Snake in the Grass - Rewrite

Chapter 4

Papa worked through the pain of the beating, which meant I had to help him a bit more and longer than usual. This wasn't a big deal, since I'd left school shortly after.

I was only a few months shy of my 17th birthday, when I could take the entrance exam for the police academy; I'd passed well enough in Year 10 to get in.

I still wanted to find out what had happened, but I dare not question the old man, lest he boot me up the arse for disobeying his order.

Because he didn't dismiss me from work as often as before, I didn't get a chance to sneak behind back and watch him. However, one day that changed, as did my life.

We'd just finished a lunch break when two men approached the stall. Both were dressed in t-shirts and dark jeans, with large steel-cap boots on their feet. They were a menacing pair, very muscular and lean.

Papa told me to leave and go straight home; as soon as I was out of sight, I wheeled around and crept behind another stall, close enough to listen to what they were saying.

"Tell him I am sorry, and I mean no disrespect. But I simply cannot pay. I have a family to feed," Papa said to the men in a pleading voice.

The way Papa spoke surprised me. In all my life, I'd never seen him plead to anyone like this. He was never one to back away.

The bigger of the two men took an orange from the stall and ripped it in half with his hands, then took a bite out of the flesh. Even this simple act looked threatening.

"There are plenty of people with families who manage to pay, my friend," he said, in a voice that could curdle milk. He spoke in a Northern Italian dialect.

"By saying no, you are disrespecting the Don, and that can not be allowed."

Papa watched the man as he continued to eat the orange. As I watched, something came over him; he squared his shoulders and he stuck his chin out defiantly.

"I refuse to pay dirty money to a man who makes a living off the backs of good people," Papa replied, his voice a bit firmer than before.

The men took this in for a minute or two, and I thought that the old man had scored a point. But the second man suddenly grabbed Papa by the scruff of his shirt, pulling him so they were face to face.

"You listen here, you stupid fucking peasant," the man said, this one speaking in Calabrian.

"You will pay Don Callipari the money, or what happened to you last time will seem like kisses from an angel. Understand?"

As he spat the last word, he threw Papa to the ground. I was so full of rage I wanted to pummel the bastard, but I knew if I came out of my hiding place that Papa would be furious. And that we'd both probably end up beaten.

Papa stood up slowly, and defiantly looked at the two men.

"You tell Callipari he will not get any money from me. You hear me?" he said defiantly.

The two men chuckled at this, and simply walked away, kicking Papa's fruit stand as they did, causing it to topple. It took him an hour and a half to pick up all the scattered fruit and put the stand back up.

I couldn't believe what I had just seen. All these men I had seen, these men who labelled themselves the "Honoured Society" had seemed like decent people, people to respect.

But now I saw them for what they truly were - nothing more than the violent thugs the papers described them as.

And the worst one of all was one my father had called one of his best friends. Callipari was nothing more than a snake in the grass, a traitor to his own people.

As I walked home that night, I was even more determined to be a cop. And I promised myself that someday, somehow, I would put away these arseholes who hurt my family.

Two days later, I was about to board the tram home when I heard a woman scream. I realised it was coming from the market, so I bolted from the tram and ran as fast I could.

As I entered the market, I felt two men shove past me. Looking over my shoulder, I realised it was the same two from before.

Realising what must have happened, I ran even faster, expecting to see Papa hurt and ready to help him. But I definitely wasn't expecting to find him the way I did.

He was laying on the ground, not moving, covered in bruises and blood. Yelling for someone to get help, I tried to resuscitate him, praying to God for him to live, but it was too late. He was dead.

I must have gone with the police to the station at some point to give a statement, but I don't remember much of it. Next thing I remember, I was at home with Mama and Cat, trying to comfort them as they cried their eyes out.

That night, I swore revenge on Salvatore Callipari. I didn't care how long it took, I would avenge my father.