Page 68 of Benji

My priority was Benji.

The reason why I would gladly step back from this case, possibly from my career, all for a man I’d known for less than one week, was something I’d have to explain to Dominic later.

Though I’m sure it was obvious, but I owed that to him.

He’d been my mentor, my friend, for many years. I owed him the truth.

I cared for Benji.

Deeply. And if Benji decided, when all this was said and done, that he didn’t want to continue seeing me, I still wouldn’t regret standing up for him.

That was how I knew I was doing the right thing.

Because it was a principle thing.

Helping Benji, protecting him, was the right thing to do.

Benji came back out with an old hand-held video game console. The kind that flipped open with a small grey screen. Not what I’d been expecting at all.

He sat back down next to me, turning it over in his hand. “It’s a Nintendo DS. I got it when I was about five,” he said quietly. “They’re mostly for games, but they can also record stuff. About a year after my mother died, I was using it to make videos. There was a trend going around to use your old DS like it was some vintage camera.” He took a deep breath in and Fitch slid off the armrest and squeezed himself next to Benji, putting his arms around him.

Then Benji flipped the DS open and turned it on.

“I didn’t mean to record my father’s conversation. I wasn’t supposed to hear it. I have no idea if he knows I heard it, but I suspect he does. I never believed my mother overdosed. Not for a second. She was excited about taking me to the state theatre on the weekend. She’d bought tickets. Just us two. It was always just us two. My brother was my father’s favourite, being theeldest son and all. My father hated that I was more like my mother. He blamed her for me not being into all the typical boy things. But my mum would never have left me alone with them. I know that in my heart.”

Jesus Christ, I hated that man.

Benji pressed some buttons on the game console. “Anyway, I recorded this by accident. I never knew what to do with it. I wanted to take it to the police, but he’d boasted before about how he had some cops on his payroll, so I never knew who to trust.”

My gaze cut to Dominic’s and his to mine.

This was news to us.

Benji put the DS on the coffee table and pressed play. “The first part is just me...”

And there on that tiny grey screen was a young Benji. He was filming himself, like a selfie; his young face and curly hair filled the small screen. He was walking inside what looked like a large, lavish house. Tall ceilings, a chandelier, art on the walls. He was talking about his shirt, of all things. It was new and expensive, and it was a typical video of a kid that age.

But then there was the sound of a door slamming and the young Benji froze, the screen going dark but the audio was still on.

“Father,” young Benji said quietly.

“Benecio,” his father snapped. “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?”

“Sorry,” young Benji squeaked, and my heart hurt.

I took his hand again, holding it tight.

There was a muffled sound, presumably Benjiwalking, then after a moment, his father’s voice again. It was muted, as if Benji was standing outside the room. “He’s a fucking traitor. I’ll deal with him like I dealt with Luzon and my wife. No one betrays me. No one. If Arad thinks he can undercut me, I’ll show him the cost of loyalty... No, not a suicide or a car accident. I’m not protecting any kids anymore. Tell Snake to take him out in front of his kids for all I care. I want this to send a message so people know not to fuck with me...”

In the audio, young Benji’s breathing was louder, and I could just picture him, a scared-as-hell little boy clutching his game console to his chest.

Bruno’s voice sounded closer now. “Fine. Payment when it’s done. I want to see it on the evening news...”

Then younger Benji was panting, running, and the recording ended soon after.

Benji reached over and closed the Nintendo. “He’s talking about my mother,” he said. “He says like how I dealt with my wife, and he says making it look like a suicide. My mother never betrayed him. Maybe she wanted to leave him, I don’t know. She was scared of him, same as me. He would never allow her to leave him. Not alive, anyway.”

“Benji,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry. You must have been petrified.”