‘I think he’s embarrassed,’ she whispered into my ear. ‘This is the only present he’s brought. Give him time, love. Open it and talk to him later.’
I did. It was a book. An obviously second-hand book. It had a sticker with the book exchange logo on it. Inside, some strange hand had written, “For Jim on his fiftieth birthday.” The price was still on it. Eight dollars fifty cents. And a promise to give me three dollars back if I exchanged it.
The book was titled Endangered Animals of Australia. It had been published in 1992.
It was the best Christmas present I’d ever received.
When I eventually knocked on the door, heard the muffled ‘Come in’ and opened up, Dyl looked as though he’d been having his own private Christmas party. Cola cans littered the bedside cabinet.
Blacky was curled up on my bed, examining his bum with considerable interest.
I hadn’t seen him since the episode with Al. Now it appeared he was still bunking down in our cabin.
‘I’m happy to see you, tosh,’ he said, extracting his head from his rear end.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I couldn’t operate the air-conditioning.’
Mongrel!
Still, it was the season of goodwill.
‘Merry Christmas, guys,’ I said.
‘What?’ said Blacky. ‘Peace and goodwill to all men? How about peace and goodwill to all living things? How about …’
‘Blacky,’ I said. ‘Shut up, okay? Just shut up. For once in your miserable life.’
So much for goodwill!
‘You’d think that on this day, of all days, you’d want to listen to reason, tosh. But once a human, always a human, I guess.’
I held up my hand.
‘You want reason?’ I said. ‘How about this? You, bucko, set us up. You put us into serious danger by arranging a trap. You relied on my obviously stupid trust in you. And betrayed it.’
‘Yeah, but …’
‘I haven’t finished,’ I said. ‘Not only that, but how did Al know about the government’s plan to introduce croc hunting, hey? I think we can eliminate the Internet as a source of information. I doubt he reads the local newspaper. We’ve covered the watching-the-local-news-onthe-plasma-TV angle. Only one explanation adds up. Someone – correction, some thing – told him. I wonder who that could have been.’
There was silence for at least a minute.
‘The ends justify the means,’ said Blacky finally. ‘We have righted an injustice. Two injustices.’ But his voice didn’t sound convinced.
‘We could’ve died, Blacky. Don’t you care about us at all?’
The silence was even longer this time.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do. But … hey, Marc. You guys did an awesome job. I was proud of you. And I never really believed you’d be in danger. Not really. Probably not. Maybe not.’
I didn’t say anything. Dylan gazed at me, but he didn’t speak. I think he realised something important was going on between me and Blacky.
‘I’m leaving soon,’ said Blacky. ‘Jobs to do. You know how it is.’
‘When?’
‘Now. I have to go. But, Marc … if you want, I can leave you alone from now on. You know … you’ve done enough. More than I would have thought possible. If anything comes up in the future, I could always find someone else. Give you a break.’
I folded my arms.
‘There are, what, another four people in Australia with powers like mine? Isn’t that it?’
‘Something like that.’
‘So you could afford to do without my help?’
‘If necessary. Wouldn’t be good, but I’m serious. You’ve done enough.’
‘Wrong, Blacky,’ I said. ‘It’s never enough. You come back again, okay? If we are needed.’
If a dog could smile, Blacky smiled.
‘All right, tosh,’ he said. ‘If you insist. Now I must go.’
‘Before you do,’ I said, ‘I have a present.’ I pulled a wrapped package from my bedside cabinet and held it towards him.
‘Merry Christmas.’
Blacky’s nose twitched.
‘How original!’ he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘A bone. Well, gosh, golly and strike me down with a feather duster. Let’s all live the cliché, shall we? How about I roll over, play dead and then go and bury it while everyone talks about how cute I am?’
‘Not much chance of that,’ I replied. ‘And it’s great to see your gentle side didn’t last long!’
‘Sorry, mush,’ said Blacky. He sounded sorry, too. ‘I have been very ungrateful and insensitive. But, as it turns out, I have a present for you guys, as well.’
‘You do? What is it?’
‘This.’
I didn’t see him leave. One moment he was there, lying on my bed. The next he’d disappeared. But he’d found time to unwrap his present for us.
‘Oh my God,’ wailed Dylan, sitting bolt upright on his bed. ‘That is so foul.’
We kicked open the door and staggered into the clean air of the Northern Territory.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BARRY JONSBERG was born in Liverpool, England, and now lives in Darwin, Australia with his wife, children and two dogs – Jai and Zac, neither of whom, thankfully, share Blacky’s flatulence problems.
A Croc Called Capone is Barry’s second book for younger readers and is a follow-up to The Dog That Dumped on My Doona. He has also written several novels for young adults, all of which have been published to great acclaim. The Whole Business with Kiffo and the Pitbull was shortlisted for the CBC Book of the Year (Older Readers) in 2005. His second book, It’s Not All About YOU, Calma! won the Adelaide Festival Award for Children’s Literature and was shortlisted for the CBC Book of the Year (Older Readers) in 2006. Dreamrider was shortlisted for the 2007 NSW Premier’s Award (Ethel Turner Award). Another novel for older readers, Ironbark, was published in June 2008, followed by Cassie in November 2008.
Barry once nearly tripped over a five-metre crocodile sunning itself on a riverbank outside Darwin. He didn’t hang around to chat. Instead, he ran the twenty kilometres home as his pants needed changing.
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