The Punjabi Pappadum

by Robert Newton

  “Roger.”

  The boys in the back were hard up against the front seat now, eyes peeled. A group of three men shuffled nervously under the spotlight.

  “What’s going on?” asked Travis.

  “Keep your shirt on,” said Ron, adjusting the telescopic lens. “Let’s see … We’ve got three suits — nothing fancy. Public service, I’d say. Caucasian and middle-aged — certainly not players.”

  “What’s a player?” asked Dexter.

  “A heavy,” explained Ron, keeping his eyes peeled. “Someone with form. You know, a crim.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “You see the way they walked straight in under the spotlight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re stupid. A player would’ve gone round the side or the back, where it’s dark.”

  “They look nervous,” said Sam.

  “You’re clever, too,” chirped Ron.

  Sensing the coast was clear, the smaller, ratty-looking man rapped on the double red doors. Seconds later they opened.

  “Bingo!” breathed Ron. “It’s my old mate Grubby. Okay everyone, here’s the plan.”

  It was simple, really. Sam was to act as the decoy, positioned in front of Burger Barn — Sector One. If things went wrong, she was to create a diversion using Dexter’s old skateboard and two sachets of tomato sauce. Tacky, but highly effective. Covering Sector Two would be Dexter and Travis. Ron, Veejay and the telescopic camera had Sector Three.

  11.15 pm.

  “Okay guys, we’re on,” said Ron. “Do you remember what I told you earlier?”

  “What, about taking out the tea bag before you put the milk in?” asked Dexter.

  “No. The plan, Dexter, the plan. We need to find out where they’re sitting inside so we can get the camera to the closest window. It’ll be light inside so they shouldn’t be able to see out. Keep a low profile, and stay out of sight. Got it?”

  “Got it!”

  Finally, after weeks of inactivity, the call for action had come. They crouched together in a tight circle with their arms around each other’s shoulders. Crime fighters they were now, connected by a silent oath of trust. Veejay broke the silence with a couple of deep breaths, as if inhaling the night air might somehow give him strength.

  “Phew!”

  “Sorry,” said Sam, “I think it’s my shoes again.”

  The group broke into Sectors, then began to move. Slowly they shimmied into position, working the shadows and hiding in dark corners.

  “Sector Two in position,” whispered Dexter, on the two-way.

  Sam huddled behind a hotted-up ute parked kerbside then followed suit. “Sector One in position.”

  “Acknowledged,” replied Ron.

  Peeking through the side windows, it became clear that Sector Three was closest to the action. At the east end of the bar, the three suits were busy backslapping each other over a free beer. Slowly, a figure moved in front of the window at Sector Two. It was Grubby. Dexter quickly killed the two-way and pulled Travis back into the darkness. Just metres away they were now, hidden by a giant elm tree, both completely still. Instinctively they tried shallow breathing like two kids playing a dangerous game of hide-and-seek. But it was impossible. In the stillness of the night it was as if two human vacuum cleaners had started spring cleaning in Sector Two.

  Still at the window, Grubby ran a hand over his tatty goatee. Surely he’d seen them, so why hadn’t he made a move? Then the boys remembered what Ron had said about not being able to see out. Grubby was staring at his reflection. Standing there, he produced a toothpick and went to work on his crooked teeth, picking out bits of food, then sucking them back down his throat. Satisfied, he turned and walked towards the others at the end of the bar. Quietly, Dexter and Travis moved out from the safety of the elm, flashed Sam a thumbs-up on the way past and joined the others at Sector Three.

  “What happened?” asked Ron. “We lost contact.”

  “We had to kill the two-way,” whispered Travis.

  “Fair enough. Listen, it looks like this is the best spot. We’ve already got some good shots, but we need something that’s going to really hurt them.”

  Luckily, they didn’t have to wait long.

  “Hang on, this looks promising,” said Ron, lifting the camera to his right eye. “Good boy, Grubby. I wonder what’s in those three yellow envelopes?”

  Ron’s trigger finger got busy on the telescopic camera.

  “Come on, boys, don’t be shy,” he whispered. “Show Uncle Ron what’s inside.”

  Zoom. Click.

  “Gotcha!”

  Like a fisherman whose line’s been swallowed, Ron went to work, reeling off shot after shot.

  “That’s it, fellas, make sure you count it now … Oh, this is beautiful.”

  Finally the succession of clicks ended with the zing of a rewinding film.

  “Show’s over, boys,” said Ron. “Let’s go.”

  Before the boys had a chance to move, Burger Barn’s double red doors burst open. Sectors Two and Three hugged the brickwork, pressing their faces hard against the restaurant’s east wall.

  “What were you bloody well thinking, parking the ute out front, ya moron?” yelled Grubby, giving his offsider a clip across his left ear. “I could train a monkey to do a better job than you. God knows it’d be a damn sight cheaper.”

  “Sorry boss.”

  “You got the keys?”

  “Yep.”

  “And the address for the drop-off?”

  “Seventy-four Boundary Road, Hillbrook.”

  The offsider rubbed his palm slowly down the ute’s side panel like a horse-lover admiring a thoroughbred’s hind quarter.

  “She’s a beaut all right, boss. Must’ve cost you a fortune to hire this baby. It’s got that many extras, a bloke could live in it.”

  “Listen, Mullet, just get in, drive to the drop-off, unload and get yourself back here. Got it?”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “Okay then, I’ll see you in three hours.”

  “Sweet.”

  Checking that the canvas was secured correctly over the tray, Mullet jumped into the driver’s seat and took off. With Grubby back inside, Sectors Two and Three hightailed it back across the road to the laneway. The Morris was empty.

  “Where’s Sam?” asked Ron, worried.

  “She was supposed to be out front,” replied Dexter.

  Four sets of eyes peered out from the darkened laneway, searching frantically for signs of movement. Nothing stirred.

  Suddenly a faint but familiar voice crackled over the two-way.

  “Sector One to Sector Three, come in.”

  “Sector Three here,” answered Ron. “You had us worried there for a minute, Sam. Where are you?”

  “On my way to Hillbrook, I think.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Sorry, I did. I couldn’t help it. I’m under the canvas but I think I’m on to something.”

  “Hang tight, Sam, we’re on our way … Get in, boys!”

  Ron pressed the accelerator to the floor and the Morris responded as best it could. Down the street it chugged, first gear, second, then third. Soon it was out on the highway, roaring and whining in top gear.

  “Is that it?” asked Travis.

  “’Fraid so,” replied Ron. “We’re flat stick.”

  The passengers were edgy. By now, everyone had done the maths in their heads. It was simple — Hillbrook was an hour and a half away. The longer they drove, the wider grew the gap between the two cars. All they could think of was Sam, huddled under the canvas, scared sick.

  Dexter grabbed the two-way.

  “Sam, it’s Dexter, do you read?”

  “Only just,” came a thin reply. “Nice night for a drive, hey?”

  “Are you all right?”

  The two-way crackled static then broke up.

  “Are you all right?” persisted Dexter. “Sam, do you read?”

  Silence.

/>   It was official. Playtime was over. Inside the Morris, everyone was thinking the same thing.

  “Mullet!” croaked Veejay.

  “Not necessarily,” said Ron. “Could be we’re out of range.”

  “Maybe we should ring the police,” suggested Travis. “This is getting out of hand.”

  “You’re right,” admitted Ron, “there’s a service station about fifteen minutes up the highway.”

  Behind the steering wheel, Ron crunched up and dipped his head down low like a cyclist, as if doing so might make them go that little bit faster. Ridiculously, the boys followed suit. Like four hunchbacks they were, eyes peeled, counting red reflectors on the side of the road. The fifteen minutes seemed like a lifetime.

  Finally, their headlights lit a blue “ROAD-HOUSE” sign.

  “Here we go,” said Ron, veering off to the left.

  Up the driveway they hurtled and pulled up at a pump.

  “You can all straighten up now,” said Ron. “We’ve stopped.”

  Slowly the boys lifted their heads.

  “It’s the ute!” shrieked Dexter.

  Sure enough, pulling out of the restaurant car park was the hotted-up ute. A dopey-looking Mullet was finger-tapping a tune on the steering wheel.

  Slowly he cruised passed the bowsers with an idiot grin looking for an audience. Besotted, he was, like a new father in a maternity ward. He let the tyres spin then disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

  Ron opened his door and checked his pockets for coins.

  “Quick lads, who’s got some change?”

  Desperately the boys went for their wallets, ignoring the rat-a-tat-tat on the front windscreen.

  “Can I fill her up for you, fellas?”

  The figure moved into view beside the Morris, breathing words smooth like river stones.

  “What about the windscreen, it looks filthy?”

  It was the voice of an angel.

  “Sam!”

  Inside the roadhouse, Ron took care of the orders while the gang cut through tables crammed with noisy truckers. Very carefully, they moved towards a vacant spot in the corner, past tattooed forearms lifting cups of steaming coffee to appreciative lips.

  “Allow me,” said Dexter, sliding a chair out for Sam.

  “Wow,” she squealed. “A girl could get used to that sort of treatment, you know.”

  Before long, Ron returned with a tray loaded with milkshakes and an assortment of deep-fried roadhouse fare.

  Sam noticed her fellow crime fighters waiting politely for her to start.

  “Knock it off, you lot, I’m not the bloody Queen. Dig in.”

  And they did.

  Ron steadied himself with a mouthful, white and one.

  “I’m really sorry, Sam,” he said. “That goes for all of you, actually. I don’t know what I was thinking getting you kids involved in all this. Maybe it’s time I put my name down for Happy Valley. I think I’ve lost me marbles.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Sam, patting his hand. “That was the most fun I’ve had in years.”

  “What happened back there?” said Travis. “Why’d you get in the ute?”

  “Call it a hunch,” explained Sam. “When I heard Grubby and Mullet talking I decided to run with Plan B.”

  “Plan B?” protested Veejay. “How come no one briefed me about Plan B.”

  “I made it up,” said Sam.

  “And the two-way?” asked Dexter. “What happened?”

  “I had to kill it when Mullet pulled in to the service station and parked the ute.”

  “Well, at least no one got hurt,” said Ron. “And I suppose there’s still the photos.”

  “I think you’d better pour yourself a fresh cuppa, Ron,” said Sam, beaming.

  “Why, what’s up?”

  Slowly Sam ruffled through her jeans pocket, straightened out a wad of hundred-dollar notes then placed them on the tray next to a bowl of dim sims.

  “That’s what’s up.”

  “Cripes!”

  Shocked, the boys stared at the green notes in disbelief until Ron picked them up and pushed them under. the food tray, out of sight. All four heads swung towards Sam.

  “In the back of the ute,” she explained. “Hundreds and fifties, mostly. Piles of it, stuffed into Burger Barn takeaway boxes.”

  “No wonder Grubby was so nervous,” said Ron. “I wonder if it’s the cash from the Citrus Growers robbery?”

  “What do we do now?” asked Travis.

  “Leave it with me,” said Ron. “I know exactly what to do. In the meantime we pay for this feed and get you all home.”

  SHAHI KORMA .......... $10.00

  A favourite of the Emperors of India! Cubes of chicken and cashew nuts cooked in a creamy sauce.

  The next day, the four members of Deadly gathered nervously in the Macallister’s garage, ready for their very first formal practice session.

  “I don’t know if resigning from Regional Boys was such a good idea,” said Veejay, worried. “What if we stink?”

  “Don’t worry,” smiled Sam. “I aired my runners overnight.”

  “Even if we do stink, at least we can say we’ve had a go,” chirped Dexter. “Can’t ask for more than that.”

  “Yeah, s’pose.”

  Theo Ryan and his jingle jangle of gold chains stopped for a breather at the roller door.

  “Deadly, I presume?”

  Today he was dressed down in white pants, a yellow polo shirt and blue jumper, which he had stylishly wrapped around his shoulders.

  “Thanks for coming, Theo,” said Travis, sliding off a deck chair.

  “Not a problem. Saturday’s usually my baking day, but what the heck.”

  “This is Sam,” pointed Travis.

  “Hi Theo.” She smiled, offering her hand. “I’m the girl.”

  “Nice to meet you, Sam. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Likewise,” she replied. “You’re the lead singer of Burger Band.”

  “Not anymore I’m not. I resigned — conflict of interest, shall we say.”

  “So, you’ve retired then?”

  “Not on your life. I’m getting a band together with a couple of guys from the car yard. We’ve had a couple of jams already and the lads are wailing. Got the name worked out too — ‘Only One Owner’ — what do you think, clever huh?”

  “You’re a genius, Theo,” said Travis.

  “Looks like we might have a gig, too.”

  “Already? Where?”

  “The Longwood Show, no less.”

  “How’d you manage that?”

  “Never underestimate a used car salesman, Travis.”

  Undoing the knot in his blue jumper, Theo began clicking his fingers, herding the band together for a closer look.

  “Enough about me, let’s talk about you … Deadly hey? You look good together, I like that. Move to the middle, Sam, beside Dexter, I want some girl power in there. Now we’re talking. Yep, that’s the line-up, all right … Spread out a little … Perfect.”

  Next up, Theo had them each sit on a stool in their positions an arm’s length apart. The real test, of course, was the vocals.

  “Have you had a chance to listen to the tape I gave you?” asked Theo.

  The group went quiet.

  “It’s a compilation of songs that I thought might suit. What say we pick one then decide how we’re going to tackle it vocally. What’s important for now is the melody.”

  “We’ve already decided on the song,” said Sam.

  “Fantastic,” hooted Theo. “Which one? … Hang on, let me guess … It’s the Kylie one, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not off the tape, Theo. We hope you don’t mind. We want to do an old Frank Sinatra song called ‘The Way You Look Tonight’.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No,” said Veejay seriously. “We all love it. We found a really cool version on a movie soundtrack, by a guy called Tony Bennett. It’s awesome.”

&nbs
p; For a moment Theo sat there, running through the song in his mind, thumping out the rhythm on his knee and occasionally letting loose with some vocals.

  “Okay, it might work. We’ll have to play around with it, though. Any ideas on how you want to do it?”

  The three boys looked at each other and nodded.

  “We want Sam singing melody,” said Travis.

  “We do?” croaked Sam, nearly falling off the stool.

  “She’s awesome, Theo. You should hear her. We’ll do backing vocals.”

  “Girl up front,” roared Theo, clapping his hands excitedly. “I like it, it’s very ballsy. Have you got the CD? Let’s hear it.”

  Soon the garage was filled with the unmistakable vocals of Tony Bennett. Underneath them, a polished backing band played it slow and tight, and very, very cool.

  “It’s got potential,” mused Theo. “Way too straight though, we’ll have to groove it up.”

  “Can we do that?” asked Veejay.

  “Of course we can. Wait till I’ve finished remixing it. I’ll do something funky, then you guys can come in over the top. How’s that sound?”

  “Sounds good, Theo,” said Travis.

  “Okay then. You’ll have the tape before the next rehearsals. See you then.”

  BARRA KEBAB .......... $8.95

  Lamb loin chops marinated in a generous helping of ginger and a special blend of spices and grilled to perfection.

  Over the next week, no one saw much of Ron. He was busy pushing buttons, … on the job, calling up favours and chasing contacts.

  Theo Ryan too was like a man possessed. His new arrangement of “The Way You Look Tonight” had been mixed and delivered. You had to hand it to Theo. Obsessed as he was with gold chains and baking, he sure knew his stuff when it came to music. Somehow he’d managed to get it just right without losing the familiar melody of the original song. A strong drum beat, Hammond organ and guitar injected a new quality into the song. It sounded fresher and younger but not too boppy. It was, without a doubt — DEADLY.

  “I thought you’d like it,” said Theo proudly. “Have you had a chance to play around with the vocals yet?”

  “That’s all we’ve been doing,” replied Travis.

  “Okay then, let’s hear it.”