

#

# MORNING TEA NEAR MITCHELTON

By Ken Blowers

****

First published by Linda Perry at Smashwords 11th May 2014

This second edition published by Linda Perry at Smashwords March 2015

Editing by Eagle-Eyes Editing Solutions

Cover Illustration by Paulien Bats

Copyright (c) 2014 by Ken Blowers

****

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.

# CONTENTS

  1. # Blooms

  2. # Brissy

  3. # The Fax Of Life

  4. # Forbidden Attraction

  5. # Winners Are Grinners

  6. # Racing Certainty

  7. # The Car Boot

  8. # Advantage – Colt .45

#

# 

# CHAPTER 1

# BLOOMS

Jenny had agreed to meet her estranged husband, Brian, at what had once been their most favourite coffee shop (and florist), Blooms by Tiffany, in Blackwood Street, Mitchelton.

'G'day, darl,' Brian greeted Jenny. Running late, are we?'

'Hmm... you used to stand up to greet me.'

'Oh. Oh... yes. Sorry about that.'

'Never mind. I'm more laid-back, these days. Life is soooo much easier these days...'

'Er..., that's a nice dress. New, is it?'

'No! No! I bought it last time we went down to Sydney – must be over a year ago now.'

'Oh. Well... it looks very nice. Or, should I say, you look very nice... in it.'

'Look at your shirt! Haven't you learned how to use a steam iron properly yet?'

'Oh, er... I guess not.'

'And you need a haircut.'

'Er... yes. Yes, I do. I'll have to keep an eye out for a handy hairdresser.'

'There's one almost next door.'

'Oh, yes, I think there is. I'll check it out later, if I've got time.'

'Make time.'

'Yes, darl.'

They sat quietly at their table, shuffling their feet uncomfortably while Tiffany served them their coffees.

Then Brian said, 'I'm pleased to see you're still wearing your wedding ring.'

'Yes. But don't read anything into it. It's just there to keep the sharks at bay.'

'Are you sleeping... alright, now?' Brian asked.

'Yes, yes, I'm fine. It's great being able to sleep without being molested. But are you eating properly? I bet you still can't cook.'

'Yes, I'm eating ok and no, I can't pretend to be a cook. You are dead right there. But I get by...'

'Why did you ask me to meet you here today?' said Jenny, sipping her cappuccino. 'I assume it's something to do with our forthcoming divorce - is it?'

'Yes, and... and... er... no,' replied Brian.

'Don't you know?' asked Jenny, expressing surprise and annoyance.

'Let me explain,' said Brian. I wanted us to meet here in Blooms because we both love the place! Do you remember the very first time we came in here for coffee, a couple of years ago and we both agreed it was nice and intimate and somewhat unusual these days. Very 'civilised' I think we agreed at the time – right?'

'Oh, yes. Yes, I do remember that.'

'Good. Well, I wanted somewhere civilised where we could talk privately and be civil to one another; and for downtown Mitchelton, 'Blooms' seemed to be the best choice, the perfect choice – don't you agree?'

'Oh, yes... I guess so.'

'As an expression of goodwill, I asked Tiffany to reserve these soft seats in the corner that I know you like and make up this beautiful floral bouquet - here, just for you. Like them, do you?'

'Oh yes. Yes, they're gorgeous. But now you've really got me worried; worried about the 'fine print', as they say. What are you up to? What are you after?'

'Do you realise that we were married for seven years, well almost seven years? Seven years next month, right?'

'That's true. Seven years on the 25th - so what?'

'In all that time, something like two-and-a-half thousand days, we only had one serious quarrel... just one?'

'Serious? On a scale of...?'

'Well, serious being something you still stew over for ages. All the other run-ins we had were forgotten before we went to bed, or the next day and when we got over it, well, we just went on loving one another.'

'So?'

'So why did we... why do we, let that one 'disagreement', or bust up... whatever, ruin our lives? I don't think it makes sense.'

'Just a minute,' she said showing interest and surprise. 'Are you saying you want to call it off? You don't want a divorce?'

'Yes! I mean 'no'! No I don't want a divorce, not anymore.'

'Why? Why this sudden change? Give me one simple reason why we shouldn't get a divorce.'

'For the same simple reason we got married in the first place: I love you. You love me. We'd be crazy to throw it all away. We're good for each other!'

'If that's true, how come we got in this mess in the first place?'

'Simple. We fell into bad ways.'

'We?'

'Yes, yes we did! When we first married we were head-over-heels in love and we trusted one another implicitly. Then after a year or so we both got a bit slack with the reins. I started going out with the boys again, like I did when I was single. You thought, 'If he can do it so can I' and you started going out on your own too. Instead of the happy 'us' we had before, we began a slow but steady slide farther and farther apart until every decision became a 'me' versus 'you' tussle, particularly at weekends. That was our first mistake. A big mistake, am I right?'

'I... I guess so.'

'Well I think if we are adult enough to admit our faults and recognise where we went wrong, then surely we must have a good chance, a very good chance, of putting things right; don't you think so?'

'Hmmm. Maybe.'

'In the old days, you know, young married couples having troubles would have gone to their elders for help and advice. Today people like us don't, do they? Thinking we are so damn clever and so independent. We allow ourselves to be influenced far too much by what we see on telly, particularly by those damn soapies because we think the soapies somehow represent real life. That's a big mistake because the soapies are very much removed from real life. They are designed to engender maximum interest by using plots constructed to create conflict through secrets and lies. When you watch this artificial view of life over and over and over again, you begin to think that lying and cheating between partners is 'normal'. That was what we did... I think. Yeah and that was another big mistake.'

'Maybe.'

'Look, I've been talking to some older people I know, people who have been married 40, 50, 60 years. These people know about marriage, strong marriage – believe me!'

'So?'

'When you take the time to listen to people like that, you know, seriously you know; they all say pretty much the same thing. They say that their success in having a good long-term marriage is based on two simple, but important points; mutual trust and having no secrets between them and love, of course. But trust was definitely 'in' and secrets were clearly 'out'! Get that right, it seems and everything just... well... falls into place.'

'You think we could do that?'

'Oh yes, yes, of course.'

'You're serious, aren't you?'

'Yes, very serious. You see, I read somewhere that 'You have to know if you really need what you want, before you reach for it, because you may find you've already got it without knowing it.' Does that make any sense to you?'

'I'm not sure...'

'Well, you have to lose something or be very close to losing it, before you realise it's true value.' Right?'

'Yes...'

'Well I know I've already found the perfect partner and there's no need for me to ever seek another.'

'Oh...'

'Yes. I know what I want. I want our marriage to survive! Knowing I'm so close to losing it, makes me want it even more!'

'Oh, I don't know... It didn't work before.'

'No. But that's because we didn't appreciate what we had then and what we needed to do. It was like playing a game without knowing the rules. We had a marriage without any rules. Now I know, we know, where we went wrong. When I look in your eyes, I know you want to save this marriage too. I think we both know what we've got to do about it!'

'Fight for it, you mean?'

'Yeah, right! Now we know where the dangers lie, we sure as hell stand a better chance than we did before – don't you reckon, darl?'

'I understand what you're saying, Brian, but I'm scared... maybe a bit too scared.'

'But there's no need to be scared, darl. Not real scared. I mean, I understand you might be just a teeny-weeny bit scared, in case you get hurt. But I ain't never going to let that happen, never again. No way – I swear it!

'I don't know...' said Jenny, somewhat unsure still.

'You don't have to say 'Yes', right now. No. Look, why don't we agree to think about it and meet here again in 'Blooms' next Saturday, same time, eh? I'll speak to Tiffany.'

'Oh, alright, I suppose... we could do that,' agreed Jenny.

'Good. The topic for discussion next week is some kind of trial period, say... six months? One month? A week? Something, something like that to give it a fair go. Understand what I mean?'

'Ok. We'll do that,' affirmed Jenny.

'Yes. Yes and maybe we can explore what we each mean by 'absolute truth' and 'no secrets' and anything else of concern. We'll outlay our problems and sort them out one by one?' Brian reached out and took her hand.

'Perhaps,' he said, pointing at the 'Blooms' sign, 'perhaps our love will bloom again, eh?'

Jenny leant over and kissed him on the cheek, saying, 'Let's hope so, Brian. It's a nice thought.' She picked up her bouquet and walked out, beaming and calling, 'See you same time next week, then.'

Brian went to the counter to pay the bill. Tiffany said, 'Congratulations, Brian, you handled a delicate situation very well. I'm very pleased for you and Jenny. It's right what you say: you are good for each other. I'm sorry for eaves dropping, but it is a very small shop.'

'Thanks, Tiff,' said Brian. 'But I think the intimacy you get here really made the difference.'

'Good. Congratulations. You'll certainly have your table next week. The coffee's on me, though – 'cause I'm just dying to hear how it all works out.'

'Cheers,' said Brian, as he walked out the door, feeling better than he'd felt in a long, long, time.

# 

# CHAPTER 2

#

# BRISSY

'Queensland: Beautiful one day... perfect the next? – Huh!' Brian snorted with displeasure! 'What a load o' crap!'

The two ladies beside him in the lift immediately commenced to prattle to one another in some odd language he didn't understand, containing, he guessed, certain references to him equating to 'Bighead', 'Dickhead', or something like that, judging by the negative looks they were giving him.

Then he became aware of a delightfully feminine perfume wafting his way from just behind him. He turned to see a very pretty young girl standing there. 'Small, slender, trim and exceedingly attractive with it.' Not that he was taking particular notice, but... 'She has the most exquisite lightly tanned, soft skin; such a cute button nose and soft lips that scream "Kiss me".'

Brian was shocked back to reality by the disappointing realisation she was looking at him with utter disdain. He gave her a rather weak, fleeting, perhaps a tad too leery sort of smile; the best he could do at such an early hour. 'Sorry,' he said, 'I was just expressing my disappointment at the... the crap....' He nodded down at the discarded cigarette packet, gum-wrapper etc on the floor of the lift.

'Dropped by some overbearing, self-opinionated tourist, like yourself perhaps?' she responded.

'Oh!' he thought, somewhat deflated. 'That's a bit unfair!'

But, before he could think up some marvellously clever or outrageously witty retort, the lift-door opened. So, making a bold now-or-never decision of the sort that could only be made by a young man who thought he had the world in his pocket, he said, 'Look, sorry and all that, darl. But if it's not too rude an assumption, I'd say that you an' me both, are in desperate need of a caffeine top up? Now am I right or am I right - eh?'

He gave her one of his extra-broad smiles – 'Guaranteed to melt butter, and on a good day', he thought, 'One that causes innocent young girls to swoon at my feet!' – provided his luck was running as red-hot as a supercharged Holden V-8!

She looked at him searchingly before deciding he was not so bad looking, probably harmless and nodded her agreement, with a warm half-smile that raised his spirits a bit more. 'We're in there, mate!' he thought. 'Come on then,' he prompted; rubbing his hands excitedly and leading the way in to the coffee shop, then over to a secluded booth. 'Oh... how lucky can you get,' he thought. Then, pulling a clownish sort of face, he said 'These 'passion pits' can sometimes be hard to find, you know...'

'Oh, really? A regular user, are you?'

'Me? Oh, no. No, but I think you sometimes have to book these intimate booths up to two or three days ahead. Well, maybe even more at night, I guess, but maybe not so much, in the mornings.' Flexing his lips, he thought, 'Calm down, mate! Your mouth's off an' running way ahead of ya...'

It was still a bit early. They were not all that busy in the coffee shop and service was accordingly satisfyingly swift, which was good It gave him something to do with his hands... like endlessly spooning the froth on his coffee and now that they were sitting so very close together, he was able to sneak a closer look at her. He was thinking 'She's about my age, twenty or so, I reckon... and her pink dress is kinda pretty... and excitingly low and loose. She's absolutely oozing sex appeal, but she's not pushy with it! She's holding back a bit... demurely and refined like. Obviously waiting for me to take the lead, like the classy birds tend to do... '

After a further stirring of his coffee, while desperately trying to exert some control over his wandering eyeballs, he said: 'I'm... I'm Brian, by the way.' She nodded, but said nothing. So he continued, 'I... er, I don't know your name, darl - but I'd... I'd sure like to. That's, that's if you don't mind, Miss... er... mm... Ms.' He grabbed his lower lip and shook it. 'Sorry about that.'

Amused by his obvious nervousness and warming to him a bit more now, she freely volunteered that her name was Mary and she came from Melbourne.

'Mary... Mary from Melbourne? Oh, great! That's nice,' he said. 'I really like Melbourne. Yeah and I really like 'Mary' for a name too. Two out of two... ain't bad – right?'

'Oh, I suppose so,' she said. 'Being such a confident, well travelled young man, you're about to tell me you know Melbourne pretty well?'

'Me? Me – know Melbourne? Why, yeah! Yeah, of course I do. I know it like the back of my hand,' he said, while thinking: 'Jeepers! 'What on earth do I know about Melbourne? I've only been there once...'

He spooned his coffee again. 'Let me see, Melbourne, shopping capital of Australia, with a claim to over a 1000 pubs and clubs. Not that I've been in 'em all, mind! No... no, I wouldn't want you to think that! I'm almost sure I've missed one or two. But, being young and virile, there's still plenty of time – right?'

She smiled. 'Now that's encouraging,' he thought.

'Not to mention the umpity-ump number of cafés and restaurants... and so on,' he continued. 'In fact, they do say, good coffee and great food are two of the really big things Melbourne is remembered for. Those fantastic cake shops you have down at St. Kilda. Hah! Everybody, who's ever been there, would certainly remember them, right?' Mary nodded in agreement.

'Oh, and the big chocolate éclairs they have down there, eh?' He held up his hands to demonstrate... "Ohhh, some of 'em almost two-feet long! Wow-wee!'

Mary covered her face to suppress a laugh. 'Almost that, yes,' she managed to say.

'Of course,' he went on, 'one always knows how to dress in Melbourne, right? Whatever time of the year, raincoat and gumboots!'

As soon as he'd made that remark he regretted it for fear of giving offence, as he could see no immediate enjoyment of the joke in her face. As the seconds began to tick by he wished a big hole would open up and swallow him; but to his surprise, after what seemed like an age, she managed a bit of a grin. One that slowly

spread from ear-to-ear; which then cast serious doubt in his mind about her really being from Melbourne. He'd half expected to get his face slapped!

'What about you, then?' Mary enquired. 'What circus do you belong too? You can't be from Melbourne too, surely?'

'Me? Oh, er...no, no. I'm from Sydney. Yeah, a great place to live is Sydney. I can't wait to get back there! The de-facto capital of Australia is dear old Sydney. Well, that is the financial capital, anyway. Sydney Harbour is absolutely gorgeous, especially at night. Then there's the Opera House, know that, do you?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Oh, good, good. That's great; but did you know, it's where they do the best opera-ations known to medical science...?'

'You fool!' Mary laughed, punching him on his arm. 'I guess you'll be happy to get back there then, where you have somebody waiting, I suppose?'

'Waiting? Oh, waiting, yeah... 'course, quite a queue, actually. There being lots and lots of beautiful, absolutely fantastic, young women down there. They're all missing me, something awful!'

'Oh, the poor things...'

'Hey! I don't suppose you'd happen to know Sydney yourself, do you?' he asked, nervously, thinking: 'I hope not...'

His slight unease caused her to think, just momentarily, that maybe he wasn't really from Sydney; about which she knew very little.

'Hmmm..., yes... a bit. Isn't that the place where the boys like to drink their whiskey – 'on the rocks'?' she teased.

'On the rocks? Oh, that's a good one! How did you know that?' Brian queried in mock disdain. 'That's supposed to be a closely guarded New South Wales state secret!' He sneaked a quick look around and leaning forward, he whispered 'You could go to jail...' he said, 'if they ever found out you leaked that, up here!'

They laughed together. The conversation continued in a light and humorous vein. Mary said she was doing a grand tour of Brisbane, different tours each day. He told her he was doing pretty much the same thing. At one point he asked her, somewhat foolishly, perhaps \- where she was going that morning. She retrieved a handful of brochures from her bag and started into a dialogue about the Brisbane City Hall, the official residence for the Lord Mayor of Brisbane, or so she said. She went on and on about it being a heritage listed building and "an interesting example of English neo-classical architecture...."

'Oh, yeah... well' he interrupted. 'Fascinating stuff. Great! You really must go up the clock tower! There's an observation platform up there so they tell me, with excellent panoramic views of the city and all that. It's quite fantastic, so they say.'

'I will! Thank you! I do hope there are not too many steps,' she said, looking down at her lightly clad feet.

'Oh... neat little ankles and dainty pink-painted toenails, wrapped in 'stingy bits' on high-heel soles – so very sexy! I love 'em! I love 'em! I love everything about her...'

'No, no. No worries, he said. 'You'll be right in them, perfectly sensible footwear. Anyway, there's a lift, so I hear. But don't forget to wave to us poor peasants wandering the streets down below.'

'I will,' she said. 'I'll certainly wave if I see you Brian, down there or anywhere else.'

'Good! Good, that would be great,' he said, 'cause... I'm going to keep a special look out for you too... today, tomorrow and all the other days of the week.'

'What are you doing today, then?' she asked.

'Me? Oh, I've got such a fun filled day, I wouldn't want to bore you with it.'

But Mary was gathering up her things now and already beginning to make her excuses, something about the need to rush off and catch some tour or other. Suddenly, she was gone! All too quickly gone, just like that - before he could get her full name, or her number! Not to mention what side of the bed she liked to sleep on...

He was left, sadly, with the reality that her departure spoilt what had been a very promising day and; since he had now missed his tour, his plans were in complete disarray.

He was annoyed with himself for letting her slip away like that, leaving him feeling deflated and somewhat devoid of energy. He filled in the day aimlessly wandering in and out of the city shops and grabbing some take-away lunch in the Queen Street Mall, thronged with happy back-packers and other general tourists. He began to think of himself, as being maybe the loneliest traveller in the city and it was not a happy thought! Then he spent the late afternoon and evening on a bus tour of the city hot spots. Looking back on the day, he realised that he had felt very much alone as he moved on through the city, relentlessly scanning the crowd for a glimpse of 'Mary from Melbourne', without success. The day ended with his personal spirits running, he thought, 'lower than a goanna's belly.'

The following day, Day 2 in the city for him, Brian spent the morning at the Botanical Gardens. According to the guide: "The city's oldest park, originally planted by convicts in 1825 with food crops to feed the prison colony. These gardens include ancient trees, rainforest glades and exotic species. They run the full length of Alice Street, bordered by Parliament House on the one side and the Brisbane River's northern banks on the other. They provide a lush green haven for city workers and visitors..."

'Bully for them,' he thought.

At the end of the tour, he listened to a short talk given on the delights and mysteries of the propagation of various tropical and sub-tropical plant species. The main species of special interest to him though, the one which absolutely dominated his thoughts, failed to get a mention. He came away with his biological interests completely unaddressed and his basic needs totally unfulfilled. From there, Brian wandered down to the Brisbane River and hopped on to one of the big 'City Cat' catamaran fast-ferries for an impromptu afternoon cruise. It did lift his spirits a bit, as he stood at the rail next to what his eyes told him were some 'very warm and interesting, if not exciting, possibilities.' That is, if he could only get Mary off his mind; which, try as

much as he liked, he just couldn't! He was surprised to find himself spending so much time staring relentlessly at the crowded shore, rather than at the delights closer to hand.

The next day, Day 3, promised to be a bit more exciting after he found he could easily book himself online for a climb up and across the top of the old Story Bridge, 'One of only three such climbs in the whole world,' or so they reckoned! They did morning climbs, day climbs and night climbs too; but as he was finding the mornings to be the most difficult time to find a little excitement, that's the climb he had chosen.

He got a taxi down to the Kangaroo Point check-in, where he joined a mixed group of climbers, young and old. They were told the climb was likely to be about two and a half hours long and they would have to submit to a blood alcohol test (he kept his fingers crossed for that one). Brian found the preliminary safety demonstration rather interesting and some of the 'don't-dos' a bit amusing. Then properly suited and equipped with safety lines, 'Like flipping mountain climbers,' he thought, they bravely set off in small groups on the long, slow, climb into the sky.

They paused eventually at the three-metre wide viewing platform, at the apex of the climb about halfway across the bridge; to savour and enjoy the full 360 degree view of the city and the river. There he was amazed and delighted to find that one of the shapeless bundles ahead of him, was in fact his newfound friend from two days ago, his very own 'Mary from Melbourne'.

Brian could not believe his good luck! 'This... has to be my day!' he thought.

As a nearby climber, prattled on about the wonderful view, he could not help but answer: 'How bloody right you are, mate! The best view ever! You don't know just how much I've waited for this moment!' He meant every word of it too.

He began to gravitate towards Mary. With almost perfect timing too, as a spate of short, sharp, windy gusts together with a bit of light rain; suddenly fell upon them.

Excitedly determined to capitalise on any opportunity to make close contact with Mary, he waited for the next blow to come, then seizing the opportunity he boldly moved in, reached out and clasped her in his arms in a strong, if over-protective, manner!

Taken by surprise, particularly so when she realised whom it was holding her, Mary didn't know whether to laugh or scream! She did neither and instead she allowed herself to sink softly, silently, and warmly, into his arms; as the other climbers looked on in amusement that bordered on disbelief!

Left to their own devices they would probably have stayed happily locked together like that for some time; but eventually they were gently, but firmly, ushered along to join the others for the long, slow, climb downwards.

Those sudden little bursts of wind and rain, though infrequent, were surprisingly noisy and Brian and Mary completed their descent with very little to say to one another. When they got back to ground level and had divested themselves of their protective gear and had their cameras, mobile phones and other personal baggage all safely restored to them, Brian spoke up.

'Look, Mary' he said. 'Before we go, I've a confession to make.'

'A confession...' she teased. 'Really? Oh, how dramatic!'

'Yeah, well... I just want to say I'm sorry if, if I invaded your privacy, up there. I want you to know, you see, it wasn't my intention to do what I did. It just sort of... well, happened. I couldn't help myself, really – honest!'

'Oh, you mean grasping my bottom with both hands like that, in a grossly over-enthusiastic and over-familiar manner? Holding me far longer than could ever be justified as being necessary, or reasonable in the circumstances? Is that what you mean?'

'Yeah... yeah, that's sort of what I mean. But it was absolutely necessary, in the circumstances... according to my reckoning, on the grounds of safety! I thought it was getting all too dangerous, you see. What with that strong wind getting up like that and the rain. Why, your life could have been at risk, if you'd fallen, right?'

'Oh, yes. Of course' she replied, dramatically.

'But... but, I freely confess, I also enjoyed it; immensely too!'

'Really!'

'Yes. Shame on me! I'm sorry, if it caused you any offence, I really am. But, as I say, I couldn't help rushing to your aid – right?'

'Well, yes, I see what you mean, alright.'

'You do?' 'Gosh I'm winning here,' he thought.

'I might as well make a confession, I enjoyed it too. Every single minute of it, while it lasted!' Mary said.

'You did?' 'This is going well - I could be on a winner here,' he thought.

'Yes, only I'm not afraid to say so, nor am I the least bit sorry!' She kissed him on the cheek; then turned picked up her bag and made off as if to leave with the crowd.

'Mary! Mary, please don't go. Please...'

'Why?' she asked, turning to face him. 'Do you think a quick fumble means we're somehow, hereafter and for evermore, officially 'a couple' - joined at the hip, 'til death us do part?'

'Yeah well, I know it sounds daft but, yes. Yes - something like that. No. No, what I...I really meant is, I'd like it to be something like that.'

Mary didn't reply immediately. She gave the impression of being deep in thought. 'Look,' she said. 'Do you know a pub called The Elephant and Wheelbarrow?'

'The Elephant and Wheelbarrow'? Why, yeah! Yeah, of course I do. Go there all the time,' Brian lied, confidently. 'It's my job, you see. Part-time, of course.'

'Job?' Mary queried.

'Well, yeah. I feed the elephant and I oils the wheelbarrow'

Laughingly, Mary said, 'I don't know if you're completely daft.. or just a natural clown.'

'You could have fun finding out,' Brian suggested.

'Yes, perhaps... see you there tonight then, about eight. Ok? Bye...' She blew him a kiss - and was gone!

Left on his ownsome – again! Brian walked the city of Brisbane for the rest of that day, as if he was walking on air - and the day couldn't go quickly enough!

Even the delights of the Roma Street Parklands, billed as 'the world's largest sub-tropical garden in the heart of a city; 16 hectares of green space in the centre of Queensland's capital, Brisbane', couldn't keep his mind off Mary. His eyes were almost worn out from searching for her amongst the crowds, over every hectare, every square metre.

That evening, having no idea where The Elephant and Wheelbarrow was, Brian took the easy option and hailed a Black and White cab. He learned from the driver that the Elephant and Wheelbarrow was a British-themed venue in Wickham Street, Fortitude Valley; with live entertainment, great pub food, function rooms and even some backpacker accommodation. The dress was smart casual. The driver looked him up and down and gave him a reassuring nod, saying, 'You'll be right, mate!' That gave his confidence a bit of a boost! Knowing that he had arrived with plenty of time to spare, helped too.

As he entered, he caught sight of himself in a mirror. 'You're the absolute goods, mate!' he thought, 'How could any girl resist ya!' He really was looking his absolute best in new, dark-grey, trousers; and a fancy, white, silk shirt. Moreover, his person was emanating a fantastic new male perfume. 'That cost me an arm and a leg, but it's absolutely guaranteed to attract the birds and maybe 'the birds and the bees' an' all, if I should be so lucky!'

Mary had arrived early as well and was not hard to find either, as she was already the centre of attention in the main bar, with half-a-dozen young studs vying for the opportunity to impress her with their charm and wit.

Immediately grasping the fact that bold action was necessary in this sort of situation, if he was to have any hope of achieving anything here, Brian pushed through the throng and walked straight up to her. 'Excuse me, Madam,' he said. 'There's a phone call for you. If you wouldn't mind coming this way, please...'

The young men stood aside and Mary demurely followed him. He was more than pleased and surprised when, immediately after they left the bar, she stopped and kissed him on the cheek!

'You're early,' was all she said – but, with a warm, radiant, smile...

'Necessary!' he said.

'Necessary?' she queried.

'Absolutely,' he affirmed. 'Because I'm taking you somewhere else. Somewhere more... intimate - more suitable for the occasion.

'Oh...' she said, with interest.

'First, I must ask: Do you like Greek food?'

'Greek? Mmmm... yes. Yes, of course.'

'Then you shall have the best! Pray, come with me, Madam' he said, leading her by the hand to the exit.

Brian hailed a cab, which delivered them quickly and safely to the Mythos Greek Restaurant, at New Farm. There they were extremely lucky in getting a good table fairly quickly, in such a busy restaurant.

Brian ordered some garlic bread and asked for the wine menu. Somewhat undecided on a choice of wines, he left his finger hovering between the red and white house-wines, just long enough for the waiter to suggest 'Perhaps, one of each, Sir: A red and a white?' To save face, he could but agree.

'How did 'Mary from Melbourne's' day go yesterday?' he asked.

'Oh, good,' she replied. 'I shopped in Fortitude Valley, taking in James Street and the fabulous Emporium – known for the best-of-the-best in contemporary designer fashion and creative accessories.'

'Oh, yeah. Yeah, how...how very nice...' Brian mumbled.

'If you get the chance on a Saturday morning, you could go to the outdoor Valley Markets and find vintage treasures or trinkets. Stop for a coffee and a mouth-watering pastry at Freestyle Tout in the Emporium, truly a dessert haven.'

'Ah - hah! Now that sounds more like me!' Brian happily confided.

'Right. Well, what did you do, then?'

'I... er, headed to the Queen Street Mall, there are... oh, hundreds of shops there. Some with arcades and department stores too and the new Queens Plaza; Tiffany & Co and Louis Vuitton! Whew! I thought of you all the time. A great day! You would have loved it!'

'I'm sure I would, I wish I had, now...'

'If you had, I would have bought you a beautiful tiara from Tiffany's. But I couldn't get one with you not being there, of course, what with not knowing your correct size - you understand? They say size isn't everything, but it is if you don't want your tiara falling down over your eyes, right?'

'Oh...yes. Yes, of course, you're so right. But, what about a nice vanity-case or something, from Louis Vuitton?'

'Ah! Well, funny you should say that... 'cause I was tempted, really tempted. But I'm smart enough, you see,' tapping the side of his nose in a knowing way; 'to know ladies can be pretty fussy about patterns and colours and the like. There's really no way I would ever get it right. So, I decided to leave it until another day... There's always another day, right?'

'Yes, of course. You never know...'

'Exactly! The Brisbane Arcade is another place not to be missed. Gorgeous jewellery, high end designer fashion and accessories and a very romantic café, Room with Roses. Then, then... there's – wait for it, Chocolates To Die For!'

'Ohhh, I really should have come with you'!

'Oh, I do wish you had. I felt a right 'strawberry' wandering around the shops on my own.'

'Never mind,' she said, stretching out her 'tiny, delicate, beautiful fingers' to touch his warm hand. 'Another day...eh?'

It was then that they served the Moussaka. It looked wonderful! Fantastic!

Mary, who had not eaten Greek for a long time, was so excited, so thrilled and she enjoyed her Moussaka so much, she cheekily ordered a second helping!

'They obviously don't feed you very well in Melbourne, do they?' he quipped.

'I don't always pig-out like this, but it's been such a wonderful evening,' she said to Brian, 'I just wanted the meal to never end...'

'It's probably because you're not used to enjoying such good company,' he quipped, again. 'You must come up from Melbourne more often. I'm thinking of running some short tours.'

'Short tours? What sort of short tours?'

'Short tours for beautiful young women. You know, for young women who are going short of, of anything...'

'Dream on! Dream on... Now, about Melbourne. I feel I really must, make a little confession.'

'Again?' he asked, with an amused smile. 'Another confession? Wouldn't you like me to take you to a church, you know, so you can do it properly?'

'Well, yes - I mean, no! Look! I don't actually come from Melbourne.'

'I didn't think you did,' he said, smartly.

'And why not?' she said, rather surprised.

'Because, if you did, you would have been more bold... more assertive, all along. Melbourne matrons are well known for that.'

'Are they?'

'Yes! They are made of strong stuff, very much so. If you were from Melbourne, you would have demanded they bring you two helpings of moussaka, on a silver platter straight up – with sparklers an' all!'

'Go on, really?'

'Of course! Though I doubt if you would have been so ravenously hungry in the first place! Melbournian's, you see, are usually well fed - very well fed. In fact, I've been told, in strict confidence, mind \- it was especially for well-fed Melbourne matrons ... that the jumbo jet was first invented!'

'Oh, you...!' Mary couldn't help giggling.

'No, no, you're from here... Brissy, aren't you? Well, Queensland, anyway'

'How'd you know that?'

''Cause I'm a journalist! We professional journalists are very clever at 'reading' people. Know what I mean? One look and we know it all!'

'Oh, yes. Well, we travel agents are quite smart at that too! I reckon you're not from Sydney, now are you?'

'Hey! You sure about that?'

'Yes! You're from Brissy as well,' she said.

'How'd you guess that?' he said, thinking; 'Oh, she's getting a bit squiffy already...'

'From your boyish grin! she said. 'You're so young and foolish. No mother worth her salt...' she said, waving her finger at him, 'would let you go as far, far... far from home as Sydney to Brisbane; not on your little ownsome!'

'No?' he queried.

'No! I'd bet a cup of coffee,' she said, 'that you've got the deep tanned rippling muscles of a Queensland board-rider hidden under this silly shirt.' She reached out and ran her hand up and down his arm. She closed her eyes. 'Oh, come to think of it, I'd love to check that out sometime.'

'Oh, well...that could be arranged,' he said, seductively. 'I'm definitely on a winner here,' he was thinking – quickly topping up her glass.

'Oh, more wine? Should I?' she asked.

'Got to, I'm afraid. Old Greek custom. All... all bottles, red and white... must be empty, when they come to clear the tables. Otherwise, you see, the poor old wine waiter is made to row... row... row all the way back home to Greekland; to get better wine! It's in his workplace agreement.'

'We, we can't have that on our conscious...tsk... tsk...'

'Is your conscious...tsk... tsk, really that big?'

'Of course!'

'So's mine. So let's drink up!' Brian encouraged. 'I'll get you some coffee later.'

'Good. I'd like that.'

'Now, tell me why you have been touring the city this week?' Brian queried.

'I was on the Brisbane tour,' Mary said, 'because next week, I start work in this new job of mine at a trivial agency.'

'Trivial...?'

'I mean a travel... travel agency in Brisbane. I thought, know your own town first!'

'Good on yer! Same here, well not exactly the same,' said Brian. 'I work for the Courier Mail, you see. I've just taken over certain important duties covering the travel section. So we have something in common. As you say, know your own town first!' They clicked their glasses of house white and drank, in agreement.

'Is a good knowledge of Bris... Bris...'

'Brissy...'

'Brissy... a "we-quirement" of the job, then?' she asked.

'Oh, no. No not a "we-quirement", not exactly. But I'm pushing this idea, see, that a lot of people in Brisbane - far too many people really, don't know their own town! They don't and I admit to being one of them! So I'm planning to write a series of articles to encourage people – 'my weaders... readers', he beamed - to get off their bums and get out there; looking at Brisbane, investigating the Gold Coast, exploring the Sunshine Coast, searching the hinterland - the lot... or as much as they can! There's just so much to see, you know. I want them to see what we are usually all too busy to see, what's under our very own noses!'

'Good on you, Brian! Here's to you... and your weaders! She toasted. I'm fed up with just racing from here to there and seeing nothing in between, too. It's been a really good week for me. I've seen a lot and learnt a lot about dear old Brissy - Parliament House, Kangawoo Point, China Town, Tweasury Casino – and all the uza... uza stuff.'

'Good on yer, girl!'

'Have you seen enough, enough of Brissy, now?' she asked.

'Me? No! No way! I don't think anyone can ever have enough of Brissy. I'm going to go on seeing it and writing about it, forever! With you, if you'll let me?'

'Hmmm... that's an idea. It... it could be exciting,' she said with interest.

'Right! Very romantic too!'

'Romantic twoo?'

'Oh, yes. Very romantic, Mary, dear Mary. We could decorate the main wall of our bedroom, with all your old travel brochures of Brisbane and South East Queensland...'

'And paste up all your old press-cuttings and pwictures on the others...'

'Yeah! Come on,' he said, raising his glass. 'Here's to Brissy-wizzy!' 'She's got me doing it now.'

'Brissy-wizzy, Cheers!' they exclaimed, clinking their glasses.

'And to seeing it all... together, together.' Mary added with a seductive smile.

'You betcha!' exclaimed Brian.

They lovingly clinked their glasses together, and cheered again: 'Here's to good old BRISSY-WIZZY!'

'Just, just... one other th...thing,' mumbled Brian. 'Import... important agreements like this, need to be... legally blinding.'

'Blinding?' Mary giggled.

'To be legally binding, such agreements... must be properly sealed – you know.'

'How, wow, wow.'

'How wow... wow?'

'Yes. How...how wow, you going to do that?' Mary asked.

'Easy cheesy, the good old fashioned way, to seal something as important... as this,' said Brian, leaning over the table and gently pulling her to him; to give her his best-ever, long, lingering, loving kiss.

# CHAPTER 3

#

# THE FAX OF LIFE

Roger McDowd, well known in Brisbane city circles for his long years of building up successful property investment companies, had invited his son Brian and wife Marilyn over for dinner.

He hadn't really been looking forward to tonight - it wasn't a decision he had made freely. Brian had been angling for an invitation for some time now and he had simply run out of excuses, but not because he didn't get on with his son and daughter-in-law. Brian was alright, he thought, when you got to know him and you were able to accept the fact that he was little more than a money-grubbing little shit, who would rob his own grandmother - given half a chance.

As for Marilyn, his wife? Well, she was a beautiful, intelligent, young woman who had probably only made one serious mistake in her life - and that was to marry Brian!

The door opened, and Marilyn said: 'Coffee's ready. Are you two coming?'

'Don't you know how to knock? Damn you,' exploded Brian. 'Dad and I are talking business here, big business! We'll come when we're ready an' not before! Now get the Hell out!'

Marilyn, without a word, stepped back and closed the door behind her.

Brian was rebuked by his father. 'You shouldn't tear into her like that. She meant no harm, you know.'

'No? Well... , you'd think that after ten years of marriage she would have learnt something, Dad.'

'Yes, but...'

'No buts, Dad. She's fast turning into something of a liability for me. It's frightening. I never know what she might overhear - and if she did, well... what she might tittle-tattle all over town. It's a worry. Honestly, Dad, she doesn't know what the word 'discreet' means - I've learnt that lesson.'

'Oh, come on now, you exaggerate.'

'I wish I did! Unfortunately I have to struggle, constantly struggle, to keep my business life and my private life in two separate, water tight, compartments. When she does transgress, I have to discipline her. I really do! It's the only way. If I didn't, she'd bring the whole of my business life, the damn lot - down like a pack of cards. Not pleasant. Not pleasant at all, but that's just the way it is.'

'But she is your wife, a good wife too.'

'In the bedroom, Dad. In the bedroom, not in the boardroom!'

'All the same,' said Roger, 'I think we had better go and have that coffee. I can't afford to upset my housekeeper. They're harder to handle than wives any day. One false move and they're out, or demanding higher pay... or compensation, or something like that.'

The dinner had gone off reasonably well. Marilyn was the kind of hard-done-by woman who could shrug off the most awful treatment at the hands of her husband and still go on to play the dutiful wife in public; no doubt keeping her tears held well back for shedding in her own private time. At the end of a very pleasant meal, prepared and served by Roger's long-term housekeeper, Mrs Grace Mills, Brian dismissed his wife from the table by insisting she go tidy her make-up. When she had left the room and he had helped himself to his father's best port, he loosened his tie and lit a rather over-large cigar.

'You know, Dad, I want to buy you something big, for your birthday. Yes, something really big, a car... a boat... a house... something like that. Fifty-five is some big number, Dad. It's got to be celebrated with a big gift - don't you reckon? It's the time when a successful man should be making plans. Not plans to land more and more big deals. No, Dad, plans to sit back and enjoy the fruits of all those big deals that have gone before! Eh? What do you reckon? Come on, Dad. Come clean, are you going to retire - or not? How about sinking all those office rumours of retirement and come out with it? Issue a statement, proudly, boldly... hmm? Tell the world you're retiring and that you are appointing me as the new chief honcho.'

'Well, I...'

'Well, what, Dad? You're hesitating and hesitation is not what made you successful in business - is it? So let's have it!'

'Well... I'm thinking about it.'

'Thinking? Thinking what? Thinking I can't handle it? You don't have faith in your own son? For Christ's sake, Dad. Haven't I proved myself in the market place? Haven't I added value, big value \- to all the damn companies that you've had me working on? What more do you want, Dad? You want my blood?'

'Shut it, son. Now you be careful. I don't want any of your tantrums here, not in my house! Not now, not ever - and don't you forget it!'

'Look... we've got to talk this thing out, Dad! It won't go away. Rumours are rife, about you packing it in and I think it's affecting our share price.'

'Maybe, son. Maybe, but we're not talking about that now, not when you're as pissed as a newt! Sherry before dinner, wine with it, then brandy and a large port after, does not make firm bedding for discussions on the building of new empires! You've learnt a lot son, I'll grant you that. But there are still a few odd things here and there that you have to master yet. One of them is to take control of your liquor consumption; the other is to take control of your temper. Without control over those two things you're like, like a ship with an anchor chain that's always two-fathoms short of the ocean floor. One destined to drift through life and never actually arrive anywhere.'

'Then how come you've got this far, Dad, eh? I don't think you've exactly sailed through life on a 'dry ship' - have you? Who do you think you're kidding, other than yourself?'

The door opened and Marilyn re-entered and said softly, 'Ready for coffee, now - are we?'

'No. No, I don't think so, darling. I think it's best we leave now and get an early night. I've got an important business meeting at nine sharp in the morning. Father's a bit tired, damn tired! He won't admit it, of course, being the old war horse he is.' Brian staggered a bit as he got up to move towards Marilyn at the door. 'You know what they do to... to old war horses, do you, darling? Well, when their time's up, they take them out and shoot the buggers: bang! Now, where's my bloody coat, woman?'

'In the hall, darling, where you left it!' said Marilyn. 'Goodnight, Roger.'

'Goodnight, Marilyn. I say, before you go, I was thinking of asking you over one day to discuss re-decorating this place. I need a woman's eye to help me with that kind of thing.'

'I'll be in town Friday, if that's alright?'

'Good. Great. See you then.'

'I'll give you a ring later and let you know what time. Bye...'

The following Friday, Marilyn, after a reminder from Roger, arrived as agreed. Roger welcomed her at the door.

'Come in. Come in, I'm so pleased you could make it.' He took her into the lounge. 'Now then, my dear,' he said kindly, 'there really is no need for sunglasses in here, you know - is there?'

'Oh, it's, it's just that my eyes are... a bit tired.'

'Ohhh, I've got these lovely colour swatches of paint and fabric for you to look at. But first, do come and sit down and have some of Mrs Mills' delicious coffee, hot and fresh! There's a good girl,' he said, leading her to the settee.

'Now then, what has that awful son of mine done to you this time?' he asked, leaning forward and gently removing her sunglasses. 'Oh my God, that's a nasty shiner you've got there!'

'Oh...' she said, 'it's just the usual... bullying, argument.'

'Hmm, a bit of a one-sided argument, by the look of it - eh? I don't suppose you managed to get in a good solid blow to his jaw, or some other important part of his anatomy, did you?'

'No.'

'I thought not. A pity. Damned if I know where he gets it from. Me and his mother, God rest her soul, we had rows... lots of them, but we never, ever, came to blows. Probably because she was a bit bigger than me. I would have lost!'

'Oh! You're such a nice, kind, gentle, considerate, man. I can't imagine you hitting a woman. You're not at all like him, perhaps I should have married the father instead of the son.'

'Well, if you ever leave him, just remember I'm first in line! Now, seriously, you really shouldn't put up with it. I don't know why you do. You've no children. Why not leave the beast? He doesn't deserve you, you're a damn good wife and a damn good business woman. That cosmetics company we set up together, without his knowledge, is an excellent little earner. I shouldn't be surprised if we get an offer 'we can't afford to refuse' from one of the giant international conglomerates one day. Maybe one day quite soon, eh? Then you'll be a millionaire in your own right. That'll be one in the eye for him, won't it? Then he'll want half, when he finds out, won't he? So why not leave him now? It would be the sensible thing to do, before the money starts rolling in – in bucket loads.'

'I won't deny, I have thought about... leaving him.'

'Then do it!'

'I can't. I... I think I still love him.'

'Oh, you're not really sure about that – not now, are you, eh? That's a good sign.'

'Enough said about me and my problems. What is all this about re-decorating? I've heard the rumours about you retiring, are you? 'Course if you are, then it probably means that we are not decorating for you, but for someone, as yet unnamed: the new buyer.'

'My God, you're a shrewd lady! How my son could be so thick as to not see that is quite beyond me.'

'Is it still a secret then, your retirement plans?'

'Has to be. You know, as well as I do, that such intimate and personal details have an altogether unreal effect on share market prices. If one allows such things to leak out prematurely, well... it can make a nasty hole in one's retirement nest egg.'

'It has to become public sometime.'

'Ah, yes. But the secret, my dear, is to cash-in one's family shares before any price slump that may follow such a move. Not that one can be sure the price will slump.'

'No, but the transfer of assets from your - shall we say... steady, guiding hand, to those of your most impetuous son.'

'Exactly! If the market sees it like that then, Bingo! It's down the tubes we go...'

'Hardly a nice thought.'

'No and not just for me. There's also all those other investors, big and small, some very small; some people's life savings and all that sort of thing. You know, it frightens me: the thought that a simple announcement of my retirement could possibly cause other people grief, any grief at all. But the truth is, some of the smaller ones just might get...'

'Wiped out?'

'Yes. Yes, I'm desperately trying to avoid that. But I'm not sure if I can.'

'Well, I'm afraid you can't and you really shouldn't have to worry about other people. If they choose to play the market then big or small, they know - or, at least, should know, it's gambling. It's tantamount to playing roulette.'

'You're right, as usual. You are a very sane woman. Next, you're going to tell me it's time to look after Numero Uno.'

'Absolutely! You're supposed to be the big shot here, the wise one. You shouldn't need me to give you lessons. I remember you wrote to me once, years ago when I first started share trading. You said something..., something about, what was it? Never forget the market is a dog-eat-dog environment. Yes and always check and double check assets before putting a value on a company and its share price. I think you called it: 'The Fax of Life'!'

'Ah, you remember all that, do you? Good. But, it doesn't hurt now and again to seek a little reassurance, you know. That's what friends are for.'

'Fair enough, nobody knows the rules of the game better than you. Meanwhile, you keep planning that final strategy, eh? Don't let Brian get an inkling of what you're up to. Keep him in the dark, he can wait...we can all wait. The whole damn business world can wait. That's what being a tycoon is all about - right?'

'Right again, my dear. I sure trained you right!'

'Good. I agree. Now, how about we put all that business talk aside, and concentrate on the actual business in hand. Which is...'

'How to lift the value of this place without over capitalising.'

'Yes. For a start, we won't repaint.'

'No?'

'No. The paint's not too bad. I think it should come up pretty good, with a good wash down. The drapes on the other hand...'

'Too daggy?'

'No, not too daggy - not exactly. Just a bit, dated - the materials, the colours. Not the right image for your typical up-and-coming young executive. I tell you what, why don't I take your sample swatches home with me?

Now I know what you have in mind, I'd like to give it a bit of thought. We can talk again next week. Is that alright?'

'Fine.'

'Good. Then I must dash.'

'Again, I'm really sorry...' Roger kissed her lightly on both cheeks, '...for what he's done to your beautiful face. If you must keep up this sparring, please take some lessons in fancy foot-work, my dear.'

'Thanks, but it's the last time. I've stressed that and I don't think he'll do it again - even he was shocked when he saw what he'd done to me, this morning.'

'Good. I hope you keep to that. Well, goodbye, my dear...'

'Bye, Roger. See you next week.'

Roger felt better after talking to Marilyn, he always did. Then he threw himself into busily sorting out his business interests in preparation for his forthcoming retirement. His stock holdings were extensive and there was a lot of work to do. But once he had a clear plan in his mind, he was able to hand over most of the more detailed and mundane transactions and preparation of documentation to his lawyers, accountants and stockbrokers. The following Friday, Marilyn arrived as promised; this time sporting a bandaged left hand.

'My God, woman! What's that beastly son of mine done to you now? Come. Sit down, please.'

'Even I can't believe it! Last night, we had another row. He, as usual, accusing me of touching his business papers and of leaking all his most private business wheeling and dealing secrets, as an excuse for something - I don't even know what, that went wrong. I denied everything. We carried the argument with us into the kitchen. I thought he was going to make coffee, but he... he grabbed my hand, held it over the sink... and grabbing the kettle, he poured the near boiling hot water over my hand.'

'The bastard! I'll kill him! Kill him!' Roger drew Marilyn to him and comforted her in his arms, as she sobbed her weary heart out. 'You're not going back there to... to him. I won't let you.'

'But I must. I... I was so angry, this morning, that when I went in his study, I trashed his desk! I sat down on the floor, covered with papers and cried. I found myself looking at, at some papers that shocked me!'

'What... shocked you? What do you mean?'

'He's... he's apparently gambled away, I don't know exactly how much; an awful lot of his money and mine.'

'The fool! The idiot! How many times have I told him: Isn't the market enough of a gamble?'

'He owes this huge amount of money to creditors, left, right and centre. And... and he's promised them, in writing; to pay it all off, with a big sell off of companies, when he takes over.'

'So, now we know why he's been pushing me so hard to retire.'

'Yes and his creditors are pushing even harder. Baying for blood.'

'Right, well... all is not lost. I have some good news.'

'Oh, good. Will it please me too?'

'I hope so. I really do. I've got a buyer for this place and he likes it just the way it is! What's more, when I told him what an excellent housekeeper dear Mrs Mills is, he said he was happy to keep her on.'

'Wonderful! What is he? An up-and-coming young executive?'

'Not exactly. More like one who is already up there, you know, more my age.'

'Terrific.'

'There's a bit more...'

'Oh? What?'

'Ever heard of a place called Acapulco?'

'Yes, of course. Elvis Presley used to play around with girls in grass skirts on the beach there, didn't he?'

'Possibly, my dear. The all-important thing is, I've bought a marvellous beach house down there, with an absolutely stunning view over the ocean. For some time now I've been transferring most of my money to a security deposit in El Grande Banco, or something like that. These minor details I always leave to my financial experts, you'll understand.'

'Of course. Then you are retiring - when?'

'Well, it was going to be next week. But, in view of developments, that is, personal injuries currently in view - I'm prepared to make it today!'

'You want to involve me in this?'

'Involve you, my dear? Yes, indeed. I want you to come with me. The weather is absolutely beautiful in Mexico today - I know, I've checked and just about every day, come to think of it.'

'Me? With... with you? You serious?'

'Why not? Any reason we could not be, what's commonly called 'consenting adults'? I mean, I've never hidden the fact that I love and admire you. You can't possibly go back to that beastly son of mine! I won't let you. If it's the age factor, well, I know you're a bit older than Brian - about ten years at a guess, am I right?'

'Yes, but...'

'We had Brian, you see, when I was just twenty, did you know that? Which means the age difference between us is not so great, as my balding head might, at first glance, suggest.'

'I, I think you look very distinguished. But...'

'What am I offering? Well, my dear, I'll tell you. Love - mature love, honesty, devotion, sincerity, absolutely no playing around, or anything like that. All the money you could ever want or wish for.'

'Yes, but...'

'A beautiful house, a wonderful climate. All the clothes, jewellery you could ever wish for. A new car every year, if you like, a boat, a plane and holidays. Great holidays, in all the worlds' most fabulous resorts. You still get to run your cosmetics company and dabble, you and I together, perhaps... in stocks and shares on the internet! Please say yes, Marilyn? You don't have to marry me - although that would really make me happy. Just come as my companion \- separate bedrooms if you like. I can wait for you to love me. I've waited all these years. A little longer won't hurt me. What do you say?'

'I... I really don't know what to say.'

'Say...Yes! Your passport is current, my dear, isn't it?'

'Yes, yes it is.'

'Good. Great. I've made preliminary bookings for a flight out of here at six o'clock tonight. Sorry, but I had to do that on the off chance, before asking. I hope you understand. Just nip home, that's a dear and pick up your passport. Nothing else! No need to pack, leave everything. We'll buy everything new when we get there. Isn't that fun?'

'Fun...yes. Yes, but what about Brian? I couldn't just... go. Not without letting him know I'm alright. He's down in Sydney for the next couple of days.'

'Do you really think he'll care?'

'Yesterday I would have said yes. Today, I'm not so sure.'

'I'll send him a fax. See, I've prepared two in advance. The first one reads:

HAVING LISTENED CAREFULLY TO YOUR ADVICE, I'M RETIRING AS OF NOW. CONTROL OF ALL MAJOR COMPANIES ARE BEING TRANSFERRED TO YOUR NAME. MY ACCOUNTANT AND SOLICITORS WILL CONTACT YOU SHORTLY. LOVE DAD.

PS: MARILYN IS TRAVELLING WITH ME TO RECUPERATE IN ACUPULCO. I'M SURE YOU WILL UNDERSTAND - AND WISH US WELL.'

'The second fax is the same... but omits the PS. Which one shall I send, my dear?'

'Wait a minute. If you're leaving him control of all those companies, won't he be the one with all the money, while we're swanning around Mexico with holes in our pants?'

'No. It's... ah, not quite like that. You see, I have a confession to make: I've been systematically stripping those companies of their major assets and selling them off for cash. Nothing illegal, mind.'

'Don't tell me, the money's all stashed away neatly in El Grande Banco.'

'Right! I always said you were a smart girl. He'll still be rich, mind, just not as rich as he would like. That's all. So? What do you say, my darling? Which fax am I to send?'

'Oh... Numero Uno, I think.'

'Numero Uno - Number one! Great! Although I do rather think that's Italian, my dear. Never mind. Spanish

lessons can come later.' Roger grabbed her and kissed her lovingly, he couldn't help himself. 'Oh, I'm feeling ten years younger already!'

'Steady on. I think we had better arrange for you to have a complete physical check-up before we talk any more about marriage. I have no wish to be a rich widow overnight.'

'Of course, my dear. Fair enough. Always the practical one, aren't you? Still, caution; as important in love as in business, eh?'

'True. Very true.'

'But what about Brian? Are we being too hard on the boy? Will what we are about to do, make him, or break him? I wish I knew for sure. He's still my son, I'll still worry about him. I hope, in time, he will find some woman he can treat decently and that way, find love and happiness. You can understand that, my dear?'

'Yes. I wouldn't expect anything else from a good man and a good father, like you.'

'He'll be alright, don't you think? I mean, I didn't know about those creditors pushing him when I planned all this. But, Hell - if he's as resourceful as he thinks he is and as we judge him to be, he should pull through. He'll certainly have a much better start in standing on his own two feet; more than I ever did.'

'Yes, of course, Roger darling,' said Marilyn, getting up and readying herself to go. She paused briefly and turned and bent over and kissed him on his head. 'I don't think it will do dear Brian, any harm, any harm at all - learning The Fax of Life...'

# 

# CHAPTER 4

#

# FORBIDDEN ATTRACTION

Dorothy Duke was not the sort of woman to be easily led astray by flattery. But then... you never know.

One day a young man, a particularly attractive young man, she guessed he was no more than 25 or so - approached her as she dined out alone. He bent over, kissed her on the cheek, then he quickly disappeared into the milling crowd of diners. She was not angry. Not even amused. Just mystified, intrigued and perhaps more than a little bit flattered by the experience. What could it possibly mean?

By nature Dorothy was somewhat reserved, which probably accounted for the fact she had not made much of a success with her early life; particularly as far as employment was concerned, drifting from one low paid job to another. Until, that is, she found herself suddenly promoted from floor-sales to junior management at a Brisbane department store.

The opportunity to gain experience with computers and so on, greatly stimulated her interest in the power of the written word. She had always regretted her lack of educational qualifications and was determined to correct those deficiencies. So she began by taking night classes at the local technical college and went on to enrol at Griffith University. Although she was a late starter, she threw herself into the tertiary educational scene with boundless vigour and finally graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree.

Now, at the age of 42, she had established herself as a leading writer for one of Australia's top fashion magazines, in its Brisbane office. But this new found confidence and flare in her business life, was very much a charade. Personally, deep down, she remained the same shy, unassuming person she had always been. She still lacked the desire, the courage, to pursue male company, or respond adequately to the interest that men might occasionally show in her. Consequently, she remained unmarried.

The truth behind this coldness, stemmed from the fact she had at one time given her heart to another, a long, long time ago, in a short, heart-breaking, passionate, teenage romance. That had led to an unwanted pregnancy, soon after the abandonment by her young lover, at the tender age of 16! Her parents, to avoid a scandal, had rushed her off to a private country clinic somewhere near Childers for the confinement.

Sadly, the tiny little mite, a male child, was born very much underweight and was further burdened by a deformed left foot with six tiny little toes! This unexpected blemish caused a great deal of anguish and pressure on her parents, who had pre-arranged for the baby's adoption. They were forced into a round of last-minute late-night negotiations with the hesitant, childless, couple who had been standing by for the birth; but they eventually agreed to take him as their own.

By the morning, the infant child was gone. Dorothy was told all about the child, the deformity, the protracted adoption negotiations, but she never actually got to hold her baby for a single moment! It was not uncommon at that time, to withhold a newborn child from a young, unwed mother. The intention was to prevent the bonding of mother and child and thereby, it was thought, ease the pain of separation and limit the effects of post confinement trauma. She had agreed to this 'arrangement', generally accepted to be an honourable one - under

extreme pressure from her parents. But like so many well intended moves of those times, the mental anguish and torment could last a lifetime. Unfortunately for Dorothy, the shame and subterfuge she had experienced during the pregnancy and birth, permanently damaged her relationship with her parents and left her with a deep seated mistrust of men, which had continued to plague her to this day.

But for some strange reason she was moved to ask herself: What is it about this new young man that makes me long for him to return? She asked herself this question over and over, but could not come up with a rational explanation.

There was no hiding the fact that he was much too young for her. Anybody could see that! Yet, she fantasised over the many other women she knew, directly or indirectly through movies and magazines etc, who had much younger men as husbands or partners. At one time considered an oddity, an exception, but now becoming distinctly more common. Why not? Life is short, she mused. She had missed out she knew, on so much. On the wonders, the joy, the passion that so many other couples enjoyed. Why should that be? Why should she so relentlessly put obstacles in the way of her own happiness? Surely it made sense to let love and nature take its natural course? Where was the harm in it?

Dorothy couldn't stop thinking and dreaming about the young man. The experience of that single kiss from the phantom stranger had almost left her mind unbalanced. She thought she saw him later in a shopping arcade - but, regrettably, she lacked the courage to make any kind of an approach to him. She thought she saw him in a following taxi, on a bus, on a train, in the street and in a lift, just as the doors were closing.

She could think of little else! She couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep, she easily lost her temper and her work began to suffer. Something had to give. She knew it. Her friends and colleagues knew it. Every woman in her workplace could tell she was in love. All of them, although not fully aware of the circumstances, hoped that whoever the man was, he might bring her happiness.

So when she was finally called before her Editor, with the other staff quickly shooed away and the door firmly closed, she knew she had reached crisis point and would have to accept as best she could, the coming consequences! Fortunately, the consequences were not so unbearable. Yes, her Editor was a mature age, well disciplined woman. But, a woman with a heart – one who knew more about what was going on with her staff than most others might ever suspect or care to know! She was a woman of few words when she wore her 'Editor's Hat'. She simply told Dorothy that she judged her to be overworked, overtired, overstressed and if office gossip was anything to go by, oversexed and over the moon about some man or other! 'You're no good to me in your present state of mind,' she said, firmly. She ordered her to take a month's leave of absence, and to take a long cold shower, or a honeymoon and report back ready for work in thirty days! If not completely ready for work - not to come back at all! She dismissed her, without the need, or opportunity, for further comment or discussion.

'That's wonderful!' Dorothy mused as she walked back to her desk. She didn't want to, she didn't need to, she didn't have to; expose her personal feelings before her boss, a real mother figure... and angel, who made important decisions for you that were always so timely, so right! That's why she always liked working for her, she always brought out the best in one. Dorothy tidied her desk and then left the office as if in a dream; floating along with the knowledge she was free from business worries and stress. They were all behind her now, for thirty wonderful, glorious days!

She needed somewhere to sit down and take in this change of circumstances. She needed to rest. She needed to think. She needed a drink!

She also needed - desperately needed, to get out there and find Mr Right!

Mario's Bar was a warm and welcome nearby spot where she knew she could meet most of these aims in one go. She ordered herself a 'Fluffy Duck', which, incidentally, took some little time to prepare; ample time to check out the scene using the handy bar mirrors and to satisfy and ease her constant feeling of being watched and followed. But she didn't sit at the bar, that was, according to her personal standards, a bit too tarty and likely to draw undue attention of the sort of men she preferred to avoid.

Instead, she sat in one of the smaller booths that gave a good view of the entrance The opening and closing of the doors gave her the advantage of being able to check what was happening outside as well as in. It was supposed to be time for relaxing and straight thinking - but relaxing and straight thinking was still a bit difficult, if not impossible for her today. When she'd finished her drink she stubbed out her unfinished cigarette, grabbed her bag and briefcase and hurried to the exit. Not worried, just hopeful: 'Is he there? He might be... just might be outside the door, waiting for me!' But unfortunately, he wasn't!

Dorothy checked her watch: nearly six! With the sun going down and the street lights beginning to come on, she couldn't avoid the thought that it was a wonderful time of the day for lovers. She envied them, arm in arm, setting out for an exciting, intimate night on the town; a drink, a meal, a show and then...

She decided to walk back to her city unit rather than take her usual cab ride, 'Because I'll never find him in a cab!' she reassured herself. She walked on, lingering around the brightly lit shop-window displays, up and down the Mall. Always, everywhere, taking furtive side-glances, looking backwards and listening for the oft imagined and much longed for sound of following footsteps.

Suddenly, as she neared her block of units, her heart beat quickened, thumping rapidly inside her breast; as she definitely, positively, identified the following footsteps - 'It's him!' they told her. Her mind raced with questions: what to do, what to say, what if...? As she neared her unit, they came closer. Those firm, manly, footsteps, as if... deliberately trying to catch up with her. At first she increased her step - then, boldly, purposely, bravely, she changed pace... and slowed down! As his footsteps came so very close, she stopped, heart pounding and turned to face him!

'Are, are you... following me?' she managed to ask. Nervously, looking into his oh, so disarming, handsome young face; his eyes bright and shining with the fire of youth. ''Cause I, I do hope so...'

Saying nothing, he grasped her firmly by both arms and pulled her to him in a warm, tender, embrace - and kissed her, long and passionately!

'I, I don't... know if this, this is right,' she managed to say, gasping for air. 'I don't even know your name?'

'Ian,' he said.

Then, as he tried to kiss her again, 'No, no. I'm Dorothy, by the way. No... no. Not here,' she said.

Then taking him by the hand, she led him into the block of high-rise units she called home.

Inside her unit on the ground floor he again took her in his arms, but she pulled away, saying: 'No - time out! I'll get us some drinks. We both need to cool down a bit!'

She nipped into the kitchen and went straight to the fridge where she knew she had a bottle of sparkling wine she had put aside for any 'unexpected special occasion'. She blushed at the thought that there could be no more 'special' an occasion than this.

She grabbed a couple of glasses and some nuts and some chips, spilling everything as she put them on the tray.

She then moved quickly back to the lounge, silently praying: 'God, please God, let him still be there'. He was, having made himself more than comfortable on her settee. She sat down near him, purposely choosing a nearby easy-chair to give her a bit of space and a chance to think. Then she said, 'I suppose you know all about me – do you?'

'Yes, actually, I do.' he replied. 'I know everything there is to know about you, Dorothy Duke... darling.' He reached out and took her hand. 'So there's no need to talk about me being too young for you, or any rubbish like that. Don't even think it!'

'Alright, then. But, come on, aren't you going to tell me your name and just a little bit about yourself?' she teased - as he popped the cork and poured the drinks.

'Ian Bright,' he said, simply.

'Oh...! Is that all I'm permitted to know? I mean, you're not married, or anything?'

'No.'

'So, tell me more.'

'Well, what is there to tell? I was brought up by my adoptive parents - who, unfortunately, died in a car crash a few years ago, when we lived at Nambour and I had just turned eighteen. They had promised to tell me who my biological parents were when I turned twenty-one, but, of course....'

'Ohhhh. How sad. What a shame.'

'Being left alone was a big shock to me, I can tell you. I was simply... not ready for it.'

'You poor darling.'

'So, in a moment of panic and madness, being un-used to living on my own and frightened I couldn't cope, I tried to join the Army. But, I'm sorry and ashamed to say, I was rejected as being, not too bright and a bit too puny.'

'Oh, Ian! How awful for you! What did you do then?'

'I decided to do something about it.'

'Good for you! But what did you do?'

'I went to the Tech and did an Accountancy course. It was then that I took up football and weightlifting.'

'And?'

'I was hopeless at Accountancy... bloody hopeless. I just floundered. But I did very well at football. In fact, I'm now a professional.'

'Professional? A professional footballer, with lots and lots of money?'

'Yes, do you mind?'

'No. No, of course not. Good on you! Who do you play for – The Brisbane Bronco's?'

'Right! How did you guess?'

'I don't know... I just did. It seemed right. It seemed to fit. But this search for your roots - don't you know anything?'

'All I know is: I come from Brisbane, or my mother did.'

'Is that the reason you have been touring the streets?'

'Right. Silly, I know, but I hoped I might meet somebody. Somebody or anybody, that looked I don't know, familiar, I suppose. So far it's all been a dead loss. I shouldn't have got my hopes up. But then, then I saw you... and I knew you couldn't be family. But I just knew we were meant for each other.'

He reached over, took her hand and gently, oh, so gently, teased her to move over and join him on the settee.

He kissed her, as she settled down comfortably in his arms. He kissed her again and she said, 'Why did you kiss me that day in the restaurant, then run away?'

'Ah, well, I seemed to be drawn to you by a power I couldn't resist,' said Ian. 'I don't know where I got the courage to kiss you, but I'm glad I did! It didn't seem possible that you could... you would, return my love. Anyway, I thought you must have a husband or lots of male friends.'

'No, in fact, I don't really like men... men in general, I mean.'

'You mean, there's nobody? Nobody special in your life?'

'No.'

'I can't believe my luck! But, why... why me? Why allow yourself to get involved with me?'

'I don't know, said Dorothy. I honestly don't know. It's as if there's some kind of a, warm, bond developing between us...'

'I know! I know what you mean! I feel it too, it's odd; it's magic.'

'Ah, but is it love? You're much too young for me, you really are. I know it and everyone that sees us together will know it.'

'I don't give a stuff for other people and what they think. It's what you and I think that counts. It'll work out alright, you'll see.'

'I do hope so, darling. I really do. But what have you been doing all week?'

'Oh, I continued the search for my relatives. But just about every day I'd find myself following you around instead. Nutty, stupid, call it what you like. But I call it love... true love. My love for you, simply took over my life.'

'Me too! I haven't done a proper full day's work since you first kissed me! In fact, my boss has insisted that I take a month's break, starting today.'

'No, really? But that's wonderful. You can join me in my search - will you? Please say you will?'

'Alright, I will. Oh, Ian, I'm so happy! I'm going to love being with you... we're going to have such fun in the morning.'

'I was hoping, darling,' he said, 'that we might have some of that... 'fun stuff', tonight.'

'You're wicked, absolutely wicked. That's what you are,' she said in mock reproach.

'Only with you,' said Ian. 'I'm only wicked with you.'

Taking him by the hand, Dorothy led him towards her bedroom. He stopped inside, in the doorway, searching for the light switch.

'No. No, leave the light off, please,' she said, 'just until I... I know you, a little better - you understand?'

'Sure, of course, darling.'

They began to disrobe on either side of the bed. She dropped her clothes and left them where they fell. Then she pulled down the covers and slipped into bed. By then her eyes had become more adjusted to the low street-light shining in through the window. She watched as he carefully removed and folded each piece of clothing and placed them on a bedside chair. 'You are so neat and tidy, darling,' she said, admiring the rippling muscles of his athletic body.

Then as he turned to get into bed with her she involuntarily broke into an uncontrollable, nervous, giggling, girlish, laughter.

'What, what on earth is it? What have I done?' he asked in dismay, sitting down on the edge of the bed, turning away from her and afraid to move; afraid to even look at her.

'It's you, you've still got one sock on. Sorry, but seeing you about to get into bed, starkers except for one black sock... really, it just looks so funny. I am sorry, darling, I couldn't help laughing. You must forgive me.'

'Oh, is that all. Well, I'm sorry too - really sorry about that. I guess I should have said.'

'Said? Said what?'

'Said... something, about my body.'

'There's nothing wrong with your body,' she said stroking his shoulders. 'I think you've got the most beautiful body I've ever seen. I love you and I love your body! Honest, I do!'

'Ah, but...' he said, pulling off the offending sock. 'I'm in the habit of wearing a sock all the time, even in bed, because even I don't like the look of it... my left foot, I mean.'

'Why? What is it, darling?'

Ian turned around and lifted his foot up for her to see. He continued, 'My foot is a bit deformed, you see... a bit withered, ever since birth, unfortunately. See, here... I've got six toes.'

# 

# CHAPTER 5

#

# WINNERS ARE GRINNERS

'Helen!' Jack called out, in a somewhat agitated tone.

'Yes. What is it?' his wife replied, 'What do you want now?' She looked up as he stuck his head in the bathroom to find her with her damp hair caught up in a towel wound around her head like a turban, applying skin cleanser and false eyelashes. Twisting, this way and that, to check them carefully in the bathroom mirror.

'My paper?' he asked.

'Your paper? What are you on about? Can't you see I'm busy.'

'Busy? Is that what you call it - busy? Fooling around with all that muck?'

'Well... you do want your wife to look nice, don't you, when we go to lunch today at the Razzle?' (The RSL, an Australian 'old soldiers' club, open to all).

'Lunch? At the Razzle, today?'

'Of course today, silly, it's Monday, isn't it?'

'Yes, so?'

'Well... there you are then. You said last week we were going out to lunch on Monday. You said our RSL had half-price members meals on Mondays \- remember? ''You can't beat that,'' you said, ''when you're on a pension''.'

'Ohhh, yes... so I did. But never mind that, what about my paper? What have you done with it? Come on, darl - please. I need it!'

'Nothing! I've done nothing with your paper! It was there on the table after breakfast,' she said, putting her eyeliner down hurriedly in some annoyance at the interruption. 'No, now I remember... Yes! You had it when you were mucking about with that dirty old shoe polish, on my nice table top too, you filthy beast!'

'You should be proud that your husband still cleans his shoes 'til they shine brilliantly - with a bit of military spit and polish! Most of 'em around here wouldn't even know what shoe polish is.'

'No... and I should hope not! A disgusting habit, spitting on shoes and making that horrible black mess. You're not in the Air Force now, I keep telling you that! I'm throwing them old black shoes of yours in the bin, mark my words! Then you can go out and buy some decent new shoes, you old tight arse! Anyway, talking of bins, I remember now \- when you'd finished all that dreadful, filthy, spit and polish business, you threw the newspaper in the kitchen bin, didn't you?'

'Oh, oh...yeah. I did, didn't I? Ta,' he said, bending over and kissing her on the neck. 'What would I do without you - my love, my pet... my angel?'

'Do? I don't know... but it wouldn't be much, would it? I mean you do very little around here.'

Jack hurried back to the kitchen and rummaged in the bin for his Brisbane Courier Mail. He was straightening it out on the kitchen table when Helen came in. 'Oh, Jack! Just look at all that filthy black mess on the paper! Get if off my table, please! What's all the excitement about, anyway?' she asked. 'If it's the Lotto page you're after, it's a waste of time and a waste of money too, if you ask me. Week after week after week, we go through this routine. We've never won anything worth having yet! Well have we?'

'Shut up, woman!' Jack said. 'Let a man concentrate on the more important things in life, will you?'

'Here,' she said, 'don't you shout at me. You know what the problem is, don't you? It's your family; they're all born on the wrong days! It's not my family that lets you down, I hope you've noticed that? It's your blooming lot! They're born awkward, the whole blinking lot of 'em!'

'Hey! Can't you shut up for a just minute? Give a man a bit o' peace, will ya. Let me concentrate...'

'Who do you think you're talking to, Jack, the bloody dog?'

'Sorry. Sorry, love. Look, my little petal. It's, it's just that I think we may be on a winner here. Now where's our flippin' coupon?'

'Oh, Jack! You're not serious? No, you're just having me on, aren't you? Aren't you? You wouldn't be so damn cruel though - would you?' she said, smacking him on the head. 'Well?'

'Will you please... just for once, do as I ask and find our flipping coupon!'

'Alright. Alright,' Helen said as she turned to start rummaging through the various drawers. 'Oh, isn't it exciting? Now are you sure, Jack?'

'Of course I'm not sure, woman! That's why I need the flaming coupon! I mean, I can remember my family birthday numbers, but I'm never quite sure if I've got them right when it comes to your lot. Now hurry up, darl - will you?'

Helen, in her extreme haste, pulled one of the drawers out too far and everything in it fell to the floor. Jack covered his face in amused disbelief. 'I don't believe this,' he said, in a mocking tone. 'Can't you do anything right?'

'Oh, dear...!' she cried. 'Look what I've done!' Kneeling on the floor she hurriedly sorted through the heap of scattered papers and other miscellaneous items. Then, 'Oh... I've been looking for this lipstick.'

'Never mind that. Stuff the lipstick! The coupon...'

'Is this it?' she cried, waving a Lotto coupon in the air.

'Give it here,' he said, snatching it from her grasp. 'Now let's have a look. Yes, Saturday's draw; number 3552. Yes. Yes, our lucky numbers are: 4, 6, 9, 10, 22, and 30. Now, let me see, the winning numbers are: 22, 10, 9, 30...'

'Oh, Jack!' interrupted Helen, 'have we won? Or are you just teasing?'

'Just be quiet, woman!' he chided her. 'Stop interrupting. Just give me a chance here. Where was I? I'll have to start again, now. Our lucky numbers are: 4, 6, 9, 10...'

'You said that.'

'I know. I'll say it again. Now, shut up - will you?' He looked at her with some annoyance, raising his finger in reproof. 'Now, the winning numbers are: 22, 10, 9, 30' he repeated. 'And... 4 and 6! The supplementary numbers are...'

'Stuff the supplementaries, Jack! Well?'

'That's... that's it!'

'That's it? You mean, you mean... we've won... or we've not won?'

'We've won! Yes. Well, it looks like it - we've got the full six numbers.'

'Oh, Jack,' she said excitedly, putting her arms around him and giving him a kiss. 'Will it be much, do you think, the winnings?'

'I really don't know darl. It's kind of hard to tell. You see, it depends so much, on how many other people have got those very same numbers. I have to say, love, that it's particularly difficult when the winning numbers are all low numbers. You see, there's an awful lot of people out there that do family birthday numbers, all low numbers, just like we do.'

'Oh!' she said, disappointedly. 'You think that's really going to make a lot of difference, bring the pay-out down - do you?'

'Oh, yes, there's almost bound to be more than the average number of winners to share the prize pool. It's always the same when the winning numbers are all low ones. You really need at least a few of the bigger numbers to get the bigger payout. I'm talking about a million or more. It's a fact of life. Well, I reckon so.'

'But, I guess we can hope - can't we, darl?'

'I suppose so. But what do you reckon then? If not millions, what? Come, on Jack, how much?'

'We'll have to wait and see, won't we? Sorry, love - but that's the way it is. Hey now, don't you go spending the money before we get it - right? Don't you even think about it!'

'What? I can surely get my hair done. You wouldn't want to deny me that, for when the newspaper man comes – would you?'

'Well, no, I don't want to deny you anything. But nothing else – not for now!'

'What do you mean, 'Nothing else'? If anyone, you know, from Lotto should come here... you wouldn't want me to welcome them dressed in rags, would you?'

'Rags? No, no... I suppose not.'

'Well then, I've got to get a new frock, haven't I? And some decent shoes. You wouldn't want me to let you down...' She looked at herself in the mirror, puffing her chest out: 'I think I need a new bra too.'

Jack gave a big sigh of despair and walked out. Helen threw her lipstick down as she heard the front door bang.

'Flipping men!' she said angrily, 'The more money they have the bloody tighter they get!'

The War of the Winnings had just begun....

It was a reasonably good payout for a low-numbers first prize. Not a million, or anything like that, but well into six figures - which was all that Jack and Helen were prepared to let on. It was about seven or eight weeks before they actually got their hands on the money and by that time they had both spent heavily – all on tick!

There were two new cars parked out in the driveway, a Toyota Tarago for her. Why a Tarago? 'I dunno... I guess, I've always wanted one, in case we had a family,' was her excuse. For Jack, there was a Nissan four-wheel-drive crew-cab ute, 'They're very good for beach fishing,' he told a friend. Not that he knew the first thing about beach fishing or any other sort of fishing! Just in case he ever did learn to fish, he'd bought himself a rather large boat and trailer, plus a 'tinny' or aluminium, runabout, in case he moored the boat off shore some time.

She had a new sewing machine and an overlocker, should she ever learn to sew. He had his new laptop computer with full accessories, should he ever learn to type. With the latest modem, of course, should he ever master the intricacies of the internet. There was also his new garden shed and greenhouse out the back, should he ever learn anything at all about gardening. She had her enclosed patio and gazebo out the front, should she ever go in for entertaining. Not to mention the new furniture, TV, stereo, crockery, cutlery.

The more they disputed each other's purchases, the more they tried to outdo one another; at a substantial cost. Not just in money, but also in a serious erosion of their relationship, to the point where Jack now slept in one bedroom and Helen in another!

With the cash finally in hand and multiple accounts falling due for payment, the opportunity for further long and heated arguments over spending arose. Nevertheless, all the outstanding accounts were finally paid, to the relief of local traders. There was not a great deal of money left by then, a few thousand, perhaps. This was casually kept bundled in envelopes, secured with rubber bands and kept in the bottom of the freezer for security. It was only when Helen dug deep in the freezer in search of her favourite frozen dinner, (she'd given up cooking), that she discovered the money was missing!

'Jack! Jack, we've been robbed,' she called out to him in anguish. 'The money, it's gone! It's gone... all of it!

Oh, Jack \- what are we going to do?'

Jack put down his Brisbane Courier-Mail and as casually as he could, said 'I know. I know the money's gone, love, but don't worry - we've not been robbed.'

'Oh, Jack. What do you mean? Have you moved it, then? Thank Goodness for that. I thought we'd lost it when we've still got it! Oh, what a relief!'

'I didn't say that,' Jack replied. 'I didn't say we'd still got it.'

'You what? What are you playing at? Answer me, Jack,' she said, sternly. 'Come on. What tricks have you been up to? Out with it, now!'

'Tricks? What are you talking about, woman? There's been no tricks. Nothing tricky at all! I've simply given the money away. That's what I've done, given it away. All of it.'

'You... you've given the money away? Never! Pull the other one!' she said in disbelief. 'Explain yourself, Jack. Hey, it had better be good.'

'Yes, well, I was going to tell you; soon. Anyway, the fact is, my love; I did just that - I gave it away!'

'But why... why, Jack? You in debt? Been playing the ponies, have you? Or going 'round the twist', or what?'

'Look. Sit down and listen. Come on. Sit!'

Helen sat down as she was bid - as if in a dream. 'I can't believe this. It'd better be a good explanation or, by heck, I'll have you Jack. I will.'

'Be quiet a minute, please and I'll explain. You see, we've had more than our fair share of rows in recent times. More strife, more trouble over that money in the last thirty odd weeks than we've had in the last thirty years! Come on, love - admit it! Nobody who knew what's been going on here, could possibly deny it.'

'That wasn't 'the money'. You can't just blame the money for any old thing. That was you! You're the one that causes all the trouble and strife in this house. You're the one what tries to deny me a few simple pleasures in my old age, just when I need a bit of comfort...and a bit of understanding.'

'Stop it, Helen. It wasn't me that caused all the trouble between us. It was the money. We were happy before we won the money. We had a good marriage before the money. We had quite enough material comforts for our station in life, before the money. We had a good loving relationship too, before the money. We were happy, Helen. We were, admit it! We were happy, until we won the money. The money spoilt it all. Yes, it did. The money came between us, like a damn great wedge, forcing us apart; causing us to compete in a ridiculous scramble to outspend each another. That's true, that is!'

'No!'

'Yes! Yes it is and we've got to face up to it. It was the money, nothing else that caused us to row over silly things - inconsequential things.'

'My...that's a big word, that is: Inconsequential? Is buying a boat when you know nothing about sailing 'inconsequential'? Or is buying a garden shed when you know nothing about gardening, 'inconsequential'?'

'Oh, er... yes? What about buying a sewing machine when you hate sewing? Eh? Eh? Or buying leather jackets and fake fur coats, when you live in Queensland! Just when or where do you think you are going to wear them in this flaming hot climate?'

'When? When you wear any of those silly suits you bought, each of the best heavy woollen cloth - with waistcoats. Waistcoats, for God's sake! You don't know how to handle money properly, Jack. Let's face it, you never have and you never will!'

'Neither do you! You've let thousands slip through your silly fingers in the last few weeks. Disgraceful it is, with so many people out there starving.'

'Well, you can't claim you're starving, you eat out every night of the week!'

'I only go out for the odd beer and a pie, because I can't stand to eat in this house, with you whinging all the while. You've even forgotten how to cook!'

'That's a laugh. You invented whinging, you did - you've been whinging every day for over thirty years. I suppose I can't expect you to stop now, can I? That's why I'm glad you eat out!' Helen paused, before demanding: 'What have you done with all my money?'

'You what? What have I done with your money?'

'Yes. I reckon you've spent more than me. Therefore what's left must be mine!'

'I don't believe this.'

'You'd better, mate, or I'll, I'll see you in Court!'

'I gave it all away, to the Sally Army...'

'You did what? Why? Why would you do a stupid thing like that?'

'I didn't think it was so stupid, with our marriage tottering on the brink, ready to fall apart.'

'Brink? Brink of what? Bankruptcy? Or, or are you talking divorce? Is that what this is all about? Have you been and got yourself involved with some flighty young, full fronted, floosy?'

'No. No, nothing like that. But I can't go on. We can't go on. Not like this, don't you see?' Jack looked at her appealingly. 'I want to save our marriage, that's why I gave the money away. Because... because I think our marriage is worth more than any amount of money and because I love you. I don't think I could live without you...'

'You what? You do...?' Helen answered, with a loving look coming over her face. 'You gave all that lovely money away because you love me?' She paused, then warmly, she said: 'Well... give 'em the money then! Every darn cent of it!'

'You mean that? You don't mind, giving the money away?'

'No. There's more to life than money!'

'Are you sure? You aren't having me on, are you?'

'Do you want to argue with me, even when I agree with you?' she asked unbelievingly.

'No. No, 'course not.'

'Good.'

'Then there's nothing left for us to argue about, right?'

'No. Nothing at all.'

'Good. Why do I need money anyway? I've got everything a woman could ever wish for and more besides, right? Anyway, as long as I've got you I don't care about money,' she said, giving him a big kiss.

'That's great. That's wonderful, but would you mind signing this statement? The Salvation Army insisted that we both sign a joint statement of donation. It's to protect them against any disputes, you know how some people do tend to quarrel over money. Give it to them and then change their minds, that kind of thing.'

'Really? Oh, Jack, I've got a funny feeling coming all over me,' Helen said as she signed the statement.

'You have?'

'Yes. A sort of a 'hot flush'. Just the excitement of it all, I expect. It's just like when we signed the marriage register, together - don't you think?'

'Yes, I was just thinking the same', Jack said as he signed too.

'Well, what do we do now? Have you actually given them the money?'

'No. No, they wouldn't accept such a large amount of money from a couple without the joint statement, as I said. So, we've got the chance to go to bed and sleep on it, before handing over the money tomorrow.'

'Go to bed? Ohhh... Jack! What are you thinking, this time of day... you old devil, you?' she asked, coyly.

'Well... ' Jack said looking at his watch. 'Why not? It might be a wee bit early in the day, but we could draw the curtains, couldn't we?'

'Oh, Jack! Your bedroom or mine?' she giggled.

'Mine! I know it's a single, but that's all we need... isn't it?'

'Why not mine?'

'Because your room is full of stuffed pink pussy-cats and other miscellaneous junk! That's why. It's enough to put a man off!'

'Man? What man? I don't see a real man anywhere...'

As she giggled and move towards the door, Jack said 'Hang on a minute. Here, you'd better take these and put them somewhere safe,' handing her a bulky envelope.

'Oh, whatever is it?'

'Would you believe, it's two hundred and fifty, one-dollar scratch lottery tickets - not that I think you're going to get bored up there! It's just that they do say, don't they, that 'Winners Are Grinners'. I just want to prove it,' he said. 'We haven't grinned much since we won the money, have we? I did so like to see you smile when you had a little win, now and again, on the scratch-lottery-tickets.'

'Oh, Jack, but what about if we should have a big win,' Helen said, fearfully. 'What then? How would we handle it?'

'Ah! Next time, we'll have had the benefit of experience and we wouldn't make the same mistakes twice, would we? Besides, I couldn't fit another thing in my wardrobe, could you... in yours?'

'No. I think I'll have to chuck some of that stuff out. Hey! We could take some of that gear with us, to the Sally Army, eh? My surplus stuff and yours!'

'Sure. Now, you know that bit about 'Winners Are Grinners'? Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm grinning already!' He smacked her on the backside and said 'Now get up them stairs.'

# 

# CHAPTER 6

#

# RACING CERTAINTY

It was a Monday and Jimmy Cockerel was walking the streets of Brisbane in a pensive mood. He was thinking to himself, should I pay all my money off me bills and neither eat nor drink for a week? Or, should I pay off half me bills, spend the other half on drink and forget about eating all together? Life is just too bloody awful to contemplate at times, he mused. There's so little you can do on a pension. I think perhaps I should have a drink now, while I thinks it over. Then he spied his favourite watering-hole, the Elephant & Castle, looming up ahead and quickened his stride.

At the main bar he bought himself a tall, ice-cold, glass of beer and drank almost half of it quickly. Only then did he look around the bar for a friendly face, or a 'soft touch'. He was then warmed by the sight of his old mate, Eddie Dick, sitting at the far end of the room. He took one more sip of beer and walked over. 'Oh...'ello, Eddie, old mate. How's it goin'? He'd judged it well as Eddie's beer glass was near empty and he quickly added. 'You's gettin' 'em in, are ya?'

'Oh, alright, alright - you old bludger!' said Eddie, standing up and making for the bar. He cast an eye back and said 'Hey! Don't you even think of pinchin' me paper, right?'

'No. No, mate. No, I wouldn't,' replied Jimmy, giving the racing paper a quick once-over. His mate soon returned from the bar with two overflowing fresh beers and Jimmy, indicating the paper, asked: 'Didja find anything?... anything good in here, then? Anything you's, like... want to pass on?'

'No. Nothing in the crummy paper, old fella.'

'Nothin'? You sure? You wouldn't be holding out on a mate, would you's?'

'No! 'Course not. But I may just have something, nonetheless.'

'What? What is it then? Heard something, 'ave you, when driving around in yer big Yellow Cab?'

'Yeah! You could say, something like that.'

'Well? Go on then, spill it!'

'Oh, I don't know as I should,' said Eddie. 'You ain't given me nothing for a while, have you?'

'No... ah, but I would, mate, if I 'ad anythink. You's know I would! But I don't get about like you do, do I? I mean, you's always picking up jockeys and trainers and owners and all that sort, in yer cab. Stands to reason you'd be onto something more often than me.' He supped his beer. 'Fair's fair, mate. If you've got it, you should share it. Them's the rules. That's what mateship's all about, right? Watcher want me to do; get darn on me knees an' beg?'

'Well, I ain't never had anything from this source before, you see, so I don't know how good it is. That's why I'm a bit... hesitant. Besides, I know how bloody mad you can get if a tip goes sour on you.'

'Oh, rubbish... rubbish. There's bin times, I admit, when I may have expressed my disappointment.'

'Express your disappointment! Mate! They had to practically rebuild this bloody bar the last time you did your nut! You can't have forgotten that, surely? It ain't all that long ago.'

'Yeah, well, that don't mean I don't appreciate you a givin' me the 'word' now and again - like now fer instance, when I'm in need, as it were.'

'Well...'

'Come on then, I'm a list'nin'.'

'Alright. Couple of days ago I was dropping off this young lady in the city, see – nice bit o' goods too and when she goes to pay me, she's got too much in her hands like and she somehow manages to drop a bag of oranges that spill all over the pavement. Now of course, I chases after them, reefing them in and picking them up. I mean anybody would. While I was down there, boy, did I got a real close look at her legs too – cooooh...!'

'Cut it out... An' get on wid it - right!'

'Oh alright, alright. Don't get your knickers in a knot! Anyway. We'd just got everything back together again, when bang...!'

'Bang? You mean a shootin', or summit?'

'No you sill old bugger! No, I mean she goes an' drops another bag and all these apples of hers go rolling out into the street.'

'What? Of course, you let 'em go, I mean surely you didn't.'

'I did. I did. I know it was daft, but I dodged in and out amongst the cars, picking them up – driver's laughing and leering and horns a blaring.'

'You must 'ave bin orf your flamin' rocker. You could 'ave been killed yer mug, yer idiot!'

'Yeah, then where would you cadge a drink?'

'What?'

'But, that wasn't the end of it.'

'No?'

'No. You see, as she struggles to open her bag to pay me, she drops her purse and her money an' cards go flying!'

'What is this? Somebody set you up did they? Like a 'candid camera' type joke... or summit?'

'No. Nothing like that. It was just one of those things. Anyway, again I'm down on the ground a scrabbling for her goods.'

'And a pervin' up 'er skirt too, I s'pose?'

'No, no... 'course not! She's very grateful and she insists on giving me a sizeable tip.'

'Oh? You mean a cash tip?'

'Yeah! Yeah, well, as I said she was some lady.'

''Cause I was 'opin', mate, this conversation might, just might relate to what we punters call a 'red-hot' tip. That's what!'

'Yes, well... that an' all!'

'What? You mean this really 'as got summit to do with the bloody nags!'

'Don't go getting the hump, Jimmy boy. I'm getting to that.'

'Getting to it? Good. About flippin' time!' At that moment, Jimmy was able to catch a passing barman by the arm. 'Hey! Hey, me mate 'ere wants you to bring us a couple more beers – right?'

Eddie nodded in agreement. 'She was so distressed I had to let her sit back in the cab. To sort herself out, her being a lady, like... with 'things' to adjust and touch up – you understand? It only takes her a few minutes, of course. Then, then she says something you'll never believe.'

'Try me.'

'Well, she says: "Cabbie" she says, "I'm very much obliged to you, for your help in this most stressful situation."'

Jimmy starts to drum his fingers on the table in impatience.

'Then she says, "I've had a run of things going wrong this week. My dear old gran used to say that when that sort of thing happens, as it does to all of us at some time or another."'

Jimmy drums his fingers some more.

'Stop it you stupid old man, or I won't give you the punch line!'

'You mean there is a punch line?'

'There is, but only if you sit there, shut up and listen quietly.'

'I'm all ears, mate.'

'I know, I've noticed. Now where was I?'

'Takin' advice from some dear old granny.'

'Oh, yes. Her dear old gran said that whenever she needed to break a run of bad vibes she should do a distinct act of kindness to somebody to break the spell. She said it always worked.'

'Oh, good – good,' Jimmy interrupted. 'Now let me guess the rest, she came right out and asked you to go back to her place, where she could do you a favour, of some sort.'

'That's it!' said Eddie, very much annoyed. He stood up. 'I'm going. I don't know why I ever thought of sharing this with you, in the first bloody place.'

'No, no. No, mate,' said Jimmy, 'Please don't go. I'm ever so sorry. Playing the fool is, is kind of... in me nature, like. It's a burden I have to bear.'

'But it's not your burden, mate, is it? It's a burden that all of us other poor bastards have to bear and that's a fact.'

'Ok. Have it your way. Perhaps you're right. But you might as well finish it orf, since you've gorn so far, mate – eh?'

'Oh, alright. But one more crack out of you and I'm off, after... after I've belted you one, right?'

'Right.'

Eddie sat down again to continue the tale. 'So she asked me if I liked an occasional bet and when I said I did, she said her husband, obviously much older than her, her being a mere child; was a politician and one of his jobs was being on the racing board in this state. Get the picture now - eh? See where it's all going now, Jimmy boy?'

'Bloody hell... a tip?'

'An inside tip! A red-hot tip!'

'From the bloody top too. Woo-ooh! But what nag are we talkin' about here, Eddie?'

'Calm down, calm down. 'Dancing Lady', is the one. She said 'Dancing Lady' was supposed to be withdrawn from the big race Saturday because of injury, you know that - right?'

'Yer, everybody knows that!'

'Well, she said that simply ain't so.'

'Ain't so? You mean...'

'Yes! It's a scam! There's really nothing wrong with the bloody nag and she'll be re-entered in the race at the last possible moment. Get this: her husband – who's supposed to keep the game clean by the way, is putting $50,000 on her nose.'

'The bloody crook! The bastard! I hates public corruption! But, then... hey! What about us? What's the odds? Whatever they are, we gotta get in on it.'

'Well, the odds were a tad higher yesterday, but today they're going at around 33 to one!'

'Wow! That sounds good enough fer me, mate!' They pulled on their beers and clinked their glasses. Then Jimmy asked, 'What do you reckon then. It will work, won't it?'

'I dunno. There's a lot of people out there that have to be trusted to keep their mouths shut if it's going to work. There are always weak links, always. People like, well, my lady for instance and you... you old bugger.'

'Me! Damn it. I can keep my mouth shut, if I 'ave to.'

'Well, you'd better, because the 'big boys' who are in on this won't take kindly to anybody who rocks the boat – get my drift? I'd hate to have them come knocking on my door and me having to tell 'em about you.'

'Me? Oh, Jesus! Don't talk like that.'

'You? It wouldn't matter to anybody if you was in hospital for six months. But me, I have to earn a living! Anyway, just so as you understand.'

'Oh, I do. I understand alright. I'm goin' 'ome, now. I'm gonna pawn everything, sell everything, raise as much as I can. Meet you here Saturday, then. What time?'

'Twelve o'clock, on the nose.'

'On the nose? I like that. A good omen, eh? I'm off, then. See you Saturday.'

Saturday for Jimmy was an absolute disaster. They sat in the bar watching the race on cable TV and 'Dancing Lady' waltzed in, third from last in a ten horse race!

Eddie expected Jimmy to throw a tantrum and was ready for it, but he didn't. Not a word was said. He simply finished his beer, wiped his mouth, stood up and walked out.

On the Monday, Eddie came in the pub to find Jimmy, shoulders hunched and long faced, propping up the bar. He thought he'd better break the ice. 'Hey, mate! No hard feelings, I hope, Jimmy boy, eh?'

'Don't you 'Jimmy boy', me you, you... Judas! Piss orf! Find yerself another mug.'

'Hey, hey, hey! A long time betting man like you should be used to the occasional hard knocks.'

'Hard flippin' knocks? I'd just love to give yer some bloody 'hard knocks' right now. I would too, 'cept I ain't eaten for two days on account you lost me every dollar I had.'

'Oh, Jesus. I didn't know. I really didn't! If I had, I'd have offered to buy you a damn good feed or two, mate. You should have said, instead of walking out like that.'

'Piss orf, will yer!'

'Look, I've got something to tell you.'

'Tell me? Huh! I ain't ever going to listen to you and yer glory stories ever again. Never, never, never! Now git!'

'I saw her, today'

'What? What that bitch? Wot did she 'ave to say for 'erself? Cryin' her eyes out, wuz she?'

'Well, almost, I was driving down this here road and I sees her with some young tear-arse a fighting over her handbag. So I blasts me horn, accelerates and drives up on the kerb, get's out with a tyre iron in hand and the bugger does a bunk. A pity, because I was dying to cream him, the young bastard!

'Was she alright, not that I'm interested?'

'Yeah. Yeah she was fine. A bit shook up, but alright. She had just come out of the bookies with her old man's winnings, you see. The young punk must have been watching her, I reckon. It was obvious he thought he was on a good thing, like.'

'You what? Hey, now. You don't act surprised that her old man had 'winnings'.'

'No. If you hadn't a run off like that on Saturday, you wouldn't either; 'cause I would have told you.'

'Told me what, for Christ's sake?'

'I would have told you that she rang me early on Saturday and told me that there had been a change of plan. Somebody, somebody had leaked, or so they thought, because too much money was going on 'Dancing Lady''

'You knew this, before the bloody race?'

'Yes. Yes, I knew. They were switching, she said to Plan B.'

'What the hell was Plan B?'

'Simple, they decided to forget all about 'Dancing Lady' and concentrate the money on a horse called 'Pinto' – only it wouldn't be 'Pinto' that was running. It would be a cracking top horse, whose name we are not to know.'

'You mean 'Pinto' won, but wasn't really 'Pinto', it was a ringer?'

'Right! You got it!'

'You just sat there and watched our money go down on 'Dancing Lady?''

'No. No, mate. I switched our money, yours and mine; over to 'Pinto'.'

'You mean your money, my money – our money, was on that crooked ringer? That's disgustin'! And highly illegal!'

'Right. It is, but it won! We won!'

'You bloody beauty, mate!'

'I thought you'd like it.'

'Like it? It's the best thing ever happened to me in my entire life!'

'Good. I'm pleased about that, very pleased. Your money is in this here shopping bag, but don't show it to anyone. Don't even open it until you get home, right?'

'Yeah. Yeah, of course.'

'Good. So, perhaps you'd like to buy me a drink for a change.'

'Sure. But why? Why the hell didn't you tell me about the switch before the race started?'

'I, I was rather hoping you wouldn't ask me that, mate. I mean, of course I knew you wouldn't blab. No, no. But others in this pub, well... they aren't always so trusting, are they?'

'Perhaps not.'

'No. We were both on an honest to goodness, racing, bloody, certainty, mate. So let's just say, I didn't want to spoil your fun. Cheers!'

'Cheers!' said Jimmy, tossing back his beer. Then he calmly picked up Eddie's beer and stood the glass, upside down, on his head. As the beer flowed down his face, round his shoulders and into his lap, he said 'Thanks, mate. But don't'cha ever put me through that sort of bloody trauma ever ag'in!' and he walked out, smiling.

# 

# CHAPTER 7

#

# THE CAR BOOT

Senior Sergeant Brian ('Rolls') Royce, of the Queensland Police Service, had just finished his shift patrolling the Brisbane to Ipswich motorway for the day and was now travelling home in his private vehicle. Suddenly a car overtook him, travelling so fast that the slipstream rocked his car forcing him to grip the wheel tightly, as he quickly accelerated after the young hoon. His car, a standard Ford Falcon, was struggling to keep up real close, but he was close enough to call in the licence plate to Headquarters on his mobile phone. In reply, he was quickly warned that the young driver was wanted for the robbery and murder of an unidentified lady at a shopping centre car park and the driver was suspected of being armed with a small calibre pistol. All Officers should approach with caution and await back-up if at all possible.

At that moment the speeding driver, after overtaking a large and heavily laden truck, over-compensated as he changed back to the inner lane; consequently losing control of his car, which quickly shot off the road and went hurtling down a steep bank. The out-of-control vehicle disappeared into the trees and scrub and headed down toward a small, quiet, slow moving river.

'Rolls' pulled off the road too, but had some difficulty in locating the young man in the car because of the rising cloud of dust. However, after just a few minutes the dust cloud was totally dispersed by a gentle breeze blowing up-stream. He was surprised and relieved to see that the car had stopped just a few metres short of the riverbank. 'Lucky bastard,' he thought.

He then called in his location and gave a brief summary of what had occurred. He also confirmed that he was about to go down to investigate. Then he locked his car and starting climbing down the difficult, rough, track made by the descending car. 'Bring on retirement next week,' he thought to himself. 'I'm getting too darn old for this sort of thing, that's for sure.'

When he eventually got down to the car and peered in the driver's window, he was not too sure if the young man behind the wheel was dead or alive. When he pulled open the driver's door, he quickly saw that the young man had his eyes closed with face cut and bleeding; possibly from contact with exploding pieces of the missing windscreen. 'Can you hear me?' 'Rolls' asked, as he gently shook the boy by the shoulder.

'Yeah. Yeah, I can hear ya,' the young man replied, opening his eyes. 'I'm just a bit shook up, that's all.'

'Good. 'Cause, if you haven't got any broken bones, I'm aiming to get you out of here quick, just in case there's any danger of fire, or explosion. Right?'

'I see you didn't bother using the seat belt,' he added. 'Never mind, I guess you've paid your dues for that

offence.'

The boy said nothing as 'Rolls' carefully turned him outwards and then helped him get his feet on the ground.

'Now I'm gonna put my arms around you, like this and get you up on your feet, that's it. Good. Good and now I'm gonna walk you, lift you or drag you, over to that there tree stump; over there look, ok? Are you up to it? Take it easy now. Ready? Right, let's go.'

It wasn't too difficult or too far and soon they were safely there.

'Now then, son. Just sit you down on that there old tree trunk.'

'No, no, I don't want to sit.'

'Oh, ok, a proper rebel - aren't you?'

'Now, why don't you take a few deep breaths then, while I explain what's what.'

'Yeah. Yeah.'

'Good. Now, listen to me. I'm Sergeant Brian Royce, but just about everybody calls me 'Rolls' for some odd reason. I'm retiring next week after 40 years service, during which time I've never had to draw my gun in anger. Now I'm kinda proud of that. You know what? I don't want to start now, right? Got that?'

'Yeah. Yeah.'

'Good. I like to treat everyone fair. First up, I always offer them the best possible deal. That's just my way of doing things, right? It works just fine for me. If you'll go along with it, it can be the right thing for you.'

'Rolls' got out his notebook and started writing.

'Now, I'm writing: 'The driver volunteered his name as...''

'So, what's your name, son?'

'Come on. Come on. Give me your name. Your true name and I guarantee that will put you right in front, with your first positive point right there, straight away! Ok, got it?'

'So, what's your name, son?'

'Dork – Dork Fart.'

'Oh, funny. Very funny! The jails are full of funny people, did you know that? Oh, yes: you would be very popular there. They are always on the look-out for good looking young guys who love a bit of fun, know what I mean?'

'Now. Perhaps I shouldn't; but I'm gonna give you one more try. Just one more chance. After that, things could get real nasty and your future could quickly become something more than a bit dim. It's simply up to you, got it?'

'Now, for the last time, what's your name, eh? Come on... come on.'

'Ok, you win. David Bingle.'

'Age?'

'17.'

'Did you steal this car?'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah...'

'Before or after you robbed a lady outside the supermarket?'

The boy hesitated.

'Come on now. You've gotta build up as many good points as you can, while you can. So be smart and take my advice. Believe me, written evidence of cooperation can make a real big difference.'

'After, after the problem I had with the stupid lady in the car park.'

'Good. Good. You are on the right track. Keep going. You're doing well.'

'I didn't mean to hurt her. Honest! It was all her fault! She resisted, you see, when I asked her for money and she started smacking me in the face with a heavy purse, one full of coins! That hurt and that made me angry. Real angry. The more she hit me the more angry I got. So I grabbed her by the neck, just to stop her hitting me and suddenly she went down like a bag of cement! So I bolted. Of course I didn't check her. Why would I? I didn't know she was hurt, let alone dead for Christ's sake.'

'Good. That's more like it. Now, I must ask you to voluntarily surrender to me, that there nice little firearm I saw tucked away in your left sock, as I got you out of the car. I'm warning you, son! I already have my finger on the trigger of my gun! So what's it going to be, eh? You give me your little pop-gun, butt first or, do I give you my first ever bullet fired in anger - eh? I must warn you, son, I've been doing fire-arms training, every week now for 40 years. So I'd say I'm not likely to miss and you'd better believe that! It's your move, son. Think carefully now before you act!'

'Ok. You win,' said David and he bent down and slowly removed the gun from his left sock and passed it to 'Rolls', butt first.

'Good. Very good. Now I'm writing: 'Small calibre pistol surrendered voluntarily.' That'll be even more good points in your favour, for sure. Next I'm gonna cuff you and put you back in the car, on the passenger seat, while I conduct a quick search of the vehicle. That's just standard procedure, ok? Got it?'

'Yeah, yeah, whatever.'

'Rolls' put the boy in the front passenger seat and activated the child door-lock, so the boy couldn't get out that way and do a runner.

Then, sitting in the driver's seat, he leaned over to check the glove box. Immediately a hand-made leather purse became of intense interest to him. 'Rolls' hesitated but then, with a shaky hand, he slowly took the purse out for closer examination.

He turned the purse around to examine it better. As he did so, he was dismayed to find the gold initials on the brown and red leather tooled purse were all too familiar: RAR.

Could that possibly be RAR for Ruby, Ann, Royce?

Yes! She had asked for her initials to be in gold.

Yes! She had asked for a bit of colour to be tooled into the design and they agreed on red.

Yes! The purse was clearly the one he had made-to-order for his wife, only last Christmas.

Now there was red blood on it too, fresh blood!!!

'Rolls' took a deep breath or two before asking the boy: 'Did you take this purse from the lady today?'

'Yes. So what?'

'I'll tell you what, you lying little bastard!' 'Rolls' pulled out the little gun sniffed it and then stuck it hard up the boy's nose. 'Smell it!'

'This gun's been fired recently. Very recently! So, no, you didn't grab her round the neck; you shot her. You shot her dead! You shot her dead just because you were angry at her for not having much money on her, after doing her shopping. She had just a few coins left in her purse!!!'

'Something like that.'

'I bet you didn't help her, or call for help from others - right?'

'No, no, I thought she was still alive when I split. I can't believe she's dead! But she was a right mean spitfire! A real bitch! So I snatched her purse from her, even though it was near empty. I thought I'd earned it.'

Lost for words, 'Rolls' got out of the car, locked the driver's door and moved around to the rear of the vehicle to search the boot. Luckily, the boot lid was actually above the water level and he was able to open it easily. He nearly fainted when he saw the body of his dear wife, Ruby, buried under a miscellaneous stash of handbags, purses and wallets; lap-top computers and mobile phones – even bags of fresh fruit and vegetables. It was a most sickening experience, even for a hardened Police Officer to witness.

'Rolls' splashed some water on his face. That made him feel a bit better and it helped him to clear his mind and to work out quickly what he must do. He got back in the driver's seat.

'Sit tight, son, he said. I'm gonna have to move this car.'

'Rolls' started the car and revved the motor a few times. Then, he leaned over and hit the kid hard on the back of his neck, forcing his head forward and smashing his face into the dashboard. The kid slipped off the seat and fell downwards into the foot well. 'Rolls' swung his left leg over and somehow managed to push the unconscious boy right down as far as he could into the floor space and hold him there. Then he flattened the accelerator pedal, causing the car to rapidly surge forward and up a small, but steep rise – high enough to send the car sailing through the air. It came down in the water a few metres or so from the shoreline. 'Rolls' quickly wound down his window, to let the water rush in quickly.

He kept his leg on the boys back until the water finally settled at windscreen height.

For a few minutes, 'Rolls' broke down and cried. He cried for his beloved wife, Ruby and the forty-odd years they had been together. Then he prayed for forgiveness for what he had done. When he recovered, he transferred some of the kid's blood from the glove box to the top of the steering wheel and cleaned up the rest of the blood using the river water. Then he moved the boy's body, pulling him up and into the driver's seat and pushed his face into the steering wheel.

Then he got out and waded ashore to begin the slow, arduous climb back up to his car.

Half way up, he met two young Detectives coming down to aid him.

'What happened, Sarge?' they chorused.

'He hit the water. He's dead. End of story. I'm just about to call that in.'

'Anything we can do?'

'Well, no doubt there will be an Ambulance here soon. I'd be obliged if you two would make sure nobody touches the car, or the body, until the Crime Scene guys get here – ok?' You see that crowd building up, up there? Make damn sure they don't come any closer, got that?'

'Sure, Sarge,' said Detective Constable Roger Monroe.

'You got it! No problem,' said Detective Constable Alan Right.

'What about the car boot, Sarge. Anything interesting in there?' asked Roger.

'Look, who's the senior of you two?'

'I am.' said Detective Constable Alan Right.

'Good. Now that car, as well as the surrounds, are a crime scene and you two are not to touch anything, anything at all, including the boot \- right? Got that?'

'Sure, Sarge. We wouldn't even think of it,' said Constable Right.

'Ok, as Senior man, I'm holding you responsible. Now I'm off home to get out of these wet clothes. The wife will be wondering where I am, for sure. Anyone wants me, tell 'em to ring me on my mobile phone. Oh, here's the key to the car. Give that to the Crime Scene guys and nobody else, got it? See you guys later.'

As soon as 'Rolls' was out of sight, Roger said 'Quick, let's take a quick look in the boot.'

'No. You heard what the Sarge had to say.'

'Ah... but we are told, over and over again, that as Detectives we need to use our discretion, check everything and miss nothing. How can we do that if we don't check the boot?'

'Oh, alright. But just a peep. We touch nothing, right?'

'Oh, my God...' said Detective Constable Alan Right, as he lifted the boot lid. 'Do you know who that is?'

'No' replied Detective Constable Roger White, 'Who is it?'

'Well I do. It's the Sergeant's wife! I've met her a few times and as you know, he wouldn't open the boot. So

he won't know! Poor bugger.'

'So what do we do?'

'We shut and lock the boot. Wash off our fingerprints and say nothing. Absolutely nothing, got it? Hurry now. Get your socks and shoes on. Come on. The Ambo's are here!'

'Yeah, and the Crime Scene boys have just arrived too.'

'Hey, not only that. I can see two guys coming in along the shore line. I'll go question them. You guide the others,' said Detective Constable Alan. 'When the Ambo's get down here, tell them the driver is dead and ask them to stand aside until our boys have checked it all out. But say nothing, not a word - about the boot. Ok?'

Detective Constable Roger Right walked along the shoreline to meet the two men approaching.

'Sorry guys, no farther please. This is now a crime site.'

'Oh, yes', said the tall thin man, carrying a rather large camera and tripod. 'We know that.'

'You do?'

'We saw it all', said the short, fat, guy, carrying some sort of sound recording gear.

'How come? Tell me about it.'

'Well,' said the tall guy, 'I was taking pictures of water birds, when we saw the car come crashing down and stop a few metres back from the water's edge.'

'I was recording sounds of the water birds and er, we saw another man come down and take the driver out.'

'Then what?'

'Having got the driver out,' said the tall guy, 'he had words with the boy and then he put him back in.'

'And then,' said the fat guy, 'he revved the motor and drove the car into the water.'

'Then he waded ashore, just as you and the other man were coming down,' said the tall guy.

'Are you sure? I mean this is a very serious case' said Detective Constable Alan Right.

'I've got it all on film' said the tall guy proudly.

'I've got the sounds recorded too!' said the fat guy.

'What sounds?'

'Why, the opening and closing of the car doors. The revving of the motor and the opening and closing of the boot, twice.'

# 

# CHAPTER 8

#

# ADVANTAGE – COLT .45

Sergeant Dan Clive lay in his hospital bed recovering from wounds received in the line of duty. He had been rather badly beaten in an engagement with a drug trafficker. One who, unfortunately for the Sergeant, was also a martial arts devotee.

The good Sergeant managed to put on a brave smile on the approach of two visiting Police Officers, Probationary Constables' Jim Favour and Sandy Beaches.

'Hi, Sarge,' they chorused.

'Hello, you two.' he greeted them. 'Thanks for coming, and all that - but haven't you got something better to do, something more important? I mean, are you sure you've got time for this, with all your studies?'

'We had to come,' said Jim.

'Had to?' queried the Sarge.

'Sure,' Sandy replied. 'All the guys on the Course wanted us to come and ask you for the 'story behind the story' as it were. What really happened to you out there? Come on, Sarge - off the record if you like.'

'No, no...' Sergeant Clive protested, 'I can't.'

'But you must!' pleaded Sandy. 'We're not being nosy. What we want to do is demonstrate to this training course of ours, that we have learnt something from all of this. Come on boss, the guys are counting on us to come up with the goods!'

'Ohhh, I'm not sure if I should.'

'Now don't tire him out, you two! Do you hear me?' Sister Bligh interjected, as she stopped by briefly to check his chart. When the Sister, satisfied with their assurances, had gone, the two of them again prevailed on their leader and mentor to continue.

'Right. You two remember the plaque that hangs over my desk, do you? The one with the old Chinese motto? Remember how it goes?' asked the Sarge.

'Yeah. 'A man, may have one head' or something,' said Jim.

'No,' cut in Sandy. 'It's er, 'A man has only one head - but many faces' – right boss?'

'Right!' the Sarge assured her. 'But do you know what it means?'

'A man can have multiple personalities?' Sandy suggested.

'Yeah, of course. But there's more to it than that. Think on this: I haven't always been a Police Sergeant, have I?'

'No.' said the two, in bewilderment.

'No! Of course not. I've been lots of things in my time. I've played many parts. Truck driver, soldier, shop manager... for instance. The point I want you to remember is, that the days when people stayed in one job for life are well and truly over. Workplace flexibility is the thing today. So, be aware that your car thief, burglar, pimp, mugger, drug dealer have likely had previous occupations of one sort or another. Right! What I want you to do is always consider whether their former occupations may have any relevance to the crime you are investigating. It's as simple as that, got it?'

'Right!' exclaimed Jim. 'One head, many faces or many jobs! Gotcha!'

'Spot on, old son,' the Sarge was happy to assure him. 'The Inspector has a plaque in his office too. Did you notice that one?'

'Yes,' said Sandy. 'Seek and ye shall find', you mean?'

'Got it in one,' said the Sarge. 'Don't you ever forget it!'

'But how do we know what we are looking for, before we find it?' asked Jim.

'You don't,' said the Sarge. 'But I'll tell you how it worked in this case. I suspected Kato from the start, Cop instinct, if you like. It grows on you after a while. There was something about his manner I didn't like. This made me think he had more than one face to hide. So I decided to do a bit of the old 'seek and ye shall find' thing. He is listed as an importer of Korean artefacts, with a warehouse and showroom here in Brisbane. But I soon found that he used to be in the motor trade with a small place out near the airport. The interesting thing here was that he specialised in imported cars and I'm talking big, expensive, cars. Earlier still, he was an undermanager for a Casino on one of the larger island resorts off the Queensland coast. Before that he was here, in Brisbane, at Griffith University.'

'Wow! All that must have taken some time to dig it out, did it Sarge?' asked Jim.

'No, not really. It's all on the computer and readily available - when you know where to look, of course. But you'll learn that, in time. Never be afraid of asking!'

'But what did you make of all that information, then, Sarge?' asked Sandy.

'Well, the way I looked at it, the Casino could have given him the chance to meet and make friends with some really big Asian gamblers. Then somebody, most likely him, probably thought it would be a good idea to hide drugs in some of the Korean artefacts he was importing. You know the stuff; small figurines, kids, dogs, vases. Anything, as long as it was hollow, would do the trick'

'Ah! But how would they bring them in undetected?' asked Jim.

'Well, that's the clever bit, son. I guessed they could well have decided to go for the old 'double blind' trick. That is, they would hide the drugs in the artefacts and then, hide the artefacts in the cars!'

'Wow! How clever!' said Jim.

'But Kato is no longer in the car importing business!' said Sandy.

'No, that's true,' confirmed the Sarge. 'But I suspect he may have retained a key to his old dealership when he sold it, or maybe he stole one back! The important thing was to make sure the new owner would have no idea what was going on, that his cars were being used this way. Therefore, the car import business would always check out as being thoroughly legit! See how smart that is? All Kato had to do when the cars got here, was let himself into the dealership at night and remove the figurines. All done very quickly you see, because he always knew exactly where to look.'

'But what if the drugs should somehow be discovered by Customs, or accidentally found by workers at the dealership?' asked Jim.

'Whoever found them would likely think they were smuggled artefacts, of no great value and have no idea of them having drugs inside. Most importantly, no direct link back to Kato! That's the important thing. He could easily afford to write it off; all of it, the car, the drugs, the artefacts - and try something else.' The Sarge picked on the grapes they had brought him, as they made a meal of all this information.

'Right!' said Jim. 'But why did you go charging off to his warehouse on your own, like that, without telling anybody, let alone calling for back-up?'

'Look, son. Those CIB guys think they know it all. They think they are "the ant's pants" and they are the only ones with brains. But I reckon, just now and again, we uniformed guys can show them a thing or two. Besides, old Kato looked such a harmless old man. I had no reason to think he would attack anyone. Violence seemed a bit out of character for him. Anyway, I wasn't looking for trouble. I just planned to slip in through the loading bay and have a poke-about in the storage area. Perhaps find a nice little possie where I could hole-up and watch him remove the drugs from the figurines. You see, I had a tip off that one of the drug dealers were due to call on him that night. I wanted to know where he kept the figurines that were stuffed with drugs. Just a few minutes quiet observation was all I needed.'

'Ok. But, something went wrong, didn't it?'

'My damn mobile phone went off! My dear wife called, of all things, to ask me to bring some pizza home! I mean, I've told her over and over, never to call me on that damn thing except in the gravest of emergencies! She blames me, of course, for not switching it off. Anyway, it sure blew my cover.'

'Good grief! What happened next?' asked Jim.

'Well Kato, who I thought was such a nice, quiet, guy, suddenly turns into a raging maniac! He came charging at me, cartons and giant boxes of stuff flying in all directions. More and more stuff come tumbling down off the shelves, I was practically buried in it! Winded, injured and blinded by the shock of it all, I simply passed out. I mean, otherwise he would never have got the better of me, I can tell you that!'

'Didn't you have a chance to draw your gun?' asked Sandy.

'Yeah, I did, I did. But I somehow lost it in the rough and tumble.'

'I can understand that, Sarge. But I mean, your injuries, they're sooo extensive, you poor thing...' said Sandy, in a warm and comforting tone.

'Yeah, well, I think perhaps one or more of them dealers must have turned up and joined in the kicking. I can't remember much after that first karate chop.' He stopped to pick on the grapes while he gathered his thoughts. 'I hear some smart-arsed Detective happened to come by and is now claiming the credit for solving the case. But it won't hold up! Kato is down to me!' He paused for more grapes, then he exclaimed 'Oh, look. Talking of smart-arsed Detectives, here comes one now, that smarty pants, dick-chick from CIB!'

'Hi! Cheryl!' Sandy said, welcoming the new visitor.

'G'day Sandy, Jim' she replied, before turning to Sergeant Clive and presenting him with another bag of grapes. 'Hi Sarge. I was going to bring you flowers, but the boys in CIB said 'One should never, ever, give a Sergeant something he can't eat, drink or smoke!' she laughed.

'Yeah, yeah. I've heard that one before and the rest of it!'

'How are you then,' Cheryl inquired. 'Picking up, are you?'

'Oh, yeah... sort of. Thanks for the grapes. I can't eat much else.'

'I should think not! Not after the beating you took!' Cheryl replied.

'I'm still too tough for Kato! I've just been filling in these guys on how I solved the case.'

'Oh, really?'

'The Sarge has been giving us tips. You know, on lessons to be learned etc.' said Sandy.

'He worked it all out by studying Kato's background, former occupations and things like that,' added Jim.

'Is that so?' asked Cheryl. 'He told you then, did he, that Kato had the figurines especially made for him by a company he owns in a small village in Korea? Then he had them shipped by a company he part owns, to an off-shore island; owned on paper, by his girlfriend, where certain figurines were packed with drugs. The drug-loaded figurines were then shipped to Seoul, where they were hidden in cars at a dealership owned by Kato's mother and then shipped from there to Australia, to a respectable dealer right here in Brisbane.'

'Hey, how come you know all this?' asked the Sarge. 'Have you been reading my notes?'

'Yeah! Who told you all that?' Jim chipped in.

'You have been looking in the files, haven't you?' asked Sandy.

'Of course! I sure have! My files!' Cheryl responded.

'Your files? What the Hell are you talking about?' Sergeant Clive exploded.

'CIB have had an interest in Kato, off and on, between other work for oh, about two or three years now,' Cheryl explained.

'What? Do you happen to know then, who it was from CIB that dropped in, just as I was getting my second wind?' asked the Sarge.

'Sure, I do. It was me.' Cheryl replied.

'Well I'll be damned,' said the Sarge. 'Following me, were you?'

'No,' replied Cheryl. 'I was parked outside in an unmarked van, watching the place. I had heard that a certain dealer was due to call some time that night, you see. I was interested in seeing who that might be. I hoped maybe I'd get some pictures. Anyway, I saw you duck in and I knew Kato was in there, so I followed, you know, in case you needed back-up.'

'Simple as that?' asked Sandy.

'Yes, oh, yes' replied Cheryl. I saw it all happen. It was terrible the way Kato laid into the Sarge! When Kato saw me, he came at me too, with his right hand raised, threateningly. I identified myself and warned him to back off! But he kept on coming. So I fired! The bullet went right through the palm of his raised right hand.'

'Then what?' asked Jim.

'He hesitated in surprise. He could hardly believe the size of the hole in his hand! I guess he knew he would need urgent medical treatment pretty quickly, so he simply gave himself up. Good job he did or he could have killed the poor old Sarge here.'

'I don't believe this, it's not possible' said the Sarge, in bewilderment.

'Weren't you scared?' asked Sandy.

'I would have been,' added Jim.

'I expect the Sarge has already explained that Kato trained in martial arts here, when he was at Griffith Uni and how he gave martial arts lessons at the sports club, at the Casino on the island. So I was prepared for him and that's why my boss suggested I be sure to carry my gun. When I saw what was happening, I knew I had to stop him from killing the Sarge with his bare hands. He was, we all know, quite capable of that. Right?'

'But, nonetheless, you must have been scared facing Kato! Come on, admit it?' demanded the Sarge.

'No. No, not at all. I knew I had the advantage.'

'What advantage?' Jim asked.

'Yes, tell us please?' begged Sandy.

'I remembered the plaque.'

'Ah! You mean the one that says: 'A man has only one head - but many faces',' said Jim.

'Or the 'Seek and ye shall find', one?' suggested Sandy.

'No, neither of them!' said Cheryl, showing some degree of amusement. 'No. My father served in the Military Police in Korea. On many occasions they had to face offenders proficient in the martial arts. Some of them even became a bit reluctant to go on patrol at night. So their boss had a special plaque made and hung in his office, to show them they were the ones who really had the advantage and had nothing to fear. It read:

MARTIAL ARTS: CHOP! CHOP!

KNIVES: STAB! STAB!

BUT A SIX-SHOT COLT 45 HAS THE ADVANTAGE

\- EVERYTIME!'

'That's the plaque I meant. It's my plaque now. You must come and see it some time. By the way, in case you're wondering about the figurines with the drugs? They were hidden inside one of two Korean lion statuettes, set in giant pots, one each side of the entrance. One lion covered in dust. The other quite clean! It wasn't too hard to guess which one had been handled a lot!'

'Wow!' said Tim.

'Congratulations!' said Sandy.

'I still think you were lucky,' said the Sarge.

'Maybe. Maybe. Bye Sarge. I've really got to go now. You see, Kato spilled the beans last night. His mates are expecting to meet him this 'arvo and we are picking them up instead. Do you have any message for him and his boys? I could give him your love, if you like – should I?'

