Directive RIP
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The new number plates read EF683. The first crime committed in their name was a drive-thru bottle shop hold up in downtown Albury. It wasn’t clean. Furn made the stupefied clerk take off his Nike runners and socks and then busted his nose with the soft rubber soles.
‘Why did you do that for?’ the clerk cried.
‘Just did it,’ Furn taunted as he tied him to a shelf, one sock per wrist.
He knew it was all too lame, but the less cop-like he acted the better.
Riley was meanwhile clearing out the till and the handkerchief he had over his face was causing him to sneeze. ‘A car has just pulled in out front,’ he shouted. Let’s get out of here.’
‘Yeah, but do you want something?’
Riley paused. ‘Bacardi.’
‘That shit?’ Furn slapped the clerk across the cheek. ‘Where’s the Bacardi?’
The clerk’s finger started to point, but was not fast enough for Furn’s liking.
‘Forget it. I’ll just take another bottle of Jack. Sorry I punched your nose. At least you can’t smell your shirt the way I can.’
Furn caught up to Riley in the Mitsubishi and started to remove the blue check handkerchief he was wearing outlaw style over his face.
‘Leave it on,’ said Riley. ‘We’re going to start some fires and it’ll help you breathe through the smoke.’
Furn wasn’t sure if he was joking, but barely twenty minutes later they had doused the Haters motorcycle gang’s clubhouse in petrol and set it ablaze. The second target for arson was a portable classroom in the Wodonga Heights Secondary School.
Riley reveled with the glow of fire upon his cheeks. ‘That will give the investigating task force hours of fun in cross matching suspects.’
‘If we’ve got time, there’s a juvenile detention centre down the road I’d like to give the same treatment,’ replied Furn.
‘Forget it. That might just put them back on our scent. A little too close to home, I’m afraid. Let’s get out of here.’