by Damian Davis
Tearley thought for a moment then said, ‘Will you write that down and sign it?’
‘Yes,’ I shouted from outside.
‘Wriggler?’ she said.
‘Okay,’ Wriggler mumbled.
‘And if the reward money is more than the seventy-five dollars, I get half of the rest of it, no matter how much it is?’ she said.
Man she drives a hard deal.
‘All right,’ I called out.
‘And,’ she said, ‘I get to help catch Mr Black.’
‘No way,’ I shouted.
‘Why not?’ Wrigs called back.
‘It’s blackmail, we don’t want her hanging around with us. And besides, every time she gets involved things go wrong,’ I shouted.
‘Dribbler, every time you do anything it goes wrong. You don’t need me there to stuff it up,’ Tearley shouted back.
Then she pushed Wrigs out onto the porch and shut the front door.
‘What are we going to do now?’ asked Wrigs.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a plan.’
CHAPTER 17
DAY 16: Sunday
My skims: 0
Wriggler’s skims: 0
Training for record still halted.
Money made for tinnie: $0, thanks to the people of Pensdale
Wriggler had the bucket and I had the squeegee. We were standing at the traffic lights halfway down Queen Street. We had been waiting fifteen minutes and not a single car had come past.
Queen Street is the centre of the Pensdale shopping strip. Actually it’s the whole strip.
On one side of Queen Street is the mall, which was built in the nineties. Next to the mall is a huge hardware superstore, which takes up a whole block. On the other side is the daggiest row of shops ever. The chemist, a cafe, a greasy burger shop, a Chinese restaurant, a hairdresser called ‘LuvUrHair’, a two-dollar shop and a shop that sells trophies. How do you make any money selling trophies? Especially in Pensdale where we don’t have any winners.
There was absolutely no one around.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t have come on a Sunday,’ said Wrigs.
‘No, it’s perfect,’ I said. ‘There’s less cars so people won’t be in such a rush. They’ll have time.’
Wrigs wasn’t convinced.
‘The trick of making money is to have a plan,’ I told him. ‘This one is gold. As the drivers come over the hill, they’ll be driving directly into the sun.’
‘So?’
‘So, the sun’ll hit their windscreen and they’ll see how dirty the glass is. Then they’ll drive down the road a bit, and see us—the solution to their problem.’
Just then a car came over the hill. Sure enough, as soon as the sun hit the windscreen, the driver pressed the water spray on her car and used her windscreen wipers to try and clean her windscreen.
Even I was impressed with my plan.
Wriggler pressed the pedestrian-crossing button just to make sure that the car got a red light. The car pulled up. It was old Ms Burke from my street. She had on her best clothes and a really old-fashioned hat that had a fake peacock feather on top. She must have been on her way back from church. An easy touch.
‘Hello, ma’am, may I please wash your windscreen?’ I asked.
I had soapy suds all over the windscreen before Ms Burke could say no. I ran the squeegee across the window like a pro. I started at the top of the window and worked my way down. I flicked the squeegee between each stroke to get off excess water—not that it did anything, but it looked good.
There’s more to cleaning windows than just getting dirt off. You need to smile at the customer, even tell a joke, and act as though cleaning their windscreen is the most important thing in the world.
I made a big show of wiping off the last drops of water on the windscreen with a rag that I whipped out of my back pocket. Ms Burke looked really impressed. She smiled and put some money in my hand before driving off.
I opened my hand to show the money to Wrigs. It was two five-cent coins. I didn’t know they still made five-cent pieces.
‘Only nine hundred and ninety-nine cars to go,’ said Wriggler. ‘Let’s go and ask Tearley again.’
‘No way,’ I said.
More cars were coming down the street now. They all got green lights.
I pounced on the next car that stopped. A big sandy-haired bloke was driving. I removed every skerrick of dirt from his window. I was a windscreen-cleaning artist. His front window was glistening by the time I finished it.
As I wiped the last splash of water off the glass I saw the bloke take five dollars out of his wallet. I looked at him and smiled.
My fingers were just about to close around the crisp note when he said, ‘Hey, are you the kid that threw a rock at me when I was kayaking?’
He didn’t wait for an answer. He just put the money back in his wallet and drove off.
The next couple of cars that came down Queen Street saw us early and sped up so they would get through the lights before they turned red.
The next car that got caught by the lights was a huge four-wheel drive. I was about to spray the water on the driver’s windscreen when she saw me. She hit reverse, went back up the road and then did a U-turn over the median strip so I couldn’t get to her.
The people of Pensdale aren’t ready for a premium windscreen-washing service.
Finally someone pulled up at the lights. The car looked familiar. It was Ms Burke again. She wound down her window.
‘What detergent did you use? It’s left marks all over my windscreen.’ She held out her hand and Wrigs gave her back her ten cents.
As she drove away Wrigs picked up the bucket and said, ‘I’m going to ask Tearley again.’
CHAPTER 18
DAY 17: Monday
My skims: 18
Wriggler’s skims: 3 (Left-handed.)
Tearley’s skims: 14 (Controversial.)
World record restarted.
Total needed to buy tinnie and repay Tearley: $825
Sometimes you’ve got to spend money to make money.
We went back to Tearley’s house yesterday to see if she would loan us the money for the sensor camera. She stuck to her guns and we didn’t.
Now she is part of both Operation Catch Black and the skimming world record attempt. And we owe her seventy-five bucks. And she gets half of any reward money we make. I’m never going to let Wrigs negotiate again.
We needed to go to the electronics store at the mall to buy the camera. It was about ten-thirty before we could go because Tearley had to do an hour of maths exercises. She said she couldn’t trust us with the money so we had to wait. Maths homework in the holidays! I’d prefer a thonging.
But it did give me time to wash the vomit-covered ten-dollar note. It was disgusting. Crusty and kind of flaky.
I hung it on the washing line with a whole lot of clothes pegs. Then I sprayed it with the garden hose—full bore. Then I let it dry. It still stunk but luckily the guy at the shop didn’t notice.
The camera is about the size of a tennis ball cut in half. It picks up infra-red light, so it can see things in the dark. Whenever it senses a movement in front of its lens, it takes a photo. The most important thing is that you can’t hear the shutter click, so you’ve no idea you’re being photographed.
After we bought the camera, we went down to the deserted house. Wrigs wouldn’t come down from the path until I checked out there was no one around.
The idea was to mount the camera on the wall above the manhole so that it would take a photograph of whatever happened when Mr Black opened it.
I found an old milk crate outside and dragged it into the kitchen. Then I climbed up and stuck the camera on the sandstone wall above the trapdoor.
The camera was in the perfect spot. The only problem was it was black so it really stood out against the sand-coloured stone.
Tearley said we should copy what Mr Black had done with the trapdoor and paint the camera the same colour as th
e wall. Like a camouflage.
Squid got some model fighter planes for Christmas, and the models came with paint. So I raced home and ‘borrowed’ a couple of little tubs of yellow and mustard colours. We mixed them up and painted the camera. We even mixed some soil into it so it looked really authentic.
I’m pretty sure that the camera will catch Mr Black doing whatever he does. We need it to because, unless we get a reward, we’ve got no chance of getting the tinnie.
After we got the camera ready we hid the milk crate in the bushes round the back of the house.
Then we had a skim. I got eighteen skims. Tearley reckoned that she got fourteen, but conveniently it was when Wrigs and I were looking the other way. Wrigs got three throwing left-handed.
I wonder if there is a world record for skimming with a broken arm. If there is, Wrigs might be in with a chance.
CHAPTER 19
DAY 18: Tuesday
My skims: 19
Wriggler’s skims: 0 (Too sore from yesterday. He’s now our lookout.)
Tearley’s skims: 14 (For real.)
Got my skimming groove back.
Total needed to buy tinnie and repay Tearley: $825
We’ve got as much chance of earning $825 as we do $725.
Ever since Mum roused on me for having pebbles in my pockets, I had a new tactic. I stopped putting my dirty shorts in the washing basket. I just put them back in the drawer. And it paid off big-time. When I got up, I pulled on the shorts with the rocks I took from the police station last week. I couldn’t wait to try them out.
We needed to go to the river every day to check the camera. Inside it is a little memory card which records the photos which the camera has taken overnight. We had to take the card out every morning and check it on Tearley’s laptop.
We met at the top of View Street before going down to the house. Tearley had her computer with her.
Wriggler volunteered to take on the role of lookout. Very brave, not. I crept down the pathway to the house with Tearley.
We grabbed the milk crate from the bushes and I used it to reach the camera. I passed the card down to Tearley, who put it in her card reader and checked if there was anything on it.
I was sure the camera would have taken loads of photos.
There were none.
‘It mustn’t be working,’ I said.
‘Or maybe Mr Black didn’t come here last night,’ said Tearley.
As we were leaving I said, ‘Let’s have a quick skim while we’re here.’
The pebbles were burning a hole in my pocket.
The first stone left my hand beautifully and I got nineteen skims. That was my best ever. But I couldn’t get too confident, I should be up to thirty according to my original plan. Still, I definitely had my skimming rhythm back.
Tearley made me give her one of the cops’ stones. She got fourteen.
CHAPTER 20
DAY 19: Wednesday
My skims: 22
Wriggler’s skims: 0
Tearley’s skims: 14 (She’s peaked.)
If I keep improving like this, I’ll get the record.
Total needed to buy tinnie and repay Tearley: $825
We’ve lost any chance of getting the tinnie.
When I got to the top of View Street no one was there, even though it was 9.00 am exactly. We’d arranged to meet then and go down to the river together. Wrigs turned up five minutes later. He’d slept in.
We waited and waited for Tearley.
She finally turned up at 9.34.
‘Where have you been?’ I said.
‘Violin lesson.’
Violin lesson. Who does violin lessons? In the holidays.
We went down to the deserted house and checked the memory card from the camera. There was still nothing on it.
When we got back onto View Street, I said to Tearley, ‘I told you that camera’s not working. I reckon we take it back to the shop.’
‘No, we can’t. It’s got paint all over it,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to test the sensor out. Someone needs to go down to the house at night and stand in front of the camera in the dark. If it doesn’t take a picture then we know it’s broken.’
‘Bags not me,’ said Wrigs. ‘Anyway, I reckon Mr Black’s a ghost.’
‘What?’ said Tearley.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Wrigs, which is usually what he says just before he says something really strange. ‘Mr Black is a ghost. Probably the ghost of the kid that was killed at the house, but now he’s grown up.’
It’s scary what Wrigs’ mind comes up with if he’s left on his own for too long. Obviously he had spent too much time being lookout.
‘That’s stupid,’ I said.
‘No, think about it,’ Wriggler said to me. ‘No one else has ever seen him. Just you and me. And he always appears out of nowhere and then disappears again.’
‘What about Squid? He saw Mr Black,’ I said.
‘When?’
‘It was Mr Black who gave him the ten dollars for the biscuits. The ten-dollar note that Squid vomited all over.’
‘You didn’t tell me that.’
Oops. I’d forgotten I hadn’t told Wrigs. Still it was too late to keep on lying now so I decided to tell the truth.
‘How could I? You were sure Mr Black was trying to kill you. You’d have freaked out.’
Wrigs thought for a moment, then decided to change the subject.
‘Did Squid know who he was?’
‘No. He thought he was just some dude.’
‘That’s what I mean. He turns up to your house, then disappears. Then he turns up at my house, and disappears. That’s classic ghost action. He knows we’ll see him and then he vanishes. He’s haunting us.’
‘Oh, yeah, sure,’ I said.
‘Well, how come the camera hasn’t taken a photo of him?’ Wrigs said.
‘He was on the ghost film we made,’ I said.
‘Exactly, he is haunting us. He’s just waiting until he gets us alone, and then he’ll vivisect us,’ said Wrigs.
I’m not sure how Wrigs gets stuff like this in his head, but it’s too scary to think about. Both the ghost theory and Wriggler’s brain.
‘I reckon we’ve missed Mr Black completely,’ I said. ‘He’s done whatever he wanted to do at the house and now he’s gone away again. There’s not going to be any reward money. We’ll never get the tinnie now. What a waste of a hundred bucks.’
‘You still have to pay me back,’ said Tearley.
The only good news was that the world record is looking like a chance again now I’m back in form and we have the river to ourselves again.
CHAPTER 21
DAY 20: Thursday
Too early for skimming or thinking about tinnies.
Still shaking. The scaredest I’ve ever been.
I woke up so early it was still dark. The clock next to my bed said 4.00 am. I hadn’t slept much. I’d spent the whole night daring myself to check the sensor on the camera at the old house. I decided it was now or never.
I crept out of bed. As I tiptoed to the door I tripped over a wetsuit that Dean had left lying on the floor.
Dean sat bolt upright in bed and said, ‘Who’s that?’
Busted, and I hadn’t even got out of the bedroom. I said, ‘No one.’
‘Good,’ he said and lay back down. Sometimes even I’m shocked at how thick Dean is. He was already fast asleep again, snoring his head off.
I was afraid of waking everyone up. The house is so old it creaks every time you move. I timed my moves so that every time Dean snored I took a step towards the front door.
When I got outside the house, the world was totally still. Not even the trees were moving. It was like the scene from a movie where someone wakes up and discovers everyone else in the world has disappeared. I wanted to go back to bed.
I knew the only way of stopping myself from turning back was to start running.
I ran down Phillip Avenue and up the hill of George Street. I
pounded down Yarran Street and marched onto View Street. It wasn’t until I made it to the pathway down to the river that I got scared again.
I crept down the path and into the clearing.
It was so dark, I could only just make out the shape of the house against the river.
It was so silent it was frightening. There was the hum of the cicadas, of course, and some frogs croaking, and the water lapping. But apart from that there were no noises at all. I think they call it ‘deathly quiet’ for good reason.
All I had to do was go into the deserted house and move around a bit in the kitchen, to check if the camera was working. I’d be in and out in twenty seconds.
I took in a huge breath, like I was about to dive into a swimming pool, and walked through the doorway and down the hallway.
‘Twenty seconds, twenty seconds,’ I kept saying to myself.
I couldn’t see a thing inside the house, so I put my hands out to feel my way along the walls. I made it into the kitchen but then I heard a noise. It was from outside. It was an engine.
I froze. I couldn’t stop thinking about Mr Black cutting me open and pulling my guts out, just like Wrigs had said.
The engine kept coming closer and closer, until it sounded like it was inside the house. Suddenly a beam of light came through the broken kitchen window. It was a boat, a little tinnie, going past. Probably a fisherman going to catch the early tide. Phew.
I waited until it motored past, then I crept in to the centre of the room where the camera would see me.
I waved my arms around and did some star jumps. The camera was supposed to pick up the slightest movement, but I wanted to make sure it saw me.
Then I heard another noise.
A scraping noise.
It was like a stick being scratched on metal. I couldn’t work out where it was coming from. It was close, but not in the room. It sounded like it was coming from below me.
Then I realised it was from under the floor. Under Mr Black’s manhole.