Dinner Date At Mt Isa

by Ken Blowers



  DINNER DATE AT MT ISA

  By Ken Blowers

  Editing by Eagle-Eyes Editing Solutions

  Cover Illustration by Paulien Bats

  Copyright (c) 2014 by Ken Blowers

  ****

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  CONTENTS

  1.Search For The Mount Isa Monster

  2.Aunt Edna

  3.The Thieving Experience

  4.Matt Paint

  5.Grandad

  6.Stairway Of Life

  7.The Button

  ******************

  BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE…….!!

  Introducing the next series from Ken Blowers:

  BEN URGLAR

  CHAPTER 1

  SEARCH FOR THE MOUNT ISA MONSTER

  'What's all this rubbish about a Mount Isa Monster, Sir?' asked Brian Boule of his Editor, John Parkin. 'Surely you don't think there's anything in it, do you?'

  'That, old son, is for you to find out, isn't it?'

  'Ohhhh, Boss!'

  'Are you a Reporter or not?'

  'Yes, but…'

  'Then get yourself on a plane and go find out!'

  'But, Mount Isa! Really? What do I know about mining towns in the outback?'

  'By the end of this assignment, my lad, quite a lot I hope, for your sake.'

  'Ok, but please, fill me in first about what you know about it, Sir? I'm sure it's worth more than what I can pick up in Mulligan's Bar.'

  'Alright son, but I can't spare you too much time.' The Editor paused to shuffle some of his papers and light his pipe. Then he commenced the tale, as the billowing smoke lent an eerie atmosphere to the already dingy office.

  'It seems that way back somewhere around the 1920s, the precise year we don't know, but it was certainly sometime shortly after the Great War; a miner, a returned soldier called Mick Brandon, was working deep down in one of the smaller, independent pits operating around that time. What he was mining at the time we don’t actually know, but anyway, he claimed to have made an unusual discovery. We don't know what the item looked like in its raw state either, but for some reason or other he felt, knew, or thought he knew, that what he held in his hands was not any ordinary piece of rock!’

  'Some sort of fossil, you mean?'

  'Right, well we don’t know for sure, but more than likely. Anyway, it appears he hid it in some hidey-hole he had down the mine until after a period of time, how long we don't actually know; he managed to clean it up enough to hazard a better guess as to what it might be.'

  'That's an awful lot of ‘don't knows’, Boss.'

  'Exactly! Intriguing, isn't it? That's why I'm putting my best man on it! Your job is to clear all those ‘don’t knows’ up! Anyway, eventually, ever so slowly and carefully, he cleaned it up until it was pretty obvious what it was... to him.'

  'Oh, no, no, Boss! Don't say it was a monster? I mean, I've heard these rumours circulating lately, but a man couldn't even lift a monster, let alone clean one up. Could he?'

  'Right again, Sunshine. There you go, now you know why I picked you for this assignment - you're bright! You've got a sharp, inquiring mind. You're the ideal man for the job! You'll get me a first class story out of this. I know you will, because that's what I expect of you and why I over-pay you.'

  'Ohhhh, I knew I shouldn't have said anything.'

  'Right again, my boy! The secret of being a good Reporter is not talking, it's listening! So listen up!'

  'Yes, Boss.’

  'Good! Now it seems, or so the story goes, that the mystery object was nothing less than a fossilised egg.'

  'An egg? A fossilised egg? Not too unusual, was it, even back then?'

  'Oh, it was unusual alright, my boy. It was damn unusual, because it was such a very large egg.'

  'How large?'

  'From all reports, much larger than an emu egg, or any other egg seen before.'

  'Oh…?'

  'Oh, indeed. Now this fellow was a bit smarter than the average bear. Smart enough to get himself a job working part-time for one of those early, rough sort of out-door movie shows; forerunner of the drive-in movies - know what I mean? The owner of that show taught him how to operate the somewhat primitive projector of the day. How do you think they operated, hmmm? Any idea?'

  'Ah, I think I know. A, what do you call it? An arc-light?'

  'Right again, my boy! Now those old arc-lights made an electric current to jump in a brilliant arc, between two carbon rods and that made those lamps give off a very bright light indeed! Oh, yes! The same system as was used in military searchlights, right? Enough light, it seems, for him to hold the cleaned-up egg to it and discern what was inside.'

  'Yeah? What was that then?’

  'Ah! You see, you are interested. I knew you would be. You’re the man for the job, alright!'

  'Yes, yes. But what was in the egg eh? Aren't you going to tell me?'

  ‘I don't know if I should. It might cool your interest.'

  'No. No, Boss. No way. You've got me really interested now. I've got to find out more. So please, please tell me what he saw in that damned egg?'

  'A small, baby lizard-like creature. But... but, my boy, you must appreciate that when I say small, I really mean big, 'cause this was one hell of an egg! You dig?'

  'Ohhh, yes. So what did this chap do with it, this egg then? Sit on it?'

  'Careful, son. Remember where you are. You're not leaning on Mulligan's Bar now!'

  'Sorry, Sir.’

  'Right. Well, he tried to sell it as a dinosaur egg, but interest in dinosaurs was actually of no great concern to people back then. Not to the local mining folk around there anyway. They were more interested in feeding themselves and their kids and struggling to keep a roof over their heads.’

  'That's understandable.'

  'Good. Good. I think maybe you're getting a feel for this. Perhaps you can work that angle into your story somewhere, eh? Anyway, he had no luck in selling it locally but he hawked the egg around enough for gossip about the Mount Isa Monster to start spreading, far and wide over time. Eventually, a Professor Zillmere in the UK, came out to Australia, excited by the rough description of the find as it had reached his ears. He travelled to Mount Isa to see if he could find this bloke, but he had no such luck and he went back home empty-handed. After a while what little excitement that existed, had died down and the whole thing was soon forgotten.'

  'But why then would it suddenly become of interest to anybody now?'

  'Why? Why? Because, somebody is known to be offering a million dollars for it!’

  ‘What? For just an old egg?’

  ‘The egg, a dinosaur egg!’

  ‘Where? How?’

  ‘On the Internet! Think about it, son. We now live in the age of DNA and all that stuff, right? What do you think some of those big research laboratories overseas would pay for a well-preserved dinosaur egg, an unusually large dinosaur egg? You got it, son?'


  'Right. Big bucks!'

  'Yes! This is a big-bucks story, young man and you know what that means?'

  'A syndicate story, one we can sell world wide.'

  'Right, you’ve got it. Now, do you think I've selected the right man for the job? Perhaps I should have chosen Lonnigan, or Richards.'

  'No, no, Boss. I'm your man alright. I'll leave for Mount Isa, before the sun goes down.'

  'Good. Great! That's what I wanted to hear, but a word of advice, old son. Don't you ever forget that with these big-buck stories the competition is never going to be far behind, right? In fact, with the kind of money we are talking here, the competition will not only be sharp, they are likely to do anything and I do mean anything, to scoop you on this. It could get rough out there!’

  ‘Yes, Sir. So what special precautions, if any, would you advise?’

  ‘Precautions? In a nutshell: zip your lip. Got that?'

  'Yes, Sir.'

  'That means watch the booze too! More Reporters have been scooped by too much booze than by any other factor, right?'

  'Yes, Sir.'

  'Same goes for women. There ain't no sheila out there worth the bonus you can earn for yourself on a world-syndicated scoop. Understand me, son?'

  'I understand, Sir.'

  'Good. One more thing, this kind of assignment must be treated seriously; as seriously as, say, an important military operation. In fact, I’m going to let you take our satellite phone, it's digital of course and they, the competition, can't intercept your messages by scanners, right? You are to report only to me. Nobody else will know what you're working on. Nobody!'

  'Yes, Sir.'

  'Oh. From this moment on, you refer to the egg only as 'the babe', got it? That should confuse anybody, staff included, who might overhear anything or read anything they shouldn't. Right! Now, off you go!'

  'Yes. Goodbye, Sir and thank you. I won’t let you down. You'll have my first report by the end of tomorrow, I guarantee it!'

  Brian left, feeling he was on cloud nine. He could hardly believe he had been given the responsibility for such an important assignment. He kept his word and was out of Brisbane and heading for Mount Isa well before the sun went down. He also told nobody he was leaving, let alone where he was going or what he was working on. Not even his girlfriend, Sally. All she got was a short note to say: “Off on an assignment. See you when I see you. Brian.”

  Mount Isa wasn't as bad as Brian expected. The clean wide streets and the preponderance of late model cars, quickly dashed images in his mind of Wild West towns. In fact, he was pleased to note an unmistakable air of wealth and prosperity in the city centre and at the Mount Isa Metropolitan Hotel where he was staying. Staying there wasn't an oversight or a case of putting on style at the paper's expense. He had been taught by a veteran Reporter now retired, called Angus MacCrackerty, to always start a case as high as you can go. It being much easier, he reasoned, to ask questions when you were working your way down the social scale, than it could ever be working your way up!

  In his first report, Brian was able to confirm to the Editor that his hunch about competition was correct. There were several Australian inter-state Reporters, as well as one or two international Reporters, already there sniffing around, looking for something that might lead them to 'the babe'. Brian next reported that having exhausted his inquiries at the Metropolitan Hotel, he had moved to another smaller, hotel. He had decided to follow a hunch of his own: he had begun to follow the arc-lights lead. His research had already confirmed his own suspicions. Operators of such primitive devices, having had little or no protection from the intense light, suffered severe damage to their eyesight and many went blind!

  Further inquiries he'd made had revealed that a man by the name of M. Braddon, was treated for premature blindness by a clinic in Cloncurry, in 1928. He was later discharged, as incurable, into the care of his sister Mrs A. Walters of Quamby.

  Brian next reported that the daughter of Mrs Walters still lived in her mother's old house. Fascinated by this newfound interest in her uncle, his discovery and no doubt, the chance of some sort of eventual financial gain, she had agreed to cooperate. She had allowed Brian immediate access to the attic and to the boxes of old family relics and papers stored up there for so many years.

  Brian later reported to his Editor that his findings had led him to some old diggings near the Carlton Hills. Here he camped and dug and searched for close on six weeks. Finally, close to exhaustion since he was not what one would normally call the muscular type, he was able to send the long awaited, but very welcome message:

  'All's well, Sir:'the babe' is in good hands. What's the next step, please?’

  He was, at first, rather surprised by the reply:

  'The latest scuttlebutt around here, old son, is that Mr Big, the guy offering money on the internet; has hired enough private-eyes to put a tag on every known Reporter in Mount Isa. Of course, we don't know if he's on to you or not, but we'd better assume he is. So instead of heading straight back to Brisbane direct, I want you to abandon your camp, leave everything so it looks like you're still there - and drive to Tennant Creek.'

  Brian wondered; ‘Why Tennant Creek?’ Then the penny dropped. Anybody watching him might well expect that if he were successful, he’d make a quick dash home, which was Eastwards. Nobody would expect him to go West. To do so would suggest he was still looking. Very clever! The old boss was no fool, for sure.

  This was before he’d even had a chance to tell him about the strange vehicle he had noticed in the vicinity lately and the even stranger lights. Headlights and campfires he had seen, not too far away!

  Anyway, at Tennant Creek he received instructions to turn north and head for Darwin as the road south to Adelaide was impassable due to flash floods. So he pressed on. Fortunately he was not short on food, water or confidence, but just a little worried by more headlights and a series of campfires that appeared to be following him. As he neared Daly Waters his fears rose even higher, as his followers closed in. He could hear muffled voices in the dark. The next day, determined to lose them, he took a sudden turn off the track and hid behind a rocky outcrop and smiled as he saw a Toyota Landcruiser 4x4 go roaring past. He decided to make camp early where he was, but was unable to sleep for quite a while that night, even in the absence of any further evidence of pursuers. For he now realised what a fool he had been. His former pursuers, now in front, had the advantage on him. Should they decide to relieve him of his cargo, they could easily ambush him at a time and place of their choosing!

  He sadly relayed news of this difficult position he had gotten himself into, to his boss over the satellite phone. 'Don't worry, old son,' said the Editor in reply. 'Forget about Darwin. I'll have the company plane pick you up at Katherine. That'll stump them. Just give me a call when you get there.’

  Relieved by this more than welcome news, Brian was able to get a good night's sleep at last!

  The next day, about halfway to Katherine, the road became excessively rough and hilly. As he drove up an incline and came over the ridge, he saw two men suddenly pop up from behind some rocks at the side of the road, holding automatic rifles pointing directly at the car!

  He never heard the shots, just the scream of burst tyres. Then he lost control. He had been driving pretty fast, both to make up time after his early stop the night before and partly due to his exhilaration at the thought of getting on the plane and going home to Brisbane. Now, with his front tyres completely shot out, the car swerved violently off the road, down a steep embankment and disappeared into the thick bush.

  As the car tore through the scrub and rolled over on to its side, Brian and his box of precious cargo were thrown out of the doors. As he and his precious box hit the dirt, the car continued rolling and tumbling down the steep incline to a dry creek gully about two hundred metres below, where it smashed hard into a great pile of large rocks and exploded into a huge ball
of fire. There were secondary explosions too, as his six spare petrol cans ignited, followed by further explosions as all four gas bottles went up too. It was quite a bizarre display of pyrotechnics! He managed to crawl through the scrub and parting the bushes he saw the two men standing on the edge of the road, guns in hand, staring in anger and disbelief at the incredible damage their shots had done. They waited there for some time, until it was blatantly obvious that nothing, nothing at all could possibly be left alive in that blazing inferno.

  When he was quite sure they had gone, Brian stood up, looked around and was surprised to find he was relatively uninjured, apart from a few minor scratches and bruises. With his basic survival instincts coming to the fore, he started hunting around in the bushes, picking up a few bags and boxes which had been thrown out of the car in its wild tumble down to the gully. Fortunately, he found some clothes, some food and with excitement and joy; the satellite phone, completely undamaged! He just managed to catch his Editor, John Parkin, before he left the office. He quickly filled him in on the day’s dramatic events.

  'Are you quite sure you're unhurt, my boy?' asked the Editor.

  'Nothing, nothing too bad, Sir. Well, nothing that a Band-Aid won't put right.'

  'Good. Splendid. I'll get in touch with our contacts in Katherine and I’ll get someone to come out and pick you up and take you to the airport, ok? The sooner you are back here to make a full report the better, right? Now, anything you need?'

  'Yes, Sir, I would love a hot bath.'

  'Quite, quite, my boy. I understand. But 'the babe', Brian. You haven't mentioned ‘the babe’. I take it ‘the babe’ is still with you. Is that correct, my boy?'

  'Ah, yes, well... I was wondering when you were going to get around to asking about that, Sir.'

  'And?

  'I'm afraid, Sir, that when the box was thrown out of the car, it hit a rock and smashed open.'

  'But the, the...'

  'No. No. No egg. No more, Sir. You see, the force of the smash, sort of, well, helped it to hatch.'

  'Hatch? Did you say hatch?'

  'Yes, Sir.'

  'But that's wonderful! A wonderful story. How on earth did that happen?'

  'Strike me. I can't possibly answer that, Sir. I'm a Reporter, not a bloody Professor!'

  'Alright, young man! That’ll do! You've made your point. Er, 'the babe'... how is it? Where is it now?'

  'I have to tell you, Sir: it's not ‘a babe’.'

  'What! What on earth do you mean?’

  'It's ‘babes’ – plural’, Sir. There are two of the little buggers. The egg must have been what my mum used to call a double-yolker. Yes, two. Two of the ugliest little blighters you'd, you’d never want to see again! Why I saw them pounce on and devour a bird before my eyes. They ate the lot, feathers an' all, in a couple of minutes!'

  'Never mind the gory details! Where, where, where are they now?'

  'Er, the I last saw of ‘em they were racing off into the scrub, chasing a snake. By this time tomorrow they should be miles away, heading towards Kakadu National Park, I guess. If they manage to get in there, well they'll really take some finding.'

  'It doesn't bear thinking about, my boy. But first things first. Let's get you out of there. What are you going to do right now?'

  'Me, Sir. Oh, I thought about doing some serious praying.'

  'Praying? Praying, praying for what? That we get you out of there, quick?'

  'No, strangely enough, I wasn't thinking of myself. I was thinking more about other things. Things like Australia, the environment, life as we know it. I was just going to make a simple but strong prayer.’

  'Now you’re not making sense, old son. It must be the heat and that sort of thing. But tell me anyway, it might just make you feel a little better. Tell me then, what is it you're going to pray for? All your friends back here, some of them, maybe all of them may want to join in prayer with you.'

  'It's simple enough, Sir: I am just going to pray: ‘that our Mount Isa Monsters - the two savage little bastards, last seen scampering off towards Kakadu, are both the same sex!'