Game Play

by Hazel Edwards

  ‘Okay if we go to the newsagents first? Then the post office?’

  Sara looked relieved. ‘Buying postcards of Cairns? There’s a beautiful one of the cane fires. All orange and black. And I can see you from here if you go to the newsagent. Check back in ten minutes.’

  ‘Fifteen?’ suggested Christopher quickly. ‘We’ll show you the postcards.’

  Amy was a postcard collector. And it was the first believable excuse Christopher could invent for not staying fulltime in the UMs room. But he also wanted to check on something Tom had said about mail order magazines. And the newsagents was the best place to start.

  Sara phoned and said that Gloria would be there very soon, and she was.

  ‘I’ll take them to the shops just for a few minutes,’ said Gloria.

  ‘Then I’ve got other work to do.’

  ‘Fine. If your aunt arrives, I’ll come and get you. Or send someone,’ said Sara.

  Gloria walked them to the row of shops which included an Australia Presents shop selling Vegemite in mini jars, toy koalas and live crabs in a big tank. The crabs scuttled across the glass tank. Amy was as fascinated as the Japanese tourists who were buying some live crabs to take home in Eskies, complete with quarantine certificates.

  Just then her beeper went. Gloria answered it. ‘Stay here and look at these, I’ll be back in a minute.’

  ‘Fine. Need any more postcards, Amy?’ Christopher found a POST OFFICE sign within a shop. ‘I want to ask the postmaster something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Something Tom told me about.’ Christopher wasn’t sure exactly how to say ‘poste restante’ and he couldn’t spell it either.

  ‘Okay. It doesn’t matter much now. Gloria got her smuggler.’

  ‘But there could be others, sending in stuff by mail. Tom told me.’

  The airport newsagency was brightly coloured. Racks were full of holiday impulse presents like Cairns Tropical Air in a sealed can, t-shirts and soft toys.

  ‘Who buys this stuff?’ Christopher tried to read the words on the can. ‘What happens when you open the can?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Amy. ‘It just gets filled up with the air of wherever you are.’

  ‘Dumb present.’ He put it back next to the BULL DUST tin.

  Amy thought the t-shirts were worse. ‘Look. This one is printed

  ‘I’m With A Bore.’ Who’d buy that?’

  ‘Someone pretty boring. Those sporting sponsors ones looked neat.’

  That reminded Christopher about the soccer player without the sponsor logo on the t-shirt. But perhaps that was just a mistake.

  ‘Do you need some help?’ The owner had a buy-or-else voice.

  ‘No thanks. Just looking.’

  Amy judged they had about ten minutes before the owner got annoyed enough to throw them out.

  ‘Look for overseas ads.’ Christopher was in the aisle marked

  SPORTS. The sporting magazines were grouped together. Just near the plastic-covered Girlie magazines. ‘Hey. Look at these.’

  Amy was positive she’d never look like that. Even if she wanted to. And she didn’t. They divided up the sporting magazines and had a quick illegal ‘freebie’ look through the ads at the back. They couldn’t afford to buy them all. Sometimes it was useful being shorter than adult height. They didn’t show over the top of the stands.

  ‘But we’re on the security camera. Look.’ Christopher pointed to the web ‘eye’ following them.

  ‘We’re not doing anything wrong. I reckon we’ve got about eight minutes before they throw us out.’

  ‘We could buy one copy if we find the right sort of ads. Have you got any Australian money? I haven’t.’

  That was another problem. In her pocket, Amy had some Australian coins mixed up with Singapore ones. Amy checked in her bum-bag. ‘A few dollars, but they’re Singapore dollars.’

  ‘We could change it outside. The Bureau de Change is open.’

  Christopher always checked on that wherever they landed.

  ‘Find the magazine ads first. Then we’ll worry about the money. How are the mail order steroids organised? Did Tom tell you?’

  Amy knew Christopher was good at finding out certain things. He listened a lot, and people trusted him.

  ‘Gloria told me. Ads are put in sporting magazines like these.’

  Christopher flicked through the pages. ‘Readers fill in coded order forms. They send money. And the steroids are mailed to them.’

  ‘Who would order?’

  ‘Gym users mainly. Here’s one! SPORTS magazine. The right sort of ad. But that’s a strange address.’ Christopher peered at the small print on the bottom of the ad. ‘What does that mean?’ He pointed to the words Poste Restante.

  ‘It’s P.O.S.T.E. ‘ Amy spelled it out. ‘R.E.S.T.A.N.T.E.’ She sounded out the words. ‘Poste restante. I don’t know. Let’s check with the post office. It sounds like one of their words.’

  ‘Will we buy the magazine?’

  ‘Haven’t got enough money.’

  The newsagent looked very, very polite as they walked past the register to leave the shop. So, from the revolving post card stand Amy quickly chose the cane fires of Cairns. Clouds of orange and black smoke filled the photo.

  ‘Could I have one of these please?’

  ‘Anything else?’ the newsagent said.

  Amy wondered if adults who read the magazines and didn’t buy felt guilty too.

  ‘Have you got an Australian fifty cents?’ she hissed to her brother. One card was all she could afford from her loose change.

  “No.’ Christopher dug in his pocket. ‘Only Singapore coins.’

  Amy piled all her coins into the news agent’s hand. He returned one to her. ‘Not Australian.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Amy remembered her lucky fifty cents coin in Edwina’s passport purse. She fished it out. ‘Here you are.’

  ‘That’s just enough.’ The newsagent rang up the register as if it were a money-grabbing monster under only his control.

  He gave Amy her postcard in a bag with FRIENDLY SHOPPING IN CAIRNS on it. There was Japanese writing on it, too.

  ‘Here you are.’

  As they walked out of the shop, Amy said. ‘We need more money to buy that SPORTS magazine with the suspect ads. Maybe they sell the magaine online? Or we could photocopy the page. There was a photocopier in there. Twenty cents a page.’

  ‘He wouldn’t let us. Anyway I’ve got a better idea.’ Sometimes Christopher had good ideas. This was one of them.

  ‘See those trolleys over there.’ He pointed to the abandoned trolleys near the kerb. People used trolleys to take their bags to the buses or the taxi-stand. In a hurry to leave the airport, they often did not return them to the corrals. ‘Let’s collect a few of them.’

  ‘Why?’ Amy’s mind was still on the magazine. She wanted to do some useful sleuthing. How could the magazine be used to catch the ‘To get the dollar deposits. Look.’ Quickly Christopher rounded up trolleys. He drove them back into the corrals.

  As they clicked into each other, the dollar coins flicked out.

  Christopher collected them. ‘Eight dollars. That SPORTS magazine cost ten.’

  Amy spotted another trolley left near a shop window. ‘I’ll get that one.’ Unfortunately that trolley was a dud. There was no coin inside.

  ‘Let’s try again,’ said Amy. So the twins collected two more trolleys from outside the post office.

  ‘Let’s take these back.’ Christopher pointed. ‘Then let’s ask the post master about Poste Restante.’ He felt quite proud at saying that.

  Amy was the word expert in their family. Pictures were HIS thing.

  The post office part was run by a woman. ‘Post Mistress’ was the label on her desk. She peered suspiciously down at the twins.

  ‘
Why do you want to know about Poste Restante then?’

  ‘Curiosity,’ said Amy cheerfully. ‘We’re clue seekers. Part-time sleuths.’

  ‘That’s a relief. I thought it might be ANOTHER school project.’ said the Post Mistress. ‘I hate finding sample forms.’

  Surprisingly she became quite pleasant as she answered their questions. Her glasses with unusual metal frames glinted. As owners of glasses, the twins always noticed other frames. ‘You can use Poste Restante when you want the post office to hold your mail for you. It’s when you don’t have a home address of your own. Often it’s for people who are travelling. You’ve just come in on the Singapore flight have you?’’

  ‘Yes. Could Poste Restante also be for criminals, who don’t want packages or mail traced to them?’ Christopher had been told that by

  Tom Savvas. ‘How would that work?’

  The eyes of the Post Mistress were thoughtful.

  ‘They’d arrange for an illegal parcel to be sent Poste Restante. Then they’d have to go into any post office to fill in a parcel redirection form and have it sent on to their own address. ‘

  ‘Ahh.’ said the twins. ‘Has anyone done that here recently?”

  ‘I couldn’t say.’

  The twins weren’t sure whether that meant she didn’t know or officially she wouldn’t tell them.

  Christopher realised something. ‘Oh! They wouldn’t have to come in here to fill in the form?’ His first idea was wrong.

  ‘Right. Otherwise they may as well collect the parcel at the same time.’ The Post Mistress continued. ‘Some people address mail or packages care of the post office. Some have post office boxes. They can open the boxes, even when the post office is shut.’

  ‘Are they the ones in banks outside?’ Christopher had noticed the numbers on the boxes on the way in.

  She nodded. ‘They have their own keys. Then they collect it in person or fill in a form for it to be sent on to them. There’s nothing illegal about that.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ said the twins. ‘Could you tell us...’

  ‘If you’re going to ask me about smuggling steroids by mail, you’re too late. That journalist has been in here already. And collected the mail addressed to him.’

  ‘Tom Savvas?’ said the twins together. ‘Where was his mail from?’

  She nodded. ‘Mail is private. We can’t tell strangers about people’s mail. Not unless there is a special authority given.’

  She smiled and her face lit up. ‘He said you might be in here within the hour. He was right. Good luck with your sleuthing.’

  “What did Tom ask about?’

  ‘Ah, that would be telling.’ The Post Mistress smiled.

  ‘Was it about posting a package or collecting one?’ Amy persisted.

  ‘He was asking about how someone might arrange to have a parcel delivered here for collection.’

  Amy and Christopher looked at each other. Who was Tom Savvas chasing? Was he still researching his story? Or was he finding out for himself? What was in his own package? Was he a smuggler himself? Why had he told Christopher about the poste restante?

  ‘Where did he go then?’ Christopher didn’t really expect an answer. But it was worth trying.

  ‘To check on the lockers,’ said the Post Mistress with a little smile.

  ‘He thought that somebody might just leave a bag there for collection by someone else.’ She seemed pleased to have sleuths visiting her post office counter. Perhaps it made a change from just selling stamps?

  ‘Ah!’ Christopher was pleased. They were on the right track.

  ‘Thanks. Could I have one stamp then please?’ With one of the trolley dollars, Amy bought a stamp for her postcard. She put the change in her bum-bag.

  Meanwhile, Christopher pushed back his glasses. He was thinking.

  ‘If mail order is one way the steroids can come in, perhaps someone from our plane will collect a parcel from the post office?’

  ‘Someone already has. Tom Savvas.’ Amy was beginning to suspect the journalist. He knew too much about mail order steroids.

  Christopher agreed. ‘But maybe he was just trying out the system so he could write about it?’

  ‘Where is he now?’ Amy looked around as if expecting

  Christopher to produce Tom like a magician.

  ‘When he left the Arrivals Hall, he said he was going with Gloria to interview a Cairns official.’

  ‘But he must have come here, to the post office. And the post mistress said he went onto the lockers. So was he lying or did something change?’

  Christopher shrugged. ‘The games start today. If a seller didn’t have much time, this would be the closest post office to the International

  Games.’

  ‘There must be others in Cairns. Anyway Gloria’s already caught their smuggler.’ Amy was thinking aloud.

  Christopher wasn’t sure now. ‘I reckon it’s more likely there’d be something hidden in the lockers. One person could put them in and another take them out.’

  ‘Using what?’

  ‘A key.’

  ‘But where would the key be left?’

  ‘In a secret place they’d arranged before.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at the lockers next.’

  In the airport terminal, luggage lockers filled one corner. Most of the locker doors swung open. The lockers went right down to the floor.

  ‘Lock with key, then remove key.’ Amy read the instructions as she dropped her backpack on the floor.

  ‘No keys,’ said Christopher looking around.

  ‘Remove key,’ repeated Amy. ‘Well someone must have. No bags inside either.’ She checked. ‘Only in this one. Number 4. In the middle.’

  Amy tugged at the door. She expected it to be locked. It looked locked.

  It wasn’t. But it was tightly jammed. Inside was an airline carry bag with a CAIRNS tag.

  ‘Is there a name on it?’ asked Christopher excitedly?

  ‘No.’ Amy checked. ‘D’you reckon it’s coming or going?”

  ‘If it’s got a CAIRNS tag, that’s the destination. So it must have come from somewhere else. Look. It’s got the Singapore security tape around the bag. Yellow. This must have come in on our flight.’

  ‘But who does it or did it belong to?’ Amy noticed a scuff mark on the side of the bag. Otherwise it looked just ordinary, like hundreds of others.

  ‘D’you think they ... or he ... or she ... arranged to leave it in a locked locker ... and then the keys were all missing? So it was left anyway? For someone else to pick up?’

  ‘Yes.’ Christopher nodded. The luggage lockers looked like empty tooth sockets with swinging flaps. Christopher swung on the open door. It creaked.

  ‘Get off Christopher. Mum said no more damages bills

  ANYWHERE!’

  ‘Look!’

  From the window, they could see little aeroplanes on the other side of the airport. Some were charter aircraft which flew out to the islands or up to the gulf.

  ‘I like that one.’ Amy pointed to the little boat-shaped seaplane with wheels. ‘It can land on water, too.’

  ‘Ace.’

  ‘Wonder if that goes out over the reefs?’

  Mum told me if we don’t get into any trouble before they arrive, she might take us out on the reef with them.’

  What Mum called ‘trouble’ the twins called ‘finding out.’

  Amy glanced around. ‘We should hide and watch. Let’s see if anyone collects this bag.’

  ‘We might be waiting all day. Where’s Tom Savvas?’ Christopher looked around. ‘D’you think he’s been here already?’

  A thought struck Christopher. ‘Perhaps it’s his bag?’

  ‘Should we have a look inside?’ Amy ran her fingers over the bag.

  ‘Can�
��t. It’s locked. With a tiny padlock. But it’ s an airlines bag, it isn’t a mail package. So it must have come in on the flight, not through the mail. D’you remember what he was carrying?’

  Christopher shook his head. Usually he did notice things like that. But he’d been busy sketching Mr Muscles and the soccer player.

  ‘What about a name and address? The airlines make you write those.’ Christopher checked. There was a name tag. But it was just three lines of runny writing. ‘It could be an M, the first letter. Or maybe it’s an S?’

  Amy looked at the name tag sideways. That didn’t help. In spy stories, they used mirrors to read backwards messages.

  But this was just bad writing. ‘Could be Mr or Ms. That’s not much help.’

  Christopher agreed. ‘Wait here and watch. Stand behind the palm over there. I’ll go back to the newagency and buy that magazine. We’ll show it to Gloria. And give her that pill for testing.’

  ‘Okay.’

  So Christopher left then and didn’t hear Amy’s exclamation. ‘Hey!

  Look who’s over there!’

  Chapter 12

  Bin

  Mr Muscles took a quick look behind him. Amy turned around to see who he was looking for. The soccer team was just getting its gear together. They looked ready to leave. A mini bus was waiting outside with TEAM written on it.

  The driver left the engine running while he clattered down the step to help with the luggage. Different Socks was hanging around at the back of the group. He stared at passing people as if trying to recognise someone.

  Just near the lockers was a bin. Mr Muscles looked around to see if anyone was watching. Amy ducked behind the potted palm. She was wider than the skinny trunk, but there were enough fronds for hiding.

  Mr Muscles fumbled in his luggage. He pulled out the rolled newspaper. He dropped it in the bin.

  Amy watched closely. There wasn’t anything unusual about dropping a newspaper in a bin. But why had Mr Muscles carried it so far? And why hadn’t he read it? Was it just that he didn’t want anymore to carry? Or was he dropping it there for someone else to pick up? Was there something hidden or written inside?

  With a glance in the direction of the soccer-players, Mr Muscles strode away. His clinging track pants revealed the shape of his leg muscles as he moved.