A Croc Called Capone (4 page)

For all that, he taught me heaps. In particular, he taught me how we are destroying the planet and wiping out animals, plants and insects at a rate never before seen in the history of Earth. He made me understand how important it is to protect all living things, while we still have the chance. Blacky gave me a mission to make a small difference, a mission me and Dylan attempted together. It involved saving a … hey, never mind. That's in the past.

When he left after we'd successfully completed the mission, I wasn't sure if I'd ever see him again. Given that he is grumpy, rude and smelly, you might think I wouldn't miss him. But I did.

So when I saw him sitting on my doona once more, I felt a rush of emotions. He sniffed his bum again. He's got guts, you've got to give him that.

I quickly closed my bedroom door. The smell needed to be kept in. If Mum and Dad caught a whiff, they'd either think a sewer line had burst under the house or I was collecting putrefying corpses in my wardrobe. My heart was racing and my lungs were bursting. I wanted to throw my arms around Blacky's neck and give him a hug. I didn't, though. He'd made it clear, early in our relationship, that if I was to ever throw my arms around him, they might not be attached to my shoulders when I was done. He is not of a touchy-feely nature. More growly-bitey. So I pinched my nose, walked across the room and opened the window instead. A bird flying past plummeted to the ground. I took a few deep breaths and turned.

‘Blacky!' I said. ‘It's great to see you.'

I even said it out loud. I'd got out of the habit of talking through my thoughts.

‘I wish I could say the same,' he replied.

‘Have you missed me?' I asked.

‘Like kennel cough.'

‘You've not changed.'

‘Unfortunately, neither have you.'

It was time to take another breath, so I stuck my head out the window again. The bird was lying on its back, legs stuck straight into the air. It quivered, got to its feet and tottered a few paces before flying off unsteadily. I was relieved. Blacky told me it was my solemn duty to protect all living creatures. I didn't want to tell him he'd just poisoned one. And then it hit me, like a fart in the face.

‘You've got another mission for me, haven't you, Blacky?'

‘Naturally, mush,' he replied. ‘You didn't think I came here just to see your ugly chops, did you?'

‘Well. I thought maybe …'

‘Business, boyo. Business. And this time, it's a big one. It will take daring, courage, intelligence, determination and grit. So, given what I know about you, you've got two chances. None and Buckley's.'

‘But …'

‘No “buts”, boyo. Let's not go through all this again. You have a duty to help.'

‘You don't understand.' I was waving my arms around, not just for emphasis but also to encourage the circulation of air. ‘I want to help. I do. But I can't. I'm going on holiday tomorrow.'

‘Holiday, is it?' Blacky sounded disgusted. ‘Holiday? You know animals need your help and you'd sooner go on holiday? Typical human behaviour. The world is going to hell in a handbasket but, hey, let's lie on a beach and get skin cancer …'

‘Blacky,' I said, ‘I'm eleven years old. I don't have a choice in this. Won't it wait till I get back?'

There was a knock on the door. I turned as Dad stuck his head into my room. I whipped my eyes back to the doona. Blacky had gone.

‘Marcus,' said Dad, ‘your dinner's ready …' He wrinkled his nose. ‘My God, Marcus, what's that smell? Either a sewer's burst or something's died in here.'

‘Er … sorry, Dad. Bit of a bad stomach, actually.'

He pinched his nostrils closed and looked at me as if not believing anything human could have produced that smell. Then he grinned.

‘Proud of you, son,' he said through gritted teeth. ‘That beats me in my heyday and – trust me – that takes some doing.'

I couldn't eat dinner. I sat there, picking at my food. All around was the chatter of excited talk, but I couldn't pay it any attention. I blotted everything out and concentrated on trying to contact Blacky through my thoughts. Nothing. Eventually, I realised that Mum had spoken to me.

‘What?' I blinked a couple of times. Everyone was staring at me.

‘Are you okay, Marcus?' said Mum. ‘Your brow is all furrowed and you keep staring off into the distance. You look like the bottom's fallen out of your world.'

‘Judging by the smell in his bedroom,' said Dad, ‘it's more like the world has fallen out of his bottom.'

‘Phew. Yuck, Daddy,' said Rose.

I ignored them. I kept calling Blacky's name in my head.

He didn't reply.

I had trouble sleeping that night. Under normal circumstances, you could put that down to pre-holiday excitement. Not this time.

I felt really guilty. I wanted to explain the situation to Blacky again, make him see that it wasn't my fault I had to go away. And he hadn't answered my question. Could the mission wait until I returned? Or was an animal going to die while I was having fun in the Northern Territory? Not that there was much prospect of fun. Not under these circumstances. I tossed and turned in bed. I'd left the window open in case Blacky came back.

He didn't show.

Finally, I got up. The alarm clock said five-fifteen and I knew there was no chance of getting any more sleep. So I slipped into shorts and T-shirt and cracked open my bedroom door. The house was quiet. I made my way silently to the kitchen, which was still shrouded in darkness, and fumbled towards the fridge. I needed a glass of milk.

I opened the fridge door and plucked the carton from the shelf. When I closed the door and straightened up, I came face to face with a creature from your worst nightmare.

Time froze. A ghastly white face with red staring eyes loomed before me.

I screamed.

The creature screamed.

I think I had more reason. After all, I was dressed in shorts and T-shirt and my face was as normal as it ever gets. Average, you might say. This thing was hideous. Then I noticed it was wearing a disgusting nightdress covered with cartoon characters. The white face was vaguely familiar. It all clicked into place. I wasn't being attacked by a badly dressed zombie. It was Rose in some sort of facepack.

‘What the hell are you doing, Mucus?' she yelled. ‘Are you trying to give me a heart attack?'

How's that for unfairness? She skulks around in the dark, doing a terrific impersonation of the creature from the Black Lagoon, and I'm the one trying to scare
her
? There are demons in the deepest reaches of Hell that would soil their pants if they came face to face with Rose in a facepack.

‘Why are you wearing that muck on your face?' I asked. Perfectly reasonable question, I thought.

She grabbed me around the neck and beat a quick tattoo on my head with her knuckles. It was only a short performance. She knew my screams were likely to wake the entire household.

‘Beauty pack, Mucus? Getting ready for the holiday?'

Rose and a beauty pack. A bit like smearing five-day-old dog poo with moisturiser. You know it's not going to make any difference. She needed something, sure. A garbage bag over the head was the solution that sprang to my mind.

We didn't get a chance to explore this idea because the kitchen light came on at that point. Rose quickly let go of my neck and ruffled my hair. She smiled, which made her look even more bizarre than usual because the meringue around her face cracked. She appeared to be impersonating a salt flat.

‘Excited, Marcus?' she asked in a syrupy tone. ‘Oh, hi, Mummy and Daddy!'

Mum and Dad grinned at us from the kitchen door. It was obvious that Rose's brief torture session hadn't woken them. They basked in this vision of sibling bliss.

‘Couldn't sleep, huh, kids?' chuckled Dad. ‘Neither could we. This is going to be a wonderful holiday. The great Australian outback. Nature in all its glory.' I could tell he was getting into the right state of mind. He hadn't worn his suit to bed, for one thing.

‘It's going to be brilliant, Daddy,' purred Rose. ‘I am sooo excited. What's the schedule today?'

‘Last-minute packing, maybe brunch here,' said Dad. ‘Then we're going to leave for the airport around eleven-thirty, pick up Dylan on the way. The flight goes at two, so I want plenty of time to check in. I'll rustle up some breakfast.'

Cy Ob Han turned up twenty minutes later, just as Dad was serving up the bacon and eggs. She had a facepack on as well. All we needed was a Big Top, a couple of lions and we could have run our own circus. After breakfast everyone went off to check their packing. For the hundredth time.

I went into the garden. The horizon was smeared with red and a couple of early birds were getting in rehearsals for the dawn chorus. Inside my head, I yelled as hard as I could.

‘Blacky! Where are you?'

No reply. But it shut the birds up, which was a bit weird.

The taxi arrived at eleven-thirty on the dot. I slung my bag into the boot and watched while Rose and Cy loaded their luggage. There are rock bands on world tours that travel lighter. What were they going to do out there? Open a shop?

‘Got your light sabre?' I asked Cy as we got into the taxi, but she ignored me. Luckily, it was one of those cabs that can fit in a hundred and twenty people, so she took the seat next to Rose, while I sat by myself at the back. It was only a short journey to Dylan's place. He burst through the front door almost before his parents opened it and would have shimmied through the taxi window if Dad hadn't opened the door in the nick of time.

Dyl plopped himself and his one small bag in the seat beside me. I desperately wanted to tell him about my visitor from last night, but that would have to wait until we were alone. So we peered out the back window as Joe and Mo waved us around the corner. I wouldn't swear to it, but I think they were carrying a bottle of champagne.

I wouldn't swear to this either, but as we headed for the freeway, I thought I heard fireworks exploding behind us. And possibly a marching band.

It's not often you hear a marching band exploding.

It took some time to get through the security scanner. Dylan was wearing his bar fridge jacket, and a can of cola in an inside pocket set off the alarm. He wasn't happy about handing it over to the guard and going through the scanner again. I think he didn't trust the man not to drink it. The alarm went off again. And again. Eventually, he had handed over six cans. I have no idea why he didn't just give them all up at the same time.

On the seventh attempt they found his Swiss Army knife.

‘Whaddya mean, it's a security risk?' Dylan said.

The guard was built like a concrete dunny and had a sense of humour to match.

‘It's a knife. You can't take a knife on a plane.'

‘Why not?'

The guard just gave him a steely gaze.

‘Well, when do I get it back?' said Dylan.

‘You don't.'

‘You mean you're stealing my knife?'

‘No,' said the guard. ‘I am confiscating it.'

‘You can't do that.'

‘I just have.'

‘But it's mine.'

‘You can have it back, but then you don't fly.'

There's no saying how long this fascinating conversation might have gone on, but I dragged Dylan away before things got worse. For the sake of the holiday I chose to defuse, rather than escalate. Plus, I could see the glint of hope in the eyes of the rest of our group. I knew what they were thinking. Maybe, just maybe, at the final moment, when all seemed lost, Dylan would get himself arrested and thereby save the holiday. I wasn't going to let that happen.

‘That sucks,' said Dyl. ‘My best knife! It had a thing in it that could take stones out of horses' hooves.'

‘You reckon there's going to be a call for that on this holiday, then?'