by Dave Warner
When she stepped into the train station she began to get excited. Soon she would be home with her dad and Stormy. And she could stop lugging the saddle, which was so heavy her arms felt ready to drop off. To her dismay, the ticket office attendant told her the only train that could get her to Snake Hills that day had already left. The next one was at nine the following morning. She decided to buy her ticket now anyway, but the two-dollar fee to store her saddle was way over what she had left, a meagre eighty cents. She'd save that for a couple of bread rolls and lug her saddle. Oh well, there were plenty of drinking fountains around and water was all you needed to survive.
She thought of phoning her dad but realised he would probably be out mustering. At least by the time he got back she'd be there to surprise him. The prospect of spending a night under the stars appealed to her. She'd missed that at Thornton. What she had to do now was fill in her day.
Leila abandoned ship, or the swimming pool at least, in the city. She stood among the speeding, noisy vehicles, the sound of rivet guns and sirens, and took a deep lungful of exhaust fumes. It wasn't L.A. but it was still dirty, noxious and wonderful.
Nobody even blinked an eyelid at her as she headed for the train station. Everybody had their eyes cast down at the footpath or stared ahead into nothingness. Finally one businessman did a double-take.
'Hey, that's a horse. Shouldn't we do something?'
The only people who paid him any attention were some kids on skateboards who explained to him it was obviously some hidden camera stunt for television and he'd just look like a doofus if he made a fuss. So the businessman shut up and Leila trotted on, unfettered.
Arriving at the train station, Leila headed for the ticket office but pulled up when she saw a cop there. She snuck behind a trailer load of luggage and listened as the ticket guy explained that a girl carrying a saddle had been through a couple of hours earlier and bought a ticket for Snake Hills. So the cops were looking for Charlotte. What if they found her? If they arrested her for stealing then she would never make the JOES and Leila would never be able to forgive herself. She had to find the kid before the cops and get her back to Thornton Downs to compete in the JOES trials. She thought hard. Imagine you're a country rube in the big city. You've got no money. Where are you going to head to fill in time before your train?
Charlotte lay on the grass in the sun, looking out at the yachts on the river. It was so pretty. She wished that her mum and dad could be here. All three of them again like those picnics they used to have. Of course, that could never happen now. She bit into the bread roll she'd bought and thought of Thornton Downs. Not a single person there would miss her. The only friend she thought she'd had, had turned out to be a lying sneak. For a little while there she had been happy, she'd almost imagined herself in the JOES. What a joke! She was disappointed she hadn't got to know Todd Greycroft better but it was too late to worry about that now.
Given time to kill, most kids Leila knew would go to some amusement parlour, but that didn't seem like Charlie's style. Maybe she'd go to a movie? Some sweet, sentimental thing that would make Leila puke.
Leila trotted down the street until she found a movie theatre. Before she had figured out how to ascertain whether Charlotte was there she noted that Show Pony, a film she'd completed last year, was playing, but only at the ten-thirty a.m. session.
What was this?
She couldn't wait to tell Mr Gold. How dare the exhibitors restrict her film to just one session. Just as Leila was contemplating what havoc to wreak on the cinema, a mother walked by with a kid, sucking on a milkshake.
'You want to see Show Pony, Chelsea?' asked the mother.
'Show Pony sucks. Everybody knows that.' The girl stated it with authority in between slurps.
Leila had a strong impulse to trample on the kid's fat foot. Sucks? What would this twerp know?
The mother was equally surprised.
'I thought you liked Sarah-Jane and Leila?'
'I hate that whiny Sarah-Jane. I'd like to smother her in honey and tie her over an ants' nest.'
Ah, the kid was discerning after all. Leila chuckled at the image she'd conjured many times herself.
'And what about Leila?' asked the mother.
Leila's ears pricked up, waiting for the inevitable compliment.
'Nah, Leila's a fake. She doesn't even do her own stunts.'
At that moment, her pride sinking through the floor, Leila felt the mother's eyes fall on her.
'My goodness! Isn't that Leila there?'
The kid shook her head.
'Nah, too skinny. These days Leila looks like a lifebuoy.'
Leila's legs wobbled. It was all she could do to stop collapsing. Was this what her public thought? Had Feathers been right all along? Oh, how she wished she had that bird brain there right now. Not only as a pal to support her emotionally in this dark hour but for practical reasons. He'd be able to do an aerial reconnaissance for Charlie.
But he wasn't there. Nor was her mother, or Tommy, or Charlotte. Leila felt suddenly more alone than she had in her whole life. Darn it, she missed the kid! Charlie had really cared about her. In Hollywood there were plenty of hangers-on who cared about you when you were hot but on the way down, oh, you'd be lucky to find a flea prepared to suck your blood. Leila had always known this, she'd just never considered the possibility that she might ever be on the way down herself.
One dumb no-neck bird, and one rube. Some fan club. And maybe by now Feathers had forgotten Leila anyway? She couldn't blame him. She'd taken him for granted, giving him constant lip. Despite that, he'd stayed with her. The fact he was stuck in a cage might have had something to do with that but Leila held a faint hope that maybe even if he hadn't been locked up he would have remained. By now, though, he'd probably found a new pal, one that was much nicer to him than she had been.
On location in Hollywood, Bobby and Ralph were dismantling the special shower that Tommy Tempest had them set up for Leila. Ralph was really angry with Bobby. Firstly, his stupid idea of putting Leila in a paddock had cost him two million bucks. Now, because Leila had disappeared, the studio didn't even need to hire this shower from him. Ralph was broke and it was all Bobby's fault. He deliberately turned so the long steel pipe he was balancing on his shoulder swung around and clunked Bobby in the head.
'Ouch, watch it!'
'Sorry,' said Ralph, who wasn't sorry at all.
From his perch inside the trailer, Feathers saw the men dismantling the shower and couldn't believe his eyes. One of them was the nag-napper! And the other seedy guy was probably in on it too. But how could he prove it? He needed to get his wings on something incriminating, something he could get to Mr Gold.
That meant first he would have to get out of his cage.
Chapter 12
It was a very sad Joel Gold who stared at the birdcage where Feathers lay flat on his back, legs in the air. Feathers had been the best employee he had ever had. Anything Mr Gold said, he said it right back, word for word – no rewrites, no smart ideas of his own. And now he was dead. Joel Gold opened the cage and gently brought Feathers out. He was still warm. He couldn't have been dead for very long.
'Guess I better find something to bury you in, old pal,' he said, placing Feathers on a table. He didn't notice Feathers' eyes flick open with concern at the word 'bury'! As soon as Mr Gold disappeared into another room, Feathers was up and out the window.
Mr Gold came back with an empty Moët champagne box. 'Here you go, Feathers, only the best –'
He stopped cold, flummoxed. Feathers was not there. He looked on the floor in case he had rolled off the table. Nope. It was the last straw. He was outraged. First they steal Leila, now Feathers. And Feathers was dead!!!
It was sick. Hollywood was turning into Hollywood.
It had been many years since Feathers had been in the open air. Actually he preferred air-conditioned comfort to the smog, which could get so heavy it weighed your wings down. It was easy to get disoriented up there
in the big blue of L.A. But all the same, it was nice to stretch the old wings.
It took him only a couple of minutes to locate the crims. They were loading pipes into the back of a truck. Feathers began circling, hoping to hear something incriminating, but they hardly spoke to one another. After about fifteen minutes his wings began to get very heavy. Just as he was thinking he would have to rest up in a tree somewhere, the suspects went to fetch more pipes.
Seizing the moment, Feathers flew into the back of the open truck. He had no idea what he was looking for. He just hoped there was something to link them to Leila; ideally, a photograph of them all together. The back of the truck was filled with pipes and didn't seem to offer much hope, so he took a shot at the cabin, an absolute pigsty of fast-food wrappers, cookie boxes and empty soda cans. He tried the dashboard and the floor. Nothing.
He was about to check the glove compartment when he heard their voices getting closer. It was too late to escape so he flattened himself against the back of the seat. His plan was to take off when they went to the back of the truck but his plan hit the rocks when the fat one stayed by the cabin door while the other one shut the back. Now Feathers was terrified. They were getting ready to leave and he was trapped – redwinged, so to speak! Feathers had visions of them feeding him to some hungry Siamese. He couldn't help it, a little bird poo escaped. Why oh why did he have to be so stupid? What had Leila ever done for him anyway?
The one at the back was coming to the cabin. The driver's door handle started to turn. He was a goner! He held his breath. The handle turned ...
... and stopped. Feathers continued to hold his breath. He could feel himself turning purple. He heard Ralph.
'You know, this is stupid. Instead of leaving now we should go back to the lunch cart and load up.'
Bobby pointed out they were no longer on the film payroll.
'The caterers don't know that.'
Bobby saw his point – free burgers and sodas, way to go. The two of them headed off. Inside the cabin, Feathers let out a loud sigh and gulped air. He had been lucky. Time to scram. He was about to do just that when he remembered he hadn't checked the glove compartment. He pressed in with his beak and it flipped open. A whole bunch of little papers flew out. Feathers flicked through quickly. Petrol receipts, betting tickets, but no photo.
Feathers was about to go but one of the receipts stuck to his wing. He tried to pull it off with his beak. Darn thing was all sticky. Candy and caramel. Finally he managed to yank it off. Then it stuck to his beak. He was trying to scrape it off his beak onto the wheel when some big grubby handwriting on the back of the docket caught his eye. He rolled his eyeballs around for a better look. It was kind of hard to read when it was right there on his beak, a little too close to focus.
And then he managed to read some of the poorly spelled words and his heart almost burst with happiness.
In the recliner in the trailer, Joel Gold was fast asleep, dreaming of awards he'd received with Leila and Sarah-Jane. The good old days. Then the dream vanished. Something was tickling his nose. Darn!
His eyes flicked awake and he gradually recalled that he had dropped off to sleep in the recliner. He pulled the irritant off his face. A piece of paper. Some inconsiderate flunky had left a memo on his moosh. Whoever it was, they'd be fired!
Gold studied the memo, looking for a clue as to the identity of the miscreant. He now saw it wasn't a memo but an invoice from RALPHS REMOOVALS AND PLUMMING. A blank invoice, not made out to anyone. Was this some sick joke? He started to screw it up.
Watching with horror from the cage, Feathers knew he had to act.
'Other side!' he whispered.
Joel Gold stopped. Had somebody spoken? He looked around him. No, the trailer was empty.
Just for the heck of it he turned over the invoice. He couldn't believe his eyes. Badly spelled in an ugly, dirty scrawl were the exact words the nag-nappers had spoken over the phone: 'Leev the monee in unmarked bills in the trash can by the Nantville exat Interstate 106.'
Was it a new message? No, this was what the nagnappers had said. They must have read it off this piece of paper, which must have fortuitously blown in through the open window. The nag-napper could be this Ralph who couldn't spell removal or plumbing!
Joel Gold recalled the guy now. Yes, very shady, always hanging around the set with crocodile eyes. He jumped up, smiled at Feathers and ran towards the door waving the docket triumphantly.
'We got him, Feathers! We've got the nag-napper.'
He charged outside, closing the door. Feathers was elated. YES! His plan had worked. The door swung open again and there was a confused Joel Gold. 'Feathers? You're not dead?'
Feathers did his best to remain po-faced. Joel Gold slowly shook his head, muttered to himself and retreated again from the trailer.
Chapter 13
Leila's hoofs hadn't been this sore since Hilary Duff's party when she and Paris had been literally dancing on the ceiling. In looking for Charlie, she'd decided to work out from the railway station a block at a time. She'd already covered about eight blocks on each side. This section of town was the pits. Greasy wrappers and crushed cans littered every inch of square space, provoking in Leila a strong recollection of being backstage at a heavy-metal gig.
By now afternoon was well and truly over. Street lights and neon signs were starting to poke out of the gloom. Why had she been so selfish? All night she'd been thinking of Charlie and the fun they'd had together and how Charlie had been a real friend to her. Like when Leila had messed up at the jump-off, Charlie's concern had been that Leila was sick. Leila wished she had come clean up front. Maybe Charlie had been the only chance at a true pal Leila would ever get?
Leila was peering down an alley when she heard something that scared her to the core – the sound of a twelve-year-old boy.
'Dad, look!'
The boy and his father were both staring at her. The father immediately began dialling his mobile phone.
'It's okay, Damian. I'll call the police.'
Leila had to act fast. She snapped at them.
'I'm not a horse, you idiot. We're actors dressed as a horse. Now get out of the way, you're wrecking the shot!'
Leila had noted many times that people had a much greater respect for movie-makers than police, and it was proved yet again. The father and son apologised and moved off rapidly. That was a close call. She trotted on. Charlotte had to be here somewhere.
The sun had gone down and it was getting cool. Dark clouds loomed in the distance, pregnant with rain. Charlotte picked her way through the park looking for a place to sleep. The same park benches that had been filled with office workers and children earlier in the day were now taken over by people with missing teeth and wearing dirty woollen beanies. Some had covered themselves in old newspapers and hunched beside old boxes packed in shopping trolleys. Charlotte had assumed everybody in the city lived in a house but it seemed that these people were settling in for the night. Unfortunately, they didn't look very happy about it.
For the first time she doubted sleeping under the open skies in the city was going to be as much fun as it was in the warm, dry outback where there were only poisonous snakes to worry about. Charlotte decided to head for the rotunda in the centre of the park. At least there she would be covered if it rained. She was just starting to walk up the steps when a man's voice from somewhere in the dark called out.
'Where do you think you're going?'
She couldn't see anybody but she was ready to run just in case. The voice had sounded harsh and gravelly.
'Yes, you, girlie.'
Her eyes followed the sound. She caught her breath and almost choked. The man speaking to her was unshaven and dirty and lay on the rotunda roof.
'The rotunda is Mad Mike's spot, you'd best be getting home before he comes back.'
And now that Charlotte looked closely she could see that indeed there was a thin mattress and an assortment of garbage bags laid out in the shadows of the rotunda.
'Go on, girlie. Off you go.'
Charlotte didn't need any further encouragement. She ran as fast as she could while carrying the saddle over her shoulder. Whoever Mad Mike was she figured it was best to stay out of his way. She didn't slow down for at least ten minutes.
The new area she found herself in was deserted. It looked like some sort of construction site with big wire fences all around. Behind one of the fences was an area where old furniture and rubbish had been dumped. Charlotte could see an old sofa there. This time she looked very carefully for a sign of anybody. Nope, all clear. She heaved her saddle over the fence and climbed after it. Scattered around were some sheets of old tin that she could make into a shelter. The sofa had lots of stuffing missing but even so, it would be much more comfortable than a bench. Charlotte spent a few moments rigging the tin sheets into a lean-to and then climbed onto the sofa and lay her head on her saddle. She was so tired her eyes shut immediately.
She was drifting off to a deep sleep when the noise woke her. It was a low, building growl. Charlotte let one eye flick open. A huge dog stood a few metres away, pawing the earth, drooling. Charlotte liked dogs and most dogs liked her. Perhaps, despite his scary looks, he was just scared himself? Charlotte put on her best smile.
'Hello, fella. You're not worried about me, are you?'
The dog answered by baring its teeth. They resembled a set of knives stuck in the gums by the handle. This really wasn't going so well.
'Right, your spot. Okay, no worries, I'll leave it to you.'
Everything she knew about dogs told her it was getting ready to attack. Charlotte was trying ever so slowly to edge away. Just as she got to the end of the sofa, it charged.
