Oliver was tempted to say that an hour ago he’d had ten thousand seven hundred and eighty-one dollars. But he didn’t.
The bus moved off again.
The taxi moved off too.
Oliver was finding it hard to concentrate on conversation. All he could think about was Barclay.
A hearse drove past in the opposite direction.
Do murdered pets get funerals? wondered Oliver sadly. Even if they don’t have loving owners?
‘Anyway,’ said the taxi driver. ‘What do they teach you at that poshy school? What have you learned this week?’
‘A lot,’ said Oliver quietly. ‘For example, I’ve learned you can’t use asset-backed derivatives to save a dog’s life.’
The taxi driver didn’t say anything after that.
Oliver stared out at the traffic as the taxi drove along behind the bus.
This is a bit like investment banking, thought Oliver. Everything’s fine as long as we keep moving. The bad part doesn’t happen till we stop.
The bus stopped again.
Forty-three dollars and sixty cents.
The girl got off.
‘I’ll get out here, thanks,’ said Oliver, relieved.
While the taxi driver counted the money, Oliver could hear what sounded like a doggy tail eagerly thumping.
He realised it was his heart, thumping with hope that Barclay might still be alive despite everything.
Stay, Oliver said to himself.
What he desperately wanted to do was leap out of the taxi and sprint after the girl and follow her to Nancy and rescue Barclay. But he knew he had a better chance of doing that if he stayed out of sight for a bit.
Oliver got out of the taxi, crouched behind a telegraph pole and started counting to a hundred.
He switched on his phone map. When a dog was in danger, it was best to know where you were in case you had to call an ambulance.
As Oliver reached twenty-seven, two things happened. The taxi driver stopped staring at him and drove away, and the girl walked round a corner into a side street.
Oliver hurried along to the corner.
The girl clearly wasn’t going to a farm. This wasn’t even the countryside. It was a suburb with really small houses. There wasn’t an office block to be seen. Or a penthouse. Most of the buildings didn’t even have an upstairs.
Oliver paused at the corner. Peering round a hedge, he saw the girl go into one of the little houses halfway up the side street.
He counted to twenty-seven again, then crept cautiously towards the house.
Nancy’s ute was parked in the driveway.
No sign of the girl, or Nancy.
The house was silent. Almost.
Oliver heard a moaning growling sound, like an animal in pain.
Oh no.
It was coming from the back of the house. Oliver hurried past the ute and along the side of the house, crouching so his head was below the windows. At the rear corner of the house he stopped, pressed himself against the wall and peeped round into the backyard.
There was Nancy by the washing line, holding the big knife.
Oliver looked around frantically for Barclay.
But the animal making the noise wasn’t small and white with black splotches and a friendly tail and a quivering nose.
It was brown and huge, bigger than Nancy.
It had a big hump in the middle of its back.
Oliver stared.
A camel?
What was a camel doing in the backyard of a suburban house?
Oliver saw something else. The camel had a bandage on the side of its tummy. There were red patches on the bandage.
Blood.
Oliver felt ill.
Had Nancy stabbed the camel? Did a circus owe her money too?
Oliver took a deep breath and tried to calm down. That couldn’t be right. If Nancy wanted to kill the camel, why was she feeding it? She was using the knife to carve chunks off a large biscuit, as big as a car wheel, and the camel was gobbling the chunks.
The camel turned and stared at Oliver.
Oliver gulped. The camel didn’t look friendly. It gave a loud growl. Oliver, startled, took a hasty step back out of sight. And thudded into the wooden wall of the house.
‘Who’s there?’ called Nancy. ‘Is that you, Rose?’
Oliver squeezed himself against the house, hoping Nancy would think he was just the neighbour’s water pipes being noisy.
But she didn’t.
She appeared round the corner of the house, still holding the knife, glaring at him.
‘Oliver?’ she said. ‘Oliver, what the –?’
Oliver kept his eyes on the knife. But only for a moment. Then a potato hit him in the head. He staggered back in pain and saw the raw potato spinning at his feet. It was peeled.
‘You slimebag,’ yelled a voice. ‘I’ll kill you, you mongrel.’
Another potato skimmed past his head, thudding into the side of the house.
Oliver ducked and peered desperately around, trying to work out how to get away from Killer Nancy. Then he saw it wasn’t Nancy who was throwing the potatoes.
It was the girl with the yellow hair. She was holding a saucepan and a potato peeler.
‘How dare you come here, you mongrel,’ she shouted. ‘We’re in mourning, you slug.’
She threw the saucepan.
Oliver ducked again. The saucepan hit the wall above his head. Water and potatoes cascaded over him.
‘Rose,’ said Nancy. ‘Stop it. You’re upsetting Moo.’
Wiping the water out of his eyes, Oliver saw the camel was flinging its head around and twisting its body and trying to kick its legs out of the ropes that were loosely hobbling its feet.
Suddenly it succeeded and started running straight towards Oliver.
‘Moo,’ shouted Nancy. ‘Hoosh.’
She grabbed at the rope hanging from the camel’s head, but missed.
The camel swerved but didn’t slow down. Oliver realised it was trying to get up the driveway to the street. He had a vision of the big graceful creature out in the traffic. Even a slow-moving car would make a mess of its long bony legs.
As the camel brushed past him, Oliver grabbed the rope. He was jerked flat onto the dusty driveway, and dragged painfully along it, but he hung on.
Finally the dragging stopped.
Oliver looked up.
The camel was gazing down at him with the biggest eyes Oliver had ever seen on an animal.
It looked annoyed.
Oliver heard Nancy yell something but he wasn’t sure what.
Then one of the camel’s legs moved in a blur and that was that.
10
‘Oliver,’ said a voice a long way away. ‘Oliver.’
Oliver wondered where he was.
His head hurt, so he didn’t open his eyes. His head hurt a lot. He wondered if he’d been attacked by disgruntled investors and bashed with a school bag full of two-dollar coins.
‘Oliver.’
He recognised the voice.
It was Killer Nancy.
He tried to roll into a ball to protect himself.
‘For pete’s sake, Oliver,’ said Nancy, sounding annoyed. ‘Open your eyes. You got kicked in the head and I want to see if you’re OK.’
Oliver opened his eyes.
And rolled himself even tighter. The camel was looming over him, eyes big and staring. Its big lips were moving over what Oliver was sure were huge teeth.
Then Oliver saw there was glass between him and the camel. He was indoors and the camel was outside, looking at him through a window.
Oliver relaxed.
A bit.
He was lying on a scratchy old sofa that smelled. He was in a room about the size of Mum’s walk-in wardrobe, except it was a living room.
Nancy was kneeling next to him, frowning and wiping his head with a damp towel. Over her shoulder, the girl was looking at him.
‘He’s not dead,’ said the girl. ‘Sham
e.’
‘Rose,’ said Nancy. ‘Not now.’
Oliver winced as Nancy stuck a bandaid onto his forehead.
‘You’ll have to excuse Rose and Moo,’ Nancy said. ‘Rough time for them both. Moo got sick and needed an operation. We didn’t have the money to fly a vet out to our farm, so we had to drag Moo to the city in that horse float out there.’
Oliver glanced nervously again at the camel. Behind it he could see the horse float, a tall narrow box on wheels, parked in the backyard.
Suddenly Oliver was almost blinded by a very bright light. Nancy was shining a torch into his eyes.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘You haven’t got concussion.’
As Oliver’s eyes recovered, he remembered something with a jab of panic and sat up.
‘Where’s Barclay?’ he said.
Oliver was still giddy and dazed, but he could tell that Nancy wasn’t replying.
‘Barclay the dog,’ said Oliver. ‘The one you took hostage.’
Nancy looked at him for a moment.
‘He’s not a hostage any more,’ she said.
Oliver stared at her. He had a horrible vision of Barclay’s poor stabbed body, buried somewhere in the garden.
‘He’s fine,’ said Nancy. ‘I gave him to my sister-in-law. She’s out taking him for a walk.’
Oliver blinked, confused.
‘You gave Barclay away?’ he said.
‘Not exactly gave,’ said Nancy. ‘I owe Gail money and she took the dog as part-payment.’
Oliver tried to see from Nancy’s face if she was telling the truth. She looked a bit ashamed, but that was probably how a dog killer would look.
Nancy flipped open her phone.
‘I’ll call Gail,’ she said. ‘See when she’ll be back.’
While Nancy made the call, Oliver tried to stay calm and not look at the girl, who was still glaring at him as if she was planning to attack him with more potatoes.
‘If you’ll be a while,’ Nancy was saying into the phone, ‘text me a photo of the dog. Got someone here who wants a squiz.’
Nancy closed the phone.
‘Gail won’t be back for a bit,’ she said to Oliver. ‘But when her text comes through, you’ll see the dog’s fine.’
Oliver was starting to feel relieved. And angry.
‘You lied,’ he said to Nancy. ‘You made me think you were going to stab Barclay. I’ve been frantic. I’ve had tummy stress for days.’
Nancy didn’t say anything.
But the girl did. She took a step towards Oliver.
‘At least she’s not a real killer,’ said the girl. ‘Not like your parents.’
Oliver glared back at her.
‘What are you on about?’ he said. ‘They aren’t –’
‘Yes, they are,’ shouted the girl. ‘They murdered my father.’
Oliver stared at her. She was obviously mental. Her tangled yellow hair looked like a haystack on her head. Each strand looked as stiff as straw. It was probably stabbing her in the brain.
Nancy put her arms round the girl.
Slowly the girl stopped shaking.
‘Rose,’ said Nancy. ‘Take Moo down to the other end of the yard. Auntie Gail won’t want to find camel slobber on her windows when she gets back. You can give Moo another biscuit.’
‘We’ve only got a few left,’ muttered the girl.
She gave Oliver a long glare, then stamped out.
Oliver heard a thumping outside the window. He turned. The camel was nudging the windowpane with its lips, still staring at Oliver. But its eyes didn’t look fierce any more. They looked sad. Big sad brown puddles.
The girl appeared, glared at Oliver through the glass, and led the camel down the backyard.
Oliver turned back to Nancy.
Before he could ask her what the girl was on about and inform her that Mum and Dad definitely hadn’t killed anybody, Nancy’s phone went ping.
Oliver jumped up.
The Barclay text.
Nancy opened her phone, looked at the screen, and her face went grim.
‘Oh no,’ she said.
‘What?’ said Oliver, alarmed.
He peered at the screen.
There was Barclay, alive and well, looking weary but hopeful. He was being held by a pudgy man wearing glasses and a death metal t-shirt.
‘She promised,’ Nancy muttered.
Nancy looked cross. And worried. Which was confusing, because Barclay looked fine.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Oliver.
‘That’s Erik,’ said Nancy. ‘Gail’s ex-husband.’
She hesitated.
Oliver could see there was something she didn’t want to say.
‘What?’ he said.
‘I told Gail the dog wasn’t to go there,’ said Nancy. ‘Erik and his mates take dogs with them on their hunting trips in the bush. When they’ve had a few drinks, they can be… unkind to animals.’
Oliver stared at her.
‘I’m going over there,’ said Nancy. ‘You wait here.’
She headed for the door. Oliver followed her.
Nancy stopped and looked at him.
‘OK,’ she said, ‘you come too. If they see you’re upset, we might have a better chance of getting the dog back.’
11
Nancy drove fast down her street.
Oliver hung on in the front of the ute, trying not to worry about Barclay.
It was hard. The thought of Barclay on a hunting trip, being forced to drag huge dead kangaroos by cruel hunters, made Oliver’s insides hurt.
And what if Barclay refused?
Nancy drove round the corner, past the bus stop and off in another direction.
Oliver switched on his phone map.
‘I should never have trusted Gail with that dog,’ muttered Nancy. ‘Not when she’s so angry with me about Tim.’
Oliver tried to work out what she meant.
‘Who’s Tim?’ he said.
Nancy sighed.
‘After your mother fired me,’ she said, ‘I went travelling and ended up with a bloke called Tim. Rose is his daughter. Her mum ran off to India when Rose was a baby. Tim had a camel farm, outback treks with tourists and stuff. Everything was good for a few years, then the drought sent us broke.’
Nancy paused.
Oliver could see she was having painful memories.
‘We borrowed money from Gail, Tim’s sister. That soon went on camel feed and water. We tried to sell the camels. Gail said shoot them, but we couldn’t. Our last resort was the money I’d invested. It was for Rose to go to uni one day. I called your parents’ bank and discovered the money was in shares and something called collateralised debt somethings. Which are now worth dandruff.’
Oliver thought about this.
‘Is that why Gail’s done the bad thing with Barclay?’ he asked. ‘Because she’s cross about the money you owe her?’
‘Partly,’ said Nancy, steering the ute into another street. ‘Mostly it’s because she blames me for what happened to Tim.’
Before Oliver could ask Nancy what that was, the ute pulled up in front of another small house.
Nancy jumped out. So did Oliver.
The front door was opened by a woman who was a bit older than Nancy, and taller.
‘Thought you’d be over,’ she said to Nancy.
She gave Oliver a brief glance.
‘This the cops?’ she said.
‘You promised you wouldn’t bring the dog here, Gail,’ said Nancy. ‘Where is it?’
‘You’re speaking to the wrong person,’ said Gail. ‘It’s not my dog any more. Erik gave me four hundred bucks for it.’
Nancy pushed past her into the house. Oliver followed. They went into a small living room. Oliver peered around for Barclay. It was hard to see because the room was full of cigarette smoke and the curtains were closed and the ceiling was painted black.
Then Oliver heard an excited whimper.
‘Barclay?’ he said.
A couple of other men were sprawled around the room as well, grinning over cans of beer.
‘We’ve come for the dog,’ said Nancy.
The men chuckled.
‘It was a mistake,’ said Oliver. ‘Nancy didn’t know this was going to happen.’
Erik and the other men chuckled again.
‘Have you got five hundred bucks?’ Erik said to Oliver.
‘Not at the moment,’ said Oliver.
‘Well then Barclay’s gunna play with us for a while,’ said Erik.
Oliver looked around for some way to get Barclay out of the room. And saw several shotguns leaning against the wall behind the TV.
Nancy was glaring at Gail.
Gail gave an angry laugh.
‘Look at this,’ Gail said to Oliver, pointing at Nancy. ‘She’s accusing me of not caring for the dog properly. Which is rich, coming from her. This is the woman who encouraged my brother Tim, a man who’d never drilled for water in his life, to borrow an old drill rig and haul it two hundred k’s to their farm, just to try and get water for those stupid camels. And then she was shocked when the drill broke and bits flew off it and Tim was killed.’
Oliver stared at Gail and Nancy, taking this in.
‘I didn’t encourage him,’ muttered Nancy. ‘We were desperate.’
Oliver’s head was thumping worse than before. Not from the camel kick, from the scrambled thoughts he was having.
If Mum and Dad hadn’t lost Nancy’s life savings, Rose’s dad wouldn’t have had to drill for water. And wouldn’t have been killed.
No wonder Rose was so upset.
‘Get the kid out of here before he bursts into tears,’ Gail said to Nancy. ‘Oh, and my hospitality’s used up. I want you and Rose out of my place by tomorrow night.’
Oliver turned to Barclay, who was trembling on Erik’s tummy and looking at Oliver with pleading eyes.
What would Dad do? thought Oliver.
He had a sudden urge to grab Barclay and run.
But it was two against four. Nancy was muscly, but she was small compared to Gail and the others.
And the others had guns.
Oliver gave Barclay a long look to show him he hadn’t been abandoned.
Hang on, said Oliver silently. Don’t bite anybody. I’ll be back for you, I promise.
Too Small to Fail Page 5
