Wes parked his car outside of a retirement village in Mount Roskill. An elderly man walking his stroller cast his eyes over us and quickly made his way inside the village.

“Why’d you bring us here?” asked Michael, observing the old man’s fear.

“This is where my cousin stays,” said Wes, wiping his nose.

“How old’s your cousin?” I asked.

“He stays with our nan.” Wes answered, opening his car door.

Michael and I followed after Wesley and made our way through the retirement village gates. Trying to avoid eye contact with any wary residents.

Wes whacked a row of knuckles against a screen door. Some shallow footsteps began to make their way towards us.

“Hi Nan.” Wes smiled, showing off his crimson teeth.

“You look like shit, Wesley. Who’d you rip off this time?” sneered an old hunched woman smoking a cigarette.

She approached the screen door and undid its latch before moving into her small lounge.

Wesley took his shoes off, Michael and I followed suit. As I stepped inside I was swept with the stench of stale cat piss and ash.

The granny flat looked cosy enough. Even despite the peeling yellowed wallpaper, musty carpet and half finished croquet creations laying about.

“If you lot want a cuppa you’re gonna have to make it yourself, I’m watching telly.” the old woman stated, turning the volume of her box television to a deafening blare.

“NAN, WHERE’S JASPER?” yelled Wesley.

“What?” She replied.

“JASPER, WHERE IS HE?” Wesley continued, his eyes flicking to the television.

“What?” She asked again.

Wesley snatched the television remote from his Nan and muted the television, “Where’s Jasper?”

“He’s in the back.” She stated, snatching the remote back and turning the volume up even further.

Jasper rose to his feet and began to make way down the hall, droplets of blood staining their musty carpet.

Michael and I followed him closely all the way down the hall, through a bedroom, up until we reached a closed bathroom door.

Wesley knocked firmly, “Open up!”

I could hear a quick scuffle and a loud thud from behind the door, “Who is it?” a faceless voice asked.

“It’s Wes, open up.”

“Are you with anyone?” the voice asked further, placing something fragile on a hard surface.

“Yeah, I’m with a couple guys that want to know where Dean is.” Wesley responded, trying to slide the bathroom door open.

A force on the other side of the door held it shut, “Hold on, I’m almost done.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Open the damn door!” Wesley ordered.

“Hold up, you mongrel!” the voice spat, with a spray of deodorant. “Alright, come in.”

Wesley slid the door open a smidge and peered inside, mouthing something to the man inside the bathroom.

Michael gripped the edge of the sliding door and forced it all the way open. Revealing an older man with sagging cheeks, yellow eyes and purple bags underneath.

The man was wearing loose navy blue track pants and held a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He was holding a rusty machete in a raised up that almost reached the ceiling.

As the man’s voice boomed I felt my nuts begin to shrivel with each syllable, “GETTOUTTAMYHOUSE!!”

Michael flung himself backwards as Jasper began to take steps towards us. Wesley stepped aside and started laughing.

Jasper swung his machete towards me, but I narrowly ducked from its collision and darted down the hall round the corner and out of the screen door.

I ran so quickly I forgot to grab my shoes off the doorstep and ran through the retirement villages mowed lawns; staining my white warehouse socks.

I felt the huffing breath of my brother close behind me and the rough stomps of Jasper making his way down his grandmother's front porch steps.

“You wanna come round here again? Be my guest. But you won’t have the chance to run away a second time!!” Jasper cursed.

I stopped and turned around and noticed Jasper waving his rusted metallic sword of death over his head like he was waving a proud flag. His lapdog cousin Wesley grinning ear to ear behind his blood smeared face.

Michael was a couple metres in front of me, his socked feet sinking into the soft grass. His shoulders tensed up, his fingers balling into fists.

“Mike!” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“What?” he replied, shaking my hand off.

Michael took a step forward towards Jasper.

Jasper did the same, his rusted machete pointed in front of him, his eyes crazed yet alert.

I grabbed Michael and tried to pull him away but he struggled out of my grip and spat on the ground, “You really gonna use that thing?”

Jasper lowered his weapon, but his eyes remained wild and daring, “Wanna fuck around and find out?” he asked, swinging the machete.

I yanked Michael backwards, missing the blade by a metre.

Michael pulled free and took another step forward.

On the contrary, Jasper stayed where he was, “What do you two bozos want, anyway?” Sweat began to pool above his brow.

Michael smirked, and showed his mouthful of grimy teeth. “Look at you aye, need a weapon because you're too scared to fight like a man!”

Jasper shrugged, “Yeah, I carry this because I can’t fight.”

“He’s got you there Mike.” I thought to myself, moving my gaze across to a row of windows to the right of us.

Inside a kitchen window in the row was an elderly man peering at us behind a large mug of coffee. His eyes tired but sneering as if this was a weekly ordeal.

When I looked back towards the crime scene Wesley’s grandmother was wrestling Jasper for his Machete.

She grabbed his ear and twisted it tightly. Jasper began to cry out, and his grandmother pulled the machete from his grip and claimed it for her own.

She then pulled him by ear down to her level and yelled “WHAT DID I TELL YOU? ONE MORE OF YOUR LITTLE SHENANIGANS AND WELL BE KICKED OUTTA HERE! NOW GET INSIDE!”

“Ah! Fuck Nan, stop!” he cried, pulling his ear free.

She stomped his foot for good measure and walked the rusted machete back inside.

Jasper stood on the porch for a moment watching us, before sitting down on the front porch and began sifting through his grandmother's ashtray for forgotten cancer sticks.

Jasper scratched his neck and faced us, “What’d the little shit take from you guys?”

“Who?” I asked.

“Wesley, who else? Genius.” Jasper scoffed, pulling a snapped cigarette from the grave of others.

“Don’t talk to me like that!”

Michael began breathing heavily, “I’m looking for my truck. Where is it?”

Jasper frowned, “Truck?”

Michael pointed his index finger outward, “Don’t play dumb with me!”

Jasper snickered, “I don’t know where your truck is, you grub. Now get the fuck outta here!”

Michael made a stride towards Jasper, “Like hell you don’t!”

Jasper cracked his knuckles and raised his fists, “You wanna take it there?”

I ran up to Michael and held him in an arm lock, “You’re getting us nowhere!” I whispered loudly in his ear.

“Get the fuck off me! He just said he can’t fight!” Michael gritted.

I tightened my grip, “And what’s that gonna solve?”

Michael resisted but couldn’t get out of my grip, “He’s gonna tell us where he left the tow truck.”

Jasper raised an eyebrow, “Tow truck?”

I felt Michael resist as much as ever, so I tightened my grip further, “Fuark your a cheeky fellah!”

“The only thing I know about a tow truck is the one that tried loading our car early this morning.” Jasper started.

“Did they take your car?” I asked.

“Of course they didn’t take my fuckin’ car, I snapped the guy before he put the hook on.” Jasper sneered.

“Did you see what he looked like?” I queried, letting the now tamed Michael out of my grip.

“He didn’t look like much, tall, bald, probably weighed more than a pregnant whale.” Jasper answered.

Sounds like Mike's future, I thought to myself.

“Did you get a name? Did you take a pic of the chump!?” Michael blurted.

“We did, our uncle Rocky took him for a boot ride up north.” Jasper relayed.

“Where does your uncle stay?”

“He stays with us.”

“Where did he take him to?”

“He took him to our other uncles.”

“Where does that uncle stay?”

“Korē Korē.”

So much for getting our phones off your cousin's flatmate, I thought to myself.

“Wesley!!” I called out.

Wesley walked onto the front porch, “My name's Wes you drongo!”

“Can you give us a ride?” I asked sincerely.

Wesley wiped his blood crusted nose and laughed, “Slim chance.”

“Get your man out here, let us talk to her.”

“Nan!”

“What?!”

“NAN!!!”

“OH FOR FUCK SAKES!!!”

the grandmother came waddling out, “What is it?!”

“Hey Nan, our work truck has been stolen and your nephews know where it is. If they help us track it down we’ll give them work!”

The grandmother lit a cigarette and pondered for a moment, “You’re going to give my Mokos a job after they stole your work truck?”

“No, no, no, they didn’t steal the work truck, listen, the guy that stole our work truck tried towing whatever they’ve got and—”

“—You’ll get them out the house?” The grandmother asked, leaning on a wall.

I paused, looked at Michael, who nodded at me, and then nodded at the grandmother.

“Give me a pad and pen, I’ll write down the address.” she replied, inhaling her cigarette.

I looked down and noticed my white socks had turned a soggy brown, “Mind if we grab our shoes first?”