If Thommo gave his seal of approval to the apartment then Danny thought he might get to feel better about things. He might not worry about his dad finding work, Billy all alone in the kennel crying at night like his mum last night at midnight (don’t cry, Mum, please don’t cry), or birds and possums at the mercy of the city night.
Danny bounced gently on his bed. ‘I’ve got the best view of the street,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘I can see everything that happens. It’s like being a detective on a stake-out.’
Thommo peered into the street.
‘Don’t you love it, Thommo?’ prompted Danny. He felt like a salesman working in the showroom next door, trying to convince a buyer that the Mercedes was the best car ever, even if he didn’t believe it himself.
Thommo tilted his head thoughtfully. ‘Hmm,’ he shrugged, pursing his lips. ‘It’s a good view, but a bit boring really.’
‘Yeah, I prefer the TV,’ said Sam. ‘You wouldn’t believe all the shows I can watch now.’
‘No way!’ objected Danny forcefully. ‘I saw a possum last night and a hopping pigeon that couldn’t fly. And the pigeons that can fly all come and sit right in front of my nose on the window ledge. I can touch ’em if I want.’
‘Pigeons and possums? Is that it?’ said Mark. ‘Not like the creek, is it? I mean, you can’t beat the roos, owls, lizards, snakes, cockatoos, butterflies . . .’
‘Yeah, but the other night,’ Danny interrupted quickly, ‘you wouldn’t believe what I saw down there.’
‘What?’ asked Thommo, looking mildly interested.
Danny was as animated as he could be as he told his story of squealing tyres, mysterious movements, big round Mr Caruso and the weird old woman disappearing into dark walls and shadowy alleys.
‘I’m not sure what it was all about,’ he said breathlessly.
Thommo rolled his wide eyes. ‘It will be something horrible, you can bet on that. I’m telling you, in this place nothing but horrible things happen all day, every day, and every night too.’
Raising his eyebrows, Thommo looked to Sam and Danny in turn. He waved a finger of warning. ‘I told you guys when you left Mundowie, the city is full of oddballs and crooks. I bet that big guy you saw in the rainbow apron is up to something nasty.’
No sooner had Mark finished his sentence than the big man sauntered, penguin-like, from his shop out into the street.
‘There you go,’ cried Thommo, pulling hard at Danny’s shirt. ‘It’s so obvious. He’s definitely up to no good.’
Danny looked down and Sam looked over his shoulder.
‘How can you be so sure, Thommo?’ asked Sam.
‘Yeah, how can you tell?’ Danny asked.
‘Duh! Look at him. That big moustache is a dead giveaway. And look at the size of him – big, overfed – it’s obvious.’
Danny eyed Thommo’s portly shape but, as tempting as it was, made no comment.
Thommo took his eyes off the big man. ‘Yep,’ he nodded, clasping Danny’s shoulder with his right hand and Sam’s with his left. ‘Steer clear of him. He’s one, I can tell. You upset him and he’ll have you done away with. That happens all the time in the city.’
‘What do you think, Sam?’ asked Danny.
Sam shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.
Thommo leaned into Danny. It was just like the days of great adventure back in Mundowie. ‘He’s got his eye on you, I reckon.’
Thommo pulled at Danny’s inside-out shirt so the label under his chin rose to his nose. Sam hovered close. Thommo’s eyes were as wide as ping-pong balls when he said, ‘Don’t ever do anything to upset him.’
‘What do you mean?’ Danny swallowed.
Thommo softened his voice. ‘One dark night,’ he said, ‘he could turn up at your door with his thugs and you could disappear. No trace of a body, no clues, nothing. You’ll vanish into thin air.’
Thommo flicked his fingers at Danny’s face in a tiny, silent explosion. ‘Phoot!’
Danny jumped back with a small, startled gasp.
‘He doesn’t look like a thug to me,’ said Sam.
‘Huh! You’ve been fooled by the disguise,’ said Thommo.
Sam tilted his head curiously and asked, ‘So what do you reckon he’s up to then?’
‘Something nasty, I tell you,’ said Thommo, nodding firmly.
The three boys peered down at the big man loitering on the street. As if sensing their eyes upon him, he looked up at the window. Thommo flew backwards, throwing his arms out and taking Danny and Sam with him.
‘Hey!’
The boys tumbled clumsily back onto the bed, laughing nervously. After a moment, when they had regained their composure, they crouched low and lifted their eyes above the windowsill, slowly, like the morning sun creeping over the Mundowie hills.
The big man had gone!
Phoot!
With that, Danny considered his suspicions confirmed. He hated the city. It was a horrible place full of horrible people. No good would come of living here. They had to get home, somehow.
Thommo clutched at Danny’s arm. ‘Hey,’ he gasped. ‘You haven’t had a city blackout yet, have you?’
Danny shook his head and gulped.
Thommo narrowed his eyes and nodded knowingly. ‘Beware the blackout, Danny Allen. That’s when he’ll come and get you. It will be so dark that you won’t be able to see a thing. It’ll be a great mystery and your photo will be on Crimestoppers. I’ll read about you in the papers and see your picture on milk cartons. You’ll vanish. Phoot!’
Danny swallowed and resigned himself to another sleepless night.
Thommo glanced curiously down at Danny’s jeans. He saw the stain. ‘Hey! Did you spill some sauce?’
‘No, that’s blood,’ said Danny.
Thommo groaned and quickly turned away. He’d been known to faint at the sight of blood, even dry, day-old blood.
‘Whose blood?’ he asked, without looking at the stain.
‘Vicki’s,’ said Sam. ‘Danny saved her life, I reckon.’
‘What?’
‘She showed you her leg, didn’t she?’ Sam continued.
Thommo kept his eyes averted. ‘Yeah.’
Danny held his leg up, trying to make Thommo look at the blood. ‘This blood is from that,’ he said.
Thommo looked up at the ceiling. ‘So, what happened?’
When Danny and Sam had told the full story of Vicki’s dog-bite battle and Billy’s near-death experience, Thommo shook his head and began pacing. ‘What a place! You can’t stay. Tell your mum and dad they have to get you out of here. You’re living in a place with no room to swing a cat, you’ve got some big bad guy who dresses in rainbow aprons and is ready to kill you living across the street and there are big dogs trying to bite little kids’ legs off!’
Thommo threw his arms to the air. ‘Get out of here while you can!’ he said. ‘Come back to Mundowie. You can all live at our house. The two spare bedrooms are bigger than this place. You can’t like it here. You have to come back.’
Danny didn’t know what to say. He was glad when Sam butted in.
‘I know what’s eating you,’ he said, nudging Thommo playfully. ‘You’re missing us! You’re bored! You love us so much you can’t live without us!’
‘Love you!’ Thommo grimaced. ‘Don’t be stupid!’ He pushed Sam hard in the chest with two flat hands. Sam fell chuckling onto his bed.
Thommo’s face twitched. ‘I . . . I’ve got heaps to do,’ he stammered. ‘I . . . I go . . . down the creek and . . . everywhere.’
Danny had never heard Thommo stammer before. He always spoke loudly and confidently. Maybe it was the mention of the word love. Or maybe it was something else?
He imagined poor Thommo wandering Mundowie alone, his only company the white soldier statue standing guard at the front of the Mundowie Institute Hall.
He imagined Thommo’s lonely figure trudging along the dry creek bed, kicking stones, his shoulders slumped and looking very forlorn.
Poor Thommo, thought Danny, he’s as lost and lonely as me.
The boys were startled by a loud and insistent knocking. The walls seemed to shudder.
Thommo grabbed at Danny’s arm and pulled him in close. ‘What was that?’
Danny nudged him away. ‘Relax, it’s just someone knocking on the door.’
Thommo cast Danny free and shuffled uneasily on the spot. ‘Well done,’ he said, pointing at Danny. ‘You got it right. I was just checking that you had your wits about you, Danny Allen. Living in the city, you need to be able to read any situation.’
The front door opened with the familiar chinking of the chain and squeal of the hinges.
Thommo was the first to poke his head out of the bedroom door.
‘Argh!’ He jumped. ‘Hide! Stay out of sight!’ he hissed, throwing back an outstretched arm to block Sam and Danny’s path. Looking terrified he spun back, pinning himself and his friends against the wall.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Danny.
‘It’s him!’
‘Who?’
‘The big, bad Caruso guy. He’s standing at the door!’
‘What?’ chorused Danny and Sam.
Despite Thommo’s protests, they took a peek. Thommo was right. The big guy was standing at the door with a huge wicker basket wrapped in clear cellophane with a huge golden ribbon on the handle. He was smiling broadly.
Sam peered through the crack near the hinges of the door. As if suddenly waking from a trance he smiled and shook his head. He patted Thommo on the shoulder and said, ‘You know, you had me going there for a minute, Thommo.’ He moved to the doorway.
Thommo grabbed his arm. ‘Don’t go out there, Sam,’ he growled.
Sam thumped Thommo’s bicep as he broke away from his grasp. ‘You’re nuts, Thommo. The man owns a cake shop. He looks pretty friendly to me, and I like the look of that basket he’s holding.’ Sam took Danny’s arm and Thommo’s shirt and pulled. ‘Come on, let’s go say hello.’
Danny, Sam and Thommo (who had pushed his two friends in front of him as human shields) shuffled out to stand in the bedroom doorway. There wasn’t a lot of room in the living area and Mr Caruso’s barrel-like figure was taking up a fair slice of it.
Danny studied him, looking for clues. He wasn’t wearing his shop apron, but he did have a red and white polka-dot bow tie. His dark pinstriped trousers were held up with bright red braces that crinkled the shoulders of his sunset-orange shirt. Danny had never seen such shiny black shoes (shinier than the cars in the Mercedes showroom). He looked like a giant boiled lolly.
The big basket Mr Caruso was carrying looked heavy. His face was red from climbing the stairs and his forehead was beaded with little jewels of perspiration glistening like dewdrops on Mundowie grass.
Smiling broadly, with his mound-like stomach thrust forward, Mr Caruso waltzed joyously around the room, shaking hands as he went. ‘Hello, helloooo, I am Carlo Caruso. I am very pleased to meet you.’
Danny found himself fascinated by Mr Caruso’s accent. Danny wondered which country of the globe he was from.
‘I have a shop across the street,’ the big man announced, ‘Caruso’s World of Fine Cakes and Confectionery.’ He put the basket on the bench top. ‘I have brought some things for my new neighbours,’ he turned to Vicki, ‘especially the little one with the sore leg who waves to me.’
Vicki waved to Mr Caruso as if she was still looking down at him from the window. Danny ground his teeth. Little idiot, he thought, I told her not to wave at him. ‘Hellooooo, Mr Carlo Caruso,’ she sang in her cutest voice.
‘Helloooo,’ he sang back operatically.
Danny watched Vicki as she hobbled over, her eyes glued to the basket of goodies. Danny knew what she was up to. She was hedging for the biggest share of the basket booty. With a sad little face she was deliberately making her leg look more painful than it actually was. Danny would have to be on his guard: today was a day that she could get away with anything.
Danny turned his attention to the basket. The way it glittered conjured images of the shop at night with everything sparkling enticingly inside.
‘This,’ announced Mr Caruso, rotating the basket proudly, ‘is for you all.’ Vicki smiled and then lunged at the basket and began clawing wildly at the wrapping.
Danny’s mum took hold of the collar of Vicki’s dress and pulled her backwards. ‘What do you say to Mr Caruso?’
‘I said hello,’ Vicki protested.
Thank you, her mum mouthed.
‘Oh, thank you,’ said Vicki quickly. ‘Now can I have some?’
Mr Caruso laughed heartily. ‘Of course, of course! You can all help yourselves!’
Suddenly, Danny was almost knocked to the ground as Thommo burst from the back of the pack. He charged at the basket. Any deep-seated concerns he might have held that Mr Caruso was life-threateningly dangerous were blocked out by the lure of sweet treasures. He only had eyes for the basket.
There were giant cupcakes that sat like huge gemstones, their thick icing jewelled with tiny shimmering balls, and rising from the basket on sticks were brightly coloured lollipops the size of dinner plates.
Danny’s mouth watered but he held back. He was confused and unsure. Was Mr Caruso a bad guy or a good neighbour? He looked across the apartment to Mr Caruso, who was smiling broadly with dark brown eyes like huge chocolate drops. He was chatting to Danny’s mum. Danny heard mention of Mundowie, farming, job searching and carpentry.
Mr Caruso waved a finger that was fat like a cigar at Danny’s mum. ‘If you need anything, Mrs Allen, you come and see me. My wife and I will be happy to help. And I might be able to help already, I think. If your husband is a carpenter then I need him. I need wooden boxes, you see.’
Danny felt suddenly fearful. His spine tingled as he recalled the mysterious events in the dark street. Wooden boxes! Coffins?
Just then Thommo pulled an enormous lollipop from the basket. He tore the wrapping from it and laughed. It was a clown’s face with holes for the eyes and mouth, like a mask. ‘Hey! Look at this!’ he cried, putting it to his face and sticking his fat tongue through the mouth hole.
Everyone laughed.
‘Ah yes,’ called Mr Caruso. ‘You like my lollipop masks. I am always coming up with new ideas for sweets and things. You have any ideas you let me know.’
Mr Caruso looked over at Danny and cried, ‘Ah! You are the brave one. You saved your sister.’ The big man stood as if wielding an imaginary sword. ‘What is your name, brave knight?’
Danny hesitated. He looked to his mum. She nodded for him to answer.
‘My name is Danny Allen.’
Mr Caruso offered his huge right hand.
Danny hesitated again. His mother nodded firmly, frowning this time and mouthing, Shake his hand.
Danny did as he was told.
Mr Caruso’s hand was warm, his grip firm. ‘Good to meet you, brave Danny Allen.’ He shook Danny’s hand so hard his eyeballs felt as if they would shudder from their sockets.
He then took centre stage and proceeded to explain, with a lot of hand waving and overzealous description, his admiration for Danny. ‘I was in the park. I saw how brave this boy was.’
Mr Caruso swished his imaginary sword. ‘This Danny Allen was a marvel!’ he cried dramatically.
Mr Caruso stopped his theatrics and smiled warmly at Danny. ‘Ah, he loves the little one.’
Vicki fluttered her eyelashes and smiled sweetly before pushing a huge cupcake into her face. Danny sneered.
Thommo snickered.
Mr Caruso motioned to Danny. ‘Please, come and see what I have brought you.’
Danny remained hesitant and unsure. He looked beyond the pleasant scene to the background. He spied the small tower of tins full of biscuits from Aunty Jean. They sat in a lonely dull corner of the small kitchen: rejected. He marched past the glittering basket, took the tin from the shelf, opened it and offered it to Mr Caruso. ‘My Aunty Jean makes the best biscuits in t
he world,’ he said. ‘Would you like one?’
There was another knock at the door.
Danny’s mum opened the door to two children.
Danny heard a girl’s voice. ‘Hello, is Sam Allen home?’
Sam stopped rummaging through the basket and looked up. ‘Hey, Ropehead,’ he said, heading for the door.
Curious as to who Ropehead might be, Danny peered around the open door. He was surprised to see the two kids Sam had swung with on the rope bridge. Standing in the doorway was a girl with dangly earrings, and a short stocky boy with dark spiky hair, an olive complexion and a skateboard under his arm.
The girl was tall and thin with a rope-like plait that tailed down past her butt like Rapunzel. Yep, Ropehead, thought Danny. Good name.
Thommo was thinking the same thing.
Both kids stuck their heads in and waved to Mr Caruso.
‘Hey ho, Mr Caruso,’ they called brightly.
He responded just as he had done to Vicki. ‘Helloooo there, Aine,’ he cried, waving to the girl. He gave the boy a nod and a wink. ‘Good to see you too, Weaver.’
Sam was happy to see his new friends. ‘What are you guys doing here?’
‘We came to see how your sister was,’ said Aine. ‘And to settle a bet. You see, Weaver here,’ she continued, waving a thumb at the boy by her side, ‘reckons she would have at least ten stitches. My guess was less than five.’
‘Two,’ said Sam.
Aine spun in a surprisingly well-controlled pirouette. ‘Yessss!’ she hissed.
Sam leant back to avoid the whip of her plait.
Obviously disappointed, Weaver shook his head. ‘I was sure the big teeth of that dog had ripped a bit more flesh than that. There was a lot of blood.’
Thommo looked suddenly queasy, but didn’t stop lashing his tongue across the lollipop.
At Sam’s invitation, the two guests wandered over to look at the chewed leg. Vicki showed it proudly, then eyed the boy curiously.
Danny could tell by the look on her face that a question was coming.
‘Why are you called Weaver?’ she asked.
He held up his skateboard. ‘I surf the pavements and weave through the crowds.’
Take it Easy, Danny Allen Page 7