Savannah Cass

Without Prejudice

If I had but known how it was all going to turn out I may have been tempted that Monday, the first day of winter 2003, to pull the covers back over my head and sleep till the end of my least favourite season. But having been born with reasonable intelligence and very little psychic ability, I didn’t. I am not a fan of winter. I love autumn with its crisp nights and sunny days. I long for summer with its heat. And spring, with its promise of new life and good times just around the corner. But for me, winter is ugly. With its bare trees, devoid of foliage, the cold that nips at the fingers and turns the nose pink. Winter to me is like entering a long tunnel of dark with only a faint tiny pin prick of light at the very end.

                          Certain animals have the right instincts about winter, bears especially. Long before winter begins bears simply load up on carbs and sleep right through it, in restful hibernation. I think we all have something to learn from that! But blessed with neither strong psychic ability nor bears instincts, I rolled out of bed that Monday ready to tackle the day, the week, the month, the winter season head on. And so it began, the winter of 2003. My normal winter’s journey into darkness. But that winter would be different. Darker than any winter that had gone before. I have never killed another human being, but by that dark winter’s end, all that would change.

                 My name is Cass Alexander; I am 33 years old, blissfully single, and childless. I have been married once, but it’s like it never really happened. It was a pretty miserable experience for both of us. It lasted three years and that was probably two years and six months too many. He, my ex, was eager to continue to live life as a single person and I wasn’t. It’s probably as simple as that. I am sure he has his truth and I have mine and somewhere in the middle is the real truth. I did however gain something positive from that unhappy union. I gained custody of my ex’s cat. A magnificent creature called Taz short for Natas. Me ex called him that because it’s Satan spelt backwards, which may tell you something of his dark thought processes. I renamed him, just Taz.

                               I work for myself as a Private Investigator in a beachside city called Beach Haven. I have worked at times for other people but I find the process, for me, aggravating in the extreme. I can be a bossy little thing, which doesn’t sit well with most employers. I like to have control over my life. Maybe because I have spent so much time not being in control of it. Other people delight in their own ideas and processes and that is fair enough. 

                               Beach Haven is situated on The East Coast of Australia. Beach Haven is close to the city of Surfers Paradise, “Surfers”, as it is called by the locals.” Surfers” Is the capital of The Gold Coast. The Gold Coast consists of a 25 mile long expanse of pristine white sand and blue green sea in the supposedly, almost always sunny, state of Queensland. Beach Haven is one of the best spots in the entire world and I should know, having been to most other places. 

                                    I live modestly, cheek by jowl, with my maternal Aunt in a single story modern 1 bedroom bungalow. The bungalow is situated in the garden of my Aunt’s grand old timber house. My parents decided a few years ago to move to the Sunshine Coast which is about a 2 hour car drive from Beach Haven. My Aunt’s husband Uncle Derek had died suddenly two years ago and Auntie had been contemplating for a while to rent out the bungalow in the back garden. Originally it had been Uncle Derek’s mothers dwelling. She offered it to me at a modest rent, a satisfying arrangement for both of us. We live within smelling if not sighting distance of the magnificent Pacific Ocean. And for the most part my life is happy, uncomplicated, safe and predictable. 

                                 That Monday I rolled, literally, out of bed. Leaping was not an option, nor even staggering, rolling I found was the only way to get my stiffened and aching carcass out of the bed, and on to the floor. I had clutched the sheets and thrown a pillow down on to the carpet to soften the impact. The reason for this gentle exit from the bed was because yesterday, Sunday. The day when most other people are reading the Sunday papers or worshipping at Church I had foolishly entered a gym, and idiotically had decided to try out a weeks free membership pass. I was now suffering the consequences for such foolishness. Every muscle in my body protested, some of which I wasn’t even aware of that I had.

                         I usually try to swim every day in my Aunts 8 metre lap pool. I use that time for contemplating the day’s tasks, and thinking about my life in general. I was determined to be healthier this winter. I was not going to fall into the usual trap of winter behaviour. That is, whining about the cold, reading a lot of books whilst prone on the couch, barely exercising and eating a lot of fattening foods. So full of excellent intention and I aching all over I plunged into the pool. I am nothing if not doggedly determined, at least. I also convince myself 100 laps of a pool is an excellent all over body workout. Ha! My body was telling me otherwise today, but I completed the 100 laps. 

                                           I was definitely slower that day but as I kicked into lap 25 I found the stiffness was easing. I use the time also as a silent meditation on the day’s activities ahead, going through details and appointments in my mind. Sorting through mentally what I had to do. I find the exercise helps memory and thought processes and usually makes me feel virtuous after. One rule I have is that there can be no chicken shit behaviour on my part, such as deciding whether to jump in or not. Putting one toe in is not a good idea. It’s best to just jump in. 

                                After the workout I had had yesterday it was a wonder I was able to crawl, never mind swim. When I had driven away from the gym yesterday my hands had shaken on the wheel. It was all I could do to steer. I was ready to throttle the lycra clad Brad, my “personal” guide” for the morning. Firstly, he seemed to me way too happy for any person at that time of the morning. Secondly, I thought he was sadistic in the way he expected me to keep doing repetitions of every exercise.

                              Years ago I had gone to jazz ballet and jazzercise classes. The lady that took the classes had a will of iron and calves to match. She said that no exercise had to be repeated more than four times to be of benefit. I was in total agreement with her regime and mentioned this to Brad. He said that I was to stop talking and just keep lifting the thigh torturing machine bar he had sat me at. He set a minimum of 25 repetitions for everything.  I decided I hated him. And he could take his free pass and use it as an atm card and swipe it between those perfectly toned butt cheeks of his.

            My morning routine taken care of ,swim, breakfast of porridge with bran, sultanas and brown sugar, low fat milk, toast, shower, dress, makeup, hair.( God, its exhausting being female), I drove the twenty minutes to work. This particular morning the drive only took me 10 minutes. I remember thinking idly that it must be school holidays. Only on school holidays does the traffic clear along Western Bay Boulevard, the main road in and out of Beach Haven. Not that I either would know or care if it was school vacation time. As I said up front I once was married but not blessed with a child. A fact that I tend to secretly gloat about. I tell people otherwise. Especially people, blessed with lots of small children. And especially my sister who is Fecundity personified- Fertility Goddess of the Century and is blessed with 6 little darlings. She’s 35 and looks 50.

Beach Haven, the unofficial capital of the Gold Coast, still had the faded glamour of being a sixties weekend holiday retreat for harassed Brisbanites seeking a retreat to sand and surf. Something preferably within a short drive of Brisbane. When I was a kid it used to take my Dad an hour or two of hot sticky driving on a Friday night, fleeing with his family the “burbs” of Brisbane for a weekend retreat on the coast. Much squabbling went on in the back of the Vanguard Estate car with my siblings and I. Dad, normally a mild mannered man, would reach around at us with one hand trying to swipe at us and controlling the steering wheel with the other. Mum would spend the entire journey with one hand on the door handle, convinced that Dad would crash, and the other lighting Capstan cigarette after cigarette. Some of which she would pass to Dad.

                       Talk about passive smoking! When I was a kid in the late sixties the knowledge of the dangers of smoking and passive smoking were yet to be discovered. No doubt we just opened the windows. There was no such thing as air conditioning. I remember Dad had a little fan that was stuck on the dash, angled toward his face. Fat lot of good that did! By the time he had finished trying to reach out to whack us; his face was always beet red.

                                           We also had no seat belts, no sunscreen, and no knowledge of skin cancer or road statistics. In the good old days all the families sat under striped umbrellas on the baking hot beach and got burnt to a crisp outside of its shade. There was a man that made his living on the beach, spraying you with an air hose of reef oil. It smelled of coconut and frangipani. I don’t recall that it had any SPF factor contained in it.  It was just meant to fry white bodies to a baking crisp causing endless sunburnt hours. I think he was called, The Mutton Bird Man. He had the brownest body I had ever seen and a stuffed mutton bird on his hat.                    

                                     I had no sooner walked into my office, stowed my bag, logged in to my computer and was checking out the most important business of the day – my horoscopes-(I have three I like to check, then I just pick the best one and discard the rest.) They never come true, well maybe once or twice but I still read them. Bit like a second marriage really, the hope over experience part .I once worked with a man who said that in his previous job at a mass circulation news paper it had been his job to check that the horoscope for the day had not been repeated in the previous 12 years. I refused to believe him.

                                                     I didn’t even get to read the first horoscope when there was a loud knock at the door. “Come in” I said. A Man entered tall, good looking, and smartly dressed in a Charcoal Suit, I would lay bets it was a Hugo Boss, blue shirt, navy tie. He had an air of authority about him, good looking and he knew it. He threw me a Jack Nicholson, sharks smile.

. Cass Alexander, he queried.

 Yes, I replied. And you would be.

 David Lyons, he replied. I rang the other day and made an appointment to see you today at 9. But I am a bit early I know.

 It was 8 am.

“I came by in the hope that you would be in early being Monday, and that you would be able to see me now. I have a plane to catch this afternoon and want to try and get as much done as possible before then.” and he finally drew a breath.

I took a deep breath myself, scenting a familiar Type A personality. Driven, time poor, temper short. But he was a paying customer or I hoped he would be, so I smiled  and reached out, shook his hand, firm, warm, dry.

“Now is fine, I am happy to fit you in, (as if the corridor outside was overrun with about to be clients). It’s nice to meet you Mr Lyons. Please grab a seat I am just about to have a coffee, would you like one?” I asked.

“No, thank you.” he said, “If this is a convenient time to talk, I will start. But feel free to make yourself one if you want.”

I was dying for one but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

I sat.

Right, how can I help you Mr Lyons? I asked politely and kept my voice smooth and slow. Never pays to provoke a Type A, I knew that to my cost. Keep it slow and steady and they will follow your pace. Hopefully.

Call me David Please, he said.

Then please call me Cass, I replied and handed him a business card.

I pulled a notepad towards me and settled into the chair to take notes.

My son Troy has gone missing. No one has heard from him for three weeks now. It’s not an uncommon occurrence with Troy. He is 21, private school education, good boy, was…. Then he cleared his throat, and he looked at the desk.  About two years ago, in his first year at Uni, he ah, dropped out. He had been behaving a bit strangely, staying out, hanging out with a bunch of people I didn’t particularly like. Drop Kicks if you ask me, but anyway,

David Lyons seemed to lose concentration a little at this point and looked down at my desk top.

“You know what David”, I am going to get us both a cup of coffee, as I rose out of my chair. I insist. How do you have it? I asked.

White with none, he replied, obviously with some relief and he exhaled quite loudly.

There is a little ante room off my office where I keep files stored, copy paper, shelved book, archive boxes from the bigger office that surrounds me, and a super duper coffee machine that makes the best coffee known to man. I am a frugal person. I don’t smoke nor drink but I will spend money on great coffee and a decent rent on my place of work. I am cheap in all other areas except for what I wear on my body, including shoes, jewellery and perfume. And books.

I busied myself with cups, milk (I have a little bar fridge tucked under one of the benches) in the ante room. Turned the hot milk frother on, the coffee machine on and waited for everything to warm up. I could have re entered the office and waited but I had a feeling that David Lyons wanted to recover himself a little. This missing son business was emotional for him. That much I could see. And he looked like the sort of man that wasn’t used to dealing with emotion.

Coffee done, I walked confidently back into the office and placed his cup in front of him. The whole office was permeated with the delicious aroma of fresh coffee. One of my favourite smells in the morning, I sat down, took a sip of mine. As I thought David Lyons, the powerful business man was snapped back into place.

Delicious coffee, he said

Yes, I replied and put my cup down

“Back to business, David”, I continued.

"Your son has not been heard of for three weeks. Did you and he get along well?

“Troy has lived with me since my wife and I divorced. Two, maybe three years ago “.He replied

Interesting, I thought, He still calls her his wife. I checked out his ring finger, sure enough, he was still wearing his wedding band. And incongruously he had badly bitten nails. It’s a habit I loathe as I did it myself till I was at least 30.

David Lyons was continuing,

“Surprisingly Troy and I lived together really well. We were good company for each other. I have a big house, my wife moved out with my daughter Jennifer. They live now at Palm Vista, Troy and I felt like we were the two playboys of Beach Haven for a while and things were great. Then about two tears ago he began to get secretive, sullen. He was always a happy kid, didn’t have a moment’s trouble with him as a teenager, good at school, and enjoyed sport, good scholar. Not a top student, but well up there. For his 18th I bought him a car, not a brand new expensive one, just a decent run about to get to uni in. A Hyundai Excel.

I first of all put his behaviour down to late rebellion, my wife’s and my divorce Troy was 19 when we finally divorced. I tried to talk to him. But he was uncommunicative. I found a bowl of marijuana under his bed. I confronted him with it and he waved it away saying, the usual. That I drank. Drink is a drug. Marijuana or “Choof” as he called it was a recreational drug that he tried, but didn’t like. And so on. Turns out my housekeeper Morag, knew about it, he continued. And she was also concerned. But she chose not to tell me, and here his voice hardened, just a little (- Poor Morag, I thought.) “Morag had gone to clean under his bed, saw it, left it there. 

I was starting to feel sorry for this boy, 19 then, lost his mother, sister, Dad. Metaphorically not physically, of course. Everyone in a divorce loses something. I know, been there, done that. I thanked once again the powers that be that I was not blessed with a child from my unholy union. It’s painful enough without dragging children through it. I see people a lot that are going through ugly divorces, trust me, there is never a good one, no matter what people tell you. They are always ugly, always emotional, avoid if at all possible. I work (serve writs, do investigations on errant spouses) seeing the worst side of human nature come to the fore. It’s not pretty. And sometimes obviously necessary, as it was in my case. But my advice is to pick well up front. I didn’t….And it caused me no end of misery, sometimes, still does.

David Lyons, continued,

“Well turns out I couldn’t deal with it. The drugs. Troy just became more secretive, stayed away from the house longer, had lots and lots of calls on his mobile. I had a few hang ups on the home phone. Then about two months ago. He disappeared for a weekend. Didn’t say he was going away for the weekend. I was out of my mind with worry then he turned up on the Monday, filthy dirty, acting like nothing had happened. Said he had been dirt bike riding, he seemed really energetic, high, couldn’t look me in the eye. Talked non stop and then took a shower. I was waiting downstairs to talk to him. After a half hour I went up to get him. He was passed out on the bed still with the wet towel over him. I removed that, covered him a blanket. I had to go to Sydney on business, so I told Morag to keep an eye on him. Turns out he didn’t wake up till the next day- 24 hours later.

Speed, I thought.

But I wasn’t about to tell David Lyons what I thought. God, he was having enough trouble dealing with the word Marijuana. Speed or worse was certainly another whole ball game.

“So, David”, I queried,” Where are you are at now?” He was once again staring at the desk top with a slumped look about his shoulders. 

David continued.

“Three weeks ago when I was once again in Sydney, he packed a bag and took off. A few days earlier we had a huge fight. There was money missing from the house, a large sum of money. I blamed him for it. Who else could it have been? I am not stupid. I accused him, he denied it. We haven’t spoken since. He was obviously just waiting for me to leave for Sydney so he could take off without drama. When Morag asked him where he was going, he said north for a few days. He took his car. He said something along the lines that a friend was in trouble. Said he had to go to North Queensland, didn’t say where in North Queensland.

                        He also said that he would be back by the weekend, which at that time was four days away. That was 3 weeks ago now. He isn’t answering his mobile. I’ve left message after message on his phone. No one has heard from him since, not me, his mother, Morag or his sister, Jennifer. None of his friends have heard from him either. I checked that too. I went to the police and they weren’t very helpful.

I’ll bet, I thought once again. This is something that money can’t buy you. Mr Lyons.

        Mention runaway young boy, recreational drugs in the one sentence and the police are probably going to think. Drop Kick, spoilt little rich kid. He’ll turn up when he wants something, usually money. And North Queensland is so vague. North Queensland is so vast. A perfect place to hide out, runaway too. There are lots of itinerant people, seasonal work; the climate is tropical, hotter than here in Beach Haven in winter. Lots of “Choof” by all accounts. Lots of everything. There is always plenty of money .Excellent money to be made if you work at the mines. North Queensland is so vast that it takes hours to fly over when leaving the main capital of Queensland and flying directly north.

        I flew to Indonesia once and was so excited to be leaving Australia for a while,(my first time, overseas) But I was frustrated that we were flying for what seemed like hours just to get out over Queensland and away from Australia. Most of it, North Queensland is uninhabitable. There is what they call the Far North Queensland, up near Cairns. And then there is what is called Deep North, Deep North being west and outback of Cairns. And then there are place that are only reachable by all terrain vehicles.

                            As in a lot of places in Australia the most liveable places tend to be on the coast. In Northern Queensland temperatures can be up to 50 degrees Celsius in the shade and there is no shade. Instant turn off. People that live there tend to like to live Hermit like lives. Not for this little black duck. Take me 500 metres away from fast food, restaurants, a decent chardonnay, clothes and shoes stores and I wither and die. I have done it. But it’s not a circumstance I care to repeat. I have also camped once. Enough said. Any place that I am handed a small shovel and a roll of loo paper and told to do things “Bush Style” is a place I will never be going back to. Ever. Apart from the sheer indignity of it all is the conviction that I am going to be bitten on several parts of my anatomy that I prefer to keep under wraps .I might like bears but as for shitting in the woods like one, forget it!

What do we know, David, jotting down notes as he spoke? And boy, could he speak. I scribbled furiously as he mentioned friend’s names, girlfriends, known associates. He mentioned a man called Mongrel, he said. All the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “Mongrel”, I repeated, yes, odd name isn’t it? “No”, I thought, not if you are one of the Mongrel Mob or even a former member. A lot of them are called Mongrel. I clamped my mouth firmly shut. Could be wrong. Maybe some harmless little other uni school kid.

But, I doubted it.

I have had my secretary prepare a folder of all the information you will need including my home address. I am guessing you will need to see his room. And you will probably want to talk to Morag, Jennifer and Troy’s mother Leona. There will be his uni details in there, his friends’ names, numbers, girlfriends, teachers. Everything I could think of. Jennifer my daughter, Troy’s older sister, and here his voice softened, is getting married to her childhood sweetheart in five weeks time. I would have not pushed now to find Troy, as quite frankly I am sick of his antics. And think he needs to grow up a lot. But Jennifer wants her baby brother at her wedding as does my wife, Leona, naturally. So I have promised to find him and deliver him for the wedding, drug free, clean and sober.

I am a busy man Miss Alexander. I run an investment company with my partner Declan Irvine. Irvine & Lyons Investments, he handed me a card. We have built ourselves up from a small concern to a company that now employs 400 people. I always had hopes of Troy joining the company. And he was headed that way. The degree he was doing was in business and commerce. Declan and I were both happy to have him come into the company, fresh blood, all that. Declan and I have known each other since we were boys. We grew up on the same street in Dublin; we used to kick a soccer ball around together from the time we were about four. When he emigrated here in 75. I followed in 77. I met Leona shortly after and we got married. I have not really filled him in on all the details about Troy. He worships the boy and I don’t want to disappoint him. I am happy for you to meet with him but please be discreet. He knows Troy is missing but Declan seems to have the attitude he’s gone off to sow his wild oats. That’s pretty much what Declan is like. Very trusting, amiable. That why we have always been friends I suppose I am the bad tempered one and he’s the charmer.

“Now” and here the steely glint big businessman popped back into view. All traces of emotional father gone.

“I have gone as far as I can in my search. I have a big proposal I have to do by the end of this month and a trip I have to take Overseas. I have no time to try and investigate on my own anymore. I need someone that does this sort of thing for a living that has the experience and skills necessary. That person is you Miss Alexander. I am prepared to pay you $25,000 to find him and an extra $15,000 to ensure he is drug free. Marijuana or otherwise”

“Ah Ha,” I thought, he is smarter about his sons addictions than I gave him credit for. .

He handed me his business card

That is the address of my office; ask for Jane Turnbull, my secretary. She will have the folder of information you need, it wasn’t quite ready Friday night when I left the office he muttered tersely.

Bet Jane had a great weekend, I thought. NOT!

So you have been to your office already this morning I queried.

I am in my office 7am sharp every day Ms Alexander. Jane had kindly come in early and finished the folder.

I bet she did, I thought, I am such a bad woman for having such negative thoughts, but I have first hand experience of living with a type A personality so I feel free to think what I want. I just no longer say it.

Any questions? He said, glancing quickly at his watch.

Two, Mr Lyons, Number one Why me? A female

Two, Why so much money, (my mind was saying – shut up.) Dollar signs were already dancing like fat sugar plums in my head- that new mini I so coveted--- easy money) but I have a theory about easy money, in a nut shell- it’s never easy.

                        First, Ms Alexander, I want a woman because I find women are naturally curious and good at finding, things. I have researched you and I know you are only young but from all accounts you get results. This is what I want. I think a woman will be more discreet. I think a man in this position may, just may, go charging around like a bull at a gate. Secondly, I believe in the carrot theory not the stick. You will work harder and longer knowing that a decent sum of money waits to reward you for a job well done. I like results Ms Alexander, not problems. Get me a result. I have your cell phone number, I assume, Ah yes I do, he said, glancing at the card. I don’t like the stick theory but I will wield one if necessary.

I just bet you would, I thought for the umpteenth time that morning.

He lifted his head and met my eyes. His eyes were as hard as marbles, now.

I looked back at him just as hard.

But not too hard – I still have a business to run and the past is the past right. He was not my enemy, just a hard nosed business man with a problem.

I have a contract for you to sign, I said evenly

Don’t bother he said.

I see contracts every day, and most of them are not worth the paper they are written on.

Find my son, you will be rewarded.

I want your services for six weeks, at least. The wedding is in five weeks. One month to find him and get him sober. One week for you to follow him like a loyal dog and ensure that he doesn’t slip back into old habits. Then there is the wedding, happy day for all, after that your job is done and I really, don’t care what happens to him after that.

I knew he was lying, but that was Ok. This man was used to putting up a tough exterior.

Every parent would like to think that their children are safe and happy in the world.

This tough man that still wore a wedding bad from marriage long gone was not about to give up on his son.

And If I don’t find him.

He looked at me like I was his last hope. Which I probably was.

Then you get paid for expenses, daily fees (which are???????

 I did a quick mental calculation. Normally I charge 600 a day plus expenses. Far north Queensland – Looks rough to me, call in the snake, goanna, spider clause. $800 a day. I ventured. 

Done he replied.

When you speak to me secretary arrange for a credit card with a limit of $10,000. Use that for plane fares, car hire, accommodation, meals. There will be two of you in the end, he said, confidently I thought, as Troy will be coming back with you, so if you need extra money put on the card, just ring Jane and she will arrange it all.

I could do with a Jane in my life I thought. How extraordinary it would be to just ring someone and have them take care of all the necessary messy little things for you. Pay the bills, pick up the dry cleaning, and buy you clothes. Bit like having a wife really. Except most wives these days were off at tennis, lunches, or fucking the gardener. Up yours hubby dearest!

We shook hands and that was that. He left closing the door behind him. I re opened it and saw him disappear into the lift. Then I broke into my own little Happy dance with a few bum wriggles thrown in for good measure, One punch of the air “Yes” but then I calmed down, doesn’t do to be too undignified.

$40,000. Oh, my God. Down payment on a house of my own OR reasonably new blue and silver mini. Hands down the mini won. I didn’t even have to think about it. Happier dancing then I stopped. I was born a Celt and brought up with superstition and fairy stories. It does not to you good to act too “proud”. You can bet your bottom dollar that bad news will follow well so keep happy news to a minimum. Unless you want to have the wrath of the Gods pour down on your shoulders. I sauntered back into the ante room, this called for a celebratory coffee. While I waited for all the hissing and gurgling to stop. I had a good think about the problem. Looked like a trip to the town Yandarren in far North Queensland was definitely on the cards. “Hope, it’s a big town, I can remember thinking” not some little back water.

                    If this boy was moving on to heavier “gear”, Druggie slang for Heroin, or was on “Louie”, druggie slang for speed. I would assume but could be wrong that supply of the heavier drugs had to be in the big towns. Smaller towns would be too remote for steady supply for users. If you are wondering about my general druggie knowledge it’s because my ex Tommy was both an alcoholic and regular drug user. Both of which painful addictions he kept hidden from me until after we were married. It was painful for me, not for him as he was “out of it” most of the time. In one moment it was all over after five years.

            In a moment of clarity, “Drunken Clarity” alcoholics call it. He told me he drank and took drugs because he enjoyed it. Really enjoyed it. And he wasn’t going to give it up. So I was glad for that moment. Because as much as I loved him, and I did, and I am sure he loved me, the alcohol and drugs were always going to come first. And I needed to know that. They call an alcoholic “The back walking away” and in reality you might as well be in the relationship on your own. In fact you are less lonely if you are on your own. My only regret was that I hadn’t done it sooner. I left that day and never ever missed him for one second. He’s still “on” everything and he also lives on his own, but he seems happy enough and so am I.E. finally stopped torturing each other.

                                   I finished emptying my in tray, checked all my emails, I had 103, Bloody Hell! I deleted, answered, cut and pasted, forwarded. I set up an auto “Out of Office” reply. No more call or visitors interrupted me. I had kept the morning pretty clear as I had had an inkling that David Lyons was going to keep me a while. With him coming in so early, I had three blissful hours of solid work behind me by the time I had finished. I’d paid all my bills on the internet; I had cancelled any arrangements I had till at least the end of the month. I sauntered out to Marilyn at the front reception. I rent offices from a firm of Real Estate Brokers. Quite a lucrative business here in Beach Haven as everyone and their dog has decided to try and live near the beach. Marilyn was the receptionist, young, pretty, bubble headed.

“Hi Marilyn, how are you, how’s the love life?” I asked.

“Hi Cass, how is it going? She replied. I haven’t seen you in an age.”

She held a finger to her lips and answered a call through her microphone headpiece.

 “Good Morning, King Mortgages, How may I help you?” She said.

 She put the call through and then turned the night switch on. 

“It’s alright,” she said at my raised eyebrow, they’ll think I have gone to the ladies, she said, indicating the office behind her.

Otherwise I never get a break.

Like a lot of office these days, a receptionist will have a handover to some one else for lunch but morning or afternoon breaks or even calls of nature are largely ignored. Marilyn always says that she is donating her bladder to science. It’s grown so large from having to “hold on” I smiled at her as she unhooked herself from the headset

.” Actually, bugger it; I’m going for a coffee,” she said,” so we can talk.”

 That new temp can watch reception for a while. She punched in a number and very shortly a stout lady, middle aged, face wreathed in smiles, poked her head around the door. 

“Hi,” she said, “you wanted a break”

“Yes, Sonia,” said Marilyn,” I have some important business to discuss with Cass here and we are going downstairs to talk about it. If anyone asks where I am, say I was suddenly overcome with “female problems”, make sure you whisper the female problems bit. By the by, I faxed off your hours to the agency this morning, I knew you’d forgotten Friday night and if they don’t get them by 10 am today you won’t get paid.”

The woman looked suitably grateful.

“Don’t bother to thank me”, said Marilyn silencing the woman’s murmured thanks. “Anytime!”

Marilyn might appear bubble headed but she was no one’s fool. She had just extracted from Sonia gratitude, silence and loyalty in one fell swoop. And given herself a good break in time, which is always hard when you are the most relied upon person in a business. Marilyn and I finger waved ourselves away from the grateful Sonia and waited for the lift. Our destination, Mario’s, on the ground floor for coffee and maybe a division of one of his famous caramel tarts or Yo Yo Biscuits.

I looked across at Marilyn in the lift. She really was a stunning looking girl She seemed to have a different boyfriend every week .And all were usually gorgeous. She had had football players, lawyers, accountants (dull, apparently) but all were either jaw- droppingly, good looking or wealthy. I, on the other hand, couldn’t get laid in a brothel with a handful of fivers. But then I hardly ever made the time to make myself available, either. And right up to that point I had felt just the teensiest bit superior to Marilyn. Brains versus beauty and all that. I wanted to think she was a bubble head but she certainly knew how to get what she wanted, and so pleasantly. I stowed that information away for future reference. She looked weary all of a sudden; I looked at myself in the mirror behind her. I also didn’t look that good.

I slumped a bit into the wall as the lift descended.

You know what? I asked

What, Marilyn replied

“I think Germaine Greer has a lot to answer for, don’t you.

“Kin oath”, was her short reply.

 And not another word was spoken till we reached the coffee shop and ordered. We both passed on the caramel tart.

       Ok, she began, what’s happening? 

I’m going to be gone for maybe a month, maybe six weeks. I told her I had a new assignment that could take that long.

Lucky you, she groaned.

You are always having adventures and I get to sit behind that front desk and feel my arse get bigger

From what I had seen of Marilyn’s arse, not that I normally gaze at other women’s arses. (Catching sight of my own was enough to send me screaming to the gym) but her arse was tiny, that arse couldn’t get much smaller, never mind bigger, but I kept my thoughts to myself.

I made sympathy noises, while sipping my coffee.

Where are you off to this time, she queries as if I fly off to exotic places every week. 

I went to Sydney once to track down an errant wife, for a client. The wife was outraged when I found her. She had to have been in her mid 70’s. I passed on a letter from her wealthy husband which she tore to bits in front of me unopened. According to the hubby she had met a man over the internet and fallen in love. They were holed up in a luxury hotel in the city. He appeared briefly in the background, round about her age, not unlike the hubby to look at. He was wearing the smallest pair of bathers I had ever seen on a man that age. Men that age usually seem to wear voluminous shorts with waistbands tied tightly across paunchy tummies. The evidence was fairly clear to me why she’d left home, and I thanked her for her time and left. Talk about budgie smugglers, that man was packing a parrot!  Big Adventure!

But Marilyn was young and I liked her to believe I was living this massively adventurous life as a P.I. Glamorous locations, sinister clients, money, murder, mayhem. On the whole to be truthful it’s routine stuff. Lots of skip tracing of naughty people that don’t pay their bills. Lots of pretending to be a temp while investigating white collar crime and there is lots of that. Store detection, theft.  Employees astonish me as to the amount of stuff they will pinch from their employers. Even as a kid I was always a little snitch. Now I get paid to do it. And I do it well. I have found my calling, thank God. Before P.I, work I used to work as a credit Manager, chasing people all day for money. It certainly gave me a wealth of experience for PI work. The excuses that people come up with so as to not pay their bills!  And I am one of the worst! Then I met a temp who was doing a course in Private Investigations, I leapt at the chance to do it as well. Worked for a firm for a year learning the ropes and then took the plunge and branched out on my own. I have never been happier

                        The Offices of Lyons & Irvine covered one floor of the new F1 building in the downtown district of Beach Haven. The exterior was very smart, very corporate, all cream stucco and picture windows. The F1 was the newest building to be completed and also the tallest. I looked up at its height from outside and immediately wished I hadn’t. I get dizzy from heights even just looking up at them. The Foyer was cool marble and burnished steel, with lots of reflective surfaces. I always assume that they are designed by men when there are lots of reflective surfaces. I don’t believe reflective surfaces are something one should have to have an abundance of. The offices of Lyons & Irvine were on the third floor. That was a relief. I really was not a big fan of going up to the 80th floor of anything and seeing just how far there was between me and the ground. I deliberately do not choose window seats in planes for the same reason.

                                   The lift was mirrored inside!

” What are these people, sadists, or perhaps narcissists? I thought. 

The foyer of Lyons & Irvine Investments was a study of modern corporate minimalism. Right down to no receptionist. I was facing a horse shoe shaped desk in shiny white timber with a vibrant Ken Done print on the wall behind it. I studied the print. It was called “A Day at the Beach”, lots of striped beach umbrellas and beach towels. I liked it. Sitting on top of the desk on a an upright stand was a laminated sign that stated if you knew who your appointment was with to dial their extension number from the phone on the small table in the foyer. I turned around a saw a small coffee table with a phone and the type of magazines that no one reads. Save for would be employees that have not done their homework on the company and need to read up on the latest company news. Share dividends, changes in personnel, mission statements and the like. boring as bat shit! I bypassed the tempting reading material and went straight for the list of extensions. There was no Jane Turnbull listed. I saw a Declan Irvine, however and dialled that extension instead. The phone was answered on the third ring.

“Excellent customer service, I thought.

“Declan Irvine” answered the voice.

“Good morning, Mr Irvine”, my name is Cass Alexander and I am here to see a Jane Turnbull but there doesn’t seem to be a listing for her name.” I said.

“Ah”, came the reply. Jane is otherwise engaged at the moment but I may be able to answer some of your enquiries until she is finished. She won’t be long” And he hung up.

Now what, I thought, but a head appeared almost immediately around the corner of the reception area. This must be Declan Irvine, I thought. He and I did a quick summing up as I rose and he crossed the area to shake my hand. He was medium height, dark reddish hair cut short, tip tilted Irish nose and chocolate brown eyes.

“Nice to meet you at last Cass”, he said. “I have heard a lot about you from David,     all good don’t worry.

This was all said over his shoulder as he led me into his office. His office was also very modern, in keeping with the whole building, and had a 180 degree view of the beach. The windows were floor to ceiling and at the moment the sun was not shining, the windows were streaming with rain and the sea outside was steel grey in colour and choppy with white wave crests. I love the sea in all its states and I watched it for a moment. I was glad to be inside looking out. Some lone hardy surfers were out there in the waves, but the beach for the main part was deserted. I have a loners natural instincts and liked the look of the isolated beach. 

                        I took the seat offered, stowed my bag under the chair and handed Declan Irvine a business card. He glanced at it.” Private Investigator”, he said” Interesting profession for a woman.” I went to answer but he interrupted me

“Coffee?” he asked. I hesitated, if I was going to be visiting David Lyons house as well. I really needed to be on my way. I wanted to push on as I would also need to organise a flight to Yandarrin. I told Declan my time concerns. He waved my concerns aside.

“Jane will not be long; she is just chasing up one more contact for that folder for you. In the mean time I can make us up some coffee, we have one of those new mad cappuccino machines that makes a delicious brew. he said.” I just want to be showing off and I am gagging for a cup, truth be known.”

This man had to have one of the most delicious voices It had ever been my delight to hear. It was also the sexiest, ever, no contest. It was warm, deep, and a little guttural. “Someone should capture that voice and sell it in jars,” I thought. I just wanted him to keep on speaking so I could go on listening. I have moments like this. I call them my ideal man parts moments. Voice, torso, hips, good thighs, you get the drift. Declan had the voice part.

“O.K.”, I replied.” I would love some. Do you need a hand?”

“Ah, well there’s the ting, he said Not thing, ting! I haven’t quite mastered it yet, so come with me and we’ll see if we can master it together

.I followed him across the corridor to an elaborate kitchen complete with stainless steel combined microwave and convection oven. There was stainless steel sandwich squasher thingy, for all the trendy focaccia and toasted wraps. And in pride of place was a De Longi coffee maker with a simple coffee insert system. No grinding of beans for this little beauty. Just little popper things in different colours containing ground coffee. Gold, red for de caffeinated, green, purple. There was also a milk frother and heater. I liked it. Declan didn’t seem to have any problem operating it. I just think he wanted to show his prowess. He even had chocolate powder to shake over the top. Guaranteeing me a chocolate moustache, no doubt.

                             I watched his hands, I like watching men’s hands doing girly chores. Cooking, chopping, ironing, shaking chocolate delicately over a frothy cappuccino coffee. His hands were quite large and well muscled, not unlike a piano players and there were fine red- blonde hairs on the backs. No ring. He must have felt me studying him and looked up at me quickly. I blushed and looked a way.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he said.

“I was just thinking how nice it is to see a man doing what he might call a woman’s job. I replied. I can’t begin to tell you the amount of temp jobs I have been in and the men always expect the women to get the coffee. I would have loved just one of them to say, Can I get you a coffee” Instead of the other way around.

“Depends on how they grew up, what era, stuff like that”, he said. It depends on whether they are the old fashioned guys like my auld one, me Grandad, or me Da. Me Ma was always working, so, me and my brothers and Da had to fetch for ourselves. It’s sometimes just the way you are brought up. My Ma would have clattered us silly if we didn’t fetch her a cup of tea or coffee when she had just come in from work. He pronounced work as woirk. I felt an insane desire to clutch this man to me and never let him go. Or bite him, I wasn’t sure which. He was definitely edible. I followed him back to his office and discreetly checked out his butt. Yep, as suspected. Perfect!

“Where is your family, now”, I asked him. I sat in the chair he directed me towards, directly across from him, he sat behind his desk.

“Still in Ireland, there’s no way they would move”, he answered. “I try and get back to see them for Christmas every year. I love it there, but I like the way of life here in Australia. And I love Australian women. Australian women are a lot more outgoing than Irish women. Not so much of the repressive religious behaviour. And I personally tend to find Australian women more attractive, because they are a lot more outgoing, but that’s just me. I emigrated in 1989 and have been back every year since then”

                “I like Ireland,” I told him “I went there with an Irish boyfriend in 2001, a few months before and directly after September 11.” He was working over there for twelve months. He paid for a trip for me to go over the first time and I paid myself for the second one. The first time was May and I hated it at first, my boyfriend was working all these crazy hours, I couldn’t get work for love or money and I got to stay home a lot with his Mum. She was a lovely woman by the way. But I was depressed at not being able to get work. It seemed like as soon as they heard my Aussie accent they weren’t interested. We had a row, I was homesick for Oz. I went home. Then September 11 happened. He was going to be coming back to Australia in a few months, so I took a trip over and we hired a car and went all over Ireland. It was fabulous and he and I had the best time.” I stopped. I hoped I wasn’t boring him. He was watching me intently.

“What happened to the boyfriend, did he come back?” he asked.

“Yes, he did,” I replied. ”But things had changed. So we are still friends but no romance any more.” We both sipped at our coffees and said nothing for a moment. It was delicious coffee.

                           There was a knock on the door and a woman with long dark hair and lots of red lipstick came in. she was very attractive if not a little flustered looking. She nodded at both of us. She was carrying a thick folder under one arm.

“Jane, Declan said, “Meet Cass Alexander, from and he picked my card up L.J.H. investigations. I stood up and shook her hand and she went to hand me the folder.

“I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time. I asked. Taking the folder. “I just need to ask you a few things, as you know, the more information I can get at this stage the better” She seemed a little harried and not a little nervous which I found strange, but maybe she was just overworked being David Lyons secretary. He looked like he could be a tough boss.

“I, of course,” she replied. She had looked like she was going to shake her head at first but then abruptly changed her mind. I turned to Declan and thanked him for the coffee and the chat. I hadn’t finished but I was anxious to converse with Jane. David Lyons had said he hadn’t made Declan aware of all the facts about Troy. But I was more than convinced Jane was privy to a lot more information than Declan Irvine. Helpful information. And that was my focus. Finding Troy. As charming as I found Declan’s company, I needed to stay on a business level. My coveted mini and my professional reputation depended on it.

                        I said goodbye to Declan, Jane was waiting at the door.

“Just give me a minute will you Jane,” he asked. She closed the door politely.

I looked at him.

“I wonder if you would like to go out some time,” he asked. I know you will be busy over the next few weeks looking for Troy. I am not as unaware of things as David likes to think I am. But after you get back. I thought we could go out for a drink, catch up, and reminisce about Ireland, anything you would like.

“I’d like that very much”, I replied.

“Excellent!” he said. “I will give you a call in a few weeks then”. It wasn’t a question. He shook my hand and smiled. “Good luck in Northern Queensland, watch out for the crocodiles”. I smiled back and he crossed to the door and opened it wide for me.

                               Jane was standing down the corridor a little talking with another girl. She saw my approach and gestured towards the lift. 

“I need to get out of the office for a few minutes”, she said, “Need a breath of fresh air”. By the look of the two cigarettes and lighter she had tucked in her hand it wasn’t exactly “fresh” air she was after, but I am a former smoker myself so I was happy to accompany her. I had tucked the folder she had given me in my capacious shoulder bag. One of these days I was convinced I was going to get a smaller bag and alleviate the pain in my shoulder. This however was just B.S. and I knew it. A small bag would never hold everything I need at all times. I am duly bonded and licensed to carry a gun, not that I always do. But try sticking a luger 402 in a small bag. Leaves no room for all the other necessities in life.

                           While we waited for the lift and its descent to ground floor, I thought about all the “tings” I keep in my bag, my necessities. A small make up bag, antibacterial wipes, a wallet, snacks for emergencies, a bag of nuts and fruit, a fruit bar and fresh breath mints. A notebook, a diary, two pens, my mobile phone. A spare pair of panties- (don’t ask), a box with ladies personal items (ditto) in and a strip of pain killers. Oh and a toothbrush and small tube of toothpaste. Just in case some gorgeous hunk sweeps me off my feet at dinner some time soon, hopefully, and I need to spend the night “Investigating”. Him.

                           Jane lit up her filthy fag as soon as we exited the building and it was all I could do to not grab it out of her hand and drag on it deeply. I stayed down wind of her in case I was tempted to do just that. It has only been seven weeks since I gave up smoking and I am still one smoke away from going back to my twenty a day habit. I loved smoking it just didn’t love me. And also all the men have given up smoking and women have taken it up and that bugs me. I was brought up competitive with brothers and I am always of the mind anything they can do, I can do better. Except kill spiders, snakes, mice, rodents and mow lawns.

                        Jane had sat down on a low wall as the first hit of nicotine hit her. Obviously she hadn’t had one for a while. Hence the two she had brought with her. She removed a bit of tobacco from her tongue and looked at me.

“It’s been a rough day”, she said, indicating the smoke and spare one.

“Don’t mind me”, I replied. “I know how it can get” “Did you want me to grab you a coffee, or something?” I saw there was the ubiquitous coffee shop on the ground floor. There were several tables outside and the rain had stopped as abruptly as it had started. A waiter was wiping down chairs that were not protected by large umbrellas.

“Alright”, Jane answered. “The boss is finally off on his trip to Adelaide and I was at work this morning at 6am, so I can take a little time off. That said we retired to a table and sat on seat just the tiniest bit damp. The rain could start suddenly on the Coast and within minutes be gone and the sun would be out again, shining, as if it had never rained. I placed an order for one coffee, flat white, as Jane requested and a toasted sandwich for me. With a diet Coke, no ice. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten since the porridge and toast this morning. I dragged the folder Jane had given me out of my bag and placed it on the table in front of me.

Now, I said, all business like. Jane and I smiled at her, would you be able to give me a little run down on this? I need to be filled in on as much detail as you can give me. I need to know dates, people, and friends anything, no matter how small. Girlfriends, I don’t care if its stuff that’s embarrassing to talk about. I know Troy was dabbling in drugs. His Dad told me. And I assume you are also privy to that information.

Jane lit up her second cigarette and studied me for a minute. I continued.

I need to know what sort, preferences, drug dealers, girlfriends, boyfriends? The more I know the better the chance of me finding Troy. I said all this with the greatest confidence in the world. As if finding missing people was an every day occurrence for me. To be exact, it was the second, and the first hadn’t had that great a result for the client, but he had paid me. Always a good thing. But Jane didn’t need to know that Troy was only my second missing person and I wasn’t about to tell her. There are some things a professional girl P.I. is not about to give away and this was one of them. Technically, I have done a few skip traces, they are easy. A few phone calls to the right people, a peek at electoral rolls, pay the right people you get all the information you want. Ex neighbours, old friends of the poor and disenfranchised tend to dish. 

              The rich and privileged are an entirely different story. People don’t like to think of all that Private Schooling going to waste. And often in the case of wayward rich kids, the parents are well liked, respected or at the very least feared. Every one wants to stay friends with the rich and influential, you never know when one might need a favour or a loan. And lets face it folks it’s not what you know, it’s who you know.

                 I tend to use what ever works for me and although that might make me sound selfish and grasping. We all tend to be not too stupid in that area. If it’s a small time crim, all bets are off. Everybody is going to dish out on them. The rich get rich and the poor get jail. Something along those lines anyway.

           Jane tapped the front of the folder and looked warily at the coffee shop doorway.

“It’s all in there,” she said, looking me straight in the eye.

She had well manicured French tip nails, one of the pinkie’s punched with a tiny hole, and that had a miniscule ring swinging from it. Cute stuff! The effect saying I am an ultra conservative but underneath I might be a bit of a rebel. No rings at all adorned her fingers that also sent out a message. I belong to no one, and I don’t need pretty rings and precious stones to affirm my worth,

How Cool and how clichéd.

I myself tend to be going through an adorning the goddess phase. I tend to think the Indian women have it about right. “You are a woman, celebrate that” So I wax my vajayjay, legs, armpits, wear all my jewellery,

                I exfoliate, moisturise, shave bits, and wear perfume, good perfume, not that cheap smell alike. I have my favourites, KL by Lagerfeld, which has stopped being made but you can still get it on EBay, Mademoiselle by Chanel when I want to feel filthy rich. The afore mentioned Irish boyfriend, my first serious relationship I had after my marriage break up used to buy me Dune, and for ever more in my heart that smell will conjure his face and other tantalising bits. He also bought me an engagement ring. A beautiful sapphire and diamond ring Some people think it might be unlucky to wear jewellery from a past love.

                 Sod that for a joke is my reply, jewellery is jewellery. Hey, if you ask me, wearing any jewellery bought for you, says that I was loved once. If I want to show off and show that someone once shelved out a few thousand for a ring, I am damn well going to wear it .But contrary to that, I don’t wear my wedding ring, that is another matter, nor the engagement ring my ex husband bought for me either. A psychologist might have an opinion on that. All I know is that I have put them away in a drawer in an envelope with my divorce certificate.

               I was born in the late 70’s Just as women’s liberation was starting gain momentum .When some women burned their bras and took to looking hairy. And devoid of make up .Well I don’t know about you but my theory is that after the age of 30 yours lips tend to disappear. No lipstick, no lips, simple! That may have been the near death of Women’s lib, right there. The ugly, plain, unadorned hairy look.  It’s dumb, Unadorned and hairy are mainly what men are.

 I said mainly.

                   That said. I have women’s lib to thank for making the way for women in having freedom and the right to have a mortgage on our own and car loans. I still don’t believe there is such a thing as equal pay for men and women, and I still think there is an old boys network at most office jobs I have been at

              But what woman doesn’t want to look pretty, to have tinkling bracelets, on wrist, ankle, and ears? Jewels on fingers, toes. That perfect lipstick colour that we are in an endless quest for. Hell .Note to all you erstwhile Don Quixote’s out there. “The Impossible Dream” quest has nothing on trying to find that exact shade of lipstick that is two shades darker than your own lips. That doesn’t come off as soon as you eat, kiss or breathe heavily. That stays wonderful, indelible and moist all day and has to be removed with industrial strength cleanser at the end of the day. That doesn’t crack, bleed or feather.

And while men are out there tilting at windmills, these are often the thoughts that fill our heads. And don’t deny it girls or I will be forced to leave you lipstick less for at least a week.    We will see how long you last before you break down and beg for a reprieve.

                                            Meanwhile back to Jane and me. My sandwich had arrived (multi grain bread with chicken and tomato- no butter- toasted) and I fell on it not unlike a snarling wolf. She sipped her coffee and looked like she wanted another cigarette. 

“Troy is a gorgeous boy”, she said. “Beautiful looking, nice natured, sweet.” David Lyons is a hard father and a hard man, but he loves his son and though he probably doesn’t act like it, he wants what is best for him. No doubt David has told you that he and Troy were getting along well till about till a few months ago and then Troy just started going through a late rebellion I guess. It’s a worry not hearing from him. There was a girl Troy was going out with. Jade. She was lovely. I met her once at the house, Troy’s 21st birthday party. Just earlier this year actually. February 9th. She has rung David a few times in the last few weeks. As far as I know they had broken up. And I had the impression she was worried about him.

                          “Are you single”, she asked, apropos of nothing. I nodded. I told her about being married once, and engaged twice. The second engagement to the Irish man barely counted as he was drunk when he proposed and pretty much stayed that way the whole time I knew him. I have no idea why I am attracted to drunks, my father being a teetotaller. But I am, or should say was. I am going through a period of re evaluation. It’s frustrating sexually but otherwise O.K. I don’t share well. And can stand company for only so long, and then want to spend time by myself like a little hermit. Maybe I could meet someone that was also hermit like. With my luck he would probably be the next una bomber.

                    I thought I had better be polite.

“What about you Jane”, are you single?” I asked.

 The question seemed a bit dumb because she wasn’t wearing a ring, and she knew that I knew that fact. Women always know these facts about each other. To my surprise she blushed.

“Sort of”, she replied.

“Oh”, I said, waiting for her to continue.

“I am seeing someone but it’s in its early stages so I don’t talk about it yet”, she said.

“Funny”, I thought, “The early stages are when you usually can’t shut up about someone. You are duty bound to bring up that special name in just about every sentence you utter. You know the type of thing. Pick any subject. Let’s say Global Warming. Then add the name of your one true new love. Be it Terence, Boris, Fred, fill in the blank. And put the two together. As Terence, Boris, Fred was only saying the other day about Global warming or pot holders or plastic pegs. I know I do and all my girlfriends do too.”

Jane was being cagey and I didn’t know why, it was her business. It’s not like I ran in the same social circles and was about to run around blabbing the name of her secret love to all and sundry. But as my Yorkshire granny used to say

“there’s nowt as queer as folk”, so I didn’t probe. She hadn’t really provided any more information than I already knew or what I had seen in the folder, which was a little disappointing. I wondered why then, she had wanted me to go outside with her. We could have just said our goodbyes outside Declan Irvine’s office. Maybe she wanted to just get me away from Declan. Maybe Declan was her new love, he certainly was adorable. I said I had to go and we parted. She back to the office and the next big drama and me to find a boy who probably didn’t want to be found.

                          My next stop was to David Lyon’s house. The house was on the Northern side of Beach Haven, at 1 Kings-Row Way, right at the top of Killer Hill. So named, not because anyone had been killed there, Killer Hill was just what my sister and I had dubbed it when we used to deliver the local paper up there. We were both students at the time and trying to get fit and get paid at the same time. We deliberately left Killer Hill until last on our rounds. The gradient was steep and the view from the top, spectacular, with beach on one side and treed forest and scrub behind. A quiet sanctuary of immaculate lawns, fragrant rose bushes and an aura that spelled M.O.N.E.Y. big money. Sadly a lot of the signs also spelled “NO JUNK MAIL”, which technically meant we could not shove our folded up papers in those signed mail boxes. But rich people also liked something for nothing, and also to complain, so if we ever skipped Killer Hill, we would hear about it. And get told off by the boss at Andersons Newsagency, Joe Anderson.

                                    Joe Andersen was one of my favourite bosses of all time. He did once call me into the stockroom one night when I was helping out over Christmas. He tried to stick his tongue down my throat and grab one of my not unsubstantial breasts. But I forgave him, bless him. He had a little too much of the Christmas Spirit his “mouth like a cats bum” wife (his description) had trotted out for the Christmas bash, Passionate Pop, it was aptly called.. Certainly made Joe passionate. And the rest of us plebs just plain mean spirited. I had slapped his face with a resounding crack and then felt awful. He cried a little and told me his wife didn’t fancy him in bed anymore. I let him hold me for a while and gave him a peck on the cheek. This seemed to make him very passionate. But I pushed him away; I was just short of my 16^th birthday after all! My sister was royally pissed off as he hadn’t tried to cop a feel and a kiss from her and she fancied him! I told her it was because she had small breasts and she cracked me one on the arm. No sisterly Christmas present that year!     

                                    The house was in a gated community. I announced my arrival to a speaker at the mailbox after pushing 25. A tinny woman’s voice answered waveringly, “Hello”, (sounded like my Aunt Rose answering a mobile phone She always held it to her ear as if it were a hand grenade about to go off) I announced who I was. Jane had said she would ring Morag the house keeper and let her know I would be arriving. The gate swung open and I drove in. It was as expected. Lush gardens with sprinklers arcing into the air. Little discreet signs speared into lawns that stated “Grey Water” was used. The houses were just breathtaking in their size and magnificence. It often went through my head when I visited these sort of places as to where did these people get their money from? Were they all drug barons? The wealth and sheer ostentatiousness was mind boggling. But good luck to them, I guess.

                                    I pulled Cedric, my trusty noble Nissan Bluebird Station Wagon into the forecourt of number 25. Gravel driveway, Mediterranean style house in stark white with columns supporting a portico. A front garden of lush lawn and deep crimson and pink roses. The garden was a surprise of cottage plants rather than the usual native garden and the effect was stunning. As I exited Cedric I could smell lavender and Jasmine and roses, there was even a wrought iron white arch with wisteria spilling over the top. The effect was charming and very feminine.  I was guessing that the garden was the work of the now ex Mrs Lyons, Leona. She had certainly put some thought and planning into it. The door was opened almost immediately that I had pushed the door button. An elderly woman greeted me with a soft Scottish burr.

“you must be Cass” she said.

“And you must be Morag” I replied.

Social niceties out of the way, Morag led me into the back part of the house. I tried my best not to goggle at the rest of the house. My little abode could have quite easily fitted into the front entry. There was a central hallway with vast rooms leading off to each side. There was a grand staircase leading up from the entry and on the walls hung paintings that were taller than me. It looked like an Australian art gallery with Dobell and Streeton gems and what looked like a Pro Hart on the landing above. I sunk into carpets that spoke of luxury and silence. Morag chattered as we walked, I have to admit I was having a hard time concentrating on what she was saying, my head swivelling at each step. This house was superb. A salute to capitalism and taste the like of which I had never been privy to and probably would not be again.

                      The kitchen and family room were vast. Slate floors throughout and to my left a cream leather semi circular suite that faced a huge brick fireplace. Big enough to roast an ox. The back wall was folding doors of glass looking out on to a pool and a view of the ocean that was literally breathtaking. I walked closer to the view and saw the Pacific Ocean in its splendour. Blue sea, white capped waves, dotted here and there with boats and the occasional dark shape of the surfers, catching waves closer to the shore.

“Coffee?” Morag enquired.

“Yes please”, was my automatic reply even though I was awash with the stuff by now. I never say no to a coffee.

Morag indicated a cane stool that was sitting at the breakfast bar.

“Or we can take our coffee outside if you like. she said.

“I would love that”, I replied, “Can I help? In any way”

“Och, away with you” Morag said. “There is not much to be done. These days, it’s all done with a push of the button and I already have started a brew”

She crossed the room and pulled back the doors, which silently slid back into each other. She led the way to a massive outdoor setting of hardwood and canvas covered director’s chairs. I took a seat and so did she. We sat and looked at the view for a moment, drinking it all in. I was never so covetous of anything in my life. The pool facing us before the drop looked for all the world as if it was hovering above the ocean. Beyond that was a cream coloured safety fence. Just in case anyone decided to take leap off into the ocean below I was guessing.

Morag left me to it and returned within a few moments with a tray with mugs of coffee. She plonked down the tray and returned with an old fashioned cake stand. The like of which I had not seen since a cruise I was on once and went to what the cruise called High Tea. There were petit fours, caramel slice cut in small wedges, chocolate fingers, Cupcakes with pink, green and yellow icing decorated with tiny flowers and silver balls.

“Did you make these yourself?” I asked.

“Of course”, answered Morag.

I love to cook and these days I don’t have as many to cook for. It used to be David, Leona, Jennifer and Troy. But now its really only David and dinner guests. He does like to entertain quite often so I get to keep my hand in that way.

I picked up a small plate and placed on it a wedge of caramel slice and a cupcake. We sat and sipped and munched a little. Thoughtfully Morag had provided napkins and I dabbed at the corners of my mouth in a lady like fashion.

                                 Back to business.

“So Morag,” I began, “As you know, David, Mr Lyons, has asked me to find Troy, who as you know hasn’t been heard of for a while and I just wondered if you could fill me in on any details that you might be able to provide.”

Morag studied me thoughtfully for a moment and then began.

“I have worked for this family for nearly twenty years. I am the housekeeper, have been the nanny, am still the cook and I organise the entire running of the house. It was the saddest day of my life when Leona and Jenny moved out. But these things happen. Luckily David wanted me to stay on to look after him and Troy otherwise I would have had to retire and I am not quite ready for that yet.

Troy was a delightful boy and an easy teenager, both him and Jenny were. There was a little tension between David and Leona over the last few years but they handled it well in the circumstances, they are not silly people.Troy seemed to cope with the break up, I thought, remarkably well at first. But then he started uni and everything seemed to go pear shaped. I am sure David has filled you in on some of it. I didn’t tell him everything that went on as I didn’t want to upset him. He was going through his own time, you know?” She paused a little and took a breath.

I nodded, and snuck another caramel slice on my plate, they were really good. At this rate I was going to have to put in some serious jogging, never mind steady swimming!

Morag continued.

“Anyway Troy started staying out, skipping classes. I would find him still in bed at lunch time. He wasn’t the same boy and when he was awake he didn’t seem to have any interest in anything. I found some “dope” under his bed, and yes dear, she responded to my sharp look at her. I do know what it is and what it looks like. “I liked this woman,” I thought, She was no one’s fool.

She was continuing so I paid closer attention.

“My Grandson went on drugs a few years ago and I went with my daughter and son in law to all these support group sessions. That made us aware of what drugs were, what to watch out for and all that. Came in very handy, I can tell you. We ended up as a family doing an intervention on him and forced him into rehab. He is my oldest grandson and he is fine now. Thank goodness.”

She took a breath, I could see that it had taken a toll on her but what a great Granny, I thought.

“I didn’t tell David everything as I didn’t want to upset him. There was some boy that used to ring up here all the time asking for Troy. Said his name was Tony and he knew Troy from uni. Troy brought him here once and I didn’t like him at all and I threatened Troy with the fact that I would tell his dad, so he didn’t bring him any more. 

“Did you find out his last name? I asked.

“Something Italian sounding”, was Morag’s reply. 

I pulled out my notebook from my bag and jotted that down.

“Would you mind if I took a quick look at his room, Morag? I asked.

“Not at all,” she replied. “He used to have a bedroom upstairs but lately he had started to use the guest house in the grounds as he was smoking and David wouldn’t let him smoke in the house. Come with me, leave that there” she said in response to my tidying up the tray. I followed her on a gravel path that led around the side of the pool. There was a small dwelling nestled in trees a short walk away. It had a small patio of large white tiles and a bull nose veranda of tin. The roof was tin also and I thought how nice that would sound if you were lying in bed and it was raining.

“this is charming”, I said.

There was an outdoor setting on the veranda with a large conspicuous ashtray perched on top. Morag opened the front door and we both walked inside. The floors were timber boards, honey coloured and glossed to a high sheen. The whole house was modelled on a Victorian miner’s cottage with a central narrow hall. To the right was a large bedroom with glass doors leading to the veranda. It contained a high four poster bed with a covered canopy and turned legs and posts. There was also a fireplace with ashes in the grate, wood stacked neatly in a cane basket on one side and a fireplace set of poker, shovel and brush with brass handles on the other. There was an en suite behind a glass lead lighted door, consisting of a hip bath, modern shower and toilet. All beautifully finished in timber lining boards on the walls.

“This is brilliant!” I said.

“Yes: Morag Replied.”Troy did all of the work in here, this was his project and he worked on this for months, getting it just right. From my understanding it had been bought as an old miner’s cottage from a property on the Sunshine Coast and shipped here in its entirety. Troy had done all the piecing back together of the house. Bit like putting a jigsaw puzzle back together.

We entered the main lounge room which like the bedroom had timber lining boards on the walls and ceiling roses and deep pie frill cornices. It was a work of art in itself. There was wide kitchen at the back with an enamel Kooka Stove and wood topped benches and a hanging butcher’s frame with butcher hooks hung with pans and kitchen implements. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble with this dwelling, obviously Troy, and it was a credit to him.

Morag’s pocket began to vibrate and ring.

“Excuse me”, she said, and reached into her pocket and pulled out a very modern cell phone.

I wandered around a bit and could hear her talking on the phone. She broke off her conversation.

“I am sorry Cass, I have to just attend to something in the big house, she said. Take a wander around at your leisure and I will meet you back in the house when you are ready” with that, she left.

I was glad of the opportunity to wander around on my own and drink the place in. I loved this little house. An old miners cottage, who would think of buying one and then restoring it to its former glory. My estimation of this boy went up as I looked around at all the work he had to have done. What a waste of a talent to have gone on to drugs. And also what a waste of talent if this is what his passion was and his father had wanted him to join the corporate world. This restoring was what he should be doing, not sitting at a desk somewhere discussing investments. I could see Troy in this house, sawing, planing, ripping off rotted boards and replacing them with original lining boards. This was a hands on approach to work and the boy should have been a carpenter or builder. Maybe he just didn’t have the guts to stand up to his father and tell him what he really wanted to do.

I returned to the front bedroom and looked at the cold ashes in the grate. There was a flash of something white in there and it was moving. I crossed the room, a tiny gecko was lost amongst the ash and I grabbed the ash shovel and poured the ash and the gecko out on to the grass. I plucked out the white thing, it was what remained of a sheet of paper. There was an address on it. 19 Westacre Street, Yandarren. Qld, it said. I tucked it in my skirt pocket. I closed the main door behind me and followed the path back to the main house. I grabbed up the tray from outside and made my way back into the kitchen, Morag was making goodbye sounds into the phone on the wall and I waited. 

                       “Leona and Jenny are on their way over so if you could wait a few minutes until they arrive I would be most grateful, she said. I have some albums here I wanted to show you any way. Follow me.”

 I followed her back out into the hall and into a room which I guessed was the lounge room. The size of the room was massive. There were two sets of leather couches and end tables, matching. There was one entire wall of books complete with rolling library ladder. I expected The Book Of Kells to be on display so ornate was this room. Sitting in front of the window was a white baby grand. I had a hard time picturing the family Lyons gathered around for sing a longs on a Saturday evening. Morag indicated one of the couches for me to sit on and she disappeared for a moment. I looked around me. So this was how the other half lived. I crossed the room and gazed at the spines of the books on the shelves. There were the expected classics but also some modern tomes as well. Wilbur Smith, Ed McBain, George Orwell, James Joyce, mysteries, Agatha Christie, Ruth Rendell, Sue Grafton. I could have curled up right there on one of those couches and read for the next year or five.

                    Morag re entered the room carrying some photo albums and she plonked then down on the vast coffee table that looked like it had been made from one solid piece of oak.

She sat and I sat beside her. 

This is Troy and Jenny when they were babies. One photo showed a mother gazing down at a newborn baby, wrapped in a pink blanket. Leona and Jenny, I presumed. Leona looked way too good for a woman that had just given birth. Most photos I see of new mums look as thought the poor woman hasn’t slept in months. A fact that is probably true. They also tend to have a look of agonised surprise. Leona Lyons looked not unlike a model, long blonde hair, and flawless skin. She was smiling tenderly at her little infant. The photo was not an amateur job of harsh yellow labour ward lighting. It was lovely, soft lighting, breathtaking. Not unlike a classic Madonna and child pose.

                   The same photo was repeated a few pages later with a blue blanket wrapped baby this time, Troy, I guessed. Babies do not usually do a thing for me. To me they all look like little aliens, with squinched up eyes and swollen features. Let’s face it they have been floating around in a whole lot of fluid for a long time. It takes a while for their features to become distinct and not blurred around the edges. But Troy was a handsome baby with strong distinct features, nice pink and white complexion, and sweet rosebud mouth. He was cute, no question.

I flipped over the pages and Morag excused herself for a moment. I went through page after page of the Lyon’s family history in pictures.

                              There were photos of the kids as toddlers, Troy a chubby boy, hand in hand with his smiling sister. He had a head of golden curly hair and Jenny was dark haired and skinny. The years rolled on from album to album, photos of birthdays and Christmases. Other friends. Troy dressed as a cowboy and Jenny as cowgirl. Faces grinning with missing teeth and then teeth like door knobs fitting into immature faces. There were school photos and beach photos and camping holidays and holidays in the snow. And throughout them all everyone seemed to be smiling or mugging at the camera for effect. The last album was Jenny and Troy grown up. Graduation photos, coming of age parties. There was a final posed family photo of David, Leona, Jenny and Troy. They looked like a normal happy family. Troy was sat on what looked like the couch I was sitting on, Jenny beside him, David’s hand was placed on Troy’s shoulder and the other around Leona’s waist. I looked carefully at Troy’s face. Studying it. His face was brown, strong jaw, even white teeth, still had the blonde curls, worn a little long. He was smiling and looked for all the world happy and carefree. It was an excellent photo. Leona looked like she hadn’t aged a day since the first photo. She looked like Jenny’s sister rather than her Mother. I felt sad that this family was now not a unit. And that the happy carefree boy was lost somewhere in a place he may or may not want to be.

                         My silent reverie was broken by the doorbell ringing. I stood up and waited. Leona and Jenny entered the room with Morag and she then introduced us to each other. Leona was still a lovely looking woman, blonde hair worn in a chignon, diamond drops at her ears. She was tall and lithesome. There had to be a bit of Nordic in her some where. Jenny was slim, dark hair worn long, sunglasses used as a head band. They both greeted me pleasantly and sat down.

“I see Morag has been taking you through the family albums”, Leona said.

Morag smiled and asked if we would all care for a drink. Leona and Jenny were having a wine, white; dry, so I thought what the hell. When Morag returned with a bottle and four glasses on a tray, Leona raised her glass,

“Here’s to a good result at Cass finding Troy and bringing him home.”

We all toasted that. Morag too. Obviously she was as much a part of this family as everyone else. 

“Wow,” I said, “Just a little pressure” and laughed, they all laughed too.

I was anxious to be off and get started on the search. But I thought they needed a little bit of my time, so I fished in my bag for my trusty diary cum notebook and looked at them all expectantly.

“I don’t have a lot of time, but I would like anything that you can tell me that you know of recent events. I’ll skip the part about the fact that Troy hasn’t been himself lately. Acting a bit out of character. I appreciate you have other things on your mind with the wedding coming up, I smiled at Jenny.

 “But anything you can think of that can help me I would be grateful for. I stopped.

Leona was looking a little upset. Jenny crossed to her Mum and patted her shoulder,

 “It’s all right Mum, he will be fine, won’t he Cass?”, looking at me.

Leona patted Jenny’s hand and cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry Cass, every time I think of Troy I feel bad”.

Why, I asked, is it because of you and David?

She nodded.

“I blame myself; we were always close Troy and I. I should have taken him with me but he insisted he would be fine staying here with his Dad. He was in the middle of finishing the guest house over the summer holidays that year and then he was starting Uni which is close to here so it all made sense. We were in regular contact. He would come over once a week for dinner, every week, but then after a while he started making excuses. And when I did see him, he was different. Moody, short tempered.

I had been so tied up with the wedding plans I didn’t see him that much either, said Jenny. I tried to talk to him a few times. He asked me for money which he always took great pains to pay me back. But one time he didn’t and I confronted him here at the house. He had some guy with him that I didn’t particularly like. We had a row, I left and that was the last time I saw him. I feel so bad now that he’s gone missing. He had a girlfriend for a while a nice girl. But she rang me and they had broken up and she was worried too because he was acting strangely. They knew each other from Uni and she said he had been skipping classes and hanging out with this really bad crowd. Real misfits. Rough necks, you know?

I’m not saying this just because he’s my brother but Troy is a really good kid. He’s kind hearted and generous to his friends. That guy I met, I don’t know I got the idea that he was just hanging around with Troy because he came from a rich family. Dad’s away a lot as you probably know and Troy was left to his own devices a lot of the time and he’s a bit innocent.

The atmosphere in the room was becoming a bit sad.
 I stood up. I grabbed Leona by the hand,

“I will do my best to find Troy for you, Leona. And you too Jenny, and I shook her hand also. They both crossed the room to see me out. Both of them looked a bit teary.

“Don’t worry, it will all be alright,” I assured them. Leona looked at me unable to speak but her eyes said it all.

Now, all I had to do was assure myself, I thought, as I climbed into Cedric and drove away.

                      I felt rung out like a wet rag, emotion always does that to me. My last task tonight would be to book a flight to the nearest spot to Yandarrin, pack a bag and see my Aunt Rose and my beautiful boy, TAZ I headed for home, my head swimming with all the information and a little overwhelmed with the task that lay ahead. All the lights were on when I finally pulled up in the driveway of home sweet home. Aunt Rose was out back watering. It was just on dusk,  and the heady small of wet plants and grass filled the air. There was also a delicious smell of cooking filling the kitchen. Roast lamb I would say and all the trimmings. My Aunt was originally from New Zealand and an Auntie Mame character of epic proportions. She even dressed like Mame. Colourful Kaftans, headbands, lots of jewellery. Tonight she was in a peacock blue Kaftan with matching bandana tied across her rich glossy black hair. From her ears hung wooden parrots painted in red, gold and peacock blue. She was as brown as a beech nut. She swam every day, naked as a jay bird and sunbathed for exactly one hour the same. Naked. Auntie mame was an artiste. She used to be a ballet dancer and I am not sure but I think there was a bit of an exotic dancer thrown in her background somewhere. I had seen photos of her as a young woman and she was certainly exotic with a svelte dancers body. She was like an exotic bird of paradise herself and I loved her with every sense of my being. She painted these days. Fabulous bold swirls of colourful tropical landscapes and made a good living at it.

                                        “Cass”, she said.”Finally you are home, “Where have you been you naughty girl”. I am dying to eat and I have been waiting for you”. She gave me a one armed hug, arcing the flowing hose away from me.

“Let me just finish this and then we will have a wine and you can tell me all about your day.” She said.

I answered. “Fine. I will just grab a quick shower and see you in a jif!” I have a tendency when around my Aunt to fall into her patterns of speech. Jif for jiffy, super, marvellous, all being words we use. My aunt has to be one of the most extroverted people I know and I am the most introverted, so we suit each other to a Tee. I opened up my weeny house and heard the thump of a fat body hitting the floor. J.C was in residence and sauntered out to greet me. A leg rub, a long one took place as I opened my mail my Aunt had thoughtfully placed on my hall table. 

“Ouch”, I said. And looked down. TAZ had nipped my little toe. Obviously he didn’t like being ignored. I put down my mail and gathered him up in a hug. He tolerated the attention for a minute and then jumped down. He investigated his empty cat bowl with full attention and crossed determinedly to the pantry. I took the hint and mixed him up some dry cat food with a tin of tuna flakes, he snaked around my legs in ecstasy treating me to another gentle nip. There was one boss in this house and we all knew it was him. With him sorted crunching steadily for a moment I took the opportunity to jump in the shower. I soaped, shampooed and dried off quickly and dressed in soft yoga pants and a crop top. I gathered my still wet hair into a towel and sat on the couch and flipped through my mail. Nothing startling. Bills, flyers, a voucher for a massage at 10 percent off. I put the mail back on the coffee table, patted TAZ again who had sat behind my head on the top of the couch. He was purring now. I headed back to the bathroom, towelled my hair a little more, gathered it up into a pony tail, added a face full of moisturiser and slipped on pair of thongs. I turned on the lamp in the lounge room as it was starting to get dark out and recrossed the garden to my Aunt’s kitchen. She had the table all set for two and was uncorking a bottle of red wine.

“Sit yourself down, girl,” she said.

She brought over a plate of rockmelon and Proscuitto for us both to share and handed me a glass of wine. We both sat and ate for a moment and sipped at the wine. I was once again starving. All the exercise I was doing was working wonders for my appetite. That and the giving up smoking.

“So!”, said Auntie Rose. :What’s been happening””

I filled her in on my latest case and said I would probably be going to North Queensland the next day. She wanted to know where and I mentioned the latest clue I had, the name Yandarrem. Ah, that’s near Katburra, she said, Now I have an old friend in Katburra, its about 40 kms from Yandarrin. After dinner I will give Bert a call and see if you can stay with him. I told her David Lyons was paying all expenses but she poopooed that idea. Her suggestion to stay with a local was a much better idea as far as she was concerned. Bert had a son that lived with him, she said. Both of them were bush experts and I would need that. North Queensland to my Aunt was a dangerous place full of petty crims and strange animals and I was better off staying with people that knew the lay of the land, so to speak. I wasn’t keen to stay with complete strangers. But Auntie Rose said that I was not to be silly and that was that. After a perfectly cooked roast dinner she rang Bert and was on the phone to him for ages.

“Right”, its all set, she said. “bert and his son Luke are happy to have you. They are as I said not far from where you need to go. And as circumstances would have it Luke is on holidays for the next three weeks so he is available to be your guide. They just need to know when you are coming so I thought we’d get on the computer and look up flights and other stuff right now. The closest airport to them is really just an airstrip at Jumbungi. But Luke can pick you up from there quite easily.All I wanted to do right now was sleep off a large meal and maybe watch some mindless T.V., but as always she was right. So we cleaned up and logged on to her computer in her “Office”. As luck would have it there was a flight to Jumbungi, tomorrow  It would be small plane that I could catch from Coolongatta tomorrow at 8.45 am.  Aunt Rose immediately got back on the phone to Bert and it was arranged for his son Luke to pick me up from Jumbungi at 12pm. I paid for it with the card Jane had given me and all was set. We then looked up Yandarrin on the computer and Katburra and all the Tourist information we could find about far North Queensland. There were lots of warnings on Smart Traveller dot com. Croc infested rivers, insects, spiders as big as saucers, mosquitoes that could carry diseases such as Ross River Fever. I felt like I would be travelling to a jungle. And that is exactly what it was a jungle and a desert all rolled into one. Yipee! We gathered up a bag of essentials, tropical strength insect repellent, sunscreen. A first aid kit, Stingose, a small penlight torch. By the time we were finished I was bushed and still had a bag to pack. I gave Auntie Rose a good night kiss. She would drop me to the airport tomorrow.

I went back to my place. Put a suitcase in the corner of my room and started filling it with all the essentials, shorts, tee shirts, a cap, bikinis, a towel, On returning to the room with my toiletries I found TAZ stretched out in the suitcase. I laughed. The big sooky baby. I shooed him away and finished my packing. I then stripped off, put on some cotton P.J.’s. Set my alarm for 5.30 am and lay face down on the bed and went out like a light, the gentle sound of TAZ’s purring the last thing I heard.

                   The alarm went off the next morning and I rolled out of bed once again on to the floor. More sore than the previous day if that was possible. The sun was already up and I did my laps and ate my breakfast still half asleep but me exercise was done and I felt rightly virtuous. I joined Auntie Rose in her kitchen and told her to empty my fridge of milk and other perishables and we were off. The traffic was light and we reached the airport in good time as it wasn’t far. I checked my bags, calmed my nerves with a valium in place of a cigarette and knew I would sleep like log on the plane. I was glad of the valium when I saw the size of the plane. It was a twin engine Cessna with all the bits necessary to fly it was small that all. I fretted just a little but Auntie Rose said she had been in one and I thought “Well if she can do it, I can too.”

Auntie Rose didn’t make a big deal of goodbyes she just said to take care and to ring her as soon as I arrived at Berts house and she was gone. A brightly coloured figure striding away through the concourse. I checked in and sat back waiting to board. I tried to be rational but the thought of that little plane buffeting along in air space was a little disconcerting. But all too soon my flight was being called and there was no time for reflection. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. I have a little ritual I follow when flying. I have found the trick is to watch the hostess do the safety, emergency drill. I am convinced if I watch the whole thing there will be no crash. I watched with rapt attention as the air steward went through the whole routine. I love all that stuff, especially the whistle. I can imagine that when you crash land in the ocean, which we were not flying over, the last thing you are going to be summon is your ability to purse your lips and blow. Mainly because you will be in a thousand bits. Your lips will be somewhere all by themselves providing fish food but I still listened and watched. My little superstitious routine over I settled back in my seat, put some ear plugs in, popped on my eye mask and  went to sleep. The trip was going to take about three hours so I had asked the steward not to wake me. I woke up as we were descending into Jumbungi. Good ride, no drama and I felt fine. That my idea of flying!

The airport at Jumbungi was no more than a landing strip with A ex army Nissan hut attached. No fancy moving staircases or passenger extras for this small place. There were few other passengers and we were told to alight from the rear of the plane and walk across the tarmac to the hut. The air once the doors were open was hot and humid. Walking to the Nissan hut, was like swimming in warm soup. The pilot had relayed that the temperature was 38 degrees and the humidity was about 80 percent or more. He also wished us a good stay.

The trip across the tarmac was not far but I felt like I was crossing the desert and I am sure the bitumen had melted and was eating into my sandals. I had time to wonder what this croc whisperer was like. Probably some country Yoke, with a braying laugh and sweat ringed shirt. Great! But Auntie Rose had said that Burt Holloway was a legend in horsemanship, hunting, fishing and bush man skills. And apparently the son, Luke, Was the same. So that would be good as I had never been to North Queensland. My knowledge of it was small. Hot in towns, rainforests, humid, flies, and scary biting creatures, great and small. Crocodile infested rivers. Just a quick point here, why is the word infested married to the words crocodiles and river. I had visions of the rivers teeming with Crocs, barely able to get out of each others way. Intrepid croc hunters, such as our wonderful Steve irwin would be able to walk over their backs to cross the rivers. I almost laughed out loud at that ridiculous notion.

But I was amusing myself, mainly because I was scared to death. I am scared of just of just about everything that crawls, slithers, stings, bites or has the ability to live in the wild. Spiders, goannas, big lizards (geckos are  O.K.) rats, mice. Let’s not even start on snakes, crocs, and stinging jellyfish. Even talking about them makes me feel nauseated and I will then spend the next hour feeling like every thing that brushes against me is a creepy thing. I once had a large spider in my hair, my now ex husband, yelled and smacked the back of my head with his open hand. I saw the huntsman spider fall to the ground. I was totally creeped out for hours after. 

                           Leaning against the far wall to the hangar/waiting room was a loose limbed tall man, hat,, very, very brown, standing arms akimbo. He straightened up at the sight of me and I thought .Ah Ha! this must be the croc whisperer, brilliant deduction on my part, as he was the only person standing there. As I walked towards him I noticed, brown legs in khaki shorts, buttoned khaki shirt, short sleeves, and what looked like brown R.M.Williams riding Boots. And sunglasses. Certainly sensible attire for the “Bush” country. He  looked the part and I wondered if he would be able to help me find this kid, Troy, Toot Sweet and I could hurry back to civilisation and “normal” life.

Cass Alexander, queried the man.

Yes, I replied, you must be Luke Holloway. We shook hands, he not putting too much pressure on my fingers. Ah, an old fashioned guy. 

Refreshing, I thought.

Now we had our identities sorted, he looked down from his not inconsiderable height,

Bag? , he enquired. At the one time nodding at my small carry on bag and then looking towards the baggage lined up at the exit door.

Oh, I stated, “Yes I have another one and I went to grab it. He held me back with his arm.

“It’s alright, just tell me which one it is and I will get it.

The blue one. With the red ribbon on the handle.

My bag looked rather large and I looked around for a trolley, 

 Big Surprise, none. This little airstrip was not big on modern amenities. frivolities.

I turned back and there was Luke with my suitcase tucked under his arm.

“Well.” I thought, “that’s another way”

He strode away with me trotting along behind, taking an extra skip every so often to try and catch up. I must admit the back view was nice, broad shoulders, slim hipped, nice tight butt, not too big. Men’s butts are so adorable, so little in comparison to our baboons shaped ones. Take a trip to your local gym anytime and watch the women’s aerobics class. Even if the bum is not fat it still looks the size of a long watermelon. In a G string leotard. Not a good look. Ever. But if you like no panty line and don’t mind the feeling of an annoying piece of string between your butt cheeks, wear G strings, go ahead, have at them. 

I am not a fan, I am from the school of my butt cheeks need as much support as they can get otherwise they tend to drag on the floor. An Irish ex flame used to call it my “substantial Arse” He however had an arse the size of a boy. Just a little slight swelling, I adored it. He was also a soccer player and had thighs of steel. The butt wasn’t steel-like as then it would have been muscley and bulge, like a footballers, not a good look. But the thighs, YUM!

I think along these lines when I am nervous and this strong silent man was making me nervous. But maybe he just wasn’t a good conversationalist. Anyway, I reasoned I could talk for both of us, I’m pretty good in that regard. All my report cards said I was bright but I needed to stop mindless chattering. For all that I did hope he wasn’t a typical monosyllabic Aussie bush boy

Luke stowed my case under the canopy of the pick up truck and unlocked both our doors simultaneously. We both piled in and I stowed my carry on bag under my feet and rested them on top. Luke revved up what sounded like a diesel engine and off we went. The air conditioning was turned well up and the radio had sprung to life with a Country and Western Station playing.

“You can change the channel if you want”, he said, politely.

Luckily, Country and Western music is one of my favourite types of music. My part time muso Dad was a big Hank Williams, Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard, Mickey Newbury, Kris Kristofferson fan. I had been raised on it. I love it all. All the she left me took my truck, dog, kids stuff. The more heart breaking the better. Garth Brooks does it for me, how dare they call him “The Thumb with the Hat. When he’s in concert, he might be bandy legged, short, but I would pay good money to remove that hat and to lick the sweat off his hot little brow.

“No, I said, “I like country and western music, it’s fine”

I shook myself out of my self imposed erotic little daydream with Garth, I needed to have a sex life and not just one by myself. I couldn’t recall the last time I had sex. It couldn’t be two years ago, it just couldn’t be. and yet, sadly I think it was. I looked across at this man, this croc whisperer man. He was about my age. Maybe a little older. He had removed the hat. He had blonde hair, left slightly too long. Long black lashes that curled (Why do men get the long lashes, I ask you) Good profile, straight aquiline nose, full mouth, I furtively tried to check him out. I didn’t want to get caught staring at him. He turned towards me and smiled. I swear to God, his teeth were so white against his brown skin they almost glowed. I could see it was going to be a hard job, this one. Hard for me to keep my mind on the job at hand, was what I thought. I couldn’t see the colour of his eyes behind the old fashioned Wayfarers he was wearing.

“Like what you see?” he said. 

“Cheeky thing”. I thought. But to tell the truth I was embarrassed to have been caught staring.

“I didn’t mean to stare,” I said.

“That’s alright, most of the ladies like to stare” he said and he laughed. 

“Big head”, I thought. And decided to ignore him.

“Only joking, Joyce”, he said. Paraphrasing a well known Aussie comedian’s catch phrase.

“So,” he began, I believe your Aunt Rosie knew my Dad, a long time a go.

Yes, yes, I replied quickly, relieved he wasn’t a laconic Aussie Bush Boy, after all. 

“Apparently, they met in the South of France, in the seventies and stayed in touch. I continued on. She hasn’t been up this far but she has been to meet him at Gladstone once.

Yes, he said, I believe she did and didn’t do too bad for a city girl. At that point he glanced down at my heeled sandals, well more slip on mules, really.

I have brought other shoes; I stated firmly, sensible shoes for the bush.

 Boots? By any chance. Luke asked

.No, not boots, I replied,  I thought it would be too hot. I’ve bought some slip on sneakers which I thought would be cool and comfortable if we had to do a bit of walking.

I rolled his eyes, I swear. I felt it, and I looked over at him

What???

Excuse me, Cass, is it? Boots are what is worn here for walking mainly because of the snakes. Boots are hot yes, but they are tough, and that what you need around here as the ground is rough, there’s scorpions, spiders, snakes,

We probably have a spare pair at the homestead.

Homestead, I queried.

Yes, Mandalay.

I love that name Mandalay. It sounds so exotic. I said.

Yes, Luke answered. Apparently my Grandad served in Burma and he was given some land through soldier settlement and that land was where Mandalay is now.

So, have you been up North before, Luke asked?

No, I replied and I must admit even to me I sounded a bit sharp.

No, I repeated a little softer this time. Only as far as Southshell Beach. I named a town that was only about 200 miles north from Beach haven. A popular tourist spot that I had visited once with a school excursion. There is Queensland and there is North Queensland. North Queensland is probably more than 2,000 miles from where Beach haven is. On a map of Oz, Looking face on there is a huge tip of Australia on the right hand side. West Coast is Perth, Top of the middle is Darwin and way up on the right hand side is Far North Queensland. Which does sound like something out of an ancient atlas. Far North Queensland.. Everyone in Australia knows of it, has visited it, or wants to leave it the hell alone. I am of the latter. Anything that far from civilisation is to be shunned. I am a city girl. I do not do “roughing it”, camping or many of the outdoor pursuits that many Australians clamour to do.

I can swim well. I can dive tolerably. I will go to a BBQ and have been known to have fun. Small backyard, nice food, good wine, excellent company, preferably not with small children or dogs. Fun. 

Camping on fore shore of beach in small tent, not fun. Guaranteed there will be stinging March Flies, Horse flies, mosquitos, crabs. All manner of biting, stinging things with pincers and suckers that want to eat you alive, no matter how small. Also there will be sand, fine white sand that will enter into every orifice in your body. I swear. There could be camping on hard surface campsite, not good. Repeat all of the above except perhaps for the crabs BUT, Add, hard ground, and no, those thin blow up mattresses don’t do it. They just deflate enough when you lie on them to allow a layer of rubber between you and the rock hard ground. The toilet facilities afforded you is a small spade and roll of toilet paper. At the pain of my repeating myself, I will repeat myself. Rock hard ground. The type of ground if you hit it with the tip of a shovel, the shovel will reverberate back in your hands.

“Well, you are in for a treat, Luke continued, blissfully I might add. 

We are about to come into Yandarrin, which I heard is the place you are interested in. It has a population of 42 and counting.  There’s not a lot in town, a Pub, a store, a CWA hall and unbelievably a cricket ground. Don’t ask me why. There are a few houses. Most people live out of Yandarrin on farms. They are growers. Avocadoes, tomatoes, cane sugar, pineapples, macadamia nuts.  Or they work at the mines. There’s a mine about sixty kms from here. Mine workers travel the sixty kms to the South. I do. I work nights, filthy work, but great money. Some make the trip home every night. A lot stay at the mine and come home weekends. Some of the single men work 7 days on and 7 off. Some people work at the Oil Rig, off shore, which is also 7 days on and 7 off.  Also excellent money. But the night life on both is not much. To tell the truth the night life is shit, there’s nothing to do except sleep and when you’ve worked a twelve hour day or sometimes 16 hour day, you want to just go to bed anyway. And get up the next morning and start all over again. I’ve done both. I like the night shift I’m doing now. I get to sleep at the hottest time of the day and work through the night when its cooler. Much better. Plus I get penalties for working nights shift and I am saving up for a fishing trawler. My own.

The Pub in Yandarrin might have a few people on a Friday or Saturday night. There is a bigger town Katburra, closer to the mine which has more shops, a supermarket, two pubs and a picture theatre. It also has a small airfield and a motel. But most people out here, remote as it is have their own satellite dishes and watch cable TV. They have computers, phones, cell phones don’t work that well because we just don’t have the towers, but they’re coming supposedly. 

I interrupted him.

Luke, I appreciate you telling me this.

But I am not going to be here long enough to see any of these things. I have to find this boy as no doubt, your dad has told you. Then once I find him I have to make sure he is clean and sober. And get him back to Beach haven in time for his Sister’s wedding.

So the last anyone heard of this kid, he was in Yandarrin, Luke asked.

I told Luke about the strip of paper and the address. I quickly filled him in also about  Troy’s background, the reason for the search, my involvement. I didn’t tell him about the money part. That piece of information I was hugging to myself for the time being.

“He’s a dabbler”, I said

A What?

A dabbler in drugs.

What, the wacky tabaccky or the hard stuff.

As far as I know just the wacky tobacco. But he may be dabbling in speed or worse. I assumed we both knew what worse was.

Humph, he replied, how old is this kid

21 

And you said he comes from a rich family, private school, had a nice girlfriend back home, what’s the story there.

Apparently, he is a bit of a rebel and hates his Father, capitalism, wealth and privilege. Parents split up, he adored his mother apparently. Fell in with the wrong crowd the usual story. And all I have to go on is that address I found on the slip of paper.

Yandarren is so small, any stranger is going to stand out like a small thumb.

“It has a Pub, a store, a CWA hall and a cricket ground. Don’t ask me why, and about four houses, alright maybe 20. But there is nothing there. I won’t stop as I want to get home. But I will bring you back in as soon as you’re ready.

                         We continued on, passing through Yandarrin and out the other side in a minute. It looked as dead as a doornail. I dozed again and the next thing I knew we were pulling up a long driveway lined with bush and trees. I could hear the engine whining, it was a steep driveway and seemed very long. The trees and bush disappeared and there was a clearing. I caught my breath because the first sight of Mandalay was just breathtaking. It was an old Queenslander, constructed of timber and tin, set high off the ground and atop a largish hill. In the front was a magnificent garden of tropical plants. Poincianas and poinsettias, birds of Paradise and yuccas fought for space with Japanese maples and weeping cherry trees. There were cream coloured painted steps rising up to the house from ground level. As was the case with a traditional Queenslander there was veranda area all around. Enclosed with lattice and featuring louvred windows to catch all the breezes. The roof was deeply gabled and painted dark green. The colours were all federation, dark green, cream and touches of red. I loved it and coveted it with all my heart. It was simply beautiful.

                          Luke pulled up around the back, there were four carports constructed of timber also and steel roller doors. Colour bonded also dark green. Luke pulled right into the carport and the shade on the car was gratifying. We alighted and Luke ushered me through a door set in the back wall of the carport. There was a mud room with boots on racks, gum boots and riding boots. There were hanging pegs with oilskin coats, rain jackets and hats hanging from them. There was an open door to one side that looked like the laundry room. Yes I was right, noticing a huge modern washing machine alongside an old fashioned copper and stone washing tubs. I walked on and passed into a huge kitchen. A man was standing at the sink and he turned to greet us. He wiped his hands on a towel stuck in his waistband and shook my hand.

“ Hi, you must be Cass, I’m Bert, Lukes dad, welcome to Mandalay” You must be gagging for a cuppa, he said. 

“I would love one, I answered. But  I’ll just wash up first if that’s O.K.

Of course, of course, come with me and I’ll show you your room and the bathroom”

“Excellent”, I murmured and followed his retreating figure into a cavernous hallway. Luke had disappeared. Bert led me down the hall and opened a door to the right. He ushered me in.

It was a massive bedroom with high ceilings and timber lined walls. There was a double bed all in white with a cane headboard and cane bedside drawers. To my right was a free standing wardrobe with two doors and a middle panel covered in a full length mirror. There were sheer lace curtains at a set of French doors pulled back to reveal the verandah and on another rail were heavier blue coloured drapes. Luke appeared behind me with my bag which he set down on the floor. 

“I just have a few things to do Cass, he said, but I’ll join you and Dad for a cuppa in a minute.

“fine, thanks for bringing my bag in, I said, to his retreating back.

Bert opened a door set in the wall on the right and revealed a tiny little ensuite. 

“You have your own private bathroom. When my daughter was here, this used to be a walk in robe but Luke changed it to an ensuite when he was on Holidays last time. I’m retired and I am seriously thinking about turning Mandalay into a bed and breakfast. So in order to do that we needed more bathrooms. You will be the first to use it as Laurie my daughter, Luke’s sister moved to Brisbane about two years ago.

The ensuite was small but well appointed with a claw footed bath with a shower rose hooked over it. There was also a toilet with a dark wooded lid and a new but old fashioned style hand basin enclosed also in dark wood. The effect was of another time, another era but modern as well. I loved it!

“Now, we use tank water and have two large ones, but let the water run first when you are having a shower. There might be few wrigglies in it at first, same goes for the drinking water”, Bert said.

“Freshen up and make your way back to the kitchen and I’ll have that cuppa ready for you.

I unpacked, and turned on the shower, the water ran a rust colour then cleared, I held out a hand, no wrigglies, thank goodness and stepped into the bath. I soaped off all the sticky sweaty travel dirt. I quickly re dressed in my travelling clothes and left my feet bare. I padded down to the kitchen; Bert was just pulling fresh scones out of the oven. The smell was heavenly.

“Did you just whip those up”, I asked

No, said Bert, I whipped them out of the freezer, just now. But before I retired I was a cook on different farms in New South Wales. I followed the shearers and let me tell you those guys love their food. I became an expert at plain cooking, very quickly. Tough crowd and he smiled. I have a big vegetable garden, and grow and sell some. I also have chickens and ducks and meat I buy once a week with other stuff at  the supermarket in Katburra. All the locals go there to stock up, it does quite quite good business. There’s a train station there and a lot of the fresh produce comes from Rockhampton. But I like the taste of home grown for vegetables and the prices are astronomical at the supermarket. There is a framers market in Yandarrin on a Sunday and all the growers go there and swap or buy fresh fruit, eggs, vegetables. It all works very well.

He had placed a large tea kettle on the table with cups, milk and sugar. He added the plate of scones and butter, jam and cream.

“Do you have a swimming pool”, I inquired.

“No, but we have a dam that we swim in, you have to watch out for the snakes but”

“Snakes. I said.

“Yes, water snakes, little devils they are and can be a pest, but there is a fantastic swimming spot not far from here with a waterfall. No worries about snakes there. I’ll get Luke to take you there. It’s a protected rainforest area. If you want the essence of North Queensland it’s right there in that spot.

Bert called Luke and we all sat and munched and drank, I had cup after cup of the delicious tea as did the others and I saw the reason for the large sized tea pot.

I filled Bert in on the reason for my being there and he asked what the address was in Yandarrin. He seemed surprised when I told him.

“That house is abandoned, I had no idea anyone had been staying there”, he said. The guy that runs the general store does the mail delivery run as well. I know him well, Andy, I’ll give him a ring after and see what’s going on. He’ll be out doing his deliveries at the moment and he gets Hazel, his wife to mind the store , when he’s doing deliveries.

Luke suggested we go to the house the next morning. He said there was no point in going there now as now was the hottest part of the day. He grabbed some short leather boots from the mud room and told me to wear them. At all times when outside. 

“Yes Sir”, I responded in my head but said nary a word. He was the bush expert after all. 

“Oh, and its always a wise idea to tap your boots upside down before you put them on, he said.

Why? I asked

“Spiders, scorpions, little creatures you don’t want to sting you, he replied.

Luke was going to catch up on some emails he said. But first did I want a tour of the house. I quickly agreed. I said I would just ring my Aunt to say I arrived so Luke said he would wash up the afternoon tea cups and plates and I was to come and get him when I was finished. I put the boots in the wardrobe in my room and dialled my Aunt’s number on my mobile. She didn’t answer but I left a message and told her I had arrived safely and everything was fine. With that done, I rejoined Luke in the kitchen and helped him by drying the dishes. We both put everything away and then he took me on the tour. He started at the front of the house, showing me the “office”, which was the first door off the hall, directly opposite mine. I peeked in and there was an old fashioned roll top desk with a fairly modern computer, scanner and printer sitting on it. There was a filing cabinet and book shelves full of books. 

“If you are a reader, Luke said, “Plenty of books to read”, 

I scanned some of the titles quickly. Good mix of old and new, someone was a fan of Louis L’Amour I could see, and surprisingly a lover of poetry as well. Banjo Patterson and Henry Lawson were there as well as some Ted Hughes. Nice!

Of the other two rooms off the hall, one was Bert’s bedroom and the other a lounge room. Bert’s room was a large spacious room again with an iron bed frame and timber side drawers and a tallboy chest. I loved all the timber furniture in the rooms and said so. I love to restore old furniture and Luke said the tallboy and side drawers were originally his grandfathers and he had restored them. He said it was something he liked to do when the wet came. In the lounge room was a Coonarra heater in one corner with a huge black flue that rose through the ceiling. It had a back flap that you could open allowing warm air into the kitchen.

Tacked on to the side of the kitchen was a smallish family room. And off that was a  main bathroom, separate toilet, and the mud room and laundry.

“Where’s your room”, I asked.

Luke led me to the other side of the kitchen and off that was a door which opened on to the most massive pantry I had ever seen. Stocked to the brim with dry goods and cans and sacks of flour , rice and sugar. The sacks were sitting inside tin baking dishes.

“Mice”, was Lukes one word answer to my unspoken query.

There were three timber steps and a landing up to the right of the pantry and that opened on to another lounge room and two more bedrooms and a bathroom and separate toilet. There was a small balcony out the back door of this separate little area, with steps down to a cottage garden.

“This” said Luke “ is my area” My grandfather built this on when he and my Grandma kept having more and more kids. My Dad is from a family of seven. My Dad grew up here and when Granddad died my Dad paid out the other brothers and sisters and took it on himself, him and Mum. She died ten years ago this month. She had a stroke, it was sudden. She was only 53, I was 23 and Laurie was 18.

 A shadow crossed his face.

He continued. “I was living away then but I came home to be here for Dad and Laurie.  I had served an apprenticeship in Brisbane as a mechanical engineer in Brisbane and was working there. But I gave notice at where I was working, and was lucky enough to get work at the mine.  I’m a foreman now. The rest is history and I am still here. A fact he did not look unhappy about.

 We crossed to the back door and went out into the garden. Off to one side was a Hills Hoist washing line and a path that lead to a house block sized vegetable garden. Beyond that was a chicken wire enclosed yard with a hen house and small weed covered pond.

We strolled around the rest of the garden which was massive and re entered the house up the stairs at the front.

“Well”, said Luke, hesitating at the door to the office, 

“I will leave you to it, I will go and do my emails and stuff and you can read or rest or do whatever. Dad will be either preparing dinner or watching the soaps and ironing. Dinner is usually at 6pm, spot on, so I’ll catch you then,”

and he disappeared into the office and shut the door.

I crossed back to my room and started unpacking. There was an old pedestal fan in one corner so I switched that on and angled the top towards the bed. I then lay face down on the bed with my book. I woke not knowing what had woken me or even where I was. For a moment I was totally confused and thought I was back in Beach Haven at home in my bed.

There was a soft knocking on the door, it was Bert’s voice.

“Cass, are you ready for some dinner”, I rubbed my face, I probably had dribbled on to the bed spread who knew?

“Coming”, I called, “ Just give me a minute and I’ll be right there”.

 I washed my face in the basin and looked at my reflection. I looked buggered! I had a pale complexion with dark circles under my eyes. I fished out my foundation that promised instant dewy skin. I applied that and blended it in, then a little blush. “Ah, now I was starting to look a little more normal.”, I thought

Under my eyes I put some Lancome Radiant Flash, no woman should be without a tube. It is a miracle worker. A bit of mascara and a tiny bit of Poppy King’s Ambition on my lips. Poppy King lipsticks are now defunct in Australia but I had a wee stash that I had hoarded over the years and guarded jealously. For me it was the only lipstick that didn’t come off and gave great colour. I fashioned my hair into a messy up do on top of my head with a hair comb and a scrunchy. Right, I was now good to go. Well at least I didn’t look like Lily Munster any more!

                            Bert had prepared Beef Stroganoff and salad with garlic bread. We all sat at the table and piled our plates up, helping ourselves to food. Bert poured a Riesling wine for all of us, crisp, dry, just the way I liked it. 

“So Luke, how did the emailing go?”, I asked.

Bert gave a snort and I looked up at him. Luke was a little red and gave his father a look.

“Fine, thanks Cass”. He replied. End of that chat.

“So,” I began again, “Bert, my Aunt tells me you and Luke are expert bush men and horse breakers. Croc whisperers extraordinaire. Whats it really like to live here. Is it true there is a lot of criminal activity up here””

Both men laughed at once.

Bert replied

I am not too sure about that, Cass. We do know the bush a bit I guess. North Queensland is a funny place. We have heat and humidity for seven months of the year, then “the Wet” for five months. That suits some people very much, because for five months of the year there is no way out of here.

Why would that suit some people, I asked. Thinking that for me there would be nothing worse.

“Ah, well, if there’s no way out there is also no way in. And that suits certain people very well.

Crims, you mean?

Crims, guys on the run from their wives, don’t want to be found by the  child support agency. General druggies or layabouts. Or just people that like to be a bit hermit like.

“I liked to be a bit hermit like, but hell, five months of total isolation, no way!” I replied.

Well there’s hermit like and there’s hermit like. You are a city girl. Hermit like for you is probably staying home for the weekend and reading a few good books if the weather is foul, right?

That’s about right, I said

Well hermit like up here is like being a hermit from all of the world. Living in a basic house, shut away because of the rain and just surviving.

There are some tall tales of what can happen when a place is as unhospitable as this.

How do you mean?

A few years back, the police at Katburra asked Luke to take them down the river in his boat. They weren’t experienced enough to do it themselves. So they called up Luke and told him a couple of tourists were down the river and had pulled up the wrong crab pots. So the police arrive, Luke takes them down the river in his boat and the tourist are there, two blokes. German I think. And the police think now that they were stealing some one else’s crab pots and that’s a big no no here. Anyway they had pulled up the crab pots and in one was a human arm and in the other was a human foot. 

“Gross!”, I said. “Who’s where they”, I asked

No one knew, but that what happens up here is that people can just disappear, lots of ways to make someone disappear. Throw them to the crocs and what they don’t finish the crabs will.

I was sorry I had asked.

Bert was continuing,“There was talk that in the mid eighties two wild life and fishery officers went looking for people that were crabbing illegally, you are only allowed to catch so many and they have to be a certain size,” he explained. “Those two guys never came back, just disappeared. It’s a great place to live and it’s an awful place to live depending on what you are after in life.”

“Like anywhere, really, I replied.

That’s right Bert said.

I groaned aloud when Bert placed trifle in front of me.

“Bert, I said, “You are killing me”

“Don’t be daft,” he said, “As my Granny McKenzie always used to say its only a whiffenpuffen, meaning it hardly counts. So eat up”

Which I did, naturally!

After dinner Bert, Luke and I played cards. They tried to teach me whist and lay down misere and I was getting the hang of it. But the tiredness was hitting at me again, so I helped with the dishes and retired early.

I woke up the next morning, bright as a button and decided I would go for a jog or something. I put on my sneakers and shorts and tee and crept out the front door. 

“And just where do you think you are going young lady?” came a voice, nearly frightening the life out of me.

Luke was sitting outside on the veranda, in the half morning light.

“I was going to go for a jog,” I said, “I was going to keep to the main road not the bush in case of snakes and things.” I sounded like a naughty school girl.

He sighed, “You are a worry city girl, you really are.

Why

Because its not just snakes around here, there’s all sorts, scorpions, bull ants, cane toads,. If you want to exercise I will take you on a horse ride. I swallowed.

A horse ride.

Yes, a horse ride. So go and put some long pants on and a pair of riding boots and lets go before it’s too hot.

Horse riding was not something I had done for a long time. Ever since a horse of Kerrie, my ex’s sister had taken off on me, with me clinging on for a ride of a lifetime. Kerrie who was about 15 had a horse called Diablo and Diablo it certainly was, diabolical would have been another word I could have used. Kerrie had ridden it all over the farm and said it was as gentle as a lamb.

It probably was until I hopped on one it one day. No one was at home on the farm and I was bored, so I had a great idea, I would go for a ride. All by myself.

That horse was clever. It waited till we are at the top of the track on to the main road and then took off at a gallop, but through the trees that lined the road. I was ducking branches and clinging on for dear life. I hated that horse, I realised that it was trying to knock me off its back. I finally was able to pull it up with the reins and turn it around. Then the sodding thing repeated its performance all the way home. Then It turned down the track to home and just walked. I cursed that animal for days and my inner thighs were covered in purple welts for weeks. 

I had had horse riding lessons when I was a kid but the horses were so old and fat that nothing would make them trot or run. They walked sedately and we wobbled along never having to worry about falling off or anything else.

                            This would be interesting, I thought. I jumped in the ute with Luke and we took off for a far paddock where two horses grazed. Luke said he had broken them in and they were both very tame. He was right they were tame and after a while I started to rise in the saddle and we cantered a bit. The sun was just coming up over the horizon and the daybreak was hushed and still. It was breathtaking, cantering down the hill, the wind in my hair and flying across the paddock. I could see why people liked living in the country that is for sure. Every day was like you were born anew to a different world.

Once we were back at Mandalay we made quick breakfast of cereal and toast. It was still only early and Bert must have been having a lie in. I went back to my room and put on some shorts, a tee shirt some socks and the boots, after tapping them of course. Luke was similarly attired and we set off. The ride back into Yandarrin was quicker this time and Luke pulled up outside the address within twenty minutes. The house certainly looked abandoned. The grass outside was knee high, the windows were boarded over, as was the front door. There was nothing in the rusty old mailbox except for a black spider that got more of a fright than I did and scuttled off. Luke and I went around the back and tried the back door which wasn’t boarded over but was locked. Luke went around the far side of the house and I followed. There were louvred windows set up high not boarded over, must be a bathroom, I thought.

“I’ll give you a boost up Cass and you can remove the louvres and we can probably be able to crawl in” Luke said.

I looked at him. He cupped both hands and stood under the window, expectantly. “Honestly, this man must think I am bleeding Wonder Woman or something,” I thought

I scrambled up very ungracefully, I might add, and grabbed hold of the first louvre, the sides tin slides were a bit rusty but the glass slid out after a tug and I dropped it to the ground on the thick grass. I pulled out three and reached for the frame and hauled myself up and over the sill. The inside was gloomy but I found my way to the back door. Drats it was deadlocked with quite a new looking lock. I went back to the bathroom and called down to Luke. He had found an old A frame piece of timber and had it propped against the wall. He stepped up on to it and also grabbed the window sill and swung himself over. He tried the light switch and it came on. We looked at each other in surprise. Not so abandoned after all.

                          The silence was eerie and the place smelled stuffy. Dust motes floated on the air where sunlight slanted in between the slats at the windows. We checked out each room. There were two sleeping bags in the front bedroom and two old pillows. In the lounge was an upturned tea chest with a bong and ashtray sitting on top. Not much else save for a saggy bottomed old couch and two plastic garden chairs. No T.V., No radio. The kitchen held precious little as well. There were a couple of plates and cups sat on the draining board and there was a kettle on the ancient stove. There was a small jar of coffee and a jar of coffee whitener. It didn’t look like any one took sugar, one less vice, I figured  And that was it. Obviously someone had been staying here but how long ago it was hard to determine from the evidence. Could have been last night, could have been weeks ago. The heat inside the house was stifling, so it was not a hard decision to get out A.S.A.P.

We backed out the way we had entered, me stretching my foot out to Luke’s outstretched hands. They were closer than the A Frame that he had been able to reach with his great long legs. I was damned sure he was staring straight up my butt.

Nice view, he commented.

Thanks, I knew it, you pervert,

He laughed as I dropped down and rolled onto solid ground.

He ruffled my hair, like I was some 13 year old, younger sister.

“I was just winding you up, you duffer. He said. “I turned my head when you were climbing down, besides which, apart from the fact you are the most attractive women, in Cooee distance of here, I looked around. No- one else around, what a smartarse, I thought, 

I have a girlfriend., he continued. This said with a certain bashfulness.

Really! I said, From around here? I imagined a farmers daughter, Moleskins, check shirt, Akubra hat, astride a horse.

Nope! From Russia, met her on the internet.

I just looked at him for a moment, not sure what to say. I felt dismay and a little pity as I looked at his shy grin and slightly heightened colour.

He was looking at me steadily and once again I observed that he really was a very good looking man. He had pushed his shade up on to the top of his head and he had clear blue green eyes. They were the colour of South Pacific water, Tahiti, probably. That colour where you can see through all the way to the bottom. Lighter laugh lines surrounded his eyes, the lighter lines in contrast to the rest of his mahogany brown face. For One brief second I thought “Clancy Of The Overflow”. I was standing next to a real life Clancy. And he was probably just as innocent as Clancy from the legendary poem made famous by Banjo Patterson. With those famous opening lines

“I had written him a letter,

 which I had for want of better

I cleared my throat to say something and thought better of it, for now. He probably received plenty of grief from Bert about having an internet girlfriend.

Who knows about these things anyway? That lady in Parramatta hadn’t looked too unhappy.

“Well, you must tell me all about it, this Russian girlfriend of yours. How about we go and have a beer in Yandarrin, and you tell me all about it and we can suss out the locals about this Troy and his pal”

By now, the sun was well up and the humidity had to be well over 90%. Not to be tedious here but when the body is hot it has a wonderful natural inbuilt cooling system. Its called sweat. When the body is hot, it sweats and the sweat dries on the skin and cools down the bodies core temperature. When there is humidity, the body sweats, but the sweat does not dry on the skin. Leaving a feeling of heat that is indescribable. Unless you are an afficianado of sauna’s. I know the swede’s are, but then they have the delight of running out into snow and freezing their tiny, well toned butts off and running back into heat again.  This heat was about 100 in the shade and the only shade we had was Luke’s pick up, which being metal in construction was probably 120 degrees inside.

Thank God, for air conditioning, I thought, but it had barely enough time to start blasting away before Luke was pulling up outside the Pub. I took a longer look at the “town”, of Yandarin, this time. Not much more there than before. As Luke had stated there was a store, the Pub, A Country Womans Association Hall and incongruously a cricket ground. There was a broken down old building that looked like it used to be a garage. A red flying horse sign, affixed up high on a pole out the front.

I could remember that sign from a place near my grandads house. I remembered that he told me the flying horse was Pegasus. And that the sign AMOCO. Stood for American Oil Company. Just the thought of that horse sent me back to Grandads at Canowindra in New South Wales. Hot summer days and Slippery Sams, (long skinny coloured ice blocks he would keep in the freezer for us,) my siblings and I when we would stay for school holidays. We could literally eat hundreds of the things, ending up with red, blue, yellow or green tongues by the end of the day. And an even bigger treat, sometimes he had Jubblies and Razzes. Triangular shaped ice lollies with waxed paper cardboard on the outside that you cut the corner off and sucked on for longer. There was also Cordial that he made in a saucepan with a bottle of virulent green or bright red concentrate and what seemed to be 2 pound of sugar. Once dissolved and cooled he would pour it into large glass Tarax lemonade bottles he had saved and sterilised. He would make us jug after jug of the stuff, cooled off with ice blocks that crackled when they had the liquid poured over. There isn’t anything that can beat a glass of cold cordial with ice blocks in it when you are hot, dusty and sweaty, unless it’s a cool beer with a dash of lime. I could feel the first one going down before I had put my lips to it. So I almost broke into a trot after vacating Luke’s sweat box of a car.

What’s the story, morning Glory, Luke called after me.

What?, I replied my head long dash to coolness and liquid refreshment temporarily halted.

Are we just going to start asking questions or are we going to make up a story.

I had reached the sanctuary of the cooler verandah now out the front of the Pub.

I turned and faced him.

Why can’t we just say I am a Private Eye and we are looking for this Troy boy and see what information we get back. This is such a small place, they are bound to have been seen and we should be able to track them down. 

Luke, looked at me as if I was from another planet. Planet Moron, Looked like.

“People round these parts are very mistrustful”, he explained. The locals have been here for years and their families before that. There are usually only three types of people that come to parts of Queensland this inhospitable. Tourists, who want the “Authentic Aussie “ experience, Genuine workers, like surveyors, wildlife and fishery guys. And The Druggies or the crims. The thing is up here Cass, is that “loose lips, sink ships”, So I would prefer if we don’t go in boots and all but make up a story as to why you are here and see what we can find out. 

I glanced through the window of the Pub. There was a barman and one other man sat at the end of the bar reading a paper.

Ok, I agreed. 

Nodding my head, wanting that beer.

I could say that you are my girl cousin, that you work for a magazine and you are up here 

doing a story on lonely farmers. There’s plenty of farms around and plenty of lonely 

farmers. Should get the conversation started and we go from there. What so you think.

Sounds fine to me. I said, making the mental switch from intrepid girl P.I. to intrepid journalist. I pulled my notebook and pen out of my shoulder bag and opened the door to the Yandarrin Arms (Original name-, I thought)

The coolness was almost sensual and I shivered. I looked at Luke and he grinned.

“I suggest we stay here all day and research this Pub thoroughly”, I said,

He laughed and we sallied forth towards the bar. The place was darkened by half blinds drawn against the harsh sun outside. A mirror gleamed at the back of the bar refelecting bottles of every hue, shining like jewels. My kind of place, jewels and alcohol, that would do it. I parked my not unsubstantial arse on a stool and the barman at the other end of the bar came over. Morning Luke, he said, Haven’t seen you for a while. Hoes things. The barman was short and bald as an egg. He was quite thick through the middle and wore spectacles around his neck. He flicked a glance at me and looked away quickly.

Fine eddie, Everythings fine, Dad’s good. I.m on an extended break from the mines for a few weeks. The transconverter blew and and we have a shut down for six weeks but I’m getting paid for it, so its all good.

This is Cass, my girl cousin from the Gold Coast. She is a writer and and is up here for a bit of a holiday and to do some research for her Magazine about lonely Farmers.

Ah, said Eddie, and what Magazine would that be?

Vogue, replied Luke, before I could answer

Eddie was looking at me now. Vogue, really?

God, was Luke completely without brains or sophistication, I thought.

Yes, well it’s a new part of Vogue they are starting, usually Vogue is just fashion, as we all know,( obviously, except for clod hopping Clancy next to me) but they are branching out to articles. And I am researching this one. I cleared my throat as a hint to Luke to get the drinks in.

Thankfully he got the hint and ordered two beers, schooners (big beers) one with a dash of lime syrup.

That must be for the young lady, Edddie said and raised what would have been his eyebrows if he had any. I didn’t like the look of this man, he reminded me of something. A snake with his shiny skin and head and slightly reptillean eyes. But I mentally shrugged. I had to like him, he was the publican and given that I liked beer and needed information I decided he would grow on me.

He certainly kept a clean Pub, I thought, as I looked around me, The place was spotless. Old wooden floors, looked like original boards, that were swept and newly washed clean. I could still smell that divine sharpness of Pine O Cleen. That crisp odour of eucalyptus disinfectant that reminds all overseas Aussies of home with one whiff.

There was an old man at the other end of the bar from us, nursing a cold schooner as if it was about to be snatched off him. He turned towards us. Rheumy eyes. I was surmising the town drunk, always good for information given the right amount of alcohol, if their brains weren’t too addled, I thought.

Luke, he said. “Where have you been, still working nights up at the mine?

Luke moved down the bar to talk to him and I looked up to see Eddie with his back towards me, counting change at the till. I could see him looking at me in the mirror and I averted my gaze.

“So what do the people do around here for fun,” I asked his back.

Ah, well the locals come in for a few beers now and then and we do meals on a Friday and Saturday. Barramundi and chips, Steak and chips, Schnitzel and Chips, Fisherman’s basket- All 9.95 with a free Pot of beer.

Through to another room I could see a billiard table and an ancient Jukebox. 

“I am guessing that there are not too many young kids around” I asked. “I originally am from a small town myself and couldn’t wait to get out and enjoy all that the big city had to offer. It was a clumsy approach but it was all I had at the moment. Given that I had to deny why I was really here.

No, not too many young people, here, replied Eddie,

This was great; this was going to get me nowhere fast. Just then my phone chirruped and I picked up. “Cass,” came the voice, its Aunt Rose.

Hi Auntie,

“How’s it going up there? I hadn’t heard from you. I am guessing you found Bert and Luke OK.” She said.

I knew that there had to more this phone call than an enquiry about my well being. I go away often enough for my Aunt Rose to be used to my prolonged absences. And given the fact that she hates phones, especially cell phones I was surprised that the number that had come up was her mobile number. She answered that mobile (I bought it for her, one Christmas) like a hand grenade about to go off and always answered it “Hello” in a querulous voice, sounding like she was about 90. She hated it, I could tell, or distrusted it, the same way she distrusted ATM’s, computers and most modern technology.

“I just wanted to tell you Cass, That Auntie Kwia in Christchurch (naming One of Uncle Lens sisters) has had a nasty fall and has asked me to go over and stay for a while.

“Is she alright” I asked

Yes, but she can’t get around properly, wash herself or make a meal. So it’s a break for me and I can catch up with all the NZ farno (family) I just wanted to let you know, I’ve changed the message on the answering machine, stopped the mail and Chris next door is feeding TAZ.. I expect to be back in about a month round about the same time as you.

“Can you still me hear me”

Yes, Auntie, that’s fine, Luke and Bert are both fine. Bert sends his love, 

Oh, great, love back to him, bye then or as they say in N.Z. Hooray! And she was gone.

Luke was still at the end of the bar. I saw Eddie glance again at me in the mirror.

I was fed up with this subterfuge. I am shite at lying, anyway.

What was the big deal? I wanted that mini, I wanted that money, I wanted that boy back in the bosom of his loving family, clean and sober, Bugger Luke, I opened my mouth to speak to Eddie’s back, Gosh what fun, we could converse like this all day.

Luke appeared at my elbow and grabbed it.

“Let’s go”

What?

Let’s go,    now

I grabbed another mouthful of cool beer and lime and we were back out on the street in less time than it took me to swallow it.

I sensed Luke’s urgency and jumped in the front seat and we took off.

Yow! Be careful with vinyl seats and bare legs. Luke laughed; this man was turning out to be quite a sadist I thought savagely.

Grab a towel from behind the seat and sit on that. Remind me when we get home to put a sheepskin car seat cover on your seat, like the one that is on mine.

Bastardo, I muttered under my breath. I leaned over the back and grabbed the towel under it was a rifle.

I sat back down.

“I know this is a stupid question, but what is the rifle for?

Shooting, he said.

I knew it, stupid answer for a stupid question.

Luke looked at me carefully,

” that old man back there in the Pub, The One I was talking to Sid. He said this as if there had been hundreds of them, but I shut up – little miss anal retentive that I am.

Yes, the one you were talking to I prompted.

He said those two boys were squatting out at the house. Apparently the Italian kid’s uncle owns it. Sid saw them one day going past the Pub in a car with the uncle, Mario Tumino. Everyone knows Mario is a grower. And a hot headed bastard to boot. He has acres and acres of tomatoes and mangoes out Yaree way. But obviously those crops aren’t fetching him enough money, so now he’s growing another sort of crop. Always was a greedy prick, Mario. I used to go to school with him. Bad tempered prick as well.

Crop, crop, what sort of crop are you talking about. 

A marijuana crop, you duffer. There are loads of them up here. The weather’s perfect for growing, as is the soil and the fact that you can hide the crops well. And don’t forget Sherlock the sheer size of this place. Any farmer especially if it’s a cane farmer can have a farm of millions of acres, not just thousands of acres. I have heard of properties that it takes three days on a horse to ride to the boundary of. Perfect for illegal growing. Not too many police. Aerial surveillance is only going to show up so much. Marijuana plants only grow to about 6 feet. You can easily grow them along with other plants and there you have about. Each plant has a street value of about $6,000. Multiply that a few times and you got some serious bickies.

                        And some serious people looking after it. According to Sid. People he calls the Mongrel Mob. Yeah, well, as far as I understand it this Mongrel Mob is not the mongrel Mob from New Zealand, well one might be an original. But the rest are Outlaws, naming another biker gang that have come up from the city to guard the crop. And if the kid you are looking for is in with that lot, he has no idea, what he has gone and get himself mixed up in. This is serious stuff. Everyone around here stays well away from drugs and the crops. Those people will kill you soon as look at you. Shoot first, ask questions later.

                        

Great, I said.

There was a loud bang and the steering wheel suddenly shook in Luke’s hands. He managed to steer the now bumping car on to the soft shoulder.

Bugger, Luke said, and hit the steering wheel with the fist of his hands. Bloody Flat tyre.

We both hopped out and he kicked at the now deflated tyre with his dusty boots. He threw back the tonneau cover and began opening up the spare wheel compartment bolted into the floor. He passed me out the tools. His mood was dark, so I stayed in silence and just handed him the bits as he needed them. Wheel nut loosener, jack, and tyre lever. I believed the mini now came with a jack that you just pushed a button and it whooshed up. I was getting me one of them, yessiree I thought. I left Luke to his ministrations and walked to the edge of the green crop bordering it. Sugar cane by the looks. I snapped a stalk off, yes, sugary sweet liquid oozed out.

I had a think about things. So Troy was mixed up in something far bigger than what I or David Lyons knew about. Of that I was sure. Knew about and I was sure David Lyons was just wanting his son back. He and I both thought that it was a simple case of marijuana smoking rebel boy with friend gone to seek adventure and peace to smoke their heads off. Maybe the boys had thoughts of doing some fruit picking. That was why a lot of foreign backpackers came up to these parts. Hardy young souls, happy to sleep at backpackers hostels. The farmers provided buses that came to the hostels at some ungodly hour in the morning. Picked kids up and they would be gone all day, doing hot, dusty, physical exhausting work for a reasonable sum of money and the bus would then return them to the hostel at night. Where the youngsters would then drink and smoke away most of their profits for the day and be back on the bus again the next day. Backpackers seemed to love the lifestyle. Picking seasons were usually short.

                        I did it once when I was about 18 after finishing year 12 and before the university year had begun. Picked peas at a friend’s parents place in South Gippsland. The work was back aching as you had to bend over most of the time to pick the peas. It was hot, dirty work with insects and sweat. Thankfully the girl’s 70 year old grandmother, Nonna, turned back up after a few days away and took back her regular job. I kid you not. And she wasn’t too happy with the job my friend, her grand daughter and I had been doing. She yelled at us in Italian, thankfully none of which I understood. But the word bastardo cropped up a few times and I filed it away for future reference.

                        “Cass” called Luke, disturbing my reminiscing. “Cass get back in the car and let’s go, he flung the tools back in the Ute, just any old way and with my door still not shut we were off.

What are you doing? I asked, Whets the rush all of a sudden.

He said hold out your hand, I complied and he dropped a bullet in it.

 That’s why we had a flat, someone shot out the tyre,

What for

Warning I’d say

Warning for what.

You, me. Told you news travels fast around here. I shouldn’t have said anything to the old man at the pub but I did. Ok. I did ask him not to mention it to anyone but it would only take a few more beers and he gets on the blower to someone. So now someone has taken a pot shot at us. All makes sense really.

Great, now what, I said.

I kept glancing around as if expecting, what, another vehicle to be bearing down on us. Drug crazed bikies hanging out of windows with rifles aimed at us.

Don’t lets panic, Luke said.

They’ve shot out the tyre as a warning. If we give up and go away, they’ll leave us alone.

I’m not leaving it alone. (In my head- visions of sugar plums danced, the sugar plum in this case a blue and silver mini)

I must have sounded a bit sharp as Luke glanced at me quickly.

I’m not giving up I said, softer this time. I have promised David Lyons and his mother and his sister that I will find troy and bring him back safe and sound. Sounds like up here no one cares about anyone else much. It sounds like this kid has been caught up in something a lot bigger than he or his friend realised. You said the police are powerless to help. Not enough men, the vastness of the place. But we have a little bit of knowledge. That can be a dangerous thing or we can use it to our advantage.

                        We pretend that they have scared us off, we stay quiet. We could go to this place, where the crop is but only at night. We pretend I have gone. Scared off. Make a dummy trip back to the station, I get on the train even, you pick me up at the next station, make sure you are not followed. Or get your Dad to wait for me at the next station. You drop me and go straight back home. I’ll hide in the back of Bert’s car and come back. We can do it Luke. We, I need to find this boy; the vision of the mini danced in my head but then so did that young face of Troy. He was a baby for God’s sake. And I had been entrusted to find him. And I decided right then I would find him, no matter what.

I decided to relieve the tension a little                     .

“So what about this Russian girl”, I said. What’s happening there?

Luke was no idiot. “Later, “he said. “I am not an idiot you know; I know you are just trying to change the subject. You are pretty much used to getting your own way, aren’t you?

Yes, I guess I am, Selfishness comes with the territory when you live on your own for a long time. But I do share with my aunt so I am probably not as selfish as I could be, and excuse me Luke but I could accuse you of the same thing.

Luke went to open his mouth, thought better of it and shut it.

There was silence for a while.

Ok, he finally said, we go on looking but you are to do as I say from now on. You don’t know this area, you don’t know these people and besides that you are annoying. You are a bit “Little Miss can’t be wrong”, 

I was stung. To tell you the truth I had been told that before several times. I remember reading it as a character trait of Virgos in general. If I choose to believe in such things. Which I do.

                        Excuse me Mr Smartarse. I may be “Little Miss can’t be wrong”, “but who shot his big mouth off to the old drunk at the Pub”. After you told me to not open my mouth to anyone.

Ok. Sorry, you are right about that. I am happy to go on helping, but if it gets to the stage where you, me or Dad are going to be physically hurt. We stop. Right? It’s not worth it. This kid has got himself in this mess and maybe it might do him good, teach him a lesson, know what I mean.

Yes, I knew exactly what he meant but greed was pushing me on. It really seemed like easy money to me. Money that I wanted and that face of that boy swam in my head too. He LOOKED innocent. He looked like a bit of a devil but not to the extent these mob that had him would be.

                        There’s a lot to be said for being brought up by two loving parents. Or even a loving family. Sure, Troy had an absent Dad most of the time but his mother and sister clearly adored him. That is two steps ahead of a lot of people in the world. I have found that people that are loved as kids, accepted for who they are, are hugged, praised and punished within reason when appropriate usually (I know there are always exceptions to the rule) turn out OK. I have a relative, sister in law, who was brought up in a home all of her life. From the time she was three weeks old. With her four other siblings- all girls. They were not allowed to be adopted out. They all stayed together in the home till they variously turned 18. My sister in Law Carol, married to my older brother has to be one of the most genuine, caring and lovable individuals of all time. She was accepted and loved by her substitute parents- her siblings. Because they were all each other had.

                        The facts in this case I had so far, were, Troy missing, in the company of another kid that could be innocent as well or maybe not. But they had both been caught up in something bigger. Whether it was by design or by sheer bad luck it was my job to find Troy and get him back to Beach haven. In time for the wedding of his sister.

                        Natasha, Luke said

Sorry, I replied

The Russian, her name’s Natasha.

(Probably more like Boris, I thought.)

She’s 28, never been married, no kids; she wants to come to Australia. She’s sent photos and she is nice looking. Long blonde hair, nice figure. She doesn’t write so well in English, she says. But I think she does alright. I don’t know how she managed to get my hotmail address but she said she did through a mutual friend. I thought that was funny as I don’t have any friends in Russia. But that wasn’t important. She writes a great letter. I’ll show them to you. We have been writing back and forth for a few weeks now. I told Dad in the beginning but he just said it sounded like a scam. I don’t. He doesn’t know her like I do. It’s just like talking to Mum. Nothing dirty or grubby, just talking about the farm, the weather, movies stuff like that. She seems a really nice girl. He let out a breath as if he had been holding it in.

                        Well I will be happy to look at these emails with you if you don’t mind showing me Luke, I said

I would be happy for you to look at them Cass, get a female point of view, that would be great.

We both shut up then as we had pulled back into the driveway at Mandalay and saw Bert tending to his garden. He waved hello from a distance away and we hopped out. Luke and I had decided to not fill Bert in just yet on what had been happening. Luke went to his office opposite my room and I used the time to scuttle inside and rip off every bit of clothing in the bathroom. I was so hot, dusty and covered in grime, my skin itched. I didn’t even wait for any wrigglies to clear the pipes I just hopped under the shower rose and turned on the cold tap fully.

Youch, hot water came out, I stepped back out of the way of the spray and eventually the water turned tepid but not cold. It was welcome anyway, just the wetness sluicing my body, Heaven. I soaped my self all over, shampooed my hair. The water at least was not hard water and lathered well with soap or shampoo. In parts of Queensland there is what is called Hard Water, that doesn’t soap or lather up properly. Washing your hair in hard water tends to leave it feeling as if you haven’t washed it at all.

                        I patted dry as rubbing makes you hot again. I wrapped a towel around my head and another round my body and made a dash for my room.

A wolf Whistle came from behind me.

“Nice View” said Luke, as before

 I raised two fingers into the air from behind my back in reply. No mean feat while hanging onto the towel with the other.

“You’re taken, remember!” I yelled back as I fled.

His laughter echoed down the wooden hall. I looked around for something to just throw on. To the side of the wardrobe were shelves. On one were what looked like sarongs,

I poked my head out of the door. Luke, I called, whose is the stuff on the shelves in the wardrobe. My younger Sister Paula’s. If you want to borrow something go right ahead, she won’t mind. I grabbed one of the sarongs in a Ken Done print of blues and hot pinks. It had been stitched up the front and slightly gathered. There was a split at the hem and about six inches left at the top for tying the two ends of material  tight. I tied them. The sarong covered my modesty (nakedness) and I felt like a Polynesian Princess. All I need was a hibiscus flower in my hair. My hair I swept up with a clip, the wet still dripping down my neck and bare shoulders felt delicious. Barefoot, I strolled down to the kitchen. 

                        Bert was in the middle of making lunch. With another giant teapot of tea. There was a delicious smell of baked ham emanating from the oven. Luke was buttering some big doorstops of fresh bread. Sitting on the table were pots of pickles, mustard, relish. A bowl of freshly washed lettuce, a bowl of sliced tomatoes. A plate of Swiss cheese.

                        This looks lovely I said,

So do you". Said Bert. He had pulled the ham out of the oven and was busy slicing it.

Why, thank you Bert.

You; look very much the North Queensland woman now, though probably more the Raintree forest woman than the Outback woman. The fan above our heads turned lazily in the hot kitchen

Do you have air conditioning up here, I said, not wanting to be a nuisance but I could feel the sweat trickling down my back already, the oven’s latent heat stepping the temperature up a notch or two. 

Yes, said Bert with Surprise, we do. But we hardly turn it on as we don’t feel the heat, used to it I guess.

He walked away and switched on a Carrier Weather wall above the far wall at the end of the kitchen. I had noticed it before but thought it looked that ancient it probably wasn’t working. And you don’t like to be pushy in other people’s homes, do you?

Blessed cool air started filling the hot kitchen.

Its heating as well, Bert said, indicating the air conditioner.

Do you ever use it? I asked. Surprised. I couldn’t imagine it ever being cold in these parts ever.

Yes, it can go down in winter overnight to minus 1, so yes we do use it if we are up before the sun, which often I am.

I nodded.

Luke spoke up, “help yourself to lunch, Cass”. I complied straight away. I was hungry. But then I was always was.

                        

Bert was in a serious mood when he finally sat down.

Well, you two made an early start this morning. I smell beer, has it been productive. He grabbed a doorstop of buttered bread and started piling on fillings.

Luke and I looked at each other a little guiltily but I said, Yes Bert it has. We had to do a little research at the pub but it has been productive.

Well replied Bert, I have been researching too. Turns out Andy at the store says those boys have been using that address for their mail, but they called in and asked him to hang on to it till they come and pick it up. One is a blonde skinny tall guy and the other looks spaced out all the time, giggling a lot, all that. He’s dark. Andy says he looks Italian. Big Italian families around here, growers, mostly. The boys call in every couple of weeks and pick up their mail. Stuff from Centrelink mainly, looks like they are both on unemployment. The Italian kid is called Anthony Tumino. Also your Aunt rang and we talked for a while. She’s off to New Zealand Says she was going to ring you on your mobile. I’m trying to talk her into making a trip up here sometime. Bert looked a little wistful and not a little lonely.

Luke filled Bert in on what had happened in Yandarrin. The house, the rumours and the bullet.

                        Luke was edgy and pacing the kitchen,

“If we are going to get this kid, Cass, we can hardly sit around here waiting for those boys to come and pick up their mail. That might be weeks. And someone knows we are here and doesn’t like it. These boys are involved in something big, looks like, (if we can believe Sid,) that they have been recruited to be minders for a crop of “hooch” and stoned out of their gourds for the rest of the time. Luke told his father about our plan to make it look like I had gone. So we could search better.

I was still pissed off at Luke and his big mouth. I am sure it’s a man thing. Do as I say and not as I do.

Bert said, “If these boys are on unemployment, there is only one way to get your unemployment round here. Go into the bank at the Burra on a Tuesday, every second Tuesday, pension day. People start lining up before 9.30 to get their payment. And that day is tomorrow. I know because it’s the day I pick up my pension and I see all of the people hanging around outside the bank..

“But we could be there all day, waiting, I said, naturally thinking of the heat.

“Ah, no” said Bert,” Now that’s where you would be wrong, druggies and drop outs never get out of bed till the afternoons usually, but amazingly on paydays they are there at the bank right on opening. So all you have to do is be there at 9.30. They’ll be there.”

                        Just then the phone rang. Bert went out to the hall to answer it and Luke and I looked at each other over our mugs of tea.

“Sounds like a plan, Princess” We forget the plan about you going or pretending to go and just go into Katburra tomorrow as if we are going to do the big grocery shop. Stop outside the bank and wait for the two little black ducks to turn up. Like shooting fish in a barrel, really. And he grinned.

I grinned back but was not feeling as confident as he.

Things that went smoothly for me were few and far between and usually meant trouble, I was about to be proven right. Bert came back in and said

“Well that’s weird”

“What”, Luke asked.

That place, you went to visit this morning, the house, it’s burning, Andy who’s also a volunteer fire fighter has just been up there and it’s well alight, I think we better go back there, now and see what’s going on.

                        I quickly changed back into clean shorts and shirt and the hated boots. Luke handed me a hat and some sunscreen. We all jumped into Bert’s fine black Valiant S series, the like of which I had never seen. It had push buttons for changing from drive to reverse and a walnut burred veneer dash. It was in perfect condition and Bert told me it had been his fathers before him. And Bert’s father had bought it new.

                        We arrived back at the derelict house which was well alight. Andy who I was introduced to later was busy dowsing the grass and ground around the house, bushfire was always the danger. If the grass surrounding the house was lit by the sparks from the house it could spread to all the dry grass around. And grass fires can just flare up and move at an unbelievable speed. There was an ancient fire engine parked out front and Andy was in charge of a thick fire hose. With. There was another guy dressed up in fire gear, dowsing the house.

“God”, was all I could think, “That has got to be so hot” Imagining the heat inside the suit. Luke indicated the man, “That’s Eddie from the Pub”. Eddie turned and looked at me. He stared straight at me and smiled, lazily, like a cat with the cream. I smiled back at him. No way was he going to get to me.

“Luke”. I said. “I think we go back to Plan A.

                        As there was nothing we could do we crossed back to Bert’s bat mobile as he called it. And it actually did look like a Bat mobile now that I thought about it. I had an idea.

“Let’s call in at the Pub and tell your old snitch, that I am going back to the city. He was there when I took that call from Aunt Rose. We, or you Luke, and I looked at him meaningfully, tell him my Aunt has taken ill and I have to return to the city. Tonight.

                So that what we did. Luke, Bert and I trooped back into those well worn floors of Yandarren Pub. Sid was seated behind the bar this time, a little worse for wear, but he had probably been drinking up the profits whilst Eddie was away.

He greeted Luke and Bert warmly, and he acknowledged me shyly, and we all ordered a beer, which he poured with obvious practice even though his hands trembled just slightly. I had a good chance to look at him now. He would have only been about 55 and looked far older. His nose was large and had ropey veins coursing down it in red and purple colours. I always wondered why alcohol does that to a face. I had an Uncle, who I adored that had the same nose. The W.C. Fields of noses. Bulbous, reddened, veins standing out like a relief map.

                        We sipped our beers and Luke mentioned with the right amount of casualness as to my sudden departure. I thought to myself. Send the wrong message back via the same way the right one had been delivered. Someone had some big things to hide if they had gone to the trouble of firing at us and setting the house we had snooped around alight. Someone was getting forewarned about all our actions or was following us. The bush radar was on full alert and I for one could not understand as to why. I was just a girl P.I., here to find a drop kick kid that mattered to only his family. What was really going on?

                        We finished our beers and left Sid to drink the bar dry while Eddie was gone, “Good”, I thought. For some reason my women’s intuition on high alert.  I just didn’t like Eddie. He was creepy. I remembered his sly glances at me in the mirror. His smooth white podgy hands that didn’t look as though they had done an honest days work in their lives. I have a pet aversion to men’s hands that are smooth and white. They look like a woman’s hands. Or like sausages that you have left in the freezer unwrapped for two long. Almost luminescent white. I didn’t let on to Luke or Bert about how I felt about Eddie. Maybe now in hindsight, I should have. But we are all wise in hindsight aren’t we. Told you my psychic ability is not that developed.

                        So as we sped back along the road to Mandalay we devised our plan. Bert would leave now for Gladstone, do a grocery shop that would take a while, have dinner somewhere, probably in one of the Pubs and wait till the arrival time of the 8.10 train I would be on. Then he would pick me up; bring me back to the house. It was agreed I would stop taking any calls from David Lyons. I could always explain it away as that the phone had no reception, later. Luke and I would drive to Goondi and make it look like he was dropping me off for the train heading back to Beach Haven. We weren’t stupid enough to believe, that our story would be believed just like that. We fully expected that we would be checked up on. So we had to make it all look believable. And I would have to remain hidden for the rest of my time at Mandalay.

                        Bert duly dropped us off, getting me to run inside and fetch the very necessary list of essentials that was stuck on the fridge inside. I chased away two geckoes near the front door, they were all of 3 inches long.

”I was getting so brave,” I thought.

I grabbed the list and turned towards the hall, the rug near the back door caught my eye for some reason. I knew what it was, it was moving at one end.

“Funny”, I thought.

Idiot that I am, I decided to lift the corner of the rug.

A coppery smooth round shaped head popped out.

“Fuck”, I yelled and ran. Luke and Bert met me at the front door.

“What”, they said; I looked behind me convinced the snake was right at my heels.

“There’s a snake, a snake in the kitchen. By this time I was standing on one of the Veranda Chairs. Luke and Bert had disappeared inside and I could hear silence and then loud laughter. I stayed right where I was. Both men returned.

“Its only Bessie”, Luke said.

“Who”, I replied.

Bess, she a carpet python, she slides around outside’ likes to sun herself outside in the garden sometimes. Occasionally she crawls up in the roof and sheds her skin, she’s beautiful, eats vermin, and does no harm. We should have told you about her.

“I’m not getting down,” I said. “Not unless Bess is outside. They assured me and I finally was persuaded down off the chair but not without some arguing on my part.

                        I had had just about enough of this place, I thought to myself angrily. I left Luke to his own devices and went and took another shower. At this rate I was going to die from snake, spider or some other horrible creepy crawly bite or shrivel up like a prune from all the showers I was taking. Big choice! I made it a cold quick shower and spend a bit of time smothering myself in Sorbolene Cream. I piled my hair up into a messy pony tail. high on my head. I would have killed to be back in Beach Haven, sitting at Buddies on the Beach, sipping a large mug of Skinny Cappuccino, all frothy and creamy on the top. I almost groaned aloud in frustration. There would be a breeze coming in from the ocean wafting up the smell of Hawaiian Reef Oil and salty sea. This sort of thinking was going to get me nowhere. I focused back on the picture in my head of the blue and silver mini

. “Right, Alexander, back to work” I told myself.

                        I picked up my suitcase, didn’t put anything in it of course and placed it outside of my door. I had changed back into my poplin skirt, shirt and sandals. I saw Luke opposite in the front bedroom that they had converted into an office. He was sat hunched over the computer. I crept up behind him,

“Caught you”, I said and put my hands on his shoulders.

He jumped guiltily and closed down the page he had been concentrating on.

“That’s alright; I’ve seen porn before, Lucas. I joked. He laughed and replied,

“No, I was just replying to my little Russian Bird”

“Well, don’t let me interrupt you, I said.

I was going to cook dinner if you just show me where everything is.

Like looked relieved at my non interference in his private affairs and immediately rose up out of the chair and escorted me to the freezer and well stocked pantry. I eyed the kitchen mat with caution. Luke caught my glance

“Bess, is banished back to the garden, most snakes are really gentle creatures. She never usually would come inside but she likes to play with us sometimes” He said. Snakes are cold blooded and sometimes they pick a nice spot to warm up .In the sun, usually. So you may see her sunning herself outside sometime. But most snakes are more scared of you than we are of them (Bullshit! I thought) I tuned him out after that.

                        He showed me the well stocked chest freezer, all the items well marked, Beef, Lamb, A huge ham, Turkey, chicken, whole and pieces, Fish, frozen vegetables, potato wedges, pies, meat and apple, frozen berries, cakes, scones – so much food. I was surprised that Bert needed to buy anything. The pantry was the same, dry goods, lentils, peas, soup mix, flour, spices, and baskets of potatoes still with earth clinging to them. 

Dad has a great Vegetable garden out back, Luke said

There are usually always fresh potatoes, peas, tomatoes, pumpkin, squash, cucumbers, green beans, sometimes raspberries and strawberries. What we don’t eat fresh, Dad freezes or puts in jars. Sometimes he makes Jam. Since Mum died and he’s virtually retired, it’s like he is Mum, know what I mean?

                        “What do you want for dinner?” I enquired of him.

“Surprise me”, he said and wandered away to play with his Russian Doll again.

I was delighted with that idea and decided to make Mustard Chicken with fresh baby potatoes and mint peas. With fresh raspberries and cream or ice cream for dessert. I dragged out the Sunbeam Frypan from the cupboard. Left it on low and sprayed it with some oil while I waited for the chicken pieces to defrost in the microwave. I gathered all my ingredients and placed them on the bench top. Multigrain mustard, honey, flour, egg, cream. I set a pan on the stove of water and scrubbed the new potatoes, leaving the skins on. I grabbed another smaller pot from the cupboard and filled that too with water. I added a packet marked Baby Peas from the freezer and a pinch of salt and another of sugar. I was in my element cooking, stirring, frying mixing. I found a Kenwood Chef in the pantry with the original glass bowl and I turned that on with about 350ml of cream in it to whip. I washed the raspberries and placed them in a glass bowl with a sprinkle of sugar and popped them back into the fridge to chill. I added some vanilla bean to the cream, scraping down the sides, regularly so that it was all well mixed.

I set the table for two and called Luke for dinner.

                        He grinned wolfishly as he sat down, 

“Wow, Cass” he said. “You are a good cook, is there no end to your talents?

“You haven’t eaten it yet, I said, but I pretty much knew that it would taste good. I am not a flamboyant cook but a good solid one. Husband was a plain eater, a real meat and potatoes man and I didn’t get to experiment much. And cooking for one doesn’t hold the same appeal as cooking for someone you love.  So it had been a while since I had cooked anything. I had lately been subscribing to the lazy single girls diet of frozen healthy meals for one. Luke and I were quiet as we munched away, it was delicious. If I do say so myself. And the fresh raspberries were divine with the vanilla cream. I am sure I felt my not unsubstantial arse spread a little, right then. Luke had poured out a nice crisp Chardonnay with the meal and we polished off an entire of bottle of Leaping Lizard between us. I sat back as he made coffee and decided that I would start back at the gym as soon as I was back at Beach Haven.

                        The phone rang. Luke crossed to the hall to answer it and I quickly undid the top button of my skirt. He came back and said

“That was dad; he stopped in to see his brother, my Uncle Graeme and Auntie Ina. So he’s having dinner there and he rang to remind us it will take us a good 40 minutes to drive to Katburra. So we are going to have to leave soon.

I looked at the clock and realised that time had got away from us. Luke was very relaxed company. The ride to Katburra was quiet. The radio playing Classic Hits in the background. Dark came quickly here in Qld. There was no dusk as there was in the Southern States. One minute it was light and the next dark. I had the window down and the smell of warm earth and hot bitumen assailed my senses. I guess I must have dozed and the next thing I knew we were pulling into the car park of Katburra railway station.

                        We both acted like I was doing the big goodbye thing. Luke was speaking louder than normal. Entering into the playacting with a little gusto.

“Well it’s a shame Auntie Rose took sick, Cass: he said. But I’ll keep an eye out for that kid that’s gone missing for you.” He had grabbed my case and swung it out as if it was a lot heavier than what it was. We entered the station, no one there. 

“Looks like you have to buy your ticket at the end stop, said Luke, and winked. We were both trying hard to not look around as if we might have been followed. There had been light traffic on the way to Katburra going both ways but we had decided earlier to not watch for a tail. We had both decided that there probably was. Not much we could do about it.

                        We could hear a train approaching from a distance and we wandered out on to the platform. Luke put down my suitcase. Well, goodbye Cuz, he said and I thought he was reaching out to hug me. I moved towards him and he pinned me against the wall of the platform in a kiss that was not cousin like at all. It was hot; I swear I felt my thighs burst into flames. He kissed me thoroughly, expertly, pulled back, cocked one eyebrow at me and said,

“: See you later” and was gone.

“Bloody hell”, I thought, “where did that come from”,

I wondered what he practiced on to get his kisses like that. Maybe he was just a natural or maybe he practiced on the back of his hand like a teenager. Whatever. I was still feeling the effect right down to me knees. The train arrived and I sat down in a corner, pulled out my new Steven King and thought about nothing but that kiss.

                        Bert was waiting and we took off. “Have a nice dinner”, I asked politely.

“Lovely Cass thanks. Not quite as good as yours by the looks”

Pardon, well, he explained, you’ve either spread lipstick all over your face deliberately or you have been thoroughly kissed.

I pulled down the visor and looked in the small mirror. Yes, lipstick all over my top lips. Great!

“Ah, well, that was a surprise”, Luke wanted to make our goodbye authentic looking.

“Kissing cousins”, commented Bert. “Pretty witty for an outback man”, I thought.

He turned up the radio and we drove the journey home in companionable silence. I ducked down in the front seat when we neared Mandalay and Bert pulled up in the garage where he housed the trust Valiant, closed the door and we entered the house from the inner door.

                        Luke had all the curtains drawn and the air conditioner was humming away. My phone vibrated in my pocket, David Lyons the display screen said. I clicked the call off. He was not going to be happy but I figured I’d have more to tell him tomorrow. Fingers crossed we could nab this kid, or even kids outside the bank tomorrow morning and lock him up here to dry him out till we knew he was clean. Or seeing as this was not so safe anymore maybe somewhere else. Bert turned on the T.V. in the corner, I squinted at it. Was that a Rank Arena? It certainly looked like it; my parents had one, the lowboy. At the time of colour televisions introduction into Australia, a Rank Arena was the ultimate in T.V.sets.back in the mid 70’s.Bert had sat back on the old horsehair couch to enjoy some mindless television. I looked at Luke. 

“Thanks for the kiss”, I said not without some sarcasm. He just grinned- no shame. “It was a joke, Joyce” 

“Your father saw me with lipstick all over my face”, I said. “It was embarrassing!”

“Dad won’t care. He knows what a joker I am”, Luke replied. “I don’t get much practice kissing attractive girls, out here”

“I understand that Luke, but this is strictly a professional relationship, we are up against some pretty weird people by the looks of it, and besides aren’t we supposed to be cousins? I just looked at him and all he would do was grin. There was a part of my anatomy that was starting to warm up and stir like a snake that had been asleep.

                        I showered again, called goodnight, to the “Boys” as I had begun to think of them. Began reading my book again and went out like a light. The sun was peeping round the edges of my blinds when I woke up the next morning. I quickly dressed in shorts and a tee shirt and sneakers. I knocked on Troy’s door down the hall. “Troy, I whispered, “Are you awake?”

“Mmmph”, came the reply.

“I thought I’d go for a walk, but I don’t want to go on my own” I said.

“Mmmph” again and then he appeared in the doorway. All tousled hair and bare chest, Mickey Mouse boxers, oh please!

“You must have had a late one”, I said.” How is The Moscow Mata Hari?”

Troy didn’t even bother to reply. He rubbed a hand over his face.

“Give me five minutes and I’ll be right with you”

I went into the kitchen and it was starting to warm up already. I peered at the clock. 5. 45 Am. I checked the floor for any sign of Bess,” No snake, always a bonus”, I thought. I flicked the Russell Hobbs kettle on that my parents had also had in the 70’s. This house was a salute to the seventies. On one wall in the family room which was a continuation of the kitchen, was an eight track tape system complete with reel to reel tapes. Jesus Christ Superstar, Kris Kristofferson, Melanie Safka, Bob Dylan, and Rolling Stones I read on the outside of the canisters. There was a stack of Vinyl records as well and a record player deck atop a stacked amplifier and cassette tape. I had leafed through he records yesterday, all the classics, Atlantic Crossing by Rod Stewart, Bob Seegers, Hollywood Nights, Dire Straits, Fleetwood Mac, Linda Ronstad, Hotel California, and Bat out of Hell.     Nostalgia City.

                        The kettle clicked off and I quickly made two coffees, I was not, repeat not exercising without some caffeine to jolt me awake at least. Luke joined me and we sat there in gloomy but companionable silence. I read somewhere once that 80% of people get up at 6am and contemplate their lives. And hate them. I think it’s a morning thing. I myself hate the mornings. And prefer for people not to converse with me until I have had two caffeine hits at least. My sis on the other hand is a morning person who sings, speaks cheerily and acts all happy. I must admit, there many occasions when we were teenagers I would have cheerfully murdered her. Well not cheerfully, if it was before coffee time.

                        Luke and I entered the garage by the inner door and climbed inside the bat mobile. I ducked down in the front floor well and we were off. Luke said there was great place for a bush walk and swim if we wanted it not too far away. I felt that I had to do some exercise. Eating at the Holloway’s was far too seductive and I would soon start to see the ill effects. I like food and refuse to give it up, so I have that sort of metabolism that has to exercise. In my profession you never know when you have to take off at at a dead run and if you are packing an extra twenty pounds you are going to feel it.

                        Luke stopped the car after about ten minutes and I looked around me. Perfect. We were at the top of a bush track that wended its way down towards a rainforest gorge at the bottom. We began our descent, rough hewn timbers marking occasional steps. We kept up a steady pace and talked quietly at the same time. All around us the bush was just starting to wake up. Birds chattered from trees. Some of the trees began at the bottom of the gorge and grew all the way to the level at the top, a distance of some 200 feet. This was a National Forest Treasure. There were a few signs that said waterfall and Halter Creek were awaiting us at the bottom of this walk. The sun was starting to make its presence felt but the further we walked down the less we felt it or saw it. 

                        I could feel the sweat trickling down my back none the less. I thought to myself.” Coming back up was going to be fun” as the gradient was quite steep. We had to slow our steps so we weren’t stumbling or tumbling straight on to our heads or bums. Then as we rounded one bend there was a wonderful sight. A large waterfall with a ledge beneath. There was a large hole in the rock ledge worn through by years of the waters steady fall. Below the ledge was a darkened rock pool. I looked questioningly at Luke. One word, I said, “Safe”

“Safe”, he agreed.

           I stripped off to my bikini underwear, hell it looked like a swimsuit. And dived in. The water was divine, cold, cold, but so refreshing. It was the coolest I had felt since I had come here. The bottom of the pool was sandy and could be seen from the edge. Luke jumped in with a loud Tarzan yell. Typical boy, I thought. We swam and rolled like porpoises, blowing water out through our mouths. Luke went up to the top of the ledge and jumped into the water. I ran after him. And did the same. I went to do it again and again. The feeling was exhilarating

“You know those bathers of yours are completely see through”, commented Luke.

I looked down in confusion, sure enough they were.

“You could have told me sooner”, I gasped. Grabbing my tee off the bush I had placed it on.

“What and spoil all the fun?” And he laughed. “I want to show you something”

“Better not be another snake,” I muttered.

He led me down the path again and around the back of the waterfall.

“Where are we going”, I asked.

“Stop asking so many questions and just follow me O.K. and trust me for once”

I wasn’t about to trust him after that kiss, but I followed. Under the curtain of the waterfall was a thin walkway of stone. It was unbelievable. The water was roaring down to our left in a sheer curtain and we hugged the wall and crept on. Then there was a ledge and a cave. The entrance to the cave was wide and dry. Unbelievable. It went back about twenty feet and was about twelve feet high. It was a cavern in the rock hidden behind the waterfall. 

“How did you find this I said?

When I was just a kid, I and my friend Simon used to come to this waterfall all the time. Ride our horses out here and swim and climb. Simon was far back against the waterfall one day and he could see it. This black hole. So we searched all the paths to find a way in. We couldn’t find a way so we went back home and came back another time with a couple of machetes and hacked our way through the bush till we reached it. Took us nearly all day but it was worth the delay. Ever since then he and I didn’t tell anyone about it. It was our secret. We used to camp out here in the cave, light a fire and we were hidden from the rest of the world. Pretty cool, huh?

                             I thought it was delightful. There were ashes from a fire in the middle of the room. Luke said there was an airhole at the back that allowed for ventilation so they didn’t get smoked out. This was real cowboys and Indians stuff. Luke said I sometimes come here when I just want to get away.

“Man in his cave stuff?” I asked. 

“Something like that, he replied.

So where’s Simon, these days? I asked.

He went to America to be a stockbroker, he was killed in the attack on the Twin Towers, was his reply.

“I am so sorry”

“Yeah, good friend Simon, he was funny and smart and unlike me knew when to keep his mouth shut”. Luke grinned at me ruefully.

“Race you back to the car”, I said, more to break the mood than anything.

I took off with a Tarzan like yell and had him beat till about half way up the track. He tagged me on the shoulder and we both went down laughing. We rolled on to the grass at the side and laughed till we almost cried. Then we lay down side by side. He lifted up on one elbow and looked at me.

“You’re beautiful, you know that.

No I’m not.

Yes, you are. He shifted closer to me.

“No I’m not and if you try and kiss me again I’ll scream, I said. Besides which you are taken or have you forgotten and so am I. I was lying but he didn’t know that. He was such an innocent man and I was a big mess emotionally.

I stood up.

“Time we went anyway,” I said

By the time we had ascended once again up the walk our shorts and tees were almost dry. I felt great to have exercised and decided I was definitely coming back here.

                        On the way home I repeated my performance of sitting in the front well. Luckily these old valiants had plenty of leg room. It was almost 7am when we walked back into the kitchen at Mandalay. The smell of bacon and tomatoes greeted us. Bert was busy at the stove and I hurried to my room to get changed. My phone was vibrating in the middle of my bed. David Lyons, it read. I clicked off the call again, “God, this man was going to kill me”, and I joined the “Boys” back in the kitchen.

                        We all sat; there was a dish of bacon, a dish of tomatoes with chopped bacon and cheese, and a dish of poached eggs. Another plate had hot toast on it. We all piled in and I had to admit I was beginning to get used to these Farmhouse breakfasts.

“You should definitely open up Mandalay as a Guesthouse, Bert,” I commented. “This place is lovely and the cook deserves a medal.”

                        Before Bert could answer, the phone rang. Bert excused himself. Luke and polished off a large pot of tea between us. Bert sat down again, a bit wearily I thought. I looked at him. Uh Oh.

“There was a body in that house that burned down. A body of a young kid.  Bert said, and looked at me carefully. The police from Yandarrin are there now and going through the ashes. Andy just rang to tell me.

 I didn’t know what to say all I could think of was that phone flashing at me from the middle of the bed, David Lyons.

“Cass, it is not necessarily Troy”, Luke said.

“No”, agreed Bert.

I knew that but that still meant a body, a young mans body. Someone had lost their life, and it was since I had come here, snooping around, I felt responsible. I told them both how I was feeling.

The body was burnt beyond recognition, said Bert so we won’t think about it who or why just yet, no point in beating yourself up about it just yet.

I knew he was right but I felt sick. I looked at Luke.

                ” Well let’s get off to the bank. I said, “And I am paying you guys for the cost of the petrol I am burning up for you and all this food. They both ignored me and I went and grabbed my bag. I grabbed my cell phone and turned it off altogether. “Please don’t let it be Troy”, I whispered to myself, “Just don’t let it be Troy” I could see his lop sided grin, that tousled blonde hair. The promise in his eyes of the man to come. The softening of David Lyons face when he spoke of his son, the tears in the eyes of his sister and mother. I couldn’t deal with this. I was one person, a female no less, that was in way over my head. I felt frustrated. And not a little scared.

                        Bert drove with Luke as passenger in the bat mobile. I lay full length on the back seat with a blanket pulled over me. I must have fallen asleep, tired from my walk and swim. Luke and Bert’s voices drifted in to my consciousness, a little louder and a little louder bit like turning up the radio dial slowly. They were arguing quietly. I tuned in.

                  “Cass is in danger and so is that boy, if he’s not already dead,” Said Bert. I felt sick, what if it was Troy, burned to death in that dusty old house.

Luke was impatient, “You were the one that agreed to help, and now you want to back away, rid ourselves of her, she’s a girl, she’s on her own and she needs our help. She’s no bush skills, she hates snakes and spiders. She’s no chance of survival without us and besides the body might not be Troy’s, might be the other kid Tony. Or someone else altogether.

                 “Anyway”, Luke continued,”They think Cass is gone and we are on our own. If anyone is in danger it’s us. And if it is Mario Tumino that is the head of this operation then we are one step ahead of the game. The guy has a tiny head with a large body. Tiny head with a tiny brain. I used to pummel the shit out of him at school and I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. Fat little wog. 

“Phew”, I thought,” that was the longest speech I think I had ever heard Luke make” I stretched loudly and sat up.

“Ah, the princess is risen”, said Bert

“The Princess with the pea, I murmured, realising I had been asleep on top of the seat belt buckle and it had dug into my back ribs but I had been too comatose to notice it. I rubbed the weal.

“So, what’s happening, where are we, are we there yet, I asked. I was eager now to get on with the job, see whether Troy would be there, he just had to be I told myself. I was effectively, shutting out all the other voices that disagreed. Troy was going to be there, and he was going to be OK.

                        Bert stopped at a café and bought some take away coffees and grabbed three copies of the local paper. It was now about 9.15 and we were parked down from the bank and on the opposite side. We had a good view of the door. True to what Bert had said people had begun forming a queue outside. No doubt smart customer service people, inside the bank, had lain on extra staff to cope with this extra fortnightly demand, but I doubted it. We were all perusing the local paper; I slumped down on my spine a little. I love local papers, there were ads for service, a small real estate section and even a horoscope column .Virgo’s said

Virgo

Aug 24 - Sep 23

Think back to a situation in which you once felt scared. Remember how someone intimidated you - or took advantage of your innocence? Recall a time when you felt you had no other option than to accept something unsatisfactory. Now imagine the wiser, more experienced you, dealing with the same challenge. You would not stand for a lot of what you put up with then. OK. Now. What are you putting up with at the moment? Why? The 'future you' wants to tell the 'present you' to be stronger and braver. 

Ha, No more Miss Scaredy cat, I had been in a situation before where I was scared, my innocence was taken advantage of and I had no other option to accept it, or so I thought at the time. Well things were a lot different now. I held the newspaper up to my face and poked a hole in it, so I could see out. I was looking straight at Troy, I was sure; he was in line chatting with what looked like an Italian kid with longish black curly hair.

 I said,” There he is, guys, I am sure that’s Troy near the end of the line, and he’s with what could be his mate. Tony. I was so relieved I can’t tell you. Luke and Bert looked out. The windows were tinted anyway, the usual Queensland legal tint. I.e. as much as you could get away with. But you can’t be too careful when dealing with crims, especially ones that had a lot of money at stake. We decided that Bert would just go and collect his pension same as any other day and if the boys came out before him. He would act like he had forgotten something and start following them on foot. If they then jumped into a car, he would return to us and we would follow them in the car.

                        Bert exited the car and sauntered casually over to the now quite long line outside the bank. He wasn’t that far away from troy and pal and by the look of him was tuning into their conversation. Luke and I devised our next steps. Obviously our hoary ruse of me leaving on the train and doubling back had worked. Maybe. We could have grabbed Troy off the street right then and there but we weren’t sure we would not be putting him, Tony, Bert or ourselves in danger. There was also the small matter of a body at the abandoned house, which was not our concern for the moment. 

                        Hopefully the two boys were in a car. I racked my brain to remember what car David Lyons had said he had bought Troy. I stared at something black, the interior of the car (Feng Shui says, if you can’t remember something- stare at something black and the answer will pop into your head soon). Billy Connolly calls Feng Shui the smell of bullshit wafting through a room. But the memory trick usually works for me,

“A Hyundai Excel”. I said.” That what David Lyons bought his son “A Hyundai Excel.

“Shouldn’t be hard to find” said Luke, “Seeing as most vehicles up here are four wheel drives. There’s a Hyundai Excel sitting on the road over the other side, looks a little worse for wear, dirty, not new, sound like the car?”

                        “Yes, could be”, I replied craning my neck around to check out any other vehicles behind us. No Hyundai’s in my line of vision, anywhere. Luke shuffled over the bench set and started the car. The air conditioning came on with an icy blast, thank God. We waited. Tony and Troy came out of the bank and made directly for the Hyundai Luke had spotted. Bert also exited the bank and crossed to where we were. Luke rolled down the window,

“Passenger side Dad” was all he said. 

                Bert nodded and complied and Luke swung a U turn on the wide street and waited in a shaded area near a park for the Hyundai to overtake us. It didn’t take long. The silver hatchback flew past us at rate of knots and Luke leisurely swung our big tank out after it. I could see his wisdom, stay well back and not let them think they were being followed. Luckily they were heading back out of town they way we would have been anyway. I was on high alert. My adrenalin was kicking in, I could feel my fight or flight response kicking in and my heart rate was up. I sat back and tried to steady my nerves a little. Traffic was light on the way back to Tam Barra. The Hyundai Luke easily kept in sight nearly all the way. We came around a bend in the road and it was gone. But its dust trail was easily spotted. Down a dirt track to the left of the main road, dust hovered in the air.

                                    There was no sign for the track, but Bert said  

That’s a dead end track a few miles long. Mahoney’s Road. There’s only an old farm house out there. Used to be Jack Baron’s place. But it’s been abandoned for years. He died and the missus couldn’t keep up. She died not long after him. No kids. Jack used to grow avocadoes and tomatoes as I recall. Did quite well too until he found out he had prostrate cancer. Then it was all down hill from there. I believe Margie his wife had a manager and a boy to help her for a while. But then she took sick and died. So that was the end of that. So we know where they are and that more than likely where the crop is. We continued on up the road to Mandalay.

                        We knew what we had to do now. We all sat down around the kitchen table with cups of tea, I had to admit I was drinking a lot less coffee, these days. I had picked up my cell phone from the bed room and turned it on. Five missed calls from David Lyons and three from Declan O’Hare, interesting! Five business calls and a keen would be lover. I wasn’t sure if things were looking up or not. There was so much to do and so much danger. I felt like a weight was pushing down on my chest. I looked at Luke and Bert gratefully if it weren’t for them I would have abandoned this whole project all together. Or would I?    

                        I still had to get Troy back to his family and that responsibility began to take precedence over the money. I remembered the relief I had felt when I realized the charred body in the burned house wasn’t Troy’s or Tony’s. I had seen them laughing in the bank queue. Two young boys, really. Sure they were dabbling in drugs but they had that carefree look of youth. That look of that nothing could hurt them really. They probably thought what they were doing was a bit of a laugh. A rebellion. But then they didn’t have a bullet in a tyre like we did nor knowledge of a charred body.

                        Bert said he would drop us off on the road that night, near to the entry to McMahon’s Road. Luke and I made plans, brainstorming them with Bert

“Have you anything black to wear”, asked Luke

“Apart from a little black dress, and black high heels, no”, I replied

Bert went away and brought back a pair of black jeans and long sleeved tee shirt that was obviously Paula’s. Thank God, someone else in the world was not a size zero but more of the “substantial Arse builds, I had peeked at the labels on both garments- Size 12, and there was a God! He also handed me more pairs of the thick explorer socks.

“Look you guys; I can’t thank you enough for your help. You have both been fantastic but I feel bad for dragging you all into this” I said.

 Let’s face it, it had to be said. These men were only acquainted to me by Bert’s friendship with Auntie Rose. They weren’t “Farno” but I was beginning to feel like they were. And the last thing I wanted to do was put them in danger of their lives. I would never forgive myself if something happened to them, or to Troy, who I only knew of and even to Tony, who I didn’t even know of at all. Talk about pressure. Told you there is no such thing as Easy Money, it’s a myth.

                        At that point I seriously thought about calling David Lyons and cancelling the whole search and rescue effort. Luke must have known how I was feeling,

“Shut up, Sherlock”, he said, “Dad and I are in this up to our teeth too, you know, not because of you, little Miss big Ego, but because we haven’t had this much excitement since Cyclone Bruce and that was three years ago. So get over the drama and let’s get on with the business at hand.

                   So we went over the plans again. “Measure twice, cut once”, murmured Bert, So we went over everything once again, not to be a pain but that was three times, but what the hell. It certainly couldn’t hurt. So I took notes as well as it always helps me to fix something in my brain. The rough plan was this. That night after dark, Bert would drop Luke and I off in our dark clothes, I flatly refused to blacken my face. This was not Apocalypse Now and I was not Martin Sheen on the trail of Marlon Brando.

                            Luke and I would go through the bush besides McMahon’s Road, avoiding any detection as much as possible. I should imagine there would be surveillance and at that stage we didn’t know how sophisticated surveillance would be. It could be just visual, like guys with guns and motorbikes. Maybe electric fencing or barbed wire. It could be night scopes, trip switches, trip wires with alarms, we at this stage had no idea. We would make a quick survey from afar if we could and then pull out hopefully before being detected.

                        I relaxed my nerves a little by taking a bath and changing into a sarong. I padded back to the kitchen in bare feet, checking for Bess, naturally. She wasn’t there, but Bert was. He was making jam. 

“Can I help”, I asked. I loved the whole process of jam making it was one I knew well. My ex husbands mother was a farm woman and I loved the time spent on the farm watching her preserving, or cooking jam. A dying art in this fast food life we live. My ex husband’s mother was with out a doubt the best cook I have ever met. Without exception.  Olive, or Ollie as I was allowed to call her, lived on a dairy farm in Victoria. She grew all her own vegetables and fruit. There was an orchard full of apples and pears. A chook pen full of chooks laying eggs and ducks on the dam. There were 100 milk giving Herefords and fresh milk and jars of cream always in the massive fridge.

                        Ollie used as much fresh food as was possible. Meat was bought but even then they would kill an occasional sheep or pig or cow and send the meat off to be processed. Any produce not used up in season would be stewed, frozen or preserved. I spent many a summers’ afternoon with Olive helping chop up tomatoes or cucumbers, the tomatoes covered in water and salt and the cucumbers covered in hot brine with mustard seeds. Sterilised Fowlers Vacola Jugs were poured full of tomatoes, cucumbers, plums, pears and sealed with the tin leads and stored away for the winter.

                        Jam day was another big day. Olive was the original recycling lady; she would save jars all year it would seem of various sizes and carefully sterilize them. Then all the fruit was prepared. Rhubarb and ginger, crab apples, apple and rhubarb, lemon curd, blackberries and apple, blackcurrant. Ollie would have packets of jamsetta available from the dry goods store in the local town. The hot summer afternoons would be redolent with the delicious smells of hot jam simmering away in huge kettles on the combustion stove. The kitchen temperature climbing over the hundred. Then the jam poured into the jars and topped off with a seal of paraffin wax and maybe a ruffled frill of paper on top of that attached with a rubber band. And a hand printed label stuck to the outside and the date.

                        Ollie was one of the hardest working and most sincere women I had or will ever meet. Pity about her oldest son, my ex husband, but that was nothing to do with her. I still see her from time to time I just don’t bring up his name and neither does she. It’s just easier that way. It’s her son after all and she and her husband Terry, no doubt love him. But for Ollie and Terry I have nothing but the greatest respect. They welcomed me into their large brood like I was one of theirs. Ollie was practicality personified and I was little Miss Dreamer, head always in a book. So maybe we both taught each other something. I hope so.

            “Luke has gone off for a ride on the horse into the bush”, said Bert. “He was telling me you seem to not be half a bad cook so while I am doing this I wonder if you would mind rustling something up for dinner”. I gladly agreed. Happy to be occupied, keeping any nerves at bay. I searched my memory for a good hearty recipe as these men seemed to like their food and plenty of it. I crossed to the freezer for inspiration. I picked out a large piece of Pickled Pork that would do with creamy mashed potatoes, cabbage, carrots onion and a home made mustard sauce.

                        I held up the Pork to Bert, he nodded. I grabbed a big pot from the pantry and added water to nearly the top, some cloves, malt vinegar, some brown sugar and a couple of peeled brown onions. Then I popped in the pickled Pork minus its plastic bag and set it to boil, once it boiled I would let it simmer for a few hours on low. Then add the carrots and cabbage and make some creamy mashed potatoes. And mix an easy white sauce with some more of the multigrain mustard or maybe some sharp yellow American Mustard with just a tiny bit of sharp cheese and a little brown sugar.

                                    I left Bert to his culinary ministrations and the pickled pork simmering away and went into the office. I had better check my emails; you never know I might have won the lottery or something. There were five emails from David Lyons, big surprise, asking with varying degrees of hostility as to my progress. I still was not sure where the leak was coming from as to regards my movements but I erred on the side of caution. I deleted them. No news is good news, right? There was a funny email from Marilyn at the office about women at the gym. She had added a personal note. She dared me to read the gym email without laughing out loud and I had and that she wished me luck on my “adventure” and that I was to take care of myself. I nearly wept at her kind words.

                                    It was too hot to do much so I took a cooling shower and lay down on my bed, with my book. I might as well grab a nap as the night looked like it was going to be long and late and just a little stressful. I was only on the second page when I dropped off into that lovely restful sleep that strenuous exercise puts you in to. Just on the point of that blissful feeling I woke myself with a loud snarf. My ex husband said I snored but I always figured he was making that up just to get to me. But as there was no one else in the room and the snarfling was loud enough to jolt me out of sleep I knew it had to be me. How embarrassing, I thought and drifted back off. How was I going to go to bed with anyone again, if I snored? 

                                    I dreamed of my marriage to my ex, Rob. The feelings stirred up by the jam making and thoughts of Ollie. Even the snarfling, I don’t know. I know that when I was woken up knocking at the door and Luke was calling “Cass” 

I was so glad I was waking up from a dream, so glad it was Luke at the door and not my ex husband. Rob.

“Yes”, I called back

“Time to wake up, Snow White” he called, “I’m coming in”. I immediately jumped off the bed and raced to the door. I had locked it I knew it, but Luke seemed to be full of surprises. For all I knew he had a spare key. I opened the door. 

“Time for a little gun practice,” he said.

“What?, I was still befuddled with sleep’’

“Get your skates on and some boots and shorts and lets go”

“Aye, Aye, Captain, I answered.

I crossed to the wardrobe and grabbed out the shorts tee and boots outfit that I did so not love any more. Well I never had to be truthful. I stripped off the sarong and caught myself sideways in the wardrobe mirror. I looked brown but dare I say it? Did I look thinner? Yes, I thought I looked again I definitely looked thinner. I pulled out my sure fire weight gauge. A pair of Dachet jeans from the 70’s. They weren’t mine, they were my Mothers from her hey day that I had rescued from the charity bag. They were skinny legged denim hipsters and usually reached to the top of my thighs and no further. Today they reached over my hips. They wouldn’t do up but they were further up my body than they had ever been. I peeled them back off and did a little happy dance on the spot. Losing weight for a woman when she wants to has to be better than anything, double that if it’s unexpected. There is no better feeling, not even good sex.

                       Luke had given me a pistol. He had taken me out back of the house, down to the scrub at the bottom of the hill and made me practice at hitting tin cans on a fence post. I hit it once and whooped with joy only to turn a round and find him firing over my shoulder with a 22 rifle.

“You did that! I said.

“What?” he replied, grinning from ear to ear.

“You fired that shot that hit that can, you show off”

“I just thought you might be getting disheartened, that was all”

“Set them up again, I said, and this time stay in front of me so I can see where you are”

He demurred about the staying in front of me but he put the rifle on the ground. He leaned into my right side and said, sight it in, get the target between the the little ridges on the top and hold your breath and fire. I practiced and practiced until I was deafened and my arm ached from holding it up. But at long last I began to hit the cans one after the other.

 He said I was a good natural shot, what ever that was.

After a great dinner of my pickled pork and some home made bread and jam with cream spread on top for dessert Bert dropped us about a half a mile from the entrance to McMahon Road. He then did a quick U Turn and was gone. He’d kept his lights off just in case. This was starting to have the makings of a good cloak and dagger story. But this was not cold and foggy England and I was not Miss Marples and my travelling companion was definitely not Hercule Poirot.

“Bugger it”, my hero said, as a palm frond whacked him in the face. Couldn’t imagine saying the ever urbane Hercule saying that.

I flicked on my pen light and we walked, jogged up the road until we sighted the entrance to McMahon’s Road and crossed over. We dived into the bush at the side of the road. The moon was starting to rise now, a good full moon. The night of the loonies and we were certainly two of them. The going was easy; we kept off the road and to one side. Always pays to be on the careful side when dealing with bikers I always think. And if it was some of the Outlaws or The mongrel Mob boys well they were not going to be taking too kindly to two nosey parkers stepping on to their turf. Or crop, for that matter.

                                   . The bush gave way after about half a mile to wire fencing and rows of sugar cane. Luke found a part where the fence was a little loose at the bottom and yanked at it. He scrambled underneath it and I followed. No barking dogs, no alarms going off, no juddering shocks from an electric fence. Looked like the guardians of the crop thought the cover of sugar cane was enough. And it wasn’t long before we came across them. We could smell them before we saw them. And there were hundreds of them, row upon row of the Cannabis Sativa plant. It looks not unlike a tall tomato plant, leaves spiked and with clusters of buds which is where then THC, chemical compound is contained in. 

Jesus!, said Luke, I had pointed the pen light down the sentry like rows of plants.

I must admit I was also a bit gob smacked at the sheer size of the crop. Pity I wasn’t 15 or I would have grabbed some for myself and my bad ass friends. So looked like little Troy was tied up somehow in something very big. We had seen what we had come to see and we knew that a return trip was in order, solely to pick up Troy. How we were going to do that I had no idea. But it would have to be done. There was no way you could have knowledge of this and be around later to tell the tale.

                  We decided to high tail it home and sit down with Bert and work out a plan. We part ran and walked the way back to Mandalay. Bert was waiting up for us. We filled him in on the sheer size of the crop and he was all for calling the police. But I wanted Troy out first. Mainly for selfish reasons I admit. I tried to tell myself it was just that. But there were also the faces of Leona, Jenny and Morag in my mind. What about their high hopes for Troy’s re appearance? If the kid was mixed up in this then I would hand him over to the law. But if he wasn’t I would deliver him home. And he was going to that wedding! Even if it meant he was in handcuffs.

                           We planned what we would do. Bert came up with the idea of going up the river to the base of the farm. No one would be expecting anyone to be navigating a crocodile infested river, except for tourists and mad men. Put Luke and I in the second category. I said to them it was a decent sized boat, right. And they assured me it was. We filled in more time that day anxious to get our quarry and be out of there. How we were going to do it was beyond all of our comprehension. We would just have to play it by ear. After dinner that night, Luke and I dressed all in black. I refused black face camouflage, This was not Apocolypse Now, and I was not Martin Sheen going up the river after Marlon Brando. Jesus!

                        This time Bert dropped us off at a bend in Fisherman’s Creek where Luke’s boat was stowed. Yep, As I guessed a tinny with an outboard.

“We are going to need a bigger boat”, You idiots”, I hissed at both of them when I saw it, nestled rocking gently at its mooring, 

“It’s big enough”, said Luke. “Stop being such a sooky la la. 

I just looked at him. I hadn’t heard that term since I was in Grade School at Southport State School.

“A big croc could swamp this boat, hell it could just swim straight over us.” I said. I was neither a happy camper nor boater for that matter.

“Lot you would know about it!”, Luke said.

Bert finally separated us and I sat in the boat. Mt face when he handed me an oar must have been a picture.

“What is  this for”, I asked. Stupid question.

“Picking your teeth, what else”, replied Luke. 

“We are going to row down the river, the outboard they will hear,”

“Fine, I knew that,” I said.

I looked up at the darkened sky and said another prayer under my breath. Bert pushed us off, Luke dragged the anchor into the boat and we were off, floating down the river. Luke had told me to look out for eyes on the bank or in the water. I didn’t want to see them, but I kept the flash light playing over water and bank. If I saw a pair of eyes I was going to shoot first and ask questions later. I had my trusty weapon strapped to the top of my thigh with a holster this time. Lara Croft eat your heart out! Luke and I paddled quietly and efficiently, covering distance quickly, the current running with us. I knew if I survived I would have blisters on my lily white hands but what choice did I have?

                        At one point I thought I heard a splash into the water but Luke ignored it. I was sure he would tell me when danger was imminent. I wished I was anywhere but here in a crocodile infested river in North Queensland with a nut job. The nut job grinned at me, flashing those pearly whites in that demonic smile.

“You right there, Cass”, he enquired. I was not showing him I was scared not for anything.

“Fine”, I said. I smiled right back at him. That would fix him! Take that! You overconfident sadistic bully.

                                    We were back at the house, Luke hauled Troy’s skinny little butt inside. Bert was watching the TV and the wind was now howling around the house like a demented animal. Bert said one word

Cyclone 

And kept watching the screen. On the screen was a swirl of coloured pattern which was the cyclone and it was sweeping in from the ocean to the right and headed straight for the eastern regions. Now Cyclones tend to wear themselves out after a few days. But the devastation they wreak can be terrible. Houses are flattened, cattle, cars, and humans. The winds can reach 200 kms an hour. The flooding rains can bury what is left of the houses and    EXPAND

Luke placed Troy on a couch in the darkened lounge room and he groaned a little but didn’t wake up. At least we knew he was alive which may or may not have been a good thing. I felt like kicking him myself. But I thought, money, mini, mine, it helped to have a little mantra at times like these. Stay focused on the job in hand. So easy to get distracted when we had a drug addicted kid, comatose on the couch. A bunch of pissed off bikers that would know exactly where to come looking for the drug addicted kid, (Luke and his big mouth) and now A Force 10 Cyclone bearing down on us.

“Could it get any worse”, I thought.

Of course it could. I just didn’t know from which direction the next strike was going to come from.

Meanwhile. Ah, Cyclone

The wind was howling around the house now. On top of a hill is great for when you want the cooling afternoon breezes to be blowing. When you are sitting there with a crisp white chardonnay looking out at the magnificent view. Robert Palmer, (before Addicted to Love) playing in the background. Being on top of a hill in far North Queensland is not good when the wind is whistling around the edges of apertures. Its demented demon voice trying to gain purchase.

“Don’t worry”, said Luke. We have a cellar, a storm cellar exactly for situations like this. He crossed back to the garage, me following like he was The Lone Ranger and I was Tonto, although Toto, the dog, might have been a better analogy. Luke stood over two timber doors in the floor. They were covered in fifth and there were wrought iron rings, like the ones you see on old gates lying flush against the timber. He angles those out and pulled at them. The doors came up with a creak. Luke placed each carefully on the ground as the hinges opened out 360 degrees, like piano hinges. I could feel cool slightly moist air. There was a landing of about 4’ x 4’ and then a set of concrete steps leading down. Luke clomped down them and I followed behind, he had flicked on a light switch set on a timber beam that ran the full length of the overhead space of a room that was about 18’ x 15’. The source of light was a bare bulb suspended by flex from the beam. The floor was plain concrete. The source of light was a bare bulb suspended by flex from the beam

. “Good place for a torture Chamber”’ I thought. apropos of nothing. I knocked on wood. I am a superstitious little Celt. No point on calling up bad spirits when the chips are down.

The room was full of the usual detritus that no one knows what to do with. And doesn’t want to clutter up the house with. A Christmas tree leaning drunkenly against one wall.  Boxes of old archives by the looks, probably tax receipts from up to 7 years ago. There was a single bed and another plastic covered mattress stowed under that. There were some old army blankets on the bed and some yellowing pillows with the ubiquitous grease stains on them. There were wooden shelves on one side, old, dusty containing fat yellow candles, tin boxes and shoe boxes. In the corner were other boxes stacked high and there was even a wine rack on one other wall, holding several dozen dusty bottles.

Yahoo! We could all get pissed while in serious nature made captivity or at least keep Troy subdued. Get him addicted to alcohol just like everyone, else. The legal drug!

There was a door set in one wall to the right. I suspected that it was a rudimentary bathroom. Just, probably had a chemical toilet inside it. Not much else, plumbing would not be a priority for down here. A cyclone can last up to three days, so I guess it’s practical to have a place to take care of calls of nature. Showers and hand basins probably don’t even come into then design equation when constructing. Better homes and Gardens have yet to do a feature on how to brighten up your cellar space. All in all, it wasn’t bad, it was dry, it was liveable at a pinch and it was safe from a cyclone. Might even be safe from armed and enraged bikers.  When I thought of that part my heart thudded a little, I admit.

So I did the best thing in the circumstances, I decided to stop thinking about It., until I needed to. If the cyclone was going to trap us it had to trap them too. Luke must have been thinking of the same thing.

 “We are going to have get rid of the cars out of the garage” he stated.

 “What both of them?” I asked. He nodded.

“But what about if we need to get out of here in a hurry, I asked

“They will just torch them if we leave them here”, he replied

 I thought of the house in Yandarren and that body and shivered.

“Ok, let’s do it now”, I answered, no time like right now, we ascended, leaving the light on. 

Twigs and dirt were flying through the air beyond the open garage doors. We obviously couldn’t leave the cars too close to the house. So in the end with Bert both keeping an eye on Troy and getting some emergency supplies together, we drove in tandem to Natural Arch. The wind buffeted the cars on the road, picking up speed across flat fields and targeting its main havoc at the hills. Luke had stowed the farms motorbike in the back of the Ute. We stowed the cars hidden under canopies of trees at Natural Arch and were out of there.

                                    It was hard going back along the road on the bike. The wind was at least behind us but the debris and dirt made it hard to see. We kept going, what choice did we have? We at times were buffeted from one side of the road to other. I did my favoured brave pose, closing my eyes tight and pretending I was somewhere else. I clung to Luke’s waist and prayed for our continued salvation. The journey of ten miles seemed like a hundred. All my nerves were on edge by the time we were back at Mandalay, There was grit in my mouth and eyes and I would have killed a family member for a shower.

                        We hurried inside, the trees surrounding the house were bent almost double and it was hard to hear each other against the rain and wind battering at the walls and roof. Luke had insisted on wheeling the bike down the stairs to the cellar, he was convinced we would need it later. And that it would not be safe anywhere else. Bert lifted Troy with my help, still out to it, off the couch and we manhandled him down the stairs as well. Bert placed him on the single bed and put a blanket over him. I looked with distaste at the sweat stained pillows and I guessed it was no time to be assessing what was in the Freedom catalogue for winter. Mocha, I was thinking!

                        Bugger it a girl has to have some standards. 

“Where’s the linen cupboard”, I asked Bert

He looked at amusedly, 

In the laundry 

I muttered something about towels and took off at a run. I grabbed two reasonable towels, two pillow cases and some sheets and a throw of sorts and ran back to the cellar and threw them into a corner. Luke was stirring a little, and had a little brainwave so I ran back upstairs. This time I grabbed my handbag, a jacket, the first aid box, and my mobile. Probably no reception down there in a concrete bunker, but who knew? 

                        Bert and Luke were busy transferring some other stuff, a primus, with gas bottle, some fresh food, a transistor radio. We had to be ready for all eventualities. The noise now inside the house was like an express train bearing down on us. We were out of time. The Cyclone (we found out later it was called Arthur) was coming at us with all its force and mighty and we had to bow to its greater power. Bert shut and locked the back door. Futile effort I thought as I descended the stairs once again. There probably wasn’t going to be a house left standing by the time we re emerged from our self made prison cell. But there was no point thinking about it now. We needed to be safe. Bert pulled the tick timbers doors down behind us and turned the sturdy wrought iron latch that kept the two doors firm and locked from the outside.

                        There was obviously fresh air coming in from somewhere, I could feel it on my face. Luke pointed out a vent that faced outwards in one corner, well outwards and upwards in a periscope type effect. Set into a sloping bank covered by bushes on the outside he explained. This cellar had originally been built by Bert’s father for exactly what is was a cyclone shelter.

It’s stood me in good stead at Exam time, fights with others and getting on in the world and asking for what I want. But I found “Boys” just don’t let up some times and that’s what I was getting from Bert and Luke. Too big a whiff of male Testosterone. And sometimes it can all just get a bit wearing. And I need something girly to counteract it.

                           In fact growing up, it was all I was really used to. Mostly Male Company and competition. My sister was older enough than me, to be working by the time I was 10. And when she was at home and school she was more the lady like type where I was usually tear-arseing around the backyard or neighbourhood, somewhere. My parents moved a lot, (never allowing us enough time to spend getting well acquainted with anyone, neighbours or friends.) My brothers were my companions. I was a tomboy sort of girl. At five all I wished for fervently was an Annie Oakley Outfit for Christmas. Which I received. It came complete with brown faux leather waistcoat, cowgirl skirt, a cowboy hat, a gun belt and two guns complete with sulphur smelling firing caps. That cracked and exploded. I was never so happy and charged around all day playing cowboys and Indians with my brothers. David my younger brother by two years, received his fervently wished for desire that year as well, a Davy Crocket Hat. A faux fur skin hat with raccoon tail

                                    I grabbed the pillow cases and put them on the pillows that immediately felt better. Luke, gestured me and Bert over to the corner and indicating Troy said,

“So what do we do when Robin, boy wonder, space cadet wakes up? I’m thinking A, he’s not going to be feeling real good and B. He’s going to be going through withdrawal. Now, I don’t know if you Cass have seen someone go through withdrawal but I haven’t, and I don’t think Dad has either? He cocked an eyebrow questioningly at Bert, who shook his head. 

“So what are your thoughts, Hobson? Luke asked, cocking an eyebrow at me this time and paraphrasing one of my favourite movies of all time, Arthur with Dudley Moore. I was delighted that Luke was a fellow Blake Edwards Aficionado (I judge relationships by that movie- seriously!)

“I’ve seen a withdrawal” I answered. Just that, no elaboration.

Heroin? Luke asked.

Speed, alcohol, heroin and marijuana. I replied.

All at once or one by one

All at once

“You win; you get to mind the boy.

And what do you get to do.

I get to mind you and he laughed, smiling just a tiny bit lasciviously. Bert wasn’t looking at us so would not have caught the look or the fact that I blushed to the tips of my ears. I hate that.  Bugger Luke, it was that kiss, that damned kiss. I turned away, not replying to Luke and busied myself with studying the boxes on the shelves.

               Bert was fiddling with the radio and suddenly it blared into life, too loud and gave us all an extra jolt of adrenalin, just in cased we weren’t overloaded enough. He tempered the sound. “Lost in the Fifties by Ronnie Millsap was playing. I love that song. I closed my eyes and swayed as the nostalgic music played. Luke was at my elbow.

“Want to dance,” he said, teasingly. And just as teasingly I moved into his arms

“Hell, why not. I thought

We swayed doing a little waltz and I realized it had been a very, very long time since I had been held close in a mans arms dancing. And how erotic that was. The holding of the firm arms of this man, the swaying of our bodies, we looked into each others eyes and I realised that with a jolt that Luke liked me. Isn’t it funny how you just know?  But I was in semi love or lust anyway with Declan, I smiled at Luke,

“You are quite the dancer. Where do you get to dance out here”, I asked 

“Mrs Floods Dance Classes at St Peters Catholic Boys College Brisbane, I was a boarder there. Every Saturday afternoon for three years and an intensive course for three weeks before Year 12 graduation.” He replied, and continued, “Of course my partners tended to be a bit more hairy than you and always wanted to lead but I guess I absorbed some of it over the years. And since then I go the B and D bush dances, lots of grog, willing girl partners that love to dance. I’m not a complete Philistine you know, Cass”

 “I never said you were Luke, but I do have to tell you, I have a fellow back in Beach Haven, I said.

Serious, he shot back.

“I’m not sure, not yet anyway.

“Well, can’t blame a bloke for trying” he said and grinned that blinding smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The music finished and we stopped dancing. There was a tension in the air and I didn’t know how to dissipate it. Rescue came at the hands or rather voice of the “Australian Patient”; Troy was awake and staring at us both.

“Who the hell are you, and where I am?” he said, in an upper class Grammar School accent. So much for drug fucked junkie.

                       Luke and I sprang apart, a little guiltily.

I held out my hand to Troy which he ignored and I dropped it.

“Cass Alexander, Private Investigator. Your Dad sent me to find you. Your sister is getting married and wants you at her wedding. People have been trying to get in touch with you. You haven’t been answering your mobile and your Mum and sister, amongst others were worried about you”

Troy looked steadily at me, but I could see his leg was jumping.

“I didn’t hear you say that my father was worried about me”, he said.

“I guess that he has had enough of you”, I replied. The “take that you snotty nosed little brat” was implied rather than heard.

“Yes, well Miss Alexander, I guess you are about right. I am not returning to Beach Haven whether my sister and Mum want me there or not. As you can see I am fine, in one piece. All you have to do is tell them I am alive, thanks for the concern and all that. No doubt my father is paying you, so you have done your job, you will get paid, jobs done. Everyone’s happy.

                        “Not quite, said Luke. He had been listening quietly.

Troy looked Luke up and down.

“Who are you? I can only guess you are some sort of PI as well or maybe a bounty hunter Mr errr” The words were polite but dripping with contempt.

“O’Halloran” Luke Replied. “Luke O’Halloran. Luke sounded like he was talking through gritted teeth. Bert was on his knees sifting things on the shelves but had stilled his movements and was listening carefully. You had to admire this kids balls, he was “Coming down” after being out for hours, he was in a small concrete bunker with three strangers, and he had attitude. Don’t you just love the arrogance of the young? Especially the young and indulged. Troy went to say something and Luke crossed the room and grabbed him around the throat. Lifting him off his feet with one hand and pinning him up against the wall, all in one small deft movement. He moved with the swiftness and sinuousness of a snake.

                                   Troy’s eyes registered shock and disbelief. He once again went to say something. Luke had his left hand encircling Troy’s throat and had bunched his right hand into a fist which he held inched from Troy’s face.

“Shut Up, you stupid little drug fucked junkie,” said Luke, “One word and I will put this fist right through your face.” He continued.

“For a start you owe Cass an apology for your rudeness. Yes, she is getting paid to find you. That is what she does for a living. If you don’t want to be found that’s your business but hear us both out before you say another word. OK! 

Troy nodded and sat back on the bed rubbing his throat. I saw track marks on his skinny arms and a tattoo on the inside of one wrist that said. Cut Here. Bravado or serious turmoil.?

                             Luke began, I don’t know everything. But I do know you are mixed up with a guy called Mario Tumino who I have known for years and not only is he a greedy fat prick, he a dangerous prick. He started off growing a little weed and nobody really cared. A lot of people grow weed up here, no big secret. But what I saw last night was that Mario’s small operation has grown into a huge operation.

“No let me finish” he said as Troy said something I didn’t catch.

“The bikers he has minding the crop are armed and will probably shoot first and ask questions later. You know about their operation now, so they are probably not keen for you to spread that around. There was a body in the house that you and your mate were staying in when you first stayed at Yandarin. Know anything about it.

Troy shook his head.

“Well at first we thought it was you or your mate Tony, is it?

Troy nodded.

Now Cass is here to help. This is my Dad Bert, Troy nodded at him. Now, we can make this easy or hard, it’s up to you. You are a kid.”

At this Troy went to protest.

Luke held up his hand.

 I know you don’t think you are but you are, just a kid. And your family is worried sick about you, also Bert and Cass’ aunt are great friends and because of that family connection I will help. So will Bert. Out of respect, that’s probably a word you don’t have a lot of knowledge of but you will learn it. And Even though deep down I think you are a stupid spoilt little shit, who thinks you are tough and likes being bent out of shape. You will learn its better to be straight, trust me. And lastly we better know what you are on because there is a force 10 cyclone creating havoc above us as you can hear .and we are stuck down here until it’s over.

There was silence.

Heroin, said Troy, speed, marijuana,

“Well looks like you are in for a bumpy ride over the next few days, so are we. But it’s going to be irritating enough in the small space so I suggest you suck some of it up like a man. You helped to create this so you will have to go through with withdrawal cold turkey.”

I could see Troy shaking already,

I chipped in, I have some Valium, and I’ll check what is in the first aid kit as well. He looked at me gratefully. At Luke’s questioning look, Valium, Fear of flying! And I have some knock out sleepers, the new ones. Which the doctor says to take only in extreme situations of insomnia. And I can bet my bottom dollar that Young Troy here has some serious drugs about his person.

Luke groaned.

Strip!

What said Troy?

Strip, you heard me  

Troy reached up yanked his tee shirt over his head, pulled down his shorts and threw them on the ground in front of me. When he started with the boxers I stopped him. It’s alright. This will do. He glared at me. I was careful about searching the pockets I need a stick injury like a hole in the head or finger, I giggled aloud at my own silliness. Small closed in rooms do that to me, it’s the lack of light or oxygen or something. 

                                         I remember doing a computer course once with a bunch of fellow office workers. It was costing the company $500 a day for each of us (morning tea and lunch thrown in) to learn E.S.W or excellent spreadsheet words or something akin to that. After lunch on the first day I got the giggles and couldn’t stop. The man next to me, who I barely knew kept deleting everything he did by mistake. He and I by the end of the day could not even so much as glance at each other. Every time we did we could get hysterical with laughter. Tears rolling down our cheeks type laughter. Where your cheeks and stomach hurt. The more the teacher remonstrated with us the worse we got. We banned us from the next two days tuition. We were in disgrace.

                        I shook the shorts and out fell a plastic bag of weed, bet that was primo stuff, no needles thank God and another tiny plastic packet, empty with a tiny trace of white powder. Good, No supply, no having to smack Troy the little big time smack head. Troy was watching me, his top lip was covered in sweat and his legs were jumping. Above us we could feel the vibration and shuddering of the cyclone, the light swayed in the centre of the room.

                        “I think you should lie down Troy, I said

I’ll get you some valium and some water, do you need to go to the toilet because you might as well go now. I fully intend to knock you out as much as possible as withdrawal is awful. Troy staggered to the other room and we heard him being sick. We all busied ourselves doing things. I made the bed and the mattress underneath up with sheets from the pile. There would hardly be need for us to use the blankets as the temperature was roasting in the cellar. I felt like I was inside a volcano, that was about to erupt, spewing ash and molten lava everywhere. 

                                    Troy returned and sat on the bed looking haggard. I handed him four Valium and a drink of bottled water. He knocked them back like a pro and lay on the bed. He asked me for the blanket as he was shivering like he had the flu. Teeth actually chattering in his head. This was going to be rough but I had little sympathy. The kid had put himself in this situation. I am of the old school of “You made your bed, now you lie in it” .Clichéd I know but its true. Life is what you make it and this kid had had most every privilege in life. Good health, money, good education, two loving parents, loving sister. In this day and age that is fifty giant steps of the game out of a hundred. How you make it work after 16 is entirely up to yourself.

                        “I am going to make the strictest mother, one day” I thought. My parents had always been hard on me. Loving, but hard. No slacking. When I wanted to leave school early my parents said OK, but you have to have a job. When I wanted to leave home, they said OK, here’s some money for two weeks rent in advance and we want it back in two weeks. And they had it back in two weeks.

                        Luke was watching my “Nurse Nightingale” ministrations with an impatient eye. 

“Lets start unpacking some stuff and get organized, “Poor little Rich Boy” over there doesn’t need your help. He has put us in a bad situation as it is. We need to work out a plan. This cyclone could cause the whole house or at least the roof to disappear. It could also cause the whole thing to fall down and the garage to fall precisely on to the doors that are our escape. And even when it’s over we may have to wait before we do anything. The bikers are going to notice that little chicken shit missing and come here looking. And they may discover us. Then things will get ugly.

“Gawd,” I thought, “Not that they weren’t ugly before”. Cyclone, sick kid, trapped in a basement, might be trapped for days and then we might have to fight off armed men. Who could smoke us out or just pit barbecue us like a hungi from hell. Pork anyone? 

                                   Things were not great, but intrepid little soul that I am I decided to soldier on rather than give in to despair and inertia. I rubbed my hands together; I was ready to start tackling the boxes on the floor. But first I dragged across the pedestal fan from its corner and trained it away from Troy and on to the rest of us. I could feel sweat trickling down my tailbone and into my nether regions. Thank God for cotton undies is all I can say. And the person that had built this cellar who had provided it with light and power outlets. The power was supplied inside rubber conduits that snaked along the wall and across the beams overhead, held in place with flat plastic fittings.

                        There was a dusty round fridge circa 1950’s, with a freezer inside up the top, the size of a bread box with no door and lots of frost. The fridge itself was fairly roomy. I placed inside salami, ham, bacon in vac packs from the chest cooler on the floor. There was tinned evaporated milk, jam, sauce, butter, oranges, (Just in case we succumbed to scurvy) I was guessing. Better a healthy dead corpse than a scurvied one. There was powdered milk in foil packs, dry biscuits and sweet in see through plastic containers. There were all the usual staples, baked beans, tinned ravioli, soup, rice pudding, sugar, coffee, tea, some potatoes that I stuck in the fridge. I did the same with some fresh steak, chops. And sausages. There were some frozen vegetable packs that I squeezed into the miniscule freezer and I was done. I felt like the quartermaster in the quartermaster’s store. 

                                  Above us now we could hear cracking and thumping. The wooden doors strained a tiny bit upwards, as far as the large latch would allow. Dust gusted in through the cracks but I was loathe blocking it off as it was necessary for air. There was a grille attached to a small tunnel close to the bottom of the floor. Luke said the other end of the tunnel also had a grille and that was set into the side of a small hill behind a stout bush. Air and dust scooted in and we decided to block that one off with towels for a while as the noise was deafening.

                               The radio had not such a great reception down here in the bowels of the earth but we could hear fragments of the broadcast. Force 10 Cyclone bearing down on Coast west of Rockhampton and Cairns. Effects being felt as far south as McKay which was us. Flooding, high winds, evacuations of coastal towns. I asked Bert if he had been through a Cyclone before.

          “Tracey”, he said, Christmas day 1974, “in Darwin”, absolutely devastating. My wife and I at the time hid in the bathroom, Luke was a toddler. We jammed a table in there and hid under that, the noise was like being inside a jet engine. I’ll never forget the noise and the silence after. And the flattened houses that looked like they had been made from matchsticks after. No power, no water, no shops, no food. It was terrible. But then people started recovering, helping each other. The rest of Australia sent out help as soon as they could. I put Luke and Evie my wife on one of the first planes out and stayed to help with the clean up. I was amazed at people’s kindness and generosity. There were people from all over Australia sending money and help. 

                                    I was standing in my old home or what was left of it a few days later and a red Cross van pulled up outside. The people in it had Santa hats on. They were so cheery and kind and gave me a food parcel and a first aid kit. All I could find of mine was a photo album of Troy as a baby and a toy trike of his, unbroken. I took that album and my food parcel and I sat on what used to be my living room floor and cried like a baby.

“I’ll never forget it” he finished. He cleared his throat and so did I and we went back to the task at hand.

                                    We had now been in the cellar by my estimation about 8 hours. We had dragged out the mattress from under the single bed and made it up with a fitted sheet. There was a folding card table, chairs and even a deck of cards so Luke, Bert and I played Poker, Blackjack and they had a go at teaching me Open Misere again, but I was fairly ordinary at all of them so I begged off. Instead of that I lay face down on the bed and read my latest Stephen King, well it wasn’t the latest. It was Carrie. I had seen the movie but never read the book. And I knew it was one of his first books, so I was interested to see how it was compared to later fiction.

            I must have dozed off, as the next thing Luke was shaking me awake,

“Hey snorey head”, he began,

I interjected with my usual reply, “I don’t snore”, always said with the right amount of indignation. Bert and Luke exchanged glances and Luke replied,

“Must be the noise of the Force 10 Cyclone outside then, my mistake”

I glared at him; everyone knows women don’t snore only men do. It’s physically impossible for women to snore. Well, that is my theory and I am sticking to it. Though I do remember my ex saying something along similar lines once. Small wonder he was my ex.

“Dinner is served, Princess”, he said and waved a plate of steak, onions, mashed potato and gravy under my nose. I leapt from the mattress not realizing till then how hungry I was. Bert was already seated and nodded at my enquiry as to had he been the cook of this simple but delicious smelling dinner.

“You, Bert, are a man of many talents. No wonder my Aunt Rose speaks so highly of you” I said and started tucking into my food with gusto.

Luke kicked me under the table. I glanced at him. 

“What”, I said a little pissed off. The kick hurt.

“Luke, don’t kick Cass, please” said Bert. He was remonstrating with us as if we were two squabbling siblings who needed their heads knocking together.

Bert looked at me, “Obviously Luke knows I very much like your Aunt Rose, but sadly her feelings are not reciprocated in the same way and my son is being a little over protective.” I glanced at Bert  a little shamefaced , then looked  at Luke,  I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from sticking it out. Very mature!

                     Even with the fan blowing in our direction, it was still incredibly humid. The fan was doing the best job it could but was only really re circulating hot air. After dinner, (easy clean up, paper plates in the plastic bag, utensils wiped clean with paper towelling,) I lay face down on the concrete floor near to the outside vent. I wanted to see if I could breathe some fresher air at least. Bert had rigged up a wet rag over the vent’s face to catch the worst of the dust and debris. I lifted one side and breathed deeply. The air was cooler and moist. It looked like the rains had arrived.

                                    Bert had opened a bottle of red, and it certainly went down well with all of us. We sat and chatted and watched Troy sleep and shake. He would call out every so often. Luke was of the opinion, after a few glasses, that he could stun him with a shovel. Thereby knocking him out and cutting short his withdrawal.

“I’d be doing him a favour” he stated.

Bert and I dissuaded him of such an idea arguing as to the accuracy of the blow to stun and not do serious harm. We were pretty pissed and laughing a lot more than we would have been normally. I ended up lying on the mattress on the floor, topping and tailing with Luke. And Bert did the same with Troy. The valiums seemed to be doing their work with Troy, nary a peep from him for a few hours now. Luke checked his breathing,

“Yep, your little boy is still alright, Princess”, he said. I murmured something about him not being my little boy and to stop calling me Princess. It was starting to piss me off.

                        I must have fallen asleep because next thing I knew I was being nudged by Troy in the back.

What”, I said; a bit irritably I must admit. I was having a great dream the type you don’t want to wake from. Something along the lines of being held against my will by some rough types who were just a little bit edgy, and had been serving some serious time alone and I was the only woman on the desert island.  Hmm. That should give you some idea of my healthy psyche. I, of course, seeing as it was my dream, looked amazing, long blonde hair (where had that come from????) a tanned athletic bikini clad body with dagger attached to belt on side (ditto to toned tanned bod). I was keeping them at bay, knife drawn but…………..

“Bugger off Troy, Uh, note to self, Troy, not Luke.” I thought. And the knife was real and currently being pointed towards my throat.

                    Troy also had the other hand over my mouth. He looked at me in the light of candle that someone had lit and placed on top of the fridge. I remember thinking I hoped that someone had put the candle on a saucer so wax didn’t drip everywhere. I drive my self crazy sometimes with my typical Virgo nit picking. Naturally everyone worries about such details when your life is at stake. 

                               Once in the dark days when my ex and I were together. I caught him out at a kiddie disco with a certain blonde, all of 18. He had his arm around her shoulders, which he promptly dropped when I walked in on him. He was a hot headed man and handy with his fists. When I knocked the drink out of his hand in front of his “new friend”, I knew somehow I was going to get it!     Big Duh!

                    He dragged me outside and hit me across the head. Not holding anything back. And he was a big guy. Big fists and forearms. He knocked my glasses off my face and they fell to the ground. And I said and I quote, without missing a beat, even though my ears were ringing.

“Be careful you don’t tread on my glasses or else I won’t be able to drive home” I said. And I said it in a normal voice. That was when I knew things were pretty sick between us. But that’s enough about that shit. It’s old shit now, anyway. Obviously it stood me in good stead this ability to stay calm in a crisis. And at the same time to focus on trivial details even when my life was at stake. (Also I started wearing contacts instead of glasses.)

                        I glanced around, my companions and drinking partners were sound asleep. Snoring! Luke lay on his back with one arm flung across his face and Bert was face down on the cement floor with a pillow under his head. I looked at Troy. He was shaking quite badly again, but he kept up the pressure of the knife and his hand stayed on my mouth.

“Are you going to stay quiet?” he asked. I nodded mutely. 

“I’ll take my hand away as long as you don’t make a sound. Agreed? He asked.

I nodded. He dropped his hand. I took a breath. The guy had a serious B.O. problem, even his hands smelt. A sharp acrid smell given off by his skin. Sort  of a mixture of stale sweat, fear and chemicals. A feral smell. Although I didn’t know of any animal that smelt like that. Mr Big’s Amazing dancing bear, perhaps.

“I have to get out of here.” I am going crazy. How do we get out of here, he demanded.

I nodded towards the stairs and the timber doors. You first, he said and no funny stuff.

I crept up the stone stairs and even before I pushed on the timber doors I knew the effort would be futile. For hours we had heard crashes and bangs from above. I found that the iron latch turned easily but there was definitely something 

Holding down the timber doors. 

Not Good, I thought

I pushed with all my might but there was something heavy across the doors and they were not about to budge.

“What idiot designed them to open out anyway?, was my thought, I would have thought better to open inward. Then I realised you would have to close them and two doors hanging out into mid air would be dumb. ”

I didn’t speak these words out loud just kept straining with shoulder and hands.

Troy could see my struggle but he could hardly nudge me out of the way and have a go himself. That manoeuvre would involve putting the knife down. I felt its pressure at my back. I began to get really, really pissed off. I was hot, I had been trying to save this kids life for fucks sake. And yet here he was sticking a knife at me.

I thought, “You wait you little shit, the tables are going to be turned and then I am going to kick your arse so hard you will have to take your hat off to clean your teeth.!”

Troy gestured me down the stairs and we both stood at the bottom in the candle’s flickering glow. He looked at the flickering.

“Where’s the air coming from”, He asked.

So much for being drug-fucked, this kid was as sharp as a tack.

“Over there”, I said and pointed at the grille near the floor.

Where does that lead to?, he asked

The outside

Lets go, no noise

I remembered watching an ex cop once on Oprah. He was giving women instruction on what to do when faced with attack. One of his rules was “Never, ever allow yourself be taken to a second location.” The second location is where it is more private and they will do more harm. So do whatever you have to but don’t be taken to the second location. I had a gut instinct that I had to obey that rule. Troy was not a killer, I was pretty sure I knew that much, but he was an unknown quantity. Drug withdrawal would make any one behave irrationally. He was a junkie on the edge not Jack the Ripper.

He was standing a little away from me and he had the knife pointed towards my stomach.

“Move, now”, he said and gestured with the knife.

I thought, “Fuck you!”

I kneed him right in the nuts and the knife went flying over my head and landed with a clatter on the floor. Troy went down like a bag of shit, clutching at his groin, rolling on to his side and puked. I grabbed the knife.

Now, who’s a hero, you little prick and I kicked him in the leg for good measure.

“I’d been nice to this little turd”, I thought, “No more valium from me, he could do it the hard way”

The air now smelt of vomit and fear and I had had enough. Keeping an eye on Troy I grabbed Luke roughly by the shoulder and shook him.

“Whatsamatta”, he mumbled. And he went to roll over.

I grabbed him again.

“Wake up, you drunken sod, Troy just tried to knife me, you bastard.

That woke him up. His eyes flew open. Bert began stirring as well. Luke focused on my face and his voice swung to Troy on the floor, still retching.

“Whatsamatta?, he said again. His alcohol soaked brain trying to make sense of  what was happening. I held a hand over my face, I would be joining Troy in the retching in a minute

Well apart from the fact that your breath smells like a pub toilet, there is the small matter of Troy having a knife at my throat and wanting to get out. You were snoring your head off, so I kneed him in the nuts.

“good work, princess”

Sweat was running down my back again. I hated feeling so hot. The heat and humidity was driving me mad. I was so out of my comfort zone I was ready to scream or knee someone else in the nuts. I looked at Luke. He could see I was seething.

“Breathe”, he said

What!

Breathe, slowly, out for ten , in for ten and go stand in front of the fan.

I did as I was told breathing out slowly and in slowly and stood right in front of the fan.

“Cool drink?” Luke asked, from behind me. I nodded. I heard him open the fridge door behind me.

I bent over towards the cooling fan and Luke upended a cold bottle of water over my head. I gasped in shock and outrage.

“That will cool you off”, he said. I glared at him but the effect of the icy water and the fan blowing was bliss, sheer bliss.

“I think its time we took our chances with the cyclone and get out of here”, Luke said. “But first we need to do something with the kid. He looked at Troy distastefully.

“There’s something over the timber doors, I said. “I know, because he forced me at knife point to try and open them. I couldn’t budge them.” Even to me my voice sounded tight and strained.

“Alright, alright, Luke said. He was talking in a soothing voice.

“Must be how he tames his horses”, I thought

He continued, “We need to tie him up; we should have done that before. But no sense in crying over spilt milk, you’re in one piece. Good job! You’re a brave girl. We Just need to stop him from being a nuisance, anymore. I don’t think he will harm you again, but until all that shit is out of his system who knows? Then I’ll get out through the tunnel and check out the damage and see what’s holding the doors down.

“Sounds like a plan”, I said. I would be so relieved to get out of here, added to the general fugginess of the place was now the smell of vomit.

“Where’s Dad?”. Luke asked

Bert was awake and relieving himself in the room next door.

“Dad, shut the door”, Luke called. The door was kicked shut. Bert re appeared, grinning sheepishly..

“Sorry Cass”, He said, “Lose our manners in the bush, we do”

Luke filled him in on what the plan was. We all together hoisted Troy up on to the bed. Bert fetched some old washing line and we tied his hands behind his back and lay him on his side on the bed. He said not a word, but I can imagine how he was feeling. Bert used some more bottled water to sluice the floor down a little and I grabbed a cloth and wet it and mopped Troy’s head and face with it.

“Sorry”, he said. He had tears in his eyes and I left him alone for a bit. He must be feeling like shit as it was, never mind the physical pain he was in. I grabbed some more valium and looked at him enquiringly. He nodded his head quickly. I gave him two this time, we needed him to be alert when we finally got out of here.

Luke was removing the grille. He was using a butter knife to turn the screws. They were rusty but he finally got all four out, the grille came away from the wall with a squeak and he was gone. Wriggling on his belly, in a space that was not giving him a whole lot of room to manouevere. I felt breathless at the thought of climbing through a space so fitted but Luke was a big boy and we had to get out of this underground hell hole. I think at that point I prayed a little.

We waited. 

He crawled back in covered in dirt from head to foot. He looked like the tar baby. Only the whites of his eyes showing and those teeth.

“Looks like we are in the eye of the cyclone”, he said, “That means we have to get out now, get the car and try to outrun the second front. O.K.

I knew what was coming next.

“I can’t budge the work bench that on top of the doors. I’m going to have to get you Dad and Cass to give me a hand. We’ll leave the kid here for now.

Troy looked terrified. “No”, he said, “Untie me, you’re not leaving me here, I’ll be fine. I promise I won’t try anything, please.

“No,”, replied Luke, “You haven’t earned any trust and until you do you will do as you are told. Cass, you first. It’s easy, just don’t panic, it’s a tight squeeze, but you will be fine. Just belly crawl like a snake, its only about 18’ long.

18’, I nearly shrieked, 18’. I thought it was only about 5’.

“take it one foot at a time, said Luke and don’t panic Ok. Otherwise you block our only means of escape. 

“Maybe I should go first, said Bert. “Show Cass how it’s done.

 I nodded agreement and Luke agreed, so Bert  hunkered down on the floor and began belly crawling his way out. After a while we heard his muffled voice callind.

“Its fine, Cass, come on”

I thought, I have to do this, I have to” I could recall being a kid and not wanting to crawl in the concrete pipes that my brothers did. They would crawl in pipes big enough to take their bodies and crawl from one open end to the other. I had done it once at their urging, but I didn’t like the feeling of being hemmed in. 

I hunkered down, copying what Bert had done and started to belly crawl along the dirt tunnel. It was dark at first and dank, the smell of earth so strong it filled my nose and mouth with it. I felt panic but I calmed myself. If Bert could do it, I could do it. I kept on going one foot at a time. I just concentrated on getting the next foot out of the way, there was only 18. only 18. I could hear Bert’s voice closer now, urging me on.

“Come on Cass, you can do it, Its beautiful out here, fresh sweet air, come on” 

I kept crawling, trying not to think about this tunnel collapsing, trying not to think about passing out from lack of oxygen. I just kept on towards bert’s voice. And then I was there, crawling out into sweet fresh air. I rolled onto my back and almost cried at the relief. I laughed as Bert crushed my hand in his and said “Well done”, he also looked like he had been mining for coal. I realised I would look exactly the same. We both grinned in relief.

Then Luke’s filthy head appeared like a mole burrowing out of its hole and Bert and I roared with laughter.

“What”, said Luke, not seeing what we were seeing

Every time he opened his mouth his teeth showed up as ultra white. I have no idea why this amused Bert and I so much but we were almost hysterical with laughter by now, tears rolling down our cheeks, causing little rivers of paleness against our dirt encrusted faces.

“Get up you two”, said Luke. “We have work to do” I stopped laughing and looked around me. The house was still standing, it stood majestic and serene with devastation all around. Bushes and Plants were flattened. Some iron had come off one of the sheds and was sitting on the back grass area. We checked the chicken house which was in bits and no chickens or ducks to be seen. Two of the carports were without roofs, the other two roofs at drunken angles to the ground.

And sitting on top of the timber doors to the cellar was the heavy timber workbench, bizarrely upright. It was just like a giant hand had reached down and plucked it up and moved it there. We set to work all of us moving it, it was so heavy, it was like trying to lift a car. We ended up all heaving together and moving it inch by inch across the floor. Once the doors were clear, Luke opened them and went down and led Troy back up.

                              We all went inside the house, there was no power, that was expected. But Bert fired up the generator so that all the freezer and fridge stuff didn’t go off. There was no phone either, also expected. While we were sorting things out, Luke had wheeled up the motorbike and had taken off to fetch one of the cars back. Bert and I took it in turns to have a cold shower each. Troy was groggy but we ended up standing him up in the shower and soaped and hosed him down in his shorts. I had decided after smelling him before I was not sharing a back seat of a car with him. The atmosphere in the “eye” of the cyclone was just normal, a normal sunny day, blue sky, no wind. But we knew it couldn’t last and we had to get out of there in a hurry and head south to try and out run the second front.

                                    We kept Troy tied up for the time being and lay him on his side on the couch. Bert and I then went around duct taping up all the windows, not around the edges but diagonally. It was something you are supposed to do in a cyclone. Bert and I were not sure if this helped but it kept us occupied. Bert grabbed some precious family albums and put them in a suitcase along with some jewellery and things that had belonged to his late wife. I imagined myself in that position and wondered what I would take with me if A cyclone was bearing down on me. My cat of course, photos I guess, the book of poetry I had won as English Prize of the year at College. Not much when you think about it. It’s not the material stuff in the end, but we all know that.!

                           I felt a longing for my home so strong it was physical. I needed to feel Taz’s fat furry body winding his way through my legs. Threatening to trip me up and I cursing at him. Taz was a part Russian Blue which is a breed known for affection. When he was especially feeling affectionate he would lick my face. Just the once or twice and I would laugh and push him off. Never offended he would park his fat carcass some where and begin washing himself. I put an arm around Bert and gave him a squeeze. Mutely he patted my hand and he resumed his packing.

                            I could hear a car in the distance and Bert and I stood in unison, senses alert, listening. The little rabbits from Watership Down, sniffing the air, ears twitching. Here in the bush I found I was beginning to use other senses rather than just my eyes. Which was probably a good thing seeing as my eyesight was crap.

Bert said, “It’s Luke”

“How can you tell?”

“Dunno really, just sounds like him”

It was Luke in the trusty Valiant. He pulled up with a sharp crunch on the driveway out the front.

“It’s bad”, he said, “but we can get through by road. Both cars are O.K. No damage. Telegraph posts down with sparks flying off them but I was able to get around them. The ground is so wet there is no danger of fire. But there are branches all over the road, I had to stop and move some, as quickly as I could but that’s a good sign. That means no one else has been down the road yet. But the cyclone will come back around so we can’t waste any time. We have to go and go now. It was on the car radio that the second front of the cyclone was due in about three hours”

What about Troy’s friends? I asked

“No sign, he said, but they’ll be out and about and they’ll know he’s gone. They might just think that he’s taken off but I doubt it. They know he had to keep hanging around because of the drugs”

“And there was the fact that I had shown up looking for him and he had disappeared, all a bit too convenient,” I thought. “It’s a wonder they weren’t here all ready. 

“What now, Sherlock?”, asked Luke.

I literally had no idea. I had never had to outrun a cyclone before. And where would we be safe from that and from people that would probably kill us to get Troy back? Why did they want Troy so bad any way? But my first thought was safety, my head was starting to throb. I needed a cigarette to make my synapses jump to attention, my thought processes were so sluggish as to be virtually non existent.

 “What about the cave?” I said.” We could hide out there until the worst is over and no one else knows about it, you said. That place has been since the dawn of time. It has survived cyclones before. We can wait out the cyclone and “our friends” are not going to think to look there. You can’t see the cars from the road. We’’ be safe till the cyclone is over at least. I sounded a lot more confident than I felt, but we were running out of options. There was no way I was going down in that cellar again. 

“Yes”, Luke said, “Of course, clever girl, why didn’t I think of that? Well, what are we waiting for?”

We all made a mad scramble to pack the boot, Bert and I grabbed food and some other stuff from the cellar, bottles of water, matches, and the mattress, folded in half. I had grabbed the knife Troy had held at my throat and thrown it in the boot as a last minute thing. Luke had grabbed Troy in a fireman’s lift. Once again he was out like a light. He shoved him unceremoniously in the back seat, lying him down. I squeezed in next to him, sitting forward a little. I had tucked the pistol in the back of my waistband. It was no time to be thinking about seat belt arrest. We should be so lucky. I covered him from head to toe in a sheet, not that it was going to fool anyone for long.

               I sat back as Luke drove like a demon. I clutched the car door handle and the back of Bert’s seat to stay steady. I tried to concentrate on something else rather than the ride from hell. 

“Why did they want Troy, so bad?” I thought.” Or was it just that they wanted to protect the crop.” 

Someone had shot out our tyre which was a warning. Something was bugging me and it lay buried at the bottom of my subconscious, tantalisingly just out of reach. I was trying to put things in some sort of perspective. Troy seemed to be a key factor in this, but why? He was little more than a junkie, a rich man’s son but what use was that?. It wasn’t like they were going to hold him for ransom or something. They weren’t trying to guarantee his silence. Who is going to believe a Junkie, even a rich one? And they kept him supplied so what was the big deal. They were buying his loyalty. And if I was Troy I would know that dogging on the Outlaws or Mongrel Mob was likely to piss them off. Not even a choice! So what was really going on? There was more to this than I could fathom and I had neither the energy nor time to puzzle it out. Turns out I was wrong that “our friends” would not know where we were. Or one very  “special friend” anyway.

                   The wind had again started to pick up, and the sky one moment blue, had started to darken. This was like Dejavu. Driving on the road was hazardous, several times we had to stop, removing and shifting branches. We saw the telegraph pole at Fishermen’s Creek Bridge, still sparking. Luke drove around it at breakneck speed. We made it to had thanks to Luke’s driving skills. It would probably take a while for me to prise my fingers from the back of Bert’s seat however. 

Eddie g nudged me towards the bush canopy off to one side. I thought here we go again. This second location shit. I had just about enough of Testosterone male bull shit. A kick in the balls was not going to do it with this guy. I racked my brains for what else this ex cop had said about self defence when faced with an attacker. The first tip was don’t be talked into being taken to a second location, the second tip that criminals use your embarrassment against you, so forget embarrassment. And if you are led to a second location, be calm, follow their directions and all the time be looking out for an opening to escape. If there is an opportunity to get out, look for it take it. 

                        I was pumped up on adrenalin, again. My ears were tuned in for sounds of Bert and Luke returning up the bush path. Nothing. I walked slowly towards the bush Eddie was indicating and he nudged me in the back.

“Hurry it up, pretty girl, I have a treat in store for you” he said. “But we need to have privacy and we don’t want Batman and Robin getting back too soon to spoil things, now do we?

Gawd, this dick head was a real character, I thought or at least he thought so.

By this time we had reached the canopy of trees and dense bush. I was going first and had to push branches and thick lantana and vegetation with my hands. It was slow going and noisy, branches cracking and snapping underfoot.

Keep it quiet, can’t you, he said.

Uh, it would help if I had a machete or fern hook I thought but didn’t say. We continued downwards, the descent was steep and without the benefit if timber hand rail as the man made path to Natural Arch was. I was sweating so much I felt bathed in it. But there was no way I was taking off my sweat shirt; I would die of heat exhaustion first. Eddie was whispering to me as to what he would like to do to me. I tuned him out my whole focus on looking for a way out. I kept my head down, ever the compliant little prisoner.

                        There was at last a break in the vegetation and the we were well down the slope now. The gradient had to be 90 degrees and we were almost pitching on to our heads at every step. It was hard to gain purchase on the forest floor as the ground was covered in leaves and vegetation. It was a hobbled slip slide progress of one step, slide, brace with your hand on a branch, take another step, slip. We were making slow inroads into this part of the bush. I tried to second guess what plan Eddie had. Rape me, Kill Bert, Luke and Troy. Or was Troy worth money to him. What was really going on? I wondered.

I was irritable again; I always am when I’m hungry and held at gun point. We had almost reached the forest floor. Off to one side I could hear the muffled steady roar of the waterfall. It sounded far away. All else was silent. Down here in the bowels of the rain forest all was hushed and cool. No birds, no wind rustling trees, it was cathedral of beauty and silence. If it had been better circumstances I would have cherished this experience. But once again I was at the mercy of some prick with a weapon. This one hell bent on having some “fun” before killing me. I tried to think what was going to be worse.

                                    Eddie said, one word and I knew it had being going to come

Strip, he said.

I thought ok embarrassment.

I have to pee, I am desperate. I said and uh, I have my period.

He looked pained but not too much. That was not a good sign.  

Go pee but in sight of where I can see you.

I looked at him questioningly. I was staying calm and following direction.

For fucks sake, you stupid bitch, go over there pee behind a bush but keep your head up so I can see that you are not up to any funny stuff.

“And what am I supposed to wipe myself with, Eddie? I asked. Looking him calmly in the eyes. Using his name and not acting fearful or agitated.

“Leaves, stupid. Go native, rough it, clean yourself with leaves just do it and hurry it up, he replied.

I moved over to a bush as indicated, peed, as I really needed to, holding my legs wide, so as to not pee on my shoes. I looked around for some leaves and did a basic clean up as best I could. Luckily the leaves were wet with rain and I felt reasonably hygienic. I tried to make the operation last as long as I could. Racking my brains for a means of escape that didn’t involve me being shot. I looked at Eddie; he was looking up as to where we had come from. 

Had he heard a noise? I strained my ears, but could hear nothing. So much for my better developed senses. But then he was paranoid and cunning as a shit house rat. I guess that gave him an edge on me. I am a girl though and one of our powers is cunning, so it was time to start outsmarting this smelly turd. I needed to buy some time. I knew enough time had elapsed for Bert and Luke to notice I was missing. I hadn’t shut the boot, had I? I tried to remember. My brain was hurting with it all, all the rules of survival coming in to play, no embarrassment, stay calm, follow direction, look for escape.

“Hurry up, bitch, Eddie said. I know you’re stalling for time. Batman and robin are going to be all over the place looking for you. When I’ve finished with you I will wait down here and pick them off one by one as they come down that slope. Bit like shooting fish in a barrel. He was pointing the gun at my head, indicating my urgent return to his unsavoury side. I checked the pointed end of the knife near my wrist and imagined sticking it in his fat belly. I would be able to do it with pleasure. And watch him bleed to death like a stuck pig. No drama.

                        I returned to his side. 

“I can’t have sex with you, I said, “I have my period.

His grin was wide and ugly. He pointed the gun at my stomach.

“That’s alright, little one”, you can give me a head job instead. My stomach heaved.

“I don’t do head jobs, I stated calmly. “I have Herpes A, B, and C and unless you want yourself a dose I would not recommend it.

He grabbed my hand and went to place it on his crutch.

“Nothing stopping a hand job, then, is there, my lovely, haven’t got leprosy have you?

What a card, this guy was turning out to be.

“Missed your calling as a stand up comedian, Eddie”, I replied and now was when I felt that I had run out of options. 

He pushed the gun into my stomach hard and said,

Its time for you to shut the fuck up, bitch and do as you’re told. 

He forced my head down towards his crotch area. Switching now to putting the gun close to my head. 

Bet you it was getting him off, the thought of being fellated while some poor dumb bitch (me) had a gun to her head. He would be able to fantasise about this for years to come. (Pardon the pun). Gag, me with a spoon, didn’t look like the shorts had had a wash in a while. The crutch area looked extremely unsavoury and smelt of stale urine. 

“Jesus, what was going to be the state of the wee bald man I was about to encounter.? I wondered, head swimming with distaste.

Eddie slowly started unzipping his fly. Obviously getting off in his head of the superior position he was in. Who did he think he was?, Dirk Diggler. I thought. 

So I did the best thing I could think of. With every ounce of my strength I pushed him, he fell backwards, sprawling and the gun went off. And I took off, 

Not upwards, as he would pick me off, but off towards the side and in the general direction of the distant waterfall. I ran like I had never run before, Bounding over branches, not giving a shit about the noise I was making. My survival mode had kicked in to top gear, fight or flight. I had obviously chosen flight and flying was what I was doing. God, I was scared. But I couldn’t give in. If it was a choice between death and seeing that fat prick’s weeny smelly wiener I would choose death.

                        I realized that the shot might have been heard by Luke and Bert as well. I have no doubt it would have been and they were on their way down the slope. Eddie would have realized that as well. And he would not kill them yet as he needed to know where Troy was. So that meant his plan would be to come after me, maybe take me hostage, forcing Luke’s hand. Gawd, I didn’t know. I was channelling Forrest Gump. I just ran. Headlong, crazed, scared shitless. Amazing what adrenalin does to your energy level.

                        I could hear crashing through the scrub behind me. No doubt fat Eddie had a lot more bush knowledge than me. But maybe not. Maybe he just stayed behind that bar in town and studied his form guide; his waistline would certainly bear that fact out. I headed for the waterfall noise. I came in sight line of the creek meandering its way like a snake along the rain forest floor. My instincts told me to follow it. I began running alongside, so tempted to splash my way through the shallows. But saturated socks and shoes would weigh me down and slow my progress.     

                        And suddenly I was at the walking trail, just like that. I almost had run over it in my haste. I grabbed the timber hand rail and slowed my headlong crazy dash. My heart was threatening to explode in my chest. I tried to calm my breathing and listen at the same time. I was figuring how far away Eddie would be behind me. I hid in a thick clump of bushes and willed my heaving chest to slow down. I knew if I stayed here under cover his chances of finding me were small. The rainforest was vast and well covered in vegetation. He couldn’t search every bush and shrub. I sat on the ground and hoped to hell that the snakes, spiders and other jungle creepy crawlies would give me a break.

                        I was glad to sit; my legs had gone into adrenalin overdrive and were shaking. I rubbed them hard trying to ease out the tension. I kept every sense on alert. The heat was not unbearable but I was sweaty from the exertion. I had no idea a body could sweat as much as mine had. I thought longingly of that cold creek. Imagining throwing myself into its cool depths fully clothed. But Eddie had to be dealt with first. I realized that he hadn’t let go of that gun when he tumbled backwards. I should have stomped on his crutch or head while I had the chance. But at least I was out of his reach. For now.         

                        I eventually calmed down my jumping legs and cautiously put my head up out of the bush. I ducked back down. Eddie was about fifty metres away. I could see that he had also found the bush walk track and was heading upwards. Effectively cutting off an upwards escape route. 

Well Troy had to be down here; Bert and Luke were going to put him in the cave. I kept an eye on Eddie for a while longer till he was out of sight. Then I crept towards the waterfall and the cave. The cave was easy to find after a few wrong turnings at Albuquerque. Sure enough Troy was there, trussed up like a chicken and snoring his head off. Which was good as I didn’t have to deal with him and that Luke and Bert’s return was imminent? But to be on the safe side I returned to my bush. I didn’t want to be trapped in a cave with no back door, so to speak. Eddie wasn’t about to give up that easily. He would come looking for me once again. Of that I was sure 

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                        I must have fallen asleep face down on the forest floor. Sheer exhaustion in the end doing me in. When I awoke every muscle in my body was screaming with protest. All the adrenalin had drained out now leaving lactic acid to fill my muscles and give me grief in every way shape and form. I rolled on to my back with some difficulty feeling like a caterpillar turned on its back all legs in the air. I struggled to sit, ears once again erect and twitching. I could hear voices, hushed voices. It was harder to pick up on the voices as the wind had started to pick up, once again. Rustling the trees and vegetation.

“Looks like Cyclone Arthur were back and no doubt about to finish whatever he hadn’t finished before.” I thought.

I slowly clambered into a semi crouch position. And peered out on to the path. Great, just great. There was Luke and Bert alright but being walked along at gunpoint by Eddie. Eddie had his eyes darting everywhere and Luke and Bert were conversing amongst themselves.

“I told you two to shut the fuck up” said Eddie, ever the brave man with a gun in his hand. And with that animal instinct known to people that are in tune with each other Luke looked straight at me. And stumbled. Fat Eddie was smart enough to keep out of his way and kicked out at Luke’s prone figure.

“What the fuck are you playing at O’Halloran, he said.

                              Luke mumbled something about the path being slippery and Bert held out his hand and pulled him up. Luke murmured something to him in the exchange of movement and I ducked down out of sight. Safe in the knowledge that Luke and now Bert knew I was there and that I was O.K. Luke had looked relieved in that split second that we sensed each other. So maybe Eddie had been telling a few porkies about what he had done to me. I thought then I shouldn’t have just pushed him I should have bit him in somewhere very painful for him. Sustained an injury he would feel for a long time to come. But just the thought of his smell nauseated me. Bile came up into my throat in an acid backwash and I swallowed hard.

                                I knew that Bert and Luke were probably looking for an escape. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to work out that once Eddie had Troy in his sights that Bert and Luke were no longer of any use to him. And of course Bert and Luke would know this and were probably looking for anyway out. I let them get away down the path a little and I followed, stepping as lightly as I could through the bush. The wind was picking up more now and a light misting of rain was coming down now through the canopy of trees overhead. That probably meant at the top of the rain forest the downpour was torrential. Who would know? We had to be two hundred feet down in this ancient canyon.

                                        I crept on. Silent as I could be. Eddie had to have known I was here somewhere. But perhaps he thought I was lost. 

“City girl not many bush skills.” 

Well, following the creek, I learned in Brownies when we camped overnight at the Belabula River. Or the telegraph poles or rail line. That was one of the basic “Bush survival skills. That, and how to make twisties of flour and water, wrap them around a stick and stick in the fire. And how to wash up at a camp in the outdoors. Glasses first. All the important life skills necessary to prepare a young girl of eight for the world. I received my first merit badge for my “Bush” skills. Apart from the washing of dishes I hadn’t had to use my other skills as yet. But right at that moment I would have killed for a “twisty”.

                        There wasn’t much time as I am sure that Eddie’s intention was to kill the “boys”, who I thought of as now, “My Boys”. But, he would also know that the second front or the backside of the cyclone was on us. So he wouldn’t be going out of the forest anytime soon. And that he wouldn’t kill his hostages until he had ascertained where Troy was. And I was guessing he wouldn’t kill them there at the spot if he wasn’t going to be able to get out for a few days. Bodies have a habit of decaying and smelling to high heaven even after a short while. Without the added bonus here in the rain forest of heat or humidity

                                   Lazy fat Eddie I assume would be thinking, what an effort it would be for a body to be dragged at all. His plan would be, find Troy, kill Bert and Luke. It would be better to march a live person away. Better to force the live person to march somewhere a fair distance away from the main path, thereby accomplishing two things. Accomplishment number One, saving yourself an aching back from not having to drag a body a fair distance, and, two, stopping nosy tourists from investigating an unsavoury smell at a later date. He wouldn’t even have to try and bury the bodies if he took them far enough away. A fat lazy mans ideal recipe for murder. So it was only a matter of time before Eddie killed the two men. And now that time span was narrowed down to a few moments. I had to do something!

                              I still had the knife up my sleeve but it was getting to be uncomfortable where it was. So I stuck it sideways down my sock. The blade touching the sole of my boot. Being cut by it seemed a better option than trying to keep it from slipping out of my sleeve all the time. Now I was channelling an ancient Celt warrior, Brave heart, I was thinking. My dirk in my sock. Where was my kilt and wode painted face? Where would I be without my love of the dramatic and movies?  I was making up the fact that I was a warrior, a bush expert and an aboriginal tracker. But they do say fake it till you make it and that is what I was doing. I was Boadicea, William Wallace, David Gulpillil and Steve Irwin rolled into one. All I needed was their bravery. My knees were still knocking. 

                  I belly crawled the last few metres. As I suspected they were at the entrance to the cave and Eddie had his back to me. He was waving that gun around a bit and the wind now was snatching away all his words. No doubt just spouting crap anyway. It was now or never, better to have the two men to help me kick ass than one at a time. I sprang forward; one arm went around Eddie’s neck. This is a manoeuvre I learned from my brothers. I used to practise it regularly on them until I nearly snapped one of their necks and was told off for it. Lucky for me Eddie was about my height. It only works on people of similar height. Having to jump up and down like the energiser bunny, to reach, just doesn’t cut it.)I held the knife at his throat.

“How does it feel, you mother fucker” I whispered into his decidedly unshell like ear.” Drop the fucking gun, or I am going to slit your fat throat”,

 I don’t know who I was channelling now, but I was glad she had turned up, just in the nick of time. Eddie dropped the gun and I kicked it towards Luke.

“Cass”, yelled Luke, grabbing the gun off the ground.

“I knew you were alive, this bastard told us you were dead.”

Eddie was looking decidedly uncomfortable so we did him a favour and lay him down on the ground and tied his hands behind his back. I gagged him as well, with a piece of my tee shirt. And once again we waited out the storm.

                                  Down at the bottom of the rain forest wasn’t as bad as up on top. We were so far down and the trees that surrounded the cave had stood for hundreds of years and would no doubt live for hundreds more. We lost track of time, it might have been 8 at night or 5 in the morning. None of us were wearing watches. The light didn’t change at all till the rain stopped. We spent our time building a fire, cooking, resting, exercising our two prisoners, the usual trapped in a cave with limited facilities routine. We had done this before and were well practised at it. Towards the end of what must have been the second day the rain started to ease. Luke took a trip to the top and came back with the information that the cyclone had passed. There was once again devastation everywhere but the Valiant and 4 WD were OK.

                                We packed up our merry little band of forest dwellers and marched single file up path. We left everything we couldn’t carry behind. Luke or Bert could come back with it at a later date. When we ascended to the top I blinked like a mole emerging from a tunnel. The sun was bright, the air felt refreshed, heady almost, champagne light. We all piled into the Valiant and took off. Any extra gear we had stowed in the Ute. 

                                            Amazingly the back end of the cyclone had not done as much damage as the front end and we were able to make good progress along the main road into Katburra. I am sure by now the Mario Tumino’s henchmen were up and about. And looking for us, but we couldn’t think about that right now.  I realised it was now two weeks since I had been away from Beach Haven. That two weeks before the wedding and delivery of a clean and sober Troy. Speak of the devil; Troy was awake and staring at Eddie.

“What’s he doing here?”

Ah, that would be a long story. I said.

Well tell it, he answered.

Why is the publican of the local pub here and why is he trussed up like a chicken and gagged?

 I shrugged and took Eddie’s gag off. I realised now, he wasn’t going to be screaming for help inside the car.

Why don’t we let Eddie tell it? Whatever there is to tell that is?

We all waited expectantly for Eddie to speak.

“Fuck off!” was all he said, and turned his face to the window.

“I’m guessing that Eddie doesn’t want to talk. I said, I’m guessing that he was coming after you and we somehow got in his way.

Why anyone would be coming after me. Except for you, that is, who is being paid to collect me and take me back to the bosom of my loving family?

“I don’t know and looks like Eddie is not telling. I am assuming it’s because you know too much about what is growing out there in the tomato crop.

But so does Eddie, obviously and a few others like Tony and Mongrel and 

“Mongrel”, I echoed. Wondering why that name bothered me so much.

Yes, Mongrel, you surely have seen him if you captured me. Big skinny Dude, tatts on his forehead. He used to be one of the Mongrel Mob when he was younger. Tough as shit. Stop at nothing to get what he wants. He’s Mario’s right hand man and would kill you in an instant. I couldn’t get over Tony getting us both mixed up with him. He is out there mentally, you know what I mean and it’s not just the wacky tabaccy, that he smokes green by the way. Most kiwis do. He’s a tough guy.

Does he do other drugs, I asked.

Nope, not as far as I know. You can’t be doing that shit and be alert and Mario likes his “boys” to be alert. Tony and I were barely tolerated because they knew we were dabbling in other shit. A bit of speed here, heroin there. Heroin is the slows, speed makes you run and choof mellows you out in between.

Don’t you get sick of being addicted? I had to ask it. Don’t you get sick of being out of it all the time?

Human beings love being out of it. Real life sucks sometimes. Correct that a lot of the time. What human being doesn’t want to be out of it a lot of the time? Drugs are pleasure. That why people “do” drugs. Look at alcohol. Its legal and how many people are pissed all the time? And then go out and kill other people on the road or domestic violence or whatever?

I switched off mentally as I had heard this argument many times before. Always sounded like justification to me. I through my personal experience with my ex always found that drugs make you selfish. You can dress it up; you can justify it how you want. But drugs make you selfish and anyone taking them thinks that the rest of the world is screwed and that only they are privy to the real truth. That truth being that they alone are having a good time and the “straights” are having a miserable one.

                           Try telling that to rest of the world that are actually out there having a good time and not having to be twisted to do it. My Aunt for a start, my family, me. Millions of people all over the world. Most of who have problems, kids, bills, not enough money, not even enough food when you think about third world countries. But they live, they exist, they raise children with love and affection. They make differences to other people’s lives. I was not about to get on my soapbox but I looked at Troy with something akin to pity.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing”, I replied. If I couldn’t explain it to a thirty something I would not be able to explain it to a spoilt little rich kid of 21, who thought he knew it all. And I felt so weary that even the thought of trying to argue with the little toe rag only served to make me feel more exhausted.

I looked out the window and saw my reflection looking back at me. I looked like hell. My hair was a mess; I looked dirty and had a nice bruise on one cheek.

                            Luke was driving and he had turned on the radio. After a lot of static we heard the crop report on the avocado yield for the region. Luke fiddled with the radio dial some more and finally I heard the comforting and familiar sound of the ABC radio call sign for the half hourly news.

“Cyclone Arthur has turned out to sea”, said the smooth unctuous voice of the news reader. I love ABC voices. I have yet to hear someone that sounds like that in real life but no mind. They probably get up from their chair after a broadcast and say,

“Hey Sheila, Grab us a coffee, would ya love” Who knew?

The voice continued.

“There has been flooding in McKay and Rockhampton, major damage of housing in Bundaberg and Cairns and roofs and walls of houses collapsed in most of the small towns south of those regions. Which meant just about everywhere as far as Gladstone?

Eddie spoke.

“I need a leak”, he said.

I passed him an empty coke bottle.

What the fuck am I going to do with that?

What you think you are going to do with it, I replied.

Bert is going to hold your tiny dick for you and you are going to wee in the bottle.

Bert whipped his head around and Luke laughed. Bert started to remonstrate with me.

“Relax Dad, Cass is joking”. Any way it might not be a bad idea if we all took a break, and he slowed and started pulling over to the soft shoulder. Luke opened the doors and we all went about our own business. I found a convenient bush. Once again baring my Arse to the grass, leaves having to suffice for tidying up purposes. Leaving me feeling unhygienic and more than a little damp. I thought longingly of antibacterial wipes that I kept in my glove box of Cedric. Every intrepid traveller should have them.   

                         We continued on our journey. We, Bert, Luke and I had decided we would hand Eddie over to the police. It was our word against his and there were three of us. We were able to do that with out too much fuss and bother. One of the police men Sergeant Hunter knew Bert and took that nasty little problem right out of our hands. Leaving us with just Troy. Katburra was a decent enough sized town. It had two pubs and a solitary motel. Katburra had been largely untouched by Cyclone Barry. The sign out the front of the Western Star Motel was hanging by only one chain instead of two, and there were palm branches all over the front of the fore court. Bit like a welcome for a higher power I remember thinking. But by that time I was just about delirious with a combination of shock, tiredness and general feral grunginess.

“Bags I first in the shower,” I called out from the back seat. 

Hell, I could smell myself never mind anyone else. Luke pulled around to one of the cabins at the back. The empty car spaces evidenced that we were the only travellers.

                     We all trooped inside and after flicking on the kettle, I retired to the bathroom. It was sheer luxury to scrub and soap and shampoo all my body. There was a tenacious little black thing stuck to my pubic hair and I sort of screamed when I realised it was a leech. Luke banged on the door.

Cass, he said, what’s going on, are you ok. I turned off the water and poked my head around the side of the door.

Leech

Where

Uh, looked down.

Oh

Mmmm, what do I do???

 Tweezers, salt, you definitely need someone else to do it for you. I am squeamish, but am willing to volunteer my services to a good cause., Luke said.

Very funny, just chase me up some tweezers and salt and I will do it myself. thank you. I replied.

I knew that leeches hate anything like vinegar, lemon juice, or salt. Even a lit cigarette. There was no way I was putting a lit cigarette near my tender nether regions. Apart from the fact, that doing that so might cause a small bush fire, (Once again with the stupid puns when terrified.)

”Who smoked/” I thought. Probably Troy, but his smoking I was assuming was more the type done out of a homemade bong rather than a cigarette paper. From my scant knowledge of leeches I knew also that you have to be careful to not just flick the slimy thing off. Flicking it off can leave its eating parts embedded in your flesh causing infection. Infection is not a good thing especially in the tropics. 

              There was a peremptory knock on the door and I opened it a crack, enough for Luke to hand me tweezers, a salt shaker and some tiger balm. I grabbed them, muttered a quick thank you and totally creeped out, and removed that slimy sucker from my body. It lay fat and satiated on the bathroom mat and I picked it up with a tissue and sent it on its way to the local sewerage farm with a quick flush. I then had to jump back in the shower and wash myself all over again. And if you are thinking that that is a green violation of excess water usage all I can say is that you had to be there. Subject closed.   

                                 I had pulled out some clean clothes from my backpack and the sheer bliss of being clean in clean clothes was a feeling that was almost sensual. I departed the bathroom and allowed everyone else to take their turn.                               Bert had been in to town and hunted and gathered some delicious Barbeque Chicken and hot potato wedges with a separate tub of sour cream and sweet chilli sauce. We all sat on the floor and ate to our hearts content. Bert was a novice at the take away art, evidenced by only one tub of sour cream that soon ran out but we forgave him. There was once again a general clean up and I played Mother and made coffee for all and served the four apple tarts Bert had the foresight to also pick up. Thoroughly satisfied, we all lay down; Luke and Bert on a single bed each, me on the double and Troy on the couch. Luke had flipped on the T.V. and the last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep was the sound of the V8 Super cars circling a track somewhere. The steady thrumming of the cars going around and around sending me into deepest slumber.

                             I slept almost 15 hours the others told me later. I awakened to the noise of the breakfast hatch being opened and trays being slid through.

“Good morning”, called a voice and departed.

I was instantly awake and as happy as a pup with two tails. Food after a good sleep has that effect on me. Well just food has that effect on me at any time. That is why I have to work so hard to maintain my womanly hour glass figure. Other wise I would be a Rubenesque hour glass figure and that is not a good look to a client. Especially when they are expecting Linda Hamilton from the Terminator Movies to chase down their errant spouses. Not Miss Piggy from the Muppets. I do refuse to give up good food but I do have to recognise that I don’t need so much of it. And that the old adage “Garbage in, garbage out" is one that I have to abide by. And I don’t think loving exercise is ever going to be a problem for me, because it’s never going to happen. I am a work in progress.

                                    Troy was hoeing his food down not unlike a steam shovel. Seeing as he had not been smoking, inhaling or otherwise imbibing any strange substances it was good to see his appetite return. Things on that front might be looking up. I glanced over at him and he gave me a sheepish grin, egg dripping off his chin. He swiped at it with a paper napkin and kept on eating. He reminded me of my nephew who came to stay with Aunt Rose and me when he was about 15. Before drugs and peer pressure caught up with him. He weighed about 45 kg, wet through, and stood almost 6’ tall, more boy than man, all legs and arms and bony joints. I would watch him in fascination as he would consume what seemed to be his own body weight in food. His jaw literally did not seem to ever stop moving. He would peer into the fridge every half hour or so it seemed and mutter that there was never any real food. My Aunt and I were mystified as to what real food was until we took him shopping. Turned out real food was anything that could be deep fried, zapped in a microwave, baked. It was preferable if it was battered, crumbed, completely unhealthy and swimming in fat. He never gained an ounce, the whole month he was with us, and I was always convinced his jaw would get tired. It never did.

                                            I tried to look at Troy with a dispassionate eye; he really was just a kid. Alright a kid that had held a knife to my throat. I had to remember that. But that was due to drug withdrawal and severe drugs at that. But he had helped us bring down an armed man. That was to be commended. And his family certainly loved him, And with that thought,I guessed it was time to let David Lyons know his boy was back from the dead. I turned on my cell, I had reception. Miracle of miracles, ah technology, I love technology sometimes. I had umpteen voice messages. I ignored those for the moment and dialled David Lyons Number, Message bank. Great. I tried his office number. It rang for ages and then finally someone answered it.

 “Declan Irvine”, came the deep dulcet lilt of my favourite Irish man.  

“Hi Declan, its Cass Alexander, how are you? I said

“Fine and dandy, Cass, how are you? He asked, sounding really pleased to hear from me.

“I need to speak to David if he’s there, Declan, I asked

Declan replied, “Sorry Cass, David flew to South Africa yesterday till the end of the week. I tried to reach him by mobile yesterday but he must be out of range. Is there anything I can help you with? Have you found my God son?  I am so worried as you know we all are”

I was delighted to tell him that Troy was indeed O.K. and here with me. Troy had gone outside with Bert and was having a cigarette (so he did smoke!) 

“That is fantastic,” he replied, “David will be delighted, as will Rachel and Jennifer. “We were all so worried when we heard about the Cyclone up there. Where are you now? I told him and he said to be careful and safe return and all that. He really was a charming man. He also said he would pass the good news on to David as soon as he could get a hold of him, and to Troy’s Mum and sister. I figured that the sister, Jenny, would be especially delighted. Knowing that her little brother was O.K. and would be home for the wedding. And with fingers crossed, a high wind and me dogging his every footstep, Troy would be clean and sober. Things were once again starting to look up a little.

                        I rang off and thought once again about that voice of Declan Irvine’s. My ancestry is Celt , and my Dad had a soft Scottish burr. There is an obvious reason therefore ( I think anyway) as to why I am a sucker for accents, English, Irish, Scottish, Welsh, whatever. Men can be absolute frogs to look at but if they have that certain lilt and cadence to their voice I am like the donkey in Shrek,    leaping into the air and shouting “Pick me, pick me”    I also happened to be in the know that Declan was single and not without a few shekels. Well let’s face it. I’ve been miserable and poor and miserable and rich and I know what I prefer. Just speaking to Declan had made my mouth go dry.

Luke had been sitting reading the paper across the room and had obviously been listening.

“Who was that that made you cream your tweeds? Luke asked.

“That was David Lyons partner, Declan Irvine, Troy’s godfather, and he did not make me “cream my tweeds”, whatever they are, you crude creature. I replied.

He has been worried sick about Troy and was anxious to know he was alright. OK? I sounded defensive even to myself.

“Tweeds are the same as panties, Cass, and I would say with a name like Declan he’s a smooth talking Irish man. And probably just wants to get in to your “alleged” tweeds” he said.

Luke, don’t be so stupid, he’s not after me and besides I’ve sworn off men for a while as you know. I pick the wrong types, that much is clear, and until I learn some sense I am going to leave them very much alone for a while.” I said. I almost believed it myself.

“Sure” was his one word reply.

                                   It only remained now for me to be on my way back to beach Haven and drop off my human cargo and collect my booty of $40,000 big ones. I had already decided that I would like to recompense Luke and Bert in some way. I needed to think about that as I knew they wouldn’t take any money for their help. Luke was insisting that they accompany me all the way back to Beach Haven But that would be cutting fine his imminent return to work at the plant. We were in a quandary as they weren’t happy to leave me alone with Troy, just yet. They acceded to the fact that Troy was getting better by the day, but as far as              

                                          Luke was of the opinion, once a junkie, always a junkie. I was with him on that one but Troy’s appealing looks and goofy smile were starting to get to me. I knew if you got them off the shit young enough, it was a blip on the radar screen of their life, nothing more, and nothing less. It all depended on the way they were brought up. I knew all of this because of my nephew. He went on drugs because of a painful break up. (Teenage boys are so vulnerable to heart break) and peer pressure. Hanging with the right sort of friends is the best modification tool for teenagers.  I had seen from my limited experience that parents hardly mattered a damn to most teenagers. Parents were there to be taxi services, a source of cheap rent and food and to be largely ignored except when needing access to money. Certainly their opinions were neither important or to be adhered to.   But friends were everything. I can remember my rotund Scottish father collecting me from blue light discos in the eighties  by walking directly on to the dance floor and simply saying, “Cass, home” I wanted to die of embarrassment. He did it deliberately I am sure. It was the price I paid for being allowed to go and it was my idiotic mistake if I hadn’t stuck to the time agreed upon. To meet him in the car park. My parents have retired now to the Sunshine Coast on acreage. Dad tends to his orchids and Mum tends to him. It’s a blissfully happy union and has been for 45 years.

                                          

                        I was still thinking off that warm caress of Declan Irvine’s voice. Mmm. I mentally shook myself; really I thought I was becoming a silly romantic, when I seriously had some work to do. The whole Troy thing was not finished yet. I had to deliver him back to loving hearth and home yet, clean and sober. And so far I was only half way there. I knew I could book the airfare to the credit card I had been given, as I had the motel. But could I trust Troy? That seemed to be the question. We reached a compromise over burgers at lunch. Bert had been doing his “Hunter Gatherer” chores again. These were real Aussie burgers, real meat, real onion, red beetroot, and egg, and pineapple, hamburger bun, studded with sesame seeds on top. We all stopped talking and did some serious chewing, mopping up the juices that ran down our hands with more paper napkins. Bert had brought back milk shakes as well. I had ordered a lime one and everyone thought that was a good idea. 

                         I knew my hour glass figure was going to suffer but I would just have to double up on the workouts once back home. 

“Home”, I thought. “Home, home, home” a bit like E.T. And a wave of longing swept over me for the security and familiarity of my little place. I almost wept but looking at all those strong male faces surrounding me, I held it all together. I would be home soon enough. And I was really enjoying spending time with my two Far North Queensland cowboys. I had a gut feeling that Troy was going to be O.K. as well. I don’t know why, I just felt it. As soon as we had cleaned up, (easy peasy), we just shoved all the rubbish into the wastepaper basket, we began making departure moves. I called the airline and found out that the next flight to the Gold Coast was two that afternoon. We could make it easily, Luke and Bert dropping us off and continuing their journey home. 

                                     All seemed to be done and dusted all of a sudden and I felt a little flat. No big wonder as I had been thriving on adrenalin and nervous energy for weeks now. I felt all of that energy leaking out of me like a slow leaking balloon. And suddenly just the thought of that last step, the flight, the goodbye gestures to Luke and Bert, made me feel so tired I wanted to lie down. But there was no time for a power nap. I could sleep on the plane, I reasoned. Troy was looking at me expectantly.

“Two weeks ago, if you had told me this was going to happen that I wouldn’t be “using”, I would have said you were crazy. “But here I am looking forward to going home and wanting to see my Mum and sis”. He didn’t mention the word Dad, so maybe there was more work to be done on that score. I have one question for you Cass.

Oh Oh, I thought.

Did Dad just want me home for Rachel’s wedding so it would look good for him or was he really worried about me?

I thought carefully about my reply, remembering David Lyon’s breaking voice and his thorough studying of my desk when talking about Troy.

Your Dad is a hard nosed business man Troy, I am sure you are aware of that. But he said you and him lived together really well. Then when he and your Mum split up you changed and things went bad for a while. Like most parents he worries about you. He wants you to do well and maybe for you to both get along really well you need to move out on your own and see what real life is really like.” I knew I wasn’t answering the question head on, but I was caught between a rock and a hard place. I needed to reassure troy that yes Daddy loved him. But I wasn’t sure how to do it without sounding mawkish or over concerned. I sensed Troy was hurt by the divorce more than he was letting on and didn’t know to act out all those feelings. Lets face it none of us “kids” want our mum and dad to split up when we get right down to it. I would hate for my parents to split up. There love and respect for each other was a constant in my life and a situation that I aspired to for myself.

                              We all piled back into the trusty valiant and headed for the small airport at Katburra. Just an airstrip really. No Star jeans coffee shop or Mickey D outlets. Not even a baggage carousel. Just a big Nissan Hut set out in the middle of nowhere with a counter at one side and a few plastic seats. I didn’t want any sad goodbyes; I hate goodbyes at any time. I just wanted to say see you soon and go. I relented and gave then both a hug and then Troy and I were walking out on to the Tarmac towards a ridiculously small plane. I looked back. Big mistake. Luke and Bert were still standing there staring after us. I deliberately turned my back. The Chinese believe it’s unlucky to wave to someone till they are out of sight. So I didn’t. But I felt a bit sad as we took off into the sky.

                  I spent the entire three hours flight to Beach Haven with my head in a sick bag. Thank God Troy and I were the only ones on board. I used up all the eight sick bags provided and then some. Troyhad moved to a seat closer to the pilot “to see more and give me some privacy”, but I think he held grave fears for his catching my air sickness. That or he couldn’t handle the stench. I couldn’t stand it myself and although I had only eaten one burger at lunch I reckon I brought up at least ten. Barf! Just before descent I staggered to the ladies room, (they should rename it miniscule smelly closet,) and ran cool water over my face and dried it with some dry as potato chips paper towelling. It didn’t dry my face at all but certainly negated any need for exfoliation or a face mask, any time soon. There was no such mod con as a mirror. I brushed my furry teeth and tongue and nearly gagged again. I cupped my hand and drank thirstily of the water. It was probably full of E coli and salmonella A, I was beyond caring, there was nothing left to throw up, so what the hell!

                     Much unrefreshed I sat back down and belted up ready for landing. I grabbed my Body Shop white musk oil from my bag and dabbed some on wrist and pulse spots. This helped to refresh my personal odour, I hoped. I took a peek at my face in my compact. Shriek! I looked like the wild woman of Borneo as my Dad would say or Beirut on a bad day. What ever! I looked terrible. I had a shiny red sunburnt nose that was peeling. Ditto my cheeks and would you believe the very tips of my ears. My hair usually so stylishly coiffed and brushed looked like I had been harbouring birds in it, very Helen Bonham Carter styling without effort. Which I am convinced she doesn’t bother with anyway. Clever girl! I started tugging a comb through the snarls, there were big knots of hair underneath near my neck line that defied any sort of separation and I was contemplating cutting them off when I finally reached home

              Troy had glanced back at me and saw that I was more or less pulling myself together. Still keeping downwind of me I noticed he took a seat a little closer to me.

“Are you feeling better”? He asked.

I nodded and kept on trying to untangle my hair.

He cleared his throat

.” I just wanted to say that I appreciate you coming to get me, even though I didn’t act like it. And taking care of me, you know. I am sorry about the knife, I wouldn’t have used it. Truly, I am not normally like that. Heroin and dope is madness and speed is the pits. The thing is you think you can control it. You really don’t realise how it is controlling you. I know you probably think I am a spoilt little rich kid who is fucked up on drugs. He paused and looked out of the window.

“You got that right”, I thought, but I said Nary a word. I also noticed that he said the word is and not was. That was a bit of worry, but soon not to be my worry for much longer. I would be able to deliver troy to his happy family, bill David Lyons for services rendered. And collect my bonus and start shopping for the not quite new mini. I saw it blue and silver with maybe a personalised number plate. Cass PI or PEEEYE. On second thought better to not be too recognised in the world I hang a round in. Might get a pissed off spouse or fraudulent insurance claimant wanting to wield some damage on my longed for new car. With baseball bat or set of keys held out and gouged into my paint work.

                     My ears started popping and I swallowed convulsively like a demented goldfish not wanting searing pain in my ears. No one would be expecting us back so their would be no welcoming party gathered in the Coolangatta airport. Neither of us had luggage to speak of. Just carry on stuff. I would have to get Luke or Bert to send my stuff down at a later date. I was pretty sure I had double of everything that I had taken at home. I always tried to pack as light as possible. Having been caught once overseas in the classic predicament that travel books tell you to avoid, that is, having to run for a train up two flights of stairs with my bags and no help. Enough said.

                                         Coolangatta airport was like coming in to LAX compared to Katburra and I grabbed a mug of skinny cappuccino to go with an extra shot from Star Jeans Coffee Emporium. Using the trusty credit card I hired a car at the rental counter, a small Hyundai, four doors. Troy and I piled in and we were off faster than a stripper’s pastie. I love the Gold Coast. It’s like a faded vaudeville star in some parts and some ways. Tawdry and commercial and hidden glamour. But other parts are pristine and hot and breathtaking. The whitest beaches, palm lined at Burleigh. Easily accessible to the public, especially families. The Gold Coast is Number 1 holiday spot for all Australians and not without reason. Troy and I had the windows down feeling the warm breezes, smelling the sharp tang of salty air. You can be a prince or a pauper but all are welcome on the Gold Coast. You can stay at a backpackers or Hotel Versace. You will always be guaranteed to have a great time.

                             I knew Troy wasn’t quite home yet, but I had a good feeling about all this, and at that happy thought my mobile rang. It was David Lyons. 

“Cass Alexander”, I answered.

“Good morning Miss Alexander,” David Lyons began. “According to my partner, who I have just spoken to I believe you have had a good result”

The “result” looked across at me and raised one eyebrow. “Your Dad”, I mouthed.

Troy gestured for the phone. I looked at him questioningly and he nodded and held out his hand.

“Hi Dad”, he said. “How are you?” 

To say I was a little gob smacked was an understatement but then I guess if Troy was going to start a new way of life he had to be courageous.

I tuned out their conversation and tuned in to SEA FM and Robert Palmer singing “Johnny and Mary”, my number one song of all time. Saddest day of my life when he died,up until then I could convince he was somewhere in the Bahamas recording his new album and just waiting for me to come tripping along the beach. Perhaps then I would rugby tackle him to the ground and have my wicked way with him. And now it was too late.  I loved his urbane smooth gentlemanly style. My sister has similar erotic dreams about Meatloaf, (The singer, not the food.)! No accounting for taste!

                                    Troy was holding out the phone to me.

“What”, I said, lost in heaven with Robert?

“Dad wants to talk to you” he said.

“Yes, Mr Lyons”, I began. He and I spoke for a short while. His tone was the happiest I had heard from him. And I was glad for that. As much as he liked to play the hard nosed business man, he was still a parent. We discussed his return in a few days and he reiterated his promise of the bonus.

“I’ve spoken to him, Cass, and he sounds fine. I can’t thank you enough. How did you accomplish it?” he asked.

I told him I had to go as I was driving but would fill him in all details when we met up. I was stunned that he had called me Cass and not Miss Alexander, as per normal.

“Happy man” I thought.

I looked across at Troy and he also seemed very happy. He was singing along to another classic tune.

The phone rang again. This time the number came up with the moniker “Luke”

“Hi Luke”, how’s it going you old reprobate? I asked. And laughed.

Luke’s tone was semi serious.

“I’m six months older than you, smart arse. I had a peek at your licence when you were asleep once. He said.

But all that aside, I am ringing to tell you that fat Eddie sang like a bird to the police and that the crop was discovered along with an amphetamines lab. It will be on the news later today, I should imagine. They are estimating that it’s the biggest haul of marijuana ever. Street value along with the “Speed” of millions. And not only that there were bags and bags of Ecstasy Tabs as well. They were being shipped through one of the small ports near Lockhart River. The marijuana is being burnt as it’s not likely to start a bushfire as the ground is still pretty damp. Its like when they burn the sugar cane but happier. Dad and I can’t go outside. Well actually I noticed him outside last night sniffing the air but I just ignored him, I was too busy sniffing it myself.”  Luke was laughing hard and so was I.

“Anyway, he continued, “Just thought I’d fill you in on everything. They hauled in all of the biker guys including the one called Mongrel, just in case you were worried, and that friend of Troy’s, Tony, and Mario Tumino. I was so stoked. Greedy bastard! Looks like they will all be locked up for a very long while”

I hadn’t been worried, as I knew that those men would not make the connection to me. Not even Eddie as he had no idea where I was from. But it was good to know anyway. I thanked him told him I would be in touch soon about my stuff and he rang off.

“What happened”, Troy asked.

I filled him in on the conversation with Luke.

“Now aren’t you even more glad that you weren’t there when it all went down?” I asked. I realised I was starting to sound like some tough American Gangsta. Rapper C.A.

Troy replied “Kin Oath!”

We drove the twenty minutes to his Mum’s place. Not far from mine. But in price proximity probably a million light years away. Jenny and Leona were both at home, obviously having been told the good news by David. It was so good to see the way they both ran towards the car as we started to pull up. And Troy’s full on hugs of both of them. I admit I felt a little teary and a little maternal myself. I went inside with him and passed on the afternoon tea offered, anxious to get back to hearth and home. Jenny shyly handed me a wedding invitation and said she and family and fiancé would be delighted if I could attend. I liked these people and their polished manners. I agreed to come of course, its not every day you get invited to one of the Social Events of the year. I made goodbye noises and gave Troy a big hug. Little shit had put a knife to my throat but he had redeemed himself and he was my ticket to a newish car. It was all good. But all I wanted now was a long soak in a very warm tub, a large, make that several large glasses of JB and diet Coke with ice and some serious happy time with my cat. My home was only minutes away and I longed to be there so much it was almost a physical ache.

                          The first thing I did was pull up outside Christine’s next door. She answered straight away. Christine runs an online auction business at home. An old toy, glassware, antiques. With two teenage kids and a husband on a decent income it gives her some pin money and she loves it. So we chatted for a bit, catching up. She handed me my mail, said Jaycee should be sunning himself in the garden. He was. I called him. He strolled over. He likes to appear to be cool when in public. I’m sure he has the attitude of a teenage boy. He did deign to give me a small rub on the legs, he’s not into the  dreaded P.D.A. (Public Displays Of Affection) Of course once he has had his dry bikkies and “Bigboy” Chow, he’s all over me like a rash. “Cupboard Love”.

                                      I grabbed his gnarly old head and knuckled it. And stroked under his chin, then plonked him and the mail in the front seat and drove the few yards to home. J. C. leapt out as soon as I opened the door. He’s not big on cars. I once had to spend an entire trip back from the vets with him perched on my shoulder. The vet had said he would sleep all the way home as he was pretty groggy from anaesthetic after having his knackers removed. By the time I was at the end of the out exit from the Vets, TAZ was out of his box and sitting on my shoulder. There he remained for the whole way home. I was then supposed to keep him quiet and comfortable. I left him in the laundry area with a litter box and basket, carefully lined with a towel and he had access to the cat flap. I went off to the supermarket. By the time I arrived home he was perched on the roof.

                                  I pulled into home sweet home. Taz followed yowling so I fed him, sorted out my mail into urgent, less urgent and junk. It was so good to be home. I opened all the windows and starting the ceiling fans whirring in every room. I drew a bath and relaxed soaking off all the grime, shaved my legs which were starting to look like mohair stockings. I did all the usual luxury things I had missed out on for so long. The door creaked open and Taz strolled in and put his paws up on the bath top. I wet his head which he didn’t like much but he was bored and wanted to play. I then jumped quickly into the shower, shampooing my hair. Finally I felt clean and wrapped a bath sheet around me and wandered down the hall. The ceiling fans whirred over head cooling and circulating the air.

                                        I lay down on the bed and Taz joined me and we played games for a while, lots of tummy tickling and purring, I lay face down on the bed, ignoring him, and he nudged me and nipped my hair until I sat up.

“O.K., you wretch, enough of that, I have work to do. 

I changed into soft yoga pants and crop top decided to clean out my overnight bag and make a list of necessary shopping for the next day. With that done, I opened the fridge door. Hmm. Not a lot there, soda water, jam, pickles and what looked like a petrified vegetable of some sort; it was hard to tell what it was, as it was covered in white hair. I threw it out, grabbed a bucket of warm soapy water with some vanilla essence added and cleaned the fridge out quickly. It had begun to get quite dark so I crossed to pull down the Holland blind above the kitchen sink and saw that Auntie Rose’s back door was slightly ajar. I stood back as if I had been struck.  

“Funny”, I thought. “Aunt Rose would not leave her kitchen door open if she had gone away.”

                                   I slid the kitchen window shut and pulled down the blind leisurely as if I hadn’t seen anything. I then went around and closed all the windows and drew all the drapes. My senses were on high alert. I quickly changed into jeans and long sleeved top and grabbed my gun from the top drawer where I had put it. I stuck it into the back of my waistband. I also grabbed the flashlight from under the sink. I had to think and my tired brain was not looping right. I grabbed my cell phone and rang Aunt Roses’s number. Straight to message bank. I left a message for her to call me back. In was in a quandary what to do. I was convinced that I should call the police but what if they came and it was just a fact of that my absent minded Aunt had forgotten to shut the door. It hardly seemed like likely behaviour for her but she had been in a rush, I recalled. I stood for a while dithering.

                                  My cell phone began ringing and the sudden noise in the quiet made me jump. “Auntie Rose”, the display read. 

I answered it

Hullo dear, said Auntie Rose

Hi Darling, How’s things

She sounded far away and distracted.

I’m fine, she said, althought to me she didn’t sound it.

I cut her off, before you fill me in on anything Auntie, your back door is open and I am wondering if you had forgotten to shut it?

Oh no, I must have. She sounded worried. 

That Ok I’ll just go over check everything is alright and I’ll ring you back.

Oh. Ok, Ill speak to you soon then and she rang off.

Something was alarming me and I could not have said at that point what it was but I thought it best to check everything out and call her back. I would then feel better and I wanted to make sure she felt secure.

I turned on the spotlight to my outdoor light and crossed the garden and entered the back door and went to click on the light switch feeling around with my left hand. The house was quiet and still, still retaining heat from the day. There was no sign of forced entry or anything on the door jamb. I closed and locked it behind me and turned on the main lights to the kitchen and lounge room.

It took me a while to register as to what it was I was looking at.

My Aunt was sitting in one of the lounge chairs her hands and ankles tied and there was a a tall figure standing next to her, holding a gun.

Good evening Cass, came the smooth voice of Declan, looking at me patiently.

We have been waiting for you.

I took in the situation for a second. Not making a move just watching.

“Your Auntie here, came home a little early and shall I say, surprised me just a little, but that’s O.K. she’s not about to cause any trouble are you darling?

Auntie Rose nodded her head, she had tears streaming down her face.

“Cass, I,     she began.

Shutup!, Declan shouted, startling us both. He was no longer the urbane smooth Declan, he looked a bit distressed on closer inspection, I thought. In fact he looked not himself at all. He was dressed in suit pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up,his business tie loosened and hanging. He looked haggard like he hadn’t slept in a while or bothered to shave for that matter.

I stayed where I was just observing, but I put my hands in the air.

What’s going on Declan? I asked.

“well Cass it would seem that because of you I am an in a bit, no scratch that, a lot of trouble.

How so,  I said, keeping my voice low and calm,why because of me and why is my Aunt involved in this.

I looked at Auntie Rose and smiled at her reassuringly, though that was not how I felt. She smiled back at me ruefully.

Why, don’t you take a seat and I will explain it and then we are all going for a little ride.

I sat gratefully as my brave knees were knocking and I didn’t want to give my nervousness away. I leaned forward a little as if paying attention but really because I was well aware of the gun digging into my waistband at the back. I racked my brain to try and remember if I had left the safety catch on.

Declan obviously wanted to keep his superior height advantage so he stayed standing. This time the gun was idly levelled at me.

“Well you see it’s this way”, he began. “Mario Tumino is a very special friend of mine and he has other friends that are not too happy. So because of your interfering in our little shall I say, operation, there has been a lot of pressure on me. 

I was beginning to understand.

“Is Troy mixed up in this?” I had to ask it.

“No, oh no, Troy was just friends with Mario’s nephew Tony, which was O.K. No harm there but they were at the “farm” and I didn’t really think you would find him. I knew he would be O.K. I was told that he getting himself in a little bit of trouble with “partying” a bit hard, but boys will be boys. No, Troy’s not the problem. You and your friends are. If it hadn’t been for you interfering and Eddie things would have been fine. But now I am in trouble with some reasonably nasty people who are not happy and want some results.

It was beginning to dawn on men just who these people were.

“So you’re involved with that whole drug business up at Yandarren? I asked.

“Ah my beautiful girl, yes, I stood to make a lot of money, we all did. And that all would have been fine if you hadn’t come along and stuck your pretty little nose in.

I could see he was exhausted and not a little shaky on his pins, but he was grim faced and determined and he had the advantage.

“Why didn’t you stop me from going up there then, if you were worried?

I said before I didn’t think you would find him. You would have been paid by David for your time and all would have been well. Fruitless search and all that. You would have done your best. Everyone up there is involved in the drug culture in some way or on the payroll to keep their mouths shut. But you and those “cowboy” friends of yours sussed it all out somehow. Now I am left to explain everything to my “friends” and they are not people that take losing millions of dollars very well. Capice?

I certainly capiced.

“so killing my Aunt and I gives you something to go back to those people with.

They don’t know about you or Troy or the cowboys, all they know is that Eddie is locked up, and has been telling all about the operation. And that the whole operation is now gone and the minders are locked away as well.

Isn’t that a good thing? I had to ask it.

My Aunt and I are not involved in this, no one needs to know, we are not stupid, if we have to stay silent, we stay silent. I looked at him steadily. You don’t have to kill us, what is that going to do? Only you know about us and it’s hardly your fault that things have happened the way they have, those people are not going to come after you. So what’s the problem? Police have arrested the people involved, drug operation is gone. You lose money but it’s only money right? I was clutching at straws here but I was trying to buy us time.

Well Cass, normally I would say you were right. I stood to make a lot of money, that is true. But I owed them a lot of money that I was going to be paid back by the sale of the “crop”. Now they are not going to be getting their money, they are going to come after me. I don’t have the money to give them. You see where this is going?

“Why kill us?” I replied. “What is that going to achieve? You become a murderer and we are dead? I don’t understand your reasoning. Once a gain I was concentrating hard on not being taken to the next location. Auntie Rose looked at me in helpless appeal.

“I ask only one thing, Declan, I said., changing tack.

“ Untie my Aunt, she is quite frail healthwise, she need to be at least comfortable while all this is happening. I promise you I will not fight or do anything stupid. We will both do as you say, go anywhere, but untie her, she’s an old woman, I am a female we cannot fight you so you have nothing to worry about.”

I was not too sure how Aunt Rose was taking it about being called old and frail but hey use whatever works, right?

“These people don’t know where you are for the moment. They are not going to be looking for you here, so lets be reasonable about this” even to me I was starting to sound annoying but I continued,

“Would it not be better, Declan?”, and here I was searching my brain, madly, for solutions, “If you hid out for a while, maybe grabbed a flight overseas, interstate, anywhere, until everything cools off and they start to see reason. After all you are not the one that ruined their operation, I am”

“You think I haven’t thought of that Cass? (I was glad to hear him say my name – to personalise me) but there is nowhere, nothing that they won’t do to find me and kill me unless I can come up with the money. And where am I going to find that sort of money. No, there is nothing for it. At least if I kill you and Auntie, here ,I could say that you were the ones that started it all and maybe buy some time for myself.”

This was not starting to sound good. I racked my brain desperately to buy us more time. I could see now that Declan was shaking as if he had the D.T.’s. The gun was trembling in his hands. I made the assumption that maybe Declan was also a little bit of a “User”, who knew? High powered business man, might be a bit of a recreational user, Cocaine, Ecstasy, who knew. All I know is that nothing shocks me anymore.

He seemed to snap out of a trance and glare at me. The synapses in his brain switched on to aggression mode. Once again I was going to be made to fight or flight and I was not sure if I had it in me any more. I looked over at Aunt Rose,

“Fine “, I said, “Right lets get this over with. Come on do it if you are going to do it” I had had enough.

“Not here”, he almost whispered, I had to strain to hear him

“Oh no, Darlin not here, wouldn’t’ want to mess up Auntie’s carpets, and too much noise might bring out some nosy neighbours. I have a  place I want to take you, some where nice and quiet.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a dark shadow in my line of vision. Taz had entered the hall to my right. Strolling, nonchalantly from the laundry, where Auntie Rose had a cat flap. He was obviously investigating where I had gone after a big welcome home. Suddenly his back arched and he hissed. Declan lost it then and shot at him blindly. I grabbed the gun from the small of my back in a millisecond and fired at him. He went down in a smell of cordite and the noise ricocheted around the room. It would be a sound that would reverberate in my ears for a while to come. Then it was all noise and confusion for a while. Auntie Rose had screamed and I realised there was another voice screaming, mine. 

                                     I glanced down at the inert body of Declan Irvine. Whether by luck or good management I had aimed a bit high. There was a neat hole dead centre in the middle of his forehead. I swear I was aiming for his shoulder. I untied Auntie Rose.

          “Call the police”, I said and took off at a run looking for Taz. He had crawled as far as the cat flap. He licked my hand and died right there cradled in my arms. He had been shot right through the heart. Auntie Rose had to come and get me up. I was crouched over him, sobbing as if my heart would break. She gently unprised my fingers form his rapidly stiffening body. She brought a towel and we laid him on it. Our hero. I stayed with him until the police arrived.

                                 We gave Taz a hero’s burial. He lies now under the shade of a beautiful magnolia tree in the back garden, forever at peace in the cool ground. We made him a simple wooden cross with his name and RIP to a brave and handsome cat. If he hadn’t come in when he did Auntie Rose and I might not be here to tell the tale. Troy and Bert came down and were there to help with the police questioning and the aftermath of me shooting Declan Irvine. Turned out he had quite a long history of drug abuse and criminal activity. As I said, never fails to shock me what humans can get up to. I am sitting now under the magnolia tree, Taz is here in silent repose beside me. I will never forget him. Two little kittens play at my feet. Russian Blues of course. Brother and sister, a present from Luke, Bert and Auntie Rose. They nip at my toes and roll over each other fighting and playing. I haven’t named them yet. But I will soon. For now I just need to finish this report and think awhile. I bought an older style mini that was nicely restored. I retired Cedric to the same car yard that I bought the mini from. And I donated some of the money I earned to the Animal Shelter. I think Taz would have liked that.

          The End

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