Jamaal had reached the park at seven o'clock. The sun's rays had not yet reached this side of the quiet street. A seagull landed on his rear-vision mirror, hoping for leftover takeaway, begging for scraps. Disgusted by the creature's bright eyes, Jamaal smacked his hand on the glass and the bird flapped away.
There was no way of knowing whether the boy was still in the house. He knew he did not live there – the boy had rung the doorbell last night. Would he walk home alone? Had he left already? Would he leave with the owners of the house in a car? Jamaal knew the chances of seeing the boy alone again would be slim, but the feeling that had awoken when he had first seen him would not leave. Sometimes destiny provides.
So, when Jamaal saw the same blond hair and red T-shirt crossing the road straight towards him, he was not even surprised. The child had not seen him; he was busy playing with a stone on the road.
Jamaal felt the erotic throb of adrenalin that always surged through him before violence. He cracked open the door of his van. 'Excuse me, boy. Could you help me for a moment, please?'
Still no-one was around. Jamaal scanned the street and spotted nothing but the blond boy and the seagull.
Jerome looked up, a little startled. Shit, you scared me, he thought, but aloud he said, 'Huh?'
'I need some help for just a moment.' Jamaal smiled what he hoped was a friendly grin. 'My friend is not here yet, and I need someone to help me get some things out of my van.'
Jerome stood where he was in the middle of the road, his head on an angle. Was that the van from last night?
'They're not heavy,' tried Jamaal, sensing the boy's hesitation. 'I hurt myself.' He turned to the side, showed the still-wet bandage at the back of his head.
'Sorry, mister. I gotta go. I'm late already.'
Many of his friends would not have even answered this man, but Jerome's parents had taught him to answer adults when he was spoken to. But screw this, he thought. No way am I going to risk missing out on the beach to help this goose.
'Twenty dollars.' Jamaal had it in his hand, ready. 'It's just some tins and a ladder. It will take us five minutes, maybe less. Please, I am late for work already.'
Jerome had received fifty dollars for his last birthday and needed fifteen dollars more to buy the new PlayStation 2 game. Not even Logan's smart-arse brother had it. And Nathan would shit if Jerome got it first. He could pick it up at Westfield tomorrow. Excellent.
'Yeah. Okay, then,' said Jerome, eyes on the twenty. He made his way over to the van. The back door was open, but it was shaded on that side of the road, and he couldn't see much inside.
Jamaal put his hand back into his pocket. He removed a wet cloth from a sandwich bag he'd positioned carefully. Within the five steps it had taken the boy to close the gap between them, he'd palmed the chloroform-soaked rag and was ready.
'It'll take two people to get this ladder out,' he said, as Jerome stepped into the shadows.
When he walked between the man and the open van door, Jerome smelt something real strong – fumes, like petrol, or paint. Must be a tradie, he thought, before everything went black.