by Des Hunt
‘Get into the water and stand on the line,’ Matt yelled into my ear. ‘Keep it tight. He’s coming around again.’
I rushed into the shallow water, but couldn’t see the line. By then the buggy was halfway through its second doughnut. I scrambled onto my knees to search with my hands, finding it just as the buggy came back into view. There wasn’t time to stand on it, so I wrapped it around my hand and pulled.
Big mistake!
As the tyres spun over the line, they pulled with such force that the line cut into my hand. I scarcely had time to register the pain before the buggy had started its next loop. This time I managed to get up and stand on the line before it roared past yet again.
Twice more the driver sped around the ute, yelling at us. Matt was yelling, too, but it was impossible to make out what either of them was saying over the roar of the motor.
After the fourth doughnut, the driver fish-tailed the buggy, spraying Matt and Afi with sand. Finally he’d had enough, and he sped off down the beach.
‘That’s Harry Redfern,’ said Matt as we watched him leave. ‘God knows where he got that thing from, but I can tell you it won’t be popular around here. Especially if he pulls that trick again. We’re lucky the line didn’t break.’ He turned back to the winch. ‘C’mon, let’s get this thing ashore in case he decides to come back.’
We resumed hauling in the line.
The first five hooks had nothing. Next was a group of good-sized gurnard, followed by another three empty hooks. Then came the shark: a small hammerhead with a mouth too small to cause anyone serious damage. Later there were a couple of snapper of barely legal size, and finally two big snapper heads — the sharks had got the rest of them.
With the line wound in and the torpedo stored on the back of the ute, Afi pulled a camera out of the ute and began photographing our catch. Then he and I posed with it so Matt could take our photo.
‘That’ll do,’ said Matt with a smile. ‘It’s a good catch.’
On our way back to the bach, Matt detoured to go past where the Redferns lived. It was on a dead-end street off the main road to Sunset Beach. Most of the street was made up of vacant sections. The few houses all looked empty, except for one where it was difficult to know if anyone was home or not because of the high fences. They were made from sheets of iron painted in a range of different colours. That was the Redfern house.
‘That fence is new,’ said Matt. ‘Wonder where they got all those off-cuts from. Stolen, I bet.’
He turned around at the end of the street before driving back and parking directly outside the house. Immediately a dog started barking. This was not a friendly dog barking at the possibility of being patted by a visitor; it snarled and growled as if it was a killer.
‘I’m glad they’ve got fences,’ I said. ‘That dog doesn’t sound friendly.’
Matt nodded. ‘High fences and fierce dogs. Seems like they’re keeping people out, doesn’t it?’ He let out the clutch and we moved on. ‘I wonder what they’re up to, behind there,’ he mumbled, partly to himself. ‘It’ll be something illegal, that’s for sure.’
Chapter 12
Saturday afternoon, Afi and I investigated the contents of a shed tucked away behind the garage. We were looking for bikes so we could explore Port Waikato. However, when I saw that there was a quad bike, I suggested we use that.
Afi shook his head. ‘Dad says I can’t use it until I’m sixteen. He reckons they’re dangerous when you’re too small.’
I looked at him with wide eyes. ‘He thinks you’re too small? If you get much bigger, you won’t be able to fit on it.’
Afi chuckled. ‘I was smaller when he told me that. But I asked him again earlier this year and he still said no.’
So the quad was out of bounds, which was a pity because the two bikes we found were in bad shape. There wasn’t much we could do about the rust and flaking paint, but we could tighten the bolts and pump up the tyres.
While we were searching the shed for a toolbox, I made another find: a big purple box of fireworks labelled Mammoth Boom Box.
‘Has this got anything in it?’ I asked.
‘Should have,’ replied Afi. ‘It hasn’t been opened. My cousin brought it for New Year’s Eve a couple of years back, but there was a fire ban and Dad stopped him from letting them off.’
‘What’s going to happen to them?’ I asked.
‘Dad’s going to throw them out. He reckons they’re probably not safe after all this time.’
‘Can anyone buy fireworks here?’
‘You’ve got to be eighteen,’ said Afi, ‘and it’s only for a few days before Guy Fawke’s. But lots of people stock up so they can let them off at other times.’
I nodded, thinking of what Dean would do if he lived in this country — he’d buy a whole shipping container.
Although the township of Port Waikato was tucked beside some reasonably high hills, the places we wanted to visit were mostly on the flat. Just as well, because only Afi’s bike had gears and the brakes on both were pathetic. The only rise was on the road to the wharf and the shop. That was to be our first stop.
There was one other vehicle in the car park as we coasted in, but it was one that neither of us wanted to see: it was the Redferns’ beach buggy. I was all for moving on, but Afi insisted we go inside and get what we’d come for — the chips and drinks that would fuel our explorations.
The shop was so small that there was no way to avoid other shoppers. There was only Harry Redfern, who looked up at us when the doorbell chimed as we entered, but showed no sign he recognized us. He returned to his shopping, which was to buy much the same things we were getting, with one addition: he also bought two packets of matches.
Once he’d paid for everything, he left without giving us another glance. A moment later we heard the buggy roaring off over the hill back towards the beach.
‘Did you see the matches?’ asked Afi as we left the shop.
I nodded.
‘Must get through a lot of those stolen cigarettes,’ he added.
‘Or he’s making explosives,’ I said quietly.
Afi turned to me. ‘What’s this?’
So, as we rode back over the hill, I explained how matches could be used to make bombs.
‘Is that how you made the bomb that blew up the rat?’ he asked when I’d finished.
‘I didn’t make it. My friend Dean did.’ Ex-friend!
‘What sort of bang do they make?’ asked Afi. ‘Could they blow things up?’
‘Such as?’
‘Locks, safes, doors … things like that.’
‘Dean made them in card board tubes wound with duct tape,’ I said. ‘But if you make them in a metal pipe they’ll split that open. So I suppose you could blow a lock. You’d need other things, though.’
‘Such as?’
‘I don’t really know. Chemicals of some sort.’
We rode in silence for a while before Afi said, ‘I bet there’s lots of things in that dangerous-chemicals store at school. Brett Hotchkins could be swapping chemicals for cigarettes.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘He could be, too.’
After that the silence was longer.
Our second stop was Maraetai Bay to eat our food. The paradise ducks were still there, feeding in the mud and queek-ing and quonk-ing to each other. The vehicle tracks we’d seen the day before had been all but washed away by the latest high tide.
As I munched my chips, I wandered over to read the signs. Their messages were clear. You couldn’t set nets and you shouldn’t go in the river because of the strong undertow. But you could take vehicles onto the sand, as long as you kept to the paths shown on a map. There were only two of these, and yet from where I was standing I could see tracks all over the nearby dunes.
We left our bikes and walked across the dry mud flats to where people were fishing in the river. Every few metres there was a rod stuck into the sand with someone sitting nearby. Afi said the tide was on its way in, which meant
a fish called kahawai would be coming in through the Heads, although none were caught while we watched.
From there we headed back across the sand hills to a wetlands area in amongst the houses. Excess water flowed through a drain into the estuary. The Redferns’ section backed onto this drain. There was no missing their place, as the same multi-coloured iron fence went all the way around. However, by climbing the nearest sand hill we got a good view through some bushes straight down into their back yard.
While many of the houses had a board across the drain so they could access the wasteland, the Redferns had gone one better: they had a bridge and a gate, both wide enough for the beach buggy. This was parked inside, facing the gate as though it might need to leave in a hurry. It was now attached to a boat trailer loaded with a runabout.
Harry Redfern and another guy were standing in the boat, organizing things. This had to be Carl Redfern — and he definitely was the man that we’d seen at school. He was the same shape as his son, maybe a little slimmer. His hair was also sandy-coloured, except unlike his son’s it hadn’t been cut for a while, and he had it pulled back into a ponytail that reached well below his shoulders.
‘See the dog,’ whispered Afi. ‘That’s a pitbull or something like that.’
The dog was shut in a cage at the rear of the garage; a short, strong animal with small ears and slits of eyes.
The thing looked reasonably harmless sitting on its haunches watching the two men. But we already knew that it wasn’t so friendly when out and patrolling the section. I certainly wouldn’t want to visit the house when that dog was loose.
Harry and Carl finished what they were doing and climbed out of the boat. Carl moved to the buggy and opened both lids to the coffin on the back. He pulled out some ropes and a couple of boogie boards, which were thrown against the fence. The lids were then closed and the latches snapped in place. Next he walked around both the buggy and the boat, checking things out before moving to the house and dis appearing inside. Harry followed.
After that we waited a while longer, hoping to see either the woman or the daughter. Neither appeared, so we collected our bikes and rode to a park near the Moores’ bach where we messed around on a flying-fox for the rest of the afternoon.
Dinner that night was fish and chips, with Afi and me responsible for the chips. These were to come from the takeaways shop by Sunset Beach.
There were several people hanging around waiting for orders. The cook said it would be at least half an hour, and did we want to wait? As the alternative was to go without, we placed our order, gave a name, and moved outside to sit at the tables and watch the sun go down.
There was only one other person sitting out in the cool evening air, a girl of about twelve or thirteen. She was showing no interest in the sunset, in fact little interest in anything. She had her head down and was scratching on the wooden table with a fingernail. Maybe it was something about the colour of her hair, or her lack of interest in her surroundings, but I had the sudden idea that this was the Redfern girl.
I don’t find it easy talking to people, especially girls, and thought Afi would probably be the same. He was so quiet around school that I thought he was always like that. I was about to find otherwise.
He sat down opposite the girl and said, ‘Hi! I’m Afi and he’s Pete. Do you live around here?’
She gave the slightest of nods without looking up.
‘Lovely sunset,’ he said.
She shrugged.
‘I guess you’ve seen it all before.’
Again a little nod.
‘Bet you haven’t seen this, though?’
Then, to my amazement, he put his hands up to his eyes and fiddled with them for a moment. When he’d finished, there was a pink piece of flesh poking down over each eye. His eyelids had been turned inside-out. It looked so gross that I burst out laughing.
The girl couldn’t help but look up. When she saw Afi’s eyes, she pulled a face that was half-grimace and half-grin.
‘Yuk!’ she said. ‘That’s gross.’
‘But it got your attention, didn’t it?’
This time she smiled, and for the first time I noticed that she was quite pretty, although this was marred by what looked like a bruise on one cheek.
Afi flipped his eyelids back to normal. ‘So what’s your name?’ he asked.
‘Bee,’ she said softly.
‘Bee?’ I said. ‘I haven’t heard that name before.’
She pulled a face. ‘It’s short for Beyoncé,’ she mumbled. ‘I was named after Beyoncé Knowles.’
‘So what sort of bee are you?’ asked Afi, with a smile. ‘A honey or a bumble?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Bet you’re a honey,’ said Afi.
Before she could respond, the guy in the takeaways yelled, ‘Redfern!’
The girl stood and moved into the shop.
Afi and I gave each other knowing looks. We had now seen every member of the Redfern family.
Bee could have left through the door at the other end of the shop, but instead she came back out the entrance where we were. She smiled and gave us a little wave before moving off down the road.
After she’d gone, I asked Afi if he’d known she was the Redfern girl.
‘Nope!’ he said. ‘I’ve heard Dad talking about the family before, but I didn’t really know who they were.’
‘You’ve got a good chat-up line,’ I said.
He chuckled. ‘Dad taught me how to do that eyelid thing. He said it always used to work for him.’
‘She seems nice,’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ replied Afi. ‘I like her.’
I nodded in the darkness. So did I.
Chapter 13
Meeting Bee was not the last contact we had with the Redferns that weekend. It seemed that everywhere we went we ran into them. The final encounter occurred at a crazy time on Sunday morning. Afi wanted to search for dinosaur fossils in the cliffs by the beach. When we’d told Matt and Tiresa the night before, Matt had suggested that we go early because the weather was packing up. Early was six-thirty.
Walking past the Norfolk pine guarding the beach brought back even stronger memories than those on Friday afternoon. It had been at this sort of hour that Dean and I had climbed the pine in Wollongong. Except the weather had been much better that morning. Here, the top of the pine was bent over by strong gusts coming off the sea; the sky was thick with clouds.
On the beach, Afi and I quickly moved down close to the water to avoid being blasted by the drifting sand. We were going south, along the strip of beach where we’d seen the tractor and boat the day before. The fossils were in the cliffs behind the beach.
We were about halfway there when I saw the beach buggy. It was parked above the high-tide mark along with the boat trailer. The boat was missing.
I pointed it out to Afi. ‘Where’s the boat?’ I asked.
‘Out at sea?’ he suggested.
We stopped and turned towards the water, which was covered in whitecaps, some high enough to send up plumes of spray. If there was a small boat out there, it would be having a pretty rough time. At first all I could see was a yacht battling its way up the coast, searching for a safe harbour before the storm.
‘There!’ said Afi, pointing to the sea beyond the rocky headland.
Motoring slowly towards the shore was a runabout with two people aboard.
‘You want to keep going?’ I asked.
‘The best place to see fossils is close to the point,’ replied Afi. ‘If we’re quick we’ll be past the buggy before they get back.’
We kept moving.
It wasn’t until we were almost level with the vehicle that we noticed Bee Redfern sitting in the driver’s seat. She was huddled over the steering wheel with her head in her hands. Afi veered towards her.
‘Hi,’ he said, in a tone that suggested there was nothing unusual about her being there.
Bee gave a little nod.
‘What you
doing here?’
She pointed to the boat. ‘Waiting for them,’ she mumbled.
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Can’t they do it by themselves?’
‘Because they need the light,’ she said, indicating the spotlight mounted on the roof. ‘I have to turn it on.’
‘Have you been here all night?’
‘Most of it.’
‘Why not go fishing in the daytime?’
She lowered her eyes. ‘Because the fishing’s better at night.’
Afi nodded. ‘So they say.’
‘Well, they won’t need the light this morning,’ I said.
‘That’s because they’re late. It’s the weather — it wasn’t like this when they went out.’
‘Are you worried about them?’ asked Afi.
She shrugged.
By then the boat had moved into the shelter of the point. While the sea wasn’t quite as choppy, that only made the swell more obvious. Waves were crashing into the rocks on either side of the boat launch. At the speed the boat was going, they’d be there in a couple of minutes.
‘Let’s go,’ I said to Afi.
He shook his head. ‘I think we’d better wait. They might need help.’
Who wants to help them? I glared at him, hoping he’d get my message.
His reply was a little nod towards Bee. He wanted to help her, not the men.
‘I’d better get down there,’ said Bee. ‘I’ll have to hold the boat while Harry comes up for the trailer.’
As we walked to the water I studied the waves. They were breaking in the launch zone and washing high up the beach. Once they stilled, there was a moment of rest before the water began rushing back, dragging sand and rubbish with it. That was scarcely over before the next wave came. Even if the boat got ashore, it would be hard to keep it there.
They slowed to a crawl just beyond the breaking waves. Carl, who had the wheel, was pointing to the water and talking at Harry who seemed to be arguing with his father.
‘Have they got life-jackets on board?’ asked Afi, shouting above the waves.
