Steel Pelicans

by Des Hunt

  The three of them came out of the arrivals tunnel together. While the others all hugged each other, I approached Dean unsure of how to greet him. I went to shake hands, but he went for the man hug, and we ended up clutching each other clumsily.

  Next, Aimee was in front of me, her arms stretched wide to take me in a big hug.

  ‘Hi, Pelly,’ she said into my ear. ‘It’s great to see you again.’

  Then even Cleo was hugging me. It made me think that maybe Australia had been infected by some strange hugging disease.

  We travelled home, males in one car, females in the other. The conversation in our car was light, with nothing important discussed until we were driving through the farmland close to home. That’s when Dad felt he should give us a lecture about how to behave. It was the usual stuff: think about our actions, respect other people and their property, don’t be loud and uncouth, and don’t do anything illegal or dangerous. This last bit specifically included no climbing trees and, most definitely, no messing with chemicals or fireworks.

  Dean was in the front, me in the back, which let me watch Dean’s face during this lecture. He looked suitably serious, nodding his head as Dad made each point. I half expected him to burst out and say, ‘Yes, sir! Yes, sir! I promise I won’t let you down, sir!’ He didn’t, but all the nodding clearly impressed Dad, because he drove the remainder of the journey with a self-satisfied smile on his face, confident that everything would be right.

  We weren’t going to Port Waikato until Monday evening, when Matt would pick us up after work. That meant Dean had to squeeze into my room for Sunday night and sleep on the roll-out bed. The lack of space was an obvious reminder of the differences between our two families: my bedroom could scarcely fit two people, while his had three beds and there was still heaps of room.

  Another difference was my computer. It was seven years old and beginning to look like a museum piece, whereas Dean got a new one each year. He was always having me on about my primitive machine, so I wasn’t surprised when he stopped and stared at it when we entered the room. However, I soon found out it was not the hardware that he found so surprising, but the software — a slideshow of Afi and me during our fishing weekend.

  ‘Who’s that?’ he asked, rather rudely.

  ‘That’s Afi,’ I replied.

  He nodded slowly. ‘I thought that name sounded a bit strange.’

  ‘What’s strange about it?’

  ‘He’s … ah … big!’

  ‘He’s half-Samoan,’ I said, knowing that it was Afi’s ethnicity that had surprised Dean. ‘His mother is Samoan.’

  And we’ll be staying with them?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘They’re a fun family. You’ll enjoy it.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, leaning down to unzip his bag and pull out a CD case. ‘Then let’s see if that ancient device can still play games.’

  Nana had some work for us to do Monday morning. It was collecting the alpaca poo into heaps. I think she just wanted the chance to check Dean out, so she gave us one of the messier jobs on the farm to see how he would react. Dean handled it well. He recognized it as a challenge and responded as he always did — with the determination to win. Anyway, he got Nana’s seal of approval, and when I asked if we could take the quad bike down to the shore she said yes.

  The only hill on Nana’s property overlooks the Manukau Harbour. Calling it a hill is a bit of an exaggeration, as it’s only twenty metres high. But that’s high enough to add some excitement when riding the quad bike. During the twelve weeks I’d been riding the bike I’d formed a number of tracks up, down and around that hill.

  Dean wasn’t impressed with the view. Mist covered much of the harbour, and, with the tide out, all you could see was mud. While it couldn’t beat the view from Hill 60 in Wollongong, it did give Dean a reasonable view of the place where I now lived.

  A couple of black-backed gulls were feeding on the edge of the mud. Dean pointed to them and asked, ‘Do you get pelicans over here?’

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘Those things are as big as you get.’ Just then, one took to the air, dropping a big dollop of poop as it went. ‘But they can poop just about as well as pelicans.’

  That started stories about pelicans, and for the next twenty minutes or so we stood looking out over the harbour, reminiscing about the times we’d had in Wollongong.

  When the conversation fizzled out, I suggested that we should head back for lunch.

  ‘I’ll drive,’ said Dean, moving towards the quad bike.

  ‘Hold it!’ I said.

  He turned to me, looking amazed that I should try to stop him. ‘What’s the problem?’ he demanded.

  ‘Not without Nana’s permission.’

  ‘Mate, you must be joking!’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Don’t you think I can ride it?’ he asked.

  ‘Have you ridden one that big?’

  He looked at the bike. ‘Can’t be too difficult.’

  I was starting to feel as if maybe I’d overreacted. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘You can ride it, but only on the flat.’ I pointed along the shore. ‘You can go along there and back.’

  ‘Gee, thanks,’ he said, before hopping on the bike and starting it up.

  ‘Put on the helmet,’ I said.

  His lip curled. ‘You turned into a wuss or something?’

  ‘Put it on!’ I repeated, more forcefully.

  He put it on. A moment later he was driving slowly along the beach.

  That didn’t last long. Once he got the hang of it, the speed increased and he began swerving back and forth throwing sand into the air. At the boundary fence he turned and started back. This time, bored with just swerving, he decided to try a few doughnuts. On the first turn the wheels on one side lifted off the sand and he very nearly flipped. It was pure luck that he got the bike back down. But that didn’t stop him doing several more turns before racing back towards me. I put up my hand, indicating that he should stop.

  He didn’t. Instead, he turned the handlebars so that he was heading towards the hill.

  ‘No!’ I yelled. ‘Dean! Stop!’

  I’m sure he heard but chose to ignore me.

  He took one of the tracks I’d made up the hill, going much too fast. At the top, he turned around and stopped for a time, looking down at the slope.

  Instead of taking one of my tracks, he chose the steepest route down.

  ‘Keep it straight!’ I yelled, even though I knew it was unlikely that he’d hear. ‘Don’t turn!’

  He kept the bike straight for a while. Then for some reason, he felt he had to go sideways. Turning while going downhill is one of the most dangerous manoeuvres on a quad bike. I’d tried it once and had nearly flipped the bike. I had never done it since.

  He was going faster and was on a steeper slope than I had been in my one attempt. I doubt that even an experienced adult could have completed that turn.

  Dean certainly didn’t.

  The bike rolled.

  Somehow he managed to leap clear before it flipped on top of him, and both he and the bike continued rolling down the hill. For a few moments it looked as though he’d be all right. But then something made the bike lurch sideways. The tow-bar smashed into his head, forcing him into the ground.

  The bike kept rolling, but Dean didn’t. He lay sprawled and motionless a short distance from the bottom of the hill.

  I rushed towards him, ignoring what was happening to the bike. He still wasn’t moving.

  ‘Dean!’ I yelled.

  I dropped to my knees beside him.

  ‘Dean!’ I repeated.

  An arm moved.

  ‘Dean,’ I said more quietly. ‘Are you all right?’

  The other arm moved. Then his head lifted. He looked at me. I’d done some pretty hair-raising things with Dean, but never before had I seen the look of fear I now saw.

  ‘You all right?’ I asked, gently.

  He tried to nod his head, but obviously that hurt. ‘Mostly, I think,�
� he replied. ‘something hit my head.’

  ‘It was the tow-bar,’ I said.

  He put his hand up to where it hit his helmet. ‘There’s a dent.’

  I nodded. ‘That dent would have been in your head, without the helmet.’

  He lowered his eyes. ‘Yeah,’ he admitted. ‘Thanks, Pelly.’ He gave a thin smile. ‘Maybe it pays to be a wuss sometimes.’

  Nana was not pleased when she found out what had happened. There was no way we could keep it from her, as the damage to the bike was hard to hide.

  It had taken all our strength to get the thing upright. Then we’d had to scrape off the dirt. That had exposed the real damage: a broken brake lever, a bent carrier, and a cracked rear-view mirror.

  Fortunately Dad was at work and the other females had gone shopping. So Nana was the only one we had to front up to. She still gave us a rough time. Dean was told in very clear terms that his behaviour was unacceptable, and that if things didn’t change then sooner or later either he or somebody else would get seriously hurt. He accepted the telling-off with a mumbled apology, before heading inside to clean up.

  Then Nana got stuck into me for letting him do it. When I said that I had tried to stop him, she said I can’t have tried hard enough.

  ‘You’ve got to be more forceful, Pete,’ she said, ‘or people like Dean will walk all over you.’

  I thought that was a bit unfair, but as she also said she wouldn’t tell Mum and Dad I let it go. That would have risked the holiday at Port Waikato, and I wanted that holiday more than anything.

  Chapter 19

  The Moores stayed at Port Waikato every holidays no matter what the season. Each weekday Matt would travel to the trucking firm in Pukekohe where he worked, returning to the bach at night. As he told us on Monday evening, just living in a different place was almost like a holiday.

  Dean was sitting in the back being very quiet. The only times he spoke were when Matt asked him a direct question. Even then his reply was either just ‘yes’ or ‘no’. After a few attempts at conversation Matt gave up and we travelled in silence.

  It was almost dark when we pulled into the store by the wharf. Matt needed to get some onions which he should have bought in Pukekohe but had forgotten. Just as he was hopping out of the ute, his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and rolled his eyes. When he answered it, he said, ‘Hold on a mo, Bert.’ Then, turning to me, he said, ‘Four onions and a packet of matches.’ After giving me a twenty-dollar note, he returned to the call.

  I was surprised when Dean followed me into the shop. He’d been so quiet that I thought he might have fallen asleep.

  ‘You find the matches,’ I said. ‘I’ll get the onions.’

  There were two other people in the shop: a girl who was stacking shelves, and another girl talking to her. I recognized the second one as Bee Redfern. She looked up and smiled at me as I came in.

  ‘Hi, Pete,’ she said. ‘Are you back here for the holidays?’

  I gave a nonchalant tilt of the head, although I was pleased that she’d remembered my name.

  ‘Where’s your big friend? Afi?’

  ‘He’s already at the bach.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  I told her.

  ‘What you after?’ asked the other girl.

  ‘Onions.’

  She pointed towards the back wall of the shop. ‘Over there, but I don’t think there’s many left.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I only need four.’

  There were five left in the basket, none of them very big. I put the lot in a paper bag, and then looked around for Dean. He was at the other end of the aisle studying some fishing gear.

  ‘You got the matches?’

  He nodded, holding up a packet.

  I was about to move towards the counter when something stopped me. Maybe it was his body language or perhaps we knew each other so well that we could communicate by other means. Whatever it was, I knew something was up.

  Matches!

  Looking down at his pockets I saw that both sides were bulging.

  I brought my face right up to his. ‘Put them back,’ I growled.

  ‘What? Put what back?’

  ‘The matches,’ I hissed.

  He stared back at me for a while. Then he tried a smile.

  ‘It was just a joke, Pelly,’ he said. ‘What’s happened to your sense of humour?’

  I grabbed the packet in his hand. ‘Put the others back while I pay for these.’

  Without waiting for a reply, I marched to the counter. Bee and the other girl were waiting for me.

  ‘Who’s your friend?’ asked Bee, as the shop girl charged and packed the two items.

  ‘Dean. He’s from Australia.’

  She looked towards the door. ‘He doesn’t seem very happy.’

  Dean was standing by the door, gazing out into the darkness looking miserable.

  I nodded. I couldn’t tell Bee that I’d just stopped him shoplifting, so I said, ‘His family have just broken up.’

  ‘Lucky him,’ said Bee, so quietly I barely heard it.

  There was no time for a response before the shop girl put the change on the counter. ‘There you are,’ she said, cheerfully. ‘Have a nice evening.’

  I nodded my thanks, said goodbye to Bee, and left.

  As I got to Dean, I glanced down at his pockets. They appeared to be empty.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’

  He gave a sad little nod, before climbing down the steps. I followed, wondering if this was a reaction to what had happened in the shop, or whether it went deeper than that. Maybe what I’d said to Bee had been right. Maybe there were times when the family problems came back to hurt him.

  The reaction Dean got from Afi and Tiresa was all I expected it to be. If some of his problem had been nervousness about meeting them, then it was soon swamped by the warmth of their welcome. There was nothing that might embarrass him: just the friendly smiles and words that I’d also experienced when I first came to Port Waikato. They instantly made you part of the family.

  Dinner that night was a Samoan special: sticky coconut buns called pani popo, served with palusami, which Tiresa explained was corned beef, onions and tomatoes wrapped in spinach.

  It was the first time I’d eaten Samoan food, and I was a little apprehensive when the plate was put in front of me. I flicked a glance at Dean and saw that he was feeling the same. Meanwhile Afi was tucking into a pani popo, so I did the same. One bite and all my fears disappeared. It was yum. I nodded to Dean. When he tried a bite, his eyes went wide with surprise.

  ‘This is fantastic,’ he said.

  Tiresa’s face split in a big, proud smile. I think our reaction to that meal did more to start the holiday on a good note than anything else could have. We were appreciating something from Tiresa’s culture and I suspect that meant a lot to the whole family.

  Later that night, we three boys lay in our bunks planning how we would expose the Redferns’ smuggling.

  Afi had plainly thought about this and already had lots of ideas.

  ‘We need photographic evidence of them with the cartons of cigarettes,’ he said. ‘Even better would be if we could get a photo of an open box showing that the packets have no warning notices. That’s sure to convince the police.’

  ‘If it doesn’t,’ I said, ‘then we take it to the newspaper or TV news.’

  Afi nodded. ‘The problem is that they go out at night. If we take photos, they’ll see the flash and know we’re on to them.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ asked Dean.

  ‘They’re criminals,’ said Afi. ‘Dad reckons they turn vicious when threatened. He says that a few years back they smashed up a guy and his car just because he didn’t give way to them down on the main road.’

  ‘Maybe we should get vicious, too,’ said Dean.

  ‘What would you do?’ Afi asked quietly.

  Dean didn’t hesitate. ‘Blow them away,’ he replied.

 
I rolled my eyes. Last time he’d said that, it had been to impress Mark. If he was trying to do the same thing to Afi, then he was going to be disappointed.

  ‘And how would you do that, Dean?’ he asked.

  ‘I can make explosives,’ he replied.

  ‘Yes, so Pete said. Once you’ve made the explosive, what are you going to blow up?’

  Dean shrugged. ‘anything that belongs to them. Why not blow up the boat?’

  ‘That won’t help us to get photos.’

  ‘Then blow up something else,’ said Dean, showing signs of annoyance.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Their letterbox, a rubbish bin, something like that.’

  Afi looked puzzled. ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘The point,’ said Dean, pushing his head forward, ‘is to get them angry. When they’re angry, they’ll start making mistakes. Then you’ll get all the evidence you need.’

  ‘More likely get us hurt,’ I said.

  Dean’s head jerked around to glare at me. ‘Then what do you suggest?’

  ‘The first thing is to find out when they’re going out to pick up the stuff,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve had an idea about that,’ said Afi. ‘Last time there was a yacht hanging around. So, we keep a lookout for a yacht. When we see one, we’ll know they’ll be going out soon. Then we do something to the beach buggy so that they can’t haul the load home before it gets light.’

  ‘What?’ I asked. ‘Put sugar in the petrol?’

  ‘Doesn’t work,’ said Dean before Afi had a chance to answer. ‘They tried it on Myth Busters and nothing happened.’ Myth Busters was one of Dean’s favourite TV programmes. They did lots of crazy things, such as trying to blow things up.

  ‘But bleach in the oil does,’ he continued. ‘It reacts with the oil and causes the engine to seize up.’

  ‘How long does it take?’ asked Afi.

  ‘Depends on how much bleach you put in, I suppose. How long do you want it to take?’

  Afi and Dean then had a long conversation about how they could arrange things so that the beach buggy would take the boat to the beach, but delay it coming back until it was daylight. That would give us the chance to photograph them unloading the packages at the house.