A Croc Called Capone

by Barry Jonsberg

  ‘Sorry, boys,’ he said. ‘But there is a flight late tomorrow and we are going to be on it. This is not something we have decided without careful thought. At least we’ll be home by Christmas. And Dylan is welcome to spend it at our house, if his parents agree.’

  I could tell Dad was genuinely upset. And it was good of him to offer to have Dylan around. Not many people who weren’t in secure psychiatric hospitals, drooling and trying to eat the carpet, would do that.

  But it didn’t lighten our mood. Me, Dad and Dyl sat around for a while, but in the end we had nothing to say to each other.

  It was a gloomy gathering for dinner that evening. True, Rose and Cy had made an effort. In fact, it seemed they were auditioning for Australia’s Top Model and Extreme Makeover Disasters at the same time. It was scary. Their make-up the previous evening had been over the top. Tonight it was in orbit. Both wore dresses made of lace, ribbons and meringue, their hair piled up on their heads like lacquered elephant dung. A force 5 cyclone couldn’t have shifted one hair out of place.

  They completely ignored each other. Whenever someone else spoke, they grunted. Seems the effort they made was limited to appearance.

  Dyl and I weren’t a barrel of laughs either. I hadn’t mentioned what Blacky had said about the mission being half over. As far as I was concerned I had done enough. I didn’t need to risk sliding down a croc’s throat like a human-flavoured M&M. But Dyl wouldn’t see it like that. This new task could be his only chance to experience a bit of excitement. I felt guilty. But it was wiser to say nothing.

  Dad tried to be cheerful, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. Mum made a point of beaming at everyone, particularly Dylan. It was beginning to spook me out, particularly when he smiled back. Then she turned her beam around the restaurant. It was like watching a human lighthouse.

  ‘That poor man is eating by himself again,’ she trilled. ‘I think we should invite him to our table. What do you say, gang?’

  ‘Good idea, love,’ said Dad. ‘I’ll ask him to join us.’

  I looked over to see who they were talking about and realised Murray had returned. My heart jumped. He sat at the same table as last night and as far as I could tell he didn’t have a care in the world.

  ‘Dad, no!’ I said. ‘He’s a …’

  ‘Come on, son,’ replied Dad. ‘Have a little charity. He looks lonely.’ And he was out of his chair before I could say anything more. Dyl and I glanced at each other. This could be awkward. Then again, I reckoned I’d be the last person Murray would want to sit with. No chance he’d say yes.

  Right again, Marcus, I thought as Murray stood, picked up his glass and followed Dad back to our table. It’s such a burden always being right.

  Dad did the introductions. Mum was thrilled to discover Murray was a Consultant Paediatrician. She almost curtsied, which is difficult when you’re sitting down. Rose and Cy were less impressed. They grunted. It was as if they were competitors for the title of World’s Worst-Dressed Pig Impersonator.

  Murray smiled as he shook my hand and then Dyl’s.

  ‘I’ve already met your sons, Mrs Hill,’ he said. ‘It was quite an experience.’

  ‘Why, thank you, Dr Small,’ Mum replied. I would have put money on Mum throwing a fit if anyone suggested she was responsible for Dyl’s gene pool. But she didn’t bat an eyelid. Murray ran a hand across the top of his head.

  ‘It’s actually Mr Small,’ he said. ‘Consultants are called Mr. But I would much prefer it if you called me Murray.’

  ‘Mr Small,’ I said. ‘Isn’t that a character from a kids’ picture book? You know. Mr Small, Mr Greedy … Mr Mean?’

  Murray smiled.

  ‘Quite right, mate,’ he said.

  He sat between me and Dyl and insisted on buying drinks for all of us. I turned him down. So did Dyl. For the first time in his life he passed on a cola! I would have taken a picture, if I’d had a camera. Murray snapped his fingers, and Brendan came over to take the order.

  Rose and Cy reacted as though they’d been zapped with tasers. They went from multi-coloured mounds of misery to sickeningly chirpy in less than a second.

  ‘Hi, Brendan,’ said Cy. She dragged out all the syllables of this imaginative greeting. It seemed to go on for thirty seconds. ‘How are you?’ she added, thus clinching her status of inspirational conversationalist.

  ‘Hi,’ said Brendan. ‘Can I get you guys some drinks before you order food?’

  ‘Please,’ said Murray. ‘We’d like a bottle of …’

  ‘Brendan, I think what you did this morning was the bravest thing I have ever seen!’ This was Rose. ‘Battling a crocodile to save the life of poor Dylan here. You deserve a medal.’

  Brendan shifted from one foot to the other and scratched behind an ear. The resulting draught nearly knocked me off my chair.

  ‘Well, not sure “battling” is the right word. I just helped to pull the kid out.’

  ‘We’ll go for the bottle of …’ said Murray.

  ‘How modest!’ simpered Cy, batting her eyelashes in Brendan’s direction. Given she was wearing very long false ones, he almost toppled over in the breeze. I was beginning to think we didn’t need ceiling fans, when Rose harrumphed and knocked a glass of iced water into Cy’s lap. Cy screamed as she jumped to her feet.

  Murray took advantage of the confusion to order a bottle of champagne. I sneaked a peek at the wine list. It cost $190.

  Cy gave Rose a look designed to turn her into stone. Then she rushed off to change and peace reigned for a while.

  ‘What do you want for Christmas?’ Murray whispered to me.

  ‘A healthy environment,’ I whispered back.

  ‘Tricky to wrap.’

  ‘But worth the effort.’

  Murray took a sip of champagne while I toyed with the idea of knocking a glass of iced water into his lap. I didn’t, though. I refuse to imitate Rose, even when she comes up with a brilliant idea.

  ‘I reckon a boy like you might really appreciate a new computer,’ Murray said after a long pause. ‘Possibly the latest games console as well. Plus games. A mobile phone, maybe. What do you think, Marcus? Would you like those things for Christmas?’

  ‘Nah,’ I said. ‘Too expensive.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Necessarily.’

  ‘There must be something you’d like.’

  I thought about this.

  ‘There is, actually,’ I replied. ‘There’s one thing you can do for me.’

  And I told him.

  Dylan and I watched TV, but we weren’t really paying attention.

  Dyl had scarcely said a word all evening. He hadn’t even smiled when Rose and Cy got stuck into each other during dinner. And it was quite a performance. Whenever Brendan was around they oozed happiness and joy from every pore. As soon as he left, it was as if someone had turned off the tap of wellbeing. They sank into misery, punctuated by occasional moments of outright nastiness. Eventually, they became so bitchy that Mum sent them back to their cabins.

  Dyl and I could hear them yelling at each other over the sound of the TV. We had to crank up the volume. But I felt the slam of their cabin door. It was a minor earthquake. Maybe Cy was making her getaway. Maybe Rose had taken to Cy’s head with her knuckles and got disembowelled by a thrust from a light sabre. Serve her right.

  We must have dozed off for a couple of hours, because the next thing I was aware of was a hammering at our cabin door. I got to my feet and glanced at the alarm clock. It was past midnight. Dyl sat up in bed, blinking his eyes and looking groggy. I staggered to the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ I called.

  I didn’t want to open up. I remembered what Blacky had said about Al paying a visit. For all I knew, a mob of crocs could be outside with broad-brimmed hats, sawn-off shotguns and bad accents.

  ‘It’s Dad,’ came a muffled voice. ‘Open the door, son.’

  I did. It wasn’t just Dad. Mum was there. So was Rose, Brendan and his
father, Ted, the resort manager. They glanced past me into our room.

  ‘Is Siobhan here?’ asked Mum.

  Had she lost her mind? Cy in our cabin? I’d sooner entertain a five-metre croc. I shook my head.

  ‘What’s up?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s gone,’ said Mum, almost choking on the words. ‘Siobhan has disappeared.’

  Apparently, Cy had taken off after my sensitive sister had pointed out a few of her character flaws. Such as:

  She didn’t have a character

  She was as attractive as a pitbull terrier’s backside

  She couldn’t pull a muscle, let alone a guy like Brendan.

  I had to read between the lines to get this information.

  Anyway, after a couple of hours, Rose decided to look for her, possibly because she had thought up a few more insults and wanted to share them. But Cy was nowhere to be found. Rose alerted our parents who, in turn, sought out Brendan as the likely person Cy would run to. He hadn’t seen her. He and Ted searched the entire resort and turned up nothing. Finally they came to our cabin.

  Now only one place remained.

  The bush.

  And it was past midnight.

  Mum hadn’t recovered from Dyl’s dip with Al. Now she had to face the prospect that yet another person’s child was in serious danger. Judging by the look on her face, she realised she’d blown her chance of being nominated Responsible Guardian of the Year.

  We searched the resort again. It gave us something to do, rather than follow Mum’s lead of slumping in a chair, moaning ‘Oh my God’ and smacking herself around the head with a heavy palm leaf. Okay, I’m exaggerating. But only just. By the time we’d finished it was one-twenty-seven and Cy still hadn’t been found.

  Ted gazed into the bush.

  ‘We can’t go in there,’ he said. ‘It’s too dark. Anyway, I reckon she’s probably only a couple of metres in, trying to scare us all. You know, making someone pay because she’s upset. With luck, she’ll get tired and come back soon. No worries.’

  But she didn’t. When dawn arrived, the resort was stubbornly Cy-less.

  Worries.

  Search parties were organised at first light. Most of the holiday-makers volunteered to help and Ted Branaghan divided people into groups and gave them areas to search. I noticed Murray poring over maps. Dyl and I joined the queue of volunteers, but Mum dragged us out.

  ‘You are NOT going,’ she said. ‘I will not risk it. From now on, Marcus, you will be chained to your bedpost until you are forty. Possibly forty-five.’

  ‘But we want to help, Mrs Hill,’ said Dyl. He was close to tears. All this sitting around was driving him crazy. Around sixty cans of cola bubbled and fizzed in his system and the sugar was demanding release.

  ‘I know you want to help, Dylan,’ she said. ‘Which is why I need you to stay here and watch in case Siobhan comes back.’

  We argued, but it did no good. Mum wasn’t so much firm as set in quick-drying cement. So Dyl and I slouched off to sit on the edge of the swimming pool.

  ‘Man, this sucks the big one,’ said Dylan. If anything, the darkness of his mood had deepened. I agreed, but what could we do? I stuck my feet into the water, made small waves and watched them break against the poolside. Part of me hoped Cy wouldn’t be discovered until the flight this evening had left. Though, on reflection, even if we missed the flight, we’d be off home as soon as Cy turned up. Dyl and Cy in danger? We’d shoot through even if Mum and Dad had to hire pushbikes or hijack a passing camel train.

  ‘I know where she is.’

  In all the drama I’d forgotten about Blacky. I was so surprised by the voice I nearly fell into the pool. He was sitting on the diving board. I got the sudden urge to see him attempt a half-turn with pike, but thrust the thought to one side.

  ‘You know where Cy is?’

  ‘Sure do, tosh. I think I already mentioned that there is little that goes on in this world of which I am unaware.

  She’s fine, but needs your help. If you’ll follow me …’

  ‘But Mum said we’ve got to stay here, Blacky. Can’t I just tell one of the search parties and they could follow you?’

  ‘Oh, I see, mush. “This dog told me where the missing person is. Kindly follow him. This is a Disney movie!” And how about an encore, bucko? “I’m also in email contact with a small dingo called Ernie.” That should guarantee you a fitting for a straitjacket.’

  I could see his point. I told Dyl what was going on. Perhaps he could figure a way out of the problem.

  He could.

  ‘Let’s go, Marcus,’ he yelled, already scrabbling at the lock on the pool gate. I sighed and followed. I’d just have to put up with Mum’s anger later. And – maybe – finding Cy would the best defence against it.

  Maybe.

  After half an hour of following Blacky through the bush, I was completely lost. Actually, I was lost within two minutes. There’s something about the bush that makes it difficult to get your bearings. It’s probably to do with how the landscape doesn’t change. Mangrove trees, palms with sharp, spiky leaves that trail the ground, marshy ground punctuated by pools of water. Get through that and exactly the same is in front. It’s like walking the wrong way on an escalator. Your legs keep moving, but the scenery doesn’t alter.

  ‘How much further, Blacky?’ I called.

  ‘Nearly there, tosh.’

  Dyl and I made our way around a mass of mangrove roots and suddenly found ourselves in a clearing. The water was deeper here. In fact, small hummocks of earth poked, like islands, above the waterline. This was not friendly country. Without wading up to our waists in brackish water there appeared to be no way through. I thought about those limb-chomping bugs Blacky had mentioned. They were probably gathered here in gangs, rubbing their hands in anticipation and getting dibs on particular arms and legs.

  On that cheerful note I spotted Cy.

  She sat on one of the islands, thirty or forty metres away, staring straight ahead. Motionless.

  ‘Cy!’ I yelled. I waved my arms above my head.

  She gave not even the slightest sign of having seen or heard me.

  ‘Siobhan!’ I tried. In the past she’d refused to respond to Cy, though I thought it unlikely she’d be quite so fussy under these circumstances. Still nothing. Dyl and I glanced at each other. There was no choice. Bugs or no bugs, we waded towards her.

  At least we made it with all eight limbs attached.

  I knelt in the mud beside Cy. She still hadn’t made a movement. Her eyes stared blankly ahead. I tried waving my hands in front of her face. She didn’t so much as blink. When I pushed against her arm, she rocked slightly like one of those toys with a weight in the bottom, and then went back to staring at something beyond my vision. To be honest, it was spooky.

  Cy was a mess physically as well. Her clothes were soaking and her face was streaked with mud. The elephant-dung hair-do had come unravelled and fell in clotted strips around her face. But it was her eyes that worried me most. They were glazed, blank, as if no one was home.

  ‘What are we going to do, Dyl?’ I said.

  ‘Get help, mate,’ said Dyl. ‘I don’t fancy our chances of carrying her. What is that hound barking at?’

  I hadn’t noticed Blacky’s absence. He was off somewhere to our left, barking like a mad thing. We turned in that direction and saw him swimming towards us. Twenty metres behind came Murray Small.

  Help had arrived, though it wasn’t the help I would have chosen under ideal circumstances.

  Murray took over immediately. As he was an adult and a child doctor, I supposed that was fair enough.

  He took Cy’s pulse. He peeled back an eyelid and stared into one unseeing orb. Dyl, Blacky and I waited. Finally, Murray turned towards us.

  ‘Her vital signs are good,’ he said. ‘But she’s in shock and suffering from exposure. We need to get her back immediately.’ He held her hand. I noticed that he stroked it gently with his thumb. ‘But I don’t really
understand. Spending all night out here must have been dreadful, but it shouldn’t account for this condition. The girl is catatonic.’ He noticed our puzzled expressions. ‘Almost paralysed, as if the mind has shut down the body,’ he explained. ‘What I don’t understand is the fear that produced this reaction.’

  ‘Ah. I might be able to help you out with that,’ said Dyl.

  We eyed him expectantly.

  ‘Behind you,’ he said.

  Murray and I turned.

  Murray’s eyes probably came out – boiiing – on stalks. I know mine did. I didn’t check for synchronised eye-popping because one thing held all my attention. Actually, seven things.

  Saltwater crocodiles. Six huge crocs, advancing slowly towards us – and another that wasn’t so much huge as monstrous. They fanned out until we were surrounded. The largest slithered up onto the mound where we stood and stopped a couple of metres away. No one made a sound. I think all of us would have liked to scream, but terror had stolen our breath.

  ‘Allow me to make the introductions,’ came Blacky’s voice in my head. ‘Al, this is Marcus. Marcus, Al. I think you have already met his drongo sidekick, Dylan. Oh, and the humungous slaphead is Murray. The guy who shot your brother.’

  ‘Incidentally, tosh,’ said Blacky. ‘You might be interested to know that it’s not only killers like Murray who are a threat to Al and his mates. The cane toad, introduced to this country by humans, remember, is poisoning many animals in its relentless march across the Territory …’

  ‘Blacky,’ I yelled in my head. ‘Spare me the environmental sermon, man. I am just about to be eaten by a crocodile and I don’t want the last words I ever hear to be your drivel. All I want, frankly, is to give you one last vicious kick up the bum.’

  ‘Charming,’ he replied, all offended.

  If I had had time or energy, I’d have taken him to task about his attitude. He was offended? He was sulky? I mean, we had followed him in good faith and this was our reward? To be the special on the crocodile menu? Humans on toast. Marinated in a tasty sweat sauce. I only hoped they would have room afterwards for a dessert of flatulent dog. Because a penny had dropped. He knew why Cy was petrified with fear. He knew the crocs had been waiting for us. Blacky had led us into a trap.