Mutually assured destruction

The ATM screen went blank and the main lights went out leaving a faint glow from the emergency lighting in the top right hand corner of the vestibule.

“Shit,” I muttered, thinking about my bank card still sitting inside the machine.

I jumped as the reinforced glass doors rattled, turning to see a teenaged boy pulling on the door handles with increasingly violent frustration before kicking it and then hopping around holding his toes.

“Shit a brick. Fuck-a-doodle fucknuts!”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“What?”

“I’m just admiring your creative use of the English language.”

He scowled and stuck his hands deep into the pocket of his wide leg jeans. I couldn’t see what I was assuming were sneakers but I could see a lot more of his Superman boxer shorts than I wanted or needed to.

“Looks like we’re stuck in here. At least for now anyway,” I said, more to myself than my young companion.

The boy looked at me again, openly and unselfconsciously studying my face.

“Hang on. You’re that guy. The one that’s always on the telly.”

My chest puffed out ever so slightly with pride.

“That’s right son. I’m the prime minister - Roger Doritt. Pleased to meet you,” I held out my hand. He ignored it.

“Yeah. That’s the one … My Dad thinks you’re a tosser.”

“Is that so?” I hated that even such a basic insult from a kid could still, after all these years, punch me directly in the gut. Even though I was the most powerful person in the country.

“Yeah. Says you can never trust someone who hasn’t done an honest day’s work in his life. Says you don’t know what things are really like for people like us, the little people.”

“I would argue that point, but we’ll come back to that … What does your father do?”

The boy slid down the wall until he was sitting and drew his knees up to his chest, playing with a piece of string he had picked up off the floor.

“Not much. He used to work at the hardware shop down the road, but that closed down ‘bout a year ago. Now he mostly sits on his chair with his feet up, drinking beer and yelling at the telly.”

“And your mother?”

“A nurse. She’s always working, specially nights … what are you doin out at 1 in the morning anyway? Aren’t you s’posed to have bodyguards or something?”

“Sometimes I have trouble sleeping. I like to slip out for a walk and some midnight snacks. It’s not really something I need company for. What are you doing out and about? Shouldn’t you be at home sleeping?”

“Couldn’t sleep either. So I thought I’d go for a walk. S’nice when it’s quiet like this.”

“Are you meeting up with some friends?”

“Nah. All the kids around here are wankers. Wouldn’t know how to have fun if it came up and punched ‘em on the nose.”

“I know the type. Not many of the people around me are much fun either … What’s your name son?”

“Doesn’t everyone say kids aren’t supposed to talk to strangers?”

“True. But I’m not a stranger. I’m the Prime Minister.”

“So? You’re always hearing about important blokes turning out to be secret kiddy fiddlers. You could be one of ‘em.”

“Ouch. But true. Unfortunately these days I guess you’re right to be suspicious of everyone. Although we’ve been making in-roads, not as many of them are getting away with it like they used to thanks to some of the changes my government has made …”

“Pah. Save it, I’m not interested. I’m not even old enough to vote.”

“No, but you will be one day.”

“Huh. Why bother voting? Never makes a difference, my Dad says. We never get to win. It’s always rich tossers like you.”

“I know it might look like that for you and your family, but we are all trying to make the country better for everyone.”

“Sure you are.”

“And I wasn’t always rich, you know. I went to a local school - just like you.”

“How d’you know what school I go to?”

“Um, well, I don’t … I just …” Blood rushed to my cheeks. That was a rookie mistake.

“In fact, how d’you know I even go to school?”

“Because you’re too young to have finished school. You’re what? 16?”

“15 tomorrow.”

“Well I was almost right. Happy birthday.”

The boy hugged his knees and looked at his feet. “Yeah. Whatever.”

“Have you got anything planned to celebrate?”

“Probly just nick a bottle of booze and head down the park.” Every element of his face and body language dared me to tell him off but I knew enough from my own nephew not to fall for it.

“Well I remember my 15th birthday …”

“Big fancy party I s’pose?”

“Well, yes. My parents invited all the kids from my class and we went bowling. There was music, cake and presents. It was fun. But not as much fun as the real celebration me and my best mates had later that night.”

“Really?”

I glanced at the boy out of the corner of my eye. He was avoiding looking directly at me, but his stillness told me he was interested in spite of himself.

“Yeah, we snuck out after our parents were asleep and met each other in the village. Bernard had brought the spray paint, Leonard had some dishwashing liquid and a fancy g-string he’d stolen from his sister. I had my Dad’s tools and a bottle of vodka - you know the kind that comes in a plastic bottle?”

There was a flicker of a smile on the boy’s mouth. He nodded.

“We had agreed that each of us had to bring something illegal as mutually assured destruction - do you know what that means?”

The boy scrunched up his face. “So no one could grass on the others?”

“Exactly. If any one of us admitted what we’d done we’d be getting ourselves in just as much trouble as the others. Not necessarily with the police, it was our mothers we were scared of. They were terrifying. One whack with one of her slippers and you’d have a mark on your bottom for a week.”

The boy snorted and nodded with recognition. I was feeling warm and bold under his begrudging attention.

“So anyway, we went to the local church. We knew the side door was always open because Father Benjamin was always losing his keys. There was this big wooden cross on the back wall, you know the type with Jesus hanging on it? We were forced to look at it every Sunday while the priest droned on. I remember my tie was always way too tight. It left itchy red marks all around my throat. Anyway, we took it down and turned it upside down and put it back up. Then hung the underwear over the top of it. Then we turned our attention to the big wall it was hanging on, all blank and white, it was the perfect canvas. Bernard was a pretty talented artist and he started by using the spray paint to create a version of The Pieta. Do you know it?”

The boy shrugged.

“It’s a famous statue by Michelangelo that shows the Virgin Mary sitting in a chair holding the body of Jesus after he was crucified. Bernard’s version was actually pretty good, but we added a few extras. First, we gave Mary these huge breasts. I’m talking melons.”

I reinforced the image with my hands and was rewarded with a singger.

“And we made her eyes big and round, like she was surprised. Then we gave Jesus this enormous, erect cock and balls spurting directly between Mary’s breasts towards her mouth. The coup de grace was a speech bubble coming from Mary that said ‘oh Jesus, you’re a naughty, naughty boy, but I do love your cock’.”

“No way!”

“Oh yes. Then on the way out we put a whole lot of dishwashing liquid in the fountain. By the time people came in for the first Mass, the wall of bubbles was as high as I am. It took them weeks to get rid of our artwork. I think in the end they had to repaint the whole wall. They put a sheet up in the meantime, but people knew it was there and had to sit there staring straight at it every time they went to a service. I don’t think Father Benjamin ever got over it. He took it really personally.”

The boy roared with the kind of genuine, spontaneous laughter that adults are too self-conscious to let out. It was infectious and satisfying proof that I could still charm even the most skeptical audience. I was starting to think the past two years of being prime minister had beaten it out of me.

“That’s wicked! Did you get caught?”

“Nope. There was a huge to-do about it. The police got involved, the school, the church. Some people even thought it was proof there was a local cult of devil-worshippers. But we all kept quiet, pretended we were just as outraged as everyone else like our lives depended on it. In fact, we never spoke of it again. You’re the only one outside of me, Bernard and Leonard who knows.”

“Wicked … How d’you know I won’t tell anyone?”

“I don’t, I guess. Are you going to?”

“Dunno.”

“Because I could make you disappear. After all, I am the Prime Minister.”

“Sod off, you can’t do that.”

“Are you sure about that?”

I was struggling to keep the smile off my face. I liked this kid, plus I knew my press secretary was a wizard. She had definitely dealt with worse.

“How about this - you tell me a secret of your own. If you tell on me, then I’ll tell on you.”

“No one’s gonna care about my secrets.”

“Then it’s a pretty good deal for you isn’t it?”

“S’pose.” He looked at me, chewing his lip, trying to figure out how serious I was. “Fine.”

I nodded and waited.

“There’s a teacher at my school, Mr Willows. The maths teacher. He’s always riding me, calling on me in class just to see me squirm, giving me extra homework, sending notes home to my Mum and Dad saying I need to ‘try harder’. I can’t help it if I suck at maths. Stupid subject anyway. So a couple of Fridays ago I’d had enough. So after detention, I left a little present for him outside his classroom door - a flaming bag of dog shit.” The boy grinned, more to himself than for my benefit. “By Monday the classroom - the whole corridor - reeked.”

“You’re lucky the school didn’t catch fire.”

“So? Wouldn’t’ve cared if it had … Anyway, the janitor does a last round before locking up and there’re always teachers at the school at the weekend. They tried giving us masks at first, but in the end they had to shut the whole floor for the day to get some heavy duty cleaners in. No maths class that day - haha.”

I chuckled. “And no one suspected it was you?”

“Nah … No one ever sees me.”

A siren wailed in the distance.

“That’s quite the superpower. Like the Invisible Man.”

“Nah man, like a ninja.”

“Right. Much cooler … Fine. I accept your secret. If you tell anyone about mine, I’ll ring your Mum and tell her yours.”

I held out my hand to shake on it and this time he took it.

“Deal.” Despite his bravado there was definitely a glimmer of fear at the mention of his mother. “Sucker, you don’t know who my Mum is. You don’t even know my name.”

I touched my nose. “I have my ways. Do I have to keep reminding you that I’m the Prime Minister?”

He rolled his eyes.

“It is kinda cool though that someone like you did something like that when you were my age.”

I raised my eyebrow with a smile. “Cool?”

“Don’t get too excited, you’re still a tosser … but you’re alright …”

“Thank you. I consider that a compliment coming from you.”

“Whatever.”

The main vestibule lights came on with a flash, temporarily blinding us both.

“Looks like we’re free.”

“Sweet. I’m outta here.” He stood in one fluid motion - I missed being young enough to be able to do that - and batted at the seat of his jeans to wipe off the dust.

“I’d better get going too - before they send out a search party. Happy birthday! Stay in school! And don’t forget about our agreement.”

He looked back at me, one hand on the door handle, and nodded.

“Mutually assured destruction.”

“Mutually assured destruction.”