Money Bags

by Leanne Davidson

  ‘Oh Ted, you didn’t.’

  Ted nods. ‘I did.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘Well, I’d like to see you try to resist Mum’s freshly baked choc-chip muffins.’

  ‘Anything else you’d like to share with me?’

  ‘Um … since you’re asking, I had the most delicious chocolate milkshake, too. I loaded the glass up with stacks of icecream and milk, then threw in about six tablespoons of Milo and …’

  ‘I’ve heard enough,’ I say sharply.

  ‘What?’ says Ted.

  ‘What do you mean, what?’

  ‘How was I meant to know I was going to get a stitch?’

  I shake my head in exasperation. Sometimes with Ted it is like banging your head against a tree.

  ‘So how is the stitch now?’

  ‘Still there,’ sighs Ted. ‘I couldn’t possibly run another step. I think rest is the best medicine for me now.’

  ‘You would.’

  ‘Some people just aren’t cut out to be runners, Brain, and I’m definitely one of them.’

  ‘The idea wasn’t to make you into a runner, Ted. You’re not going to the Olympics. It was to help prepare you mentally and physically for Money Bags.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I think I prefer the mental preparation. How about we talk about the footy instead? I really need some help with this week’s tips.’

  ‘You know I hate the footy, Ted. You may as well ask Mischief for all the help I’d be.’

  ‘Oh! That reminds me,’ says Ted. ‘There’s something I need to do.’ Then he turns to my beloved canine companion and says, ‘Coming Mischief?’

  Naturally he doesn’t have to ask her twice. But then a pocketful of dog treats can do wonders for obedience!

  ‘Ted?’

  ‘Sorry Brain, no time to explain,’ he says quickly, and suddenly he breaks into a run, with Mischief hot on his heels, until the two of them are mere specks in the distance.

  ‘Hey, I thought you had a stitch,’ I yell after him.

  But it is no use. I may as well be talking to the pavement.

  Why am I the one worrying, anyway? It’s Ted who’s going on Money Bags!

  What was Mrs Gribble thinking?

  CHAPTER 15

  It is just on dark when I head outside to feed Mischief, but she is not on the verandah where she usually waits.

  Come to think of it, she wasn’t scratching at the door to be fed, either. And that is most unlike Mischief. She is like an alarm clock when it comes to dinner time.

  ‘Mischief?’

  I walk down the verandah steps and take a quick look around the garden, but there is no sign of her – not a head, nor a paw; not even a little waggly tail.

  Suddenly I notice a thin line of light beneath the garage door. Hang on … why is the garage door closed? And why is the light on?

  Mischief’s familiar bark sounds from inside.

  I head straight over and am just about to barge in when I hear Ted’s unmistakeable voice.

  Ted? What is he doing in there? I press my ear to the door.

  ‘Now Mischief,’ I hear him say. ‘This is a lion; the king of the jungle. And this is a bird. They’re those things that make nice music in the mornings.’

  What? Is Ted for real? Honestly! I think he is taking this bonding thing with Mischief a bit too far.

  I yank the door open to find Ted holding two cards up in front of Mischief. As soon as he sees me he quickly puts them away, then pulls out a dog treat and feeds it to her.

  ‘No wonder she wasn’t scratching at the door to be fed,’ I sigh.

  ‘Brain …’

  ‘Ted? What the heck is going on here?’

  ‘I … er … I was just … well …’

  ‘Yes, Ted? I’m waiting.’

  ‘I was just teaching Mischief to play SNAP! You know, that card game.’

  ‘Ted, Mischief is a dog. Or had you forgotten?’

  ‘Yes, but she could be a very famous dog if she learns how to play SNAP! now couldn’t she, Brain?’

  I roll my eyes. The things Ted dreams up!

  ‘How about we forget all about teaching Mischief SNAP! and go inside and watch Money Bags? I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut and let you try to answer the questions. You won’t even know I’m there. Of course, if you get stuck, you only have to ask and I’ll be more than happy to …’

  ‘Er, sorry Brain, can’t.’

  ‘What do you mean, you can’t?’

  ‘I told Harriet I’d call her at 7.30 pm on the dot.’

  ‘She’s got you twisted around her little finger, Ted. It’s not good.’

  ‘I’m not twisted around her little finger,’ Ted fires back indignantly.

  ‘And what about Money Bags? Where does that fit in?’

  ‘Money Bags, Money Bags, Money Bags. That’s all we’ve been doing lately. You worry too much, Brain, that’s your problem.’

  ‘Well, yes I do worry. You’re my best mate, Ted. And best mates look out for each other.’

  ‘Um Brain …’

  ‘When you’re up there on stage you want to be confident that what is going to come out of your mouth is a knowledgeable answer and not some word that accidentally slips out and embarrasses the heck out of you. I’ve been there and done that, and believe me, it’s not a very pleasant experience.’

  ‘Brain I think …’

  ‘That’s just it, Ted. You think about things too much. You have to learn to relax and make the best of the situation.’

  ‘Brain, I really …’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Ted, what is it?’

  ‘Over there,’ he whispers, then he points across the road.

  ‘What? I don’t see anything. Just a parked car.’

  ‘Exactly,’ says Ted. ‘I think we’re being watched.’

  I sigh. Ted sure can be melodramatic at times.

  ‘Watched? I don’t think so, Ted. Just because a person is sitting inside a car parked across the road, it hardly means we’re being watched.’

  ‘But it doesn’t mean we’re not,’ says Ted. ‘Why would someone be sitting in the dark, anyway?’

  ‘They could be waiting for someone, or have a torch that we can’t see and be looking in the Melways for directions.’

  ‘I s’pose.’

  Suddenly Mischief lets out a low, throaty growl.

  ‘That’s enough of that,’ I say sternly.

  But Mischief is on the alert, hackles raised. She races over to the front gate and growls again; this time more loudly.

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Mischief, stop that! You’ll have Mum and Dad out here any second.’

  ‘Not to mention the neighbours,’ chips in Ted.

  But Mischief is not listening. Her eyes are fixed on the car across the road.

  ‘See,’ says Ted. ‘Even Mischief thinks it’s strange that a car is parked there.’

  ‘Rubbish. She’s just protecting her territory, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh well, I guess I’d better be off,’ says Ted.

  ‘Yeah, it wouldn’t do to keep Harriet waiting.’

  Ted doesn’t even answer, but bends down to give Mischief a pat as he reaches the gate.

  Normally Mischief would lap up the attention, but she’s still obsessed with the car parked across the road.

  ‘Catch you later,’ I say as Ted heads out the gate.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Ted. ‘Catch you –’ and he stops mid-sentence as Mischief bolts through his legs.

  ‘Mischief, come back,’ I call after her, but she doesn’t listen. Which isn’t all that unusual. She can be one pigheaded dog when she wants to be.

  Suddenly the car engine starts up, and my heart skips a beat. Mischief is heading straight for it!

  ‘Mischief!’

  But my voice is drowned out by the sound of tyres screeching, as the car speeds off, barely missing her.

  ‘Mischief!’ I scold her as I scoop her into my arms and hold her close. ‘Don’t you ever do that a
gain. You could have been run over!’

  ‘Oh well,’ says Ted. ‘At least we’re not being watched any more.’

  CHAPTER 16

  Prescott Heath had parked across the road from number twenty-five and sat in the darkness.

  It was just like any other house in the street, and the lights were on, just like all the rest. Anyone else would assume that an average family lived inside. But Prescott Heath knew better. Your average family was hardly likely to have a kid as smart as Brain Davis. Not on your life.

  Brain might have outsmarted him once, but never again. One way or another, he would pay for what he’d done. Prescott Heath would make sure of it.

  He was just about to start the engine when he saw the garage door open and two people walked out, illuminated by the garage light. It was the brat himself and … was that Ted Dimple with him? He wasn’t sure. They stopped for a moment at the gate to chat, and then he thought he saw them turn and look at him. But it was hard to tell in the darkness, with only the dull glow of a distant streetlight to see by, and he strained for a better look. He could just make out that stupid mutt at the gate. If he never set his eyes on that ridiculous excuse for a dog again, he would be only too pleased, for all the trouble it had caused him.

  Suddenly one of them moved towards the gate, then opened it. He was coming out.

  Prescott Heath slid down in his seat. He couldn’t afford to be recognised.

  Moments later the dog was out too, and heading straight for him, barking like a lunatic.

  He quickly turned the key and the car roared to life. He took off like a young lout, wheels screeching all the way up the street, until he was around the corner and out of sight. Then he slowed down and got his bearings as his heartbeat returned to normal after the unexpected excitement.

  He let out an exhilarated sigh.

  That had been close; almost too close.

  He smiled, pleased with himself, then began humming a familiar tune.

  The night was still young.

  And he had one more stop to make.

  CHAPTER 17

  Jeebs was relaxing in front of the TV watching the evening news, enjoying the sweet and sour pork and fried rice he’d picked up from Chang’s Chinese Takeaway, when he heard Ernie, his neighbour’s golden retriever, start barking. And everybody in the neighbourhood knew that Ernie didn’t bark at just anything.

  Normally you’d hear every other dog barking at cars, or the postman, or people walking past. But not Ernie. He took no notice, unless there was a reason to. He was smart enough to know the difference between barking for the sake of it, and barking when it really mattered.

  Obviously, by the way Ernie was barking, he thought something really mattered.

  Jeebs wondered what it was that might have unsettled him, then he thought no more about it, and turned his attention to his dinner and the television, in that order.

  But Ernie kept barking, sounding more and more outraged, until Jeebs heard a door slam and knew that Reg, his neighbour, and Ernie’s owner, must have been heading outside to see what all the fuss was about.

  After that, Ernie quietened down, and although he was no longer barking, he still persisted with a low, throaty growl. Jeebs turned up the volume on the TV.

  When he’d finished his meal, he set the empty containers and cutlery on the table beside his chair and sighed contentedly.

  Life was good. He was as happy as the proverbial pig in mud. He had his school, his students and, best of all, no Prescott Heath. He couldn’t have planned his life’s script any better if he’d written it himself.

  Still, he did think about the former principal every now and then. He couldn’t help but feel a certain amount of guilt for the way things had turned out. But then, Prescott did bring about his own downfall. And in the end, it was Jeebs who had benefited.

  Who would have thought Brain Davis, the victim in all of it, would provide the perfect opportunity to turn things around? All the boy wanted was to make things right; to make sure nothing like the incident on Quizzical ever happened again. And who could blame him? The poor kid was made to look a fool on national television, all because of a man who wanted to win at any cost.

  Jeebs was thankful that Prescott Heath had decided to take an extended holiday in Queensland. The further he was from Daramour, and Jeebs, the better.

  His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a scratching sound, like nails on glass, coming from the kitchen. For a moment he ignored it, too comfortable to move. Then it came again, only this time louder, and he reluctantly heaved himself off his chair to investigate.

  By the time he got to the kitchen, the noise had stopped, and Jeebs was pleased to note everything was in order. He half-considered doing the few dishes left on the sink from breakfast, then thought better of it, and headed back towards the lounge.

  He was almost there, when a loud bang stopped him dead in his tracks. He hurried back to the kitchen and was shocked to find one of the glass panes in the door had a huge crack in it, with smaller ones branching off it. Thankfully it hadn’t shattered.

  ‘What the …?’

  He looked more closely. It was probably a bird. But then it was pitch black outside, and he didn’t know of too many birds who flew around at night. An owl perhaps?

  Would a bat fly into a glass door? Unlikely, given their echo-location.

  Jeebs opened the door and peered outside. There was no stunned owl nearby. Nor did he see a bat of any description. He did, however, notice a decent-sized stone, and he picked it up for a better look. When he placed it on the point of impact, it appeared to be a perfect fit.

  Then he spotted something else. It was only just visible in the porch light. Graffiti! Someone had painted graffiti on his concrete path! He moved closer for a better look:

  N I 4 N I

  What did it mean?

  And what were those …

  He bent down and tried to make it out. Initials. That’s what they were. The initials: BD. There was only one person he knew with those initials: Brain Davis.

  He snorted. Brain Davis would never do such a thing. It wasn’t in his nature. Besides, he was too smart.

  It didn’t make sense. Any of it.

  Jeebs suddenly felt a prickling sensation run the length of his spine. He felt almost vulnerable, as though he was being watched.

  He peered out into the darkness, but saw nothing. He heard nothing, either. Ernie wasn’t make a sound next door. Reg had probably taken him inside to keep him quiet.

  Still, Jeebs couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was out there.

  He shivered, then hurried inside and locked the door after him.

  Prescott Heath strode with purpose to his car, which was parked several blocks away.

  He had gone to Jeebs’s house on foot so he didn’t draw attention to himself. That way he could make a clean getaway without having his car spotted nearby.

  Jeebs, the numbskull, hadn’t suspected a thing. He could be as dumb as dog poop sometimes. Besides, Prescott Heath was the last person Jeebs would suspect of throwing a stone at his door, let alone spraying graffiti on the path. After all, he was supposed to be up in sunny Queensland, enjoying its many attractions. And he had enjoyed it, relaxing in the surf and sun. But one could only enjoy it for so long. Especially when one no longer had work to sustain such a lifestyle.

  And it was all because of Jeebs. And that smart-aleck kid, Brain Davis.

  By the time Prescott Heath reached his car, he was fuming. He jumped in, then cranked the engine, slammed his foot on the accelerator and roared off. He didn’t particularly care who heard him.

  But one thing was certain. Ted Dimple would never appear on Money Bags. Prescott Heath would make sure of it.

  His plan was already set in motion.

  And this time, Brain Davis and Maxwell Jeebs would not get in his way.

  CHAPTER 18

  There are only two days to go. And Ted is unbearable!

  ‘Could you please stop with
the grumbling?’ I ask him on the way to school on Wednesday morning.

  ‘I can’t help it,’ he says miserably.

  ‘Focus on the positive aspects, Ted. Being a contestant on Money Bags is an honour. You’re representing the school. You could even win yourself a money bag.’

  ‘That’ll be the day,’ sighs Ted.

  ‘Whatever happens, at least you’re up there having a go. People can judge you all they like, but they’re not the ones up there on stage, are they? Besides, people like that aren’t worth worrying about. The people who do matter are still going to be there for you, no matter what. And that’s what counts.’

  ‘I wish it was Puzzle Palace I was going on, instead of Money Bags,’ says Ted glumly. ‘That sounds like much more fun. No lights or cameras, or people to watch your every move. Say, speaking of Puzzle Palace, how did you go with those puzzles from the Choc Puffs boxes? Could you work them out?’

  Ha! Could I work them out!

  ‘Don’t worry, Ted. All completed and mailed off.’

  ‘See, I’m even too stupid to work out puzzles!’

  ‘You’re not stupid, Ted. Far from it. You just take one look at things and decide you can’t do them. You’ve got to have more faith in yourself.’

  ‘Yeah right,’ he groans. ‘That’s easier said than done.’

  We are nearing the school gates when a car drives by, the driver tooting madly. Suddenly the car pulls over erratically.

  ‘I don’t know where some people get their licences from,’ I say irritably.

  ‘Maybe they just want directions?’ suggests Ted.

  ‘Yeah, well they could have thought of a quieter way to get our attention. I’m going to see what this is all about.’

  I walk over to the car and gasp with surprise when I see who is sitting inside.

  ‘Jeebs? I mean, Mr Jeebs … What are you doing here? Is something wrong?’

  Jeebs looks around quickly, as if worried someone might hear what he’s about to say. ‘I need to tell you something, Brain,’ he whispers.

  He hesitates for a moment.

  ‘The other night someone snuck into my backyard and threw a stone at my back door. It cracked the glass.’

  ‘Really? I hope you got the person who did it.’