other than the two of them and an ageing man behind the counter, the cafe was empty.
'Where are you going? I'm not finished yet,' whined the thin man, still at the table, but standing anyway, shovelling food into his mouth in resignation. 'Why you always gotta be in such a hurry, Jamaal?'
Jamaal kept his hands by his sides, felt his fists clench. He imagined grabbing this junkie by the hair and cracking his face into the corner of the table. He couldn't stand the way addicts talked, as if they were always begging forgiveness. He stared at the table rather than at the gaol-drawn, ink tattoos on the man's hands and face. He couldn't keep the snarl from his face however, and his companion, noticing his eyes on the diner's cutlery, moved faster.
Why does Sebastian make me ride with these low-life scum? thought Jamaal, stalking from the table out to the carpark. A young couple, walking together towards the diner, wordlessly parted to allow him to walk between them.
The sun was setting on Parramatta Road, but the streetlights hadn't yet clicked on. Peak hour was dying down, but there were still plenty of cars driving west, home from work. Jamaal climbed up into the driver's seat of the Ford Transit van, his face dark with anger. Sebastian has a Mercedes, a Range Rover and a Lexus, he thought, and he gives me this shit to drive while I do his bidding.
He watched the junkie walking towards him, watched him struggling with his skinny arms to pull himself up into the van, concentrating, like it was hard work. Sebastian had insisted this guy come along to pick up the money; the client wouldn't open the door for a stranger. He turned his head, repulsed by the sores around the junkie's mouth, and started the van.
It was then that something caught his attention, distracting him from his favourite feeling – hate. A small figure. There. On the other side of the road. A boy, alone. Jamaal scanned the street on both sides, the car yards, parked cars. He couldn't see anyone with him. His breath quickened and his eyes narrowed. He felt a squirt of adrenalin in the pit of his stomach.
'Christ! Can't ya wait till I'm even in the car?'
Jamaal ignored the nasal voice of his passenger, eyes locked onto the kid who had just turned left onto Broughton Street.
Can't be more than eleven or twelve, he thought. Where is he going? He eased the van into the westbound traffic, and pushed his way through to the right-hand lane. He got to the lights at Burwood Road, and indicated to turn right.
'Jamaal, we're supposed to be in Mount Druitt at eight o'clock. Where are you going?' the junkie whined from the seat next to him.
He turned with the traffic when the light changed and did an illegal U-turn back onto Parramatta Road, ignoring protesting car horns, absorbed by the boy's movements. The light was fading now, but there he was. Still alone. Jerome was beginning to think this wasn't a good idea. What if Logan's dad got mad at him for showing up? What if they weren't even home? It was getting pretty dark too, and he was starting to feel creeped out. He'd never been out this late by himself. He tried to think about watchingSouth Park. Jerome's mum would probably give them ice-cream.
That van's driving slow, he thought, his heart quickening. Probably lost. Hope he doesn't ask me where to go; I don't know the names of the streets.
I wish I'd never come, he thought, as the van continued to idle along at his side. He looked at his sneakers and kept walking.