by Rory Barnes
‘So how come Rats Eyes is going around advertising them?’
‘Jeez, you’re thick. Can’t you read? He’s not advertising the little robots, he’s advertising refrigerators.’
‘Aw, drop dead, Tanya.’
‘Drop dead yerself.’
To stop the argument I started to tell Tanya that I’d call round at her place on Friday night, about half an hour before Exterminator Gator started.
‘It’s no good,’ she said. ‘Mum won’t let us go out together.’
‘No, I’ve had a chat with your mum,’ I said. ‘It will be all right as long as she comes along too.’
‘What?’ said Tanya. ‘Drag the old cheddar along as well? What is this? Some sort of horror show? There’ll be all sorts of kids we know there … I’m meant to be seen out in public with my mother?’
‘No, it’ll be cool,’ I said. ‘I’m fixing your mum up with a blind date. The pair of them can sit somewhere else.’
‘Jeez, she’s gunna like that. Some old codger with a white stick. How’s this date gunna see the screen?’
‘It’s okay. He’s actually a jockey.’
‘A blind deejay?’
‘No, not discs, horses.’
‘They do that, you know,’ Tanya said. ‘Stick blind kids on horses. There are these funny-looking collectors that keep coming round knocking on the door, rattling tins. Horse rides for the visually challenged. It’s like guide dogs, only horses. Maybe this date’ll bring his seeing-eye horse with him. The horse can look at the movie and tell the date guy what’s going on. You can make horses communicate, you know. They do it by tapping their feet on the ground. Ms Boston told us all about it in year seven. There was this horse called Clever Hans. He used to do sums, tapping away with his feet. Only he wasn’t doing the sums actually. It was his handler that was doing the sums. Only the handler didn’t know he was doing the sums — he thought the horse was. Doing the sums, that is. But really, Clever Hans was just picking up subliminal signals. Fact of the matter was, the dopey animal couldn’t care less about two and two making four, or anything else for that matter. All he was after was apples. Stimulus response.’
‘Stop motor-mouthing, Tanya,’ said Rats Eyes.
‘Yeah, Tanya …’ said another hoon.
‘Belt up,’ Tanya said. ‘You wouldn’t know a horse from a pile of —’
Then, suddenly, all of the usual hoons went rather silent.
‘Oh no, not that cop again,’ Christo said.
And sure enough, in comes Senior Constable Sergie Poldarski. ‘Afternoon, you guys,’ says the policeman.
Mumble mumble, say the hoons, and start their usual drift out the door. But Tanya doesn’t leave. She decides to have a little chat with the cop.
‘Have you thought a great deal about immortality, officer?’
‘I don’t reckon I have,’ says the policeman.
‘Well, I reckon you should,’ says Tanya. ‘Because there’s guys going around in vans offering eternal life after death. All you’ve gotta do is get stowed away in a freezer until they invent some way of getting you up and running again. Have a squizz.’
The policeman looks at the handbill Tanya shows him.
‘It all sounds a bit vague to me,’ he says. ‘If we investigated every alternative lifestyle group who shoved leaflets through letterboxes, there’d be no time for Community Policing. I think we might just leave this mob in peace. That’s the thing about a multicultural community. There’s a place for everyone.’
‘All right,’ says Tanya. ‘What do you know about horses?’
‘Not a lot,’ says the policeman.
‘I don’t think they’re allowed into cinemas,’ Tanya says.
‘I don’t reckon they are.’
‘Well, there’s some guy going to try and get a horse into the Hoyts Complex on Friday night. I reckon you ought to be there.’
‘How do you know that?’ says Poldarski.
‘Scalp told me,’ says Tanya. ‘The guy’s blind — right? — and he uses a seeing-eye horse instead of a seeing-eye dog.’
‘Oh yeah,’ says the cop.
‘Straight up,’ says Tanya. ‘Ask Scalp.’ And she saunters out of the door.
‘What’s this about a horse?’ says the cop.
‘Don’t know nothing about horses,’ I say.
‘Well, what’s this about a bloke trying to get a horse into the pictures?’
‘You’d better ask Tanya.’
‘She said to ask you.’
‘Then we’re stuffed,’ I say. ‘It’s how rumours start — everybody thinks somebody else is the source of the story. So it’s gotta be true because everybody knows some dude who knows about it first-hand, but really the rumour just started all by itself. See?’
‘Yeah, well, there’ve been a few rumours lately,’ said the cop, ‘and I don’t think they started all by themselves — rumours about a couple of blokes having drag races on bikes in the main street. Hanging onto the back of cars. Jumping red lights. Riding without helmets. Rumour has it that one of the suspects looked a lot like you. Distinctive scar right round his head. We got rather a lot of phone calls.’
‘Well, that’s rumour for you,’ I said. ‘It’s appalling the way law-abiding citizens can have their characters blackened by malicious gossip. I’m glad you’ve got the good sense not to believe it.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ says the cop.
‘Officer, I make a point of always telling the hoons — the kids — that they’ve got to obey the rules of the road and that they’ve always got to wear helmets. It’s the law.’
‘Yeah. Well, personally, I’d be more inclined not to believe all this malicious gossip about you riding a bicycle upon a public thoroughfare in a reckless and dangerous manner liable to cause a bingle, if you’d show a bit of public spirit in relation to the problem of red-hot stolen bicycles.’
‘Gee, you’ve got a fine turn of phrase, Sergie,’ I say.
‘Comes of giving evidence in court,’ says the cop. ‘I’ve had lots of experience. My evidence stands up in court. If you get my drift.’
‘What you’re saying,’ says I, ‘is that if I tell you everything I know about the … er … the secondhand bike trade, you won’t pursue the matter of my little race down the high street.’
‘I might just have more pressing engagements.’
‘Done!’ I say. ‘I’ll tell you everything I know about stolen bikes. Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ says the cop.
‘I don’t know nothing about hot bikes, officer,’ I say with feeling.
‘Now, unless I’m greatly mistaken,’ says the cop, ‘that’s what they call a double negative.’
‘Come again?’
‘It could be argued in a court of law that the statement, I don’t know nothing, officer, implies the statement, I do know something, officer. See what I mean?’
I saw what he meant. And I also saw a chance to make a bit of mischief in the matter of Luis Greystone’s plans for my brains.
And I still wasn’t too happy about Luis’ plans — despite Rachel’s promise that she was going to change them.
‘Look, Sergie,’ I say in a whisper. ‘All I know about crimes against the community is what I’ve already told you. Or what Tanya has already told you: some guy is going to try and ride a horse into the Hoyts complex on Friday night. He’s going to arrive outside the movie in an old furniture van. Not a proper horse float, see. Just an old black furniture van, so nobody gets suspicious. But there’ll be a horse on board. He’s going to come flying out of the back of the van and into the pictures. On the horse.’
‘Now why would he want to do that?’
‘Search me,’ I say. ‘It seems like a ridiculous idea to me. Totally stupid. I mean, what’s the point?’
‘So why’s he going to do it?’
‘Who knows?’ I say. ‘We will never fathom the criminal mind. Maybe he’s got a grudge against the movie. Thinks it’s a load of horse manure or some
thing. Maybe when he gets the animal into the cinema he’s going to make it … er … express itself.’
‘What’s the movie?’
‘Exterminator Gator.’
‘They reckon that’s real good.’
‘It’s meant to be a winner.’
‘I was thinking of going to see it,’ says the cop. ‘But then I thought, bugger it, I’ll wait for the video.’
‘No way,’ I say. ‘You’ve got to see Exterminator Gator on the big screen. Action, blood, violence, language, adult themes. Me and Tanya — I mean, me and Tanya’s mum — we’re going to see it on Friday night. You want to come along too. Come to the early session. You can see the movie. Then you can arrest the guy with the horse afterwards. He’s going to try and get the horse into the late session.’
‘He’s got a name, this perpetrator?’
‘Luis Greystone,’ I say. ‘A deranged dentist.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘He’s from out of town. I used to know him years ago, before I came here. He’s got a reputation for doing dumb stuff. He’s got this fantasy that he’s still a student. His life is one long Rag Week.’
‘Sounds like a long shot to me,’ said Poldarski. ‘But seeing as how I might be going to the movies anyway, I’ll keep an eye out for a suspicious furniture van.’
‘Good idea,’ I say.
Chapter Ten
The little fella arrived at our place looking like King Farouk. The dude was loaded with gold. Gold rings on his fingers, two gold earrings, gold tiepin, gold cufflinks, gold teeth. As for the threads … He had on a silk suit with a silk handkerchief sticking out of the top pocket. He was wearing highly-polished platform shoes that jacked his height up about ten centimetres — which helped a bit, but not much. He was carrying a huge box of chocolates wrapped up in crackly cellophane and tied with a pink ribbon. The ribbon looked like it was silk as well.
‘Holy dooly, Easter,’ I said. ‘We’re just going to the flicks.’
‘You gotta look good for a date,’ Easter said. ‘Do you think Mrs Chandor will like these?’ He waved the box of chocs around. The hall light made the cellophane sparkle like something you’d throw a bucket of water over.
‘Well, if she doesn’t like them, me and Tanya will knock ’em off,’ I said. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
We took a taxi to Tanya’s place. It was a neat little house with a lemon tree in the front garden. We left the taxi with the meter ticking and proceeded up the path to the door. The little chap seemed ridiculously nervous. He wasn’t a bit like the tough little kidnapper I’d first met. He stood there on the front veranda trying to smooth the crinkles out of the cellophane. There was this crackling sound — like the damn choccies really were on fire.
‘Cut it out, Easter,’ I said. ‘She’s not going to bite your head off.’
Actually, I wasn’t so sure. The door opened. A sort of older version of Tanya stood there. She looked very pretty, but she didn’t look very pleased to see us.
‘You,’ she said to me.
‘Me,’ I said, ‘and this is my mate, Easter, who’s kindly consented to make up the party.’
‘What party?’ Mrs Chandor said.
‘The going-to-the-movies party,’ I said.
‘Struth, what a gang of freaks,’ Mrs Chandor said. ‘This little shrimp looks like he belongs in a bottle.’
‘He’s a jockey,’ I said. ‘Diminutive stature is no handicap for a prince of the turf.’
‘It might be a handicap in the movies. What’s he planning to do? Stand on the seat?’
‘He could sit on your lap,’ I said.
Mrs Chandor started to shut the door in our faces, but Tanya came bowling through. She pushed past her mum and hurtled out the door, knocking it wide open again. She put her arms round me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Then she turned to Easter and said, ‘G’day, you must be the blind dude,’ before patting him on the head and taking a squiz at the chocolates, reading the label through the cellophane.
‘Yumolla,’ she said. ‘Forbidden Fruits, my favourite. The ones with the liqueur centres are the best. If you really hoe into them and guzzle two or three dozen you can get drunk. We’ll get stuck into them in the taxi. Come on, Mum, move your butt.’
Tanya grabbed my arm and we set off towards the taxi. As we were piling into the back seat I heard the house door slam. I thought for a moment that Mrs Chandor had gone back inside in disgust, but she was coming down the path with Easter.
‘I’m doing this under protest,’ she was saying. ‘The only reason I’m going to be seen out in public with you two deadbeats is because I wouldn’t trust my daughter with either of you for half a second.’
‘Don’t say that, Mrs Chandor,’ Easter said. ‘Your daughter looks very trustworthy to me. I’m sure she wouldn’t do anything …’
‘It’s not her, you mongrel! It’s you and that weirdo with the brain job.’
‘Shut up, Mum,’ Tanya called out of the taxi door. ‘Just get into the cab. Stick the little guy in the front. Now let’s have a go at the chocs. Me and Scalp won’t be sitting anywhere near you, so we’ll get a head start with the Forbidden Fruits now.’
Easter found himself an aisle seat, which would allow him a good view of the screen. Mrs Chandor sat beside him. The moment they were seated, Tanya and I scarpered up the back. From where we were sitting we could see the backs of their heads. Mrs Chandor could have been Easter’s mum, not Tanya’s.
‘Do you think he’s got any hot tips for the races?’ Tanya said. ‘Him being a jockey and that.’
‘Probably has,’ I said, ‘but you’d be mad to take any notice of them.’
‘My mum likes a flutter down at the TAB. If she and Easter get talking about odds and correct weights and that, they might find they’ve got something in common.’
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘If Easter tells your mum to bet on a horse called Staxa Fun, you tell her from me: Don’t.’
‘Aw, let’s not worry about them,’ Tanya said.
The lights dimmed and went out. Tanya and I slid down in our seats and held hands. We watched the film and looked at each other in the dark during the boring bits and didn’t take much notice of anything. That is, until the interval, when Tanya went on a quick expedition to bum a few more chocolates. When she came back she said: ‘They’ve gone and eaten the lot. The pigs. They’ll be sick. Serve them right. And what’s more the little guy was telling Mum to bet on Staxa Fun, and guess what.’
‘What?’
‘That creep’s here. That cop that’s always hanging round your shop.’
‘Where?’
‘A couple of rows behind Mum. There. He’s got his feet up on the seat in front of him.’
And there he was, Senior Constable Sergie Poldarski in plain clothes. His plain clothes consisted of huge boots, jeans and a bulky jacket.
‘Do you reckon he’s carrying concealed weapons?’ I said to Tanya.
‘What would he want concealed weapons for? You don’t need a gun to look at a movie screen.’
‘He’s come to arrest the dude with the horse,’ I said.
Tanya giggled.
‘Fair dink,’ I said. ‘I told him all about it after you’d left the shop. How the dude was going to ride the horse into the cinema and dump all over the place.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Tanya. ‘And I’m gunna turn into a pumpkin at midnight. He may not be the brightest cop that ever lived, but he hasn’t come here to arrest a crapping horse.’
‘Wait and see,’ I said.
The lights went down again.
Chapter Eleven
When we got out of the pictures, Tanya was hanging on my arm and talking ten to the dozen. Mrs Chandor and Easter emerged behind us and started loitering near the posters for coming attractions.
‘Anyway,’ Tanya said to me, ‘what those movie makers don’t understand is that alligators have got these real feeble jaws. Absolutely hopeless. They’ve got muscles like cheap rubber bands. The j
aw opening muscles that is. The jaw closing muscles are something else again. The closing muscles’ll snap your leg off with one chomp. There was this program on telly, right? Life in the Swamp. What you do when an alligator attacks, is you jump out of the way. You know, like a bullfighter. The alligator goes chomp on thin air. Then you pounce. You grab its jaws while they are still closed. Then you can hold them shut all day with one hand. Simple. Check the truck, will you, it’s that nano-technology mob.’
Parked across the road was Luis’ furniture van. I hadn’t had much of a chance to look at the outside of it before. Written along the side were the words:
HERE TO THERE REMOVALS
Personal transport through Space and Time
Ask driver for quote.
The front cabin looked a bit crowded. Luis, Alex, Rachel and Gazza were all crammed in. As I watched, the van rocked a bit. It looked to me as if Staxa Fun had been given plenty of room to manoeuvre in the back.
‘Hey,’ said Tanya, ‘there’s those doctors you live with. In the truck. Are they into this nano-technology stuff?’
‘Not really,’ I said.
‘The bolt is sliding in its groove,’ Tanya said.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Outside the window is the black removers’ van,
And now with sudden swift emergence
Come the women in dark glasses, the hump-backed surgeons
and the scissor-man.’
‘What bilge is this?’ I said. ‘My mates haven’t got humped backs.’
‘It’s a poem, you drongo. Wystan Hugh. The last known poet in the whole wide world. When he died, that was it. Finish. End of story. No more poetry. Wystan checks out, poetry checks out too. Mind you, people have tried. They’ve had a go. But they just can’t get their act together. We did this topic, see. The Nancy Poets. It was part of the Say No to Homophobia Campaign. Values clarification. Everyone had to pick a famous poofter poet. I done Wystan Hugh for my special assignment. Jeez he’s grouse. Better than that dill, Sappho.’
I looked around for Poldarski. He was emerging from the cinema, standing on the steps, checking out the scene.
