Riddle Gully Runaway (9 page)

Pollo sighed. ‘Come on,' she said. ‘Let's get out of here.'

‘No, wait!' said Will. He fished in his pocket for some coins.

‘Will! We don't have time for that now!'

Will ignored Pollo and walked trance-like across to the machine.

‘We've got to keep going!' shouted Pollo.

Will fed a two-dollar coin into the slot, shrugging off Pollo who tugged on his arm. The big panel of lights shimmered into action.

‘I can't believe this!' Pollo turned to go. ‘I'm going to keep looking for Benson. I'm not standing here while you —'

‘Pollo! Look!' cried Will, pointing to the screen. ‘Highest score! Bragger Bee!'

Pollo looked. ‘What are you on about?'

‘Bragger Bee. Bee-for-Benson Bragg! That's got to be him. And according to this, he posted twelve-thousand-seven-hundred-and-ninety-two on this machine the day before yesterday. Wow! My best's only five-thousand-and-forty. I told you the guy's a magician!'

‘Let me see that!' Pollo bumped Will aside and stood before the Monster Mash machine, her eyes glowing. ‘That's Thursday — the day he left Riddle Gully! So he
did
come here!' She clapped Will on the shoulder. ‘Will, my friend, you are a genius!'

‘So we're on the right track,' said Will blushing. ‘We keep searching.'

‘You bet!' said Pollo. ‘Bragger Bee — come out, come out wherever you are!'

But Bragger Bee didn't come out. Pollo and Will trawled the streets of Maloola asking and looking, but Benson was either hiding or had left town. Eventually they returned to the bench at the war memorial. The breeze off the water had picked up. They huddled shoulder to shoulder, staring out to sea.

‘What do we do now?' said Will. ‘I guess it's time to go back to Riddle Gully.'

‘Shsh!' said Pollo. ‘I'm thinking.'

‘Well I'm hungry,' said Will. ‘I'm going to that roadhouse up there. You want anything?'

Pollo gave a tiny nod, frowning and chewing on her bottom lip.

Will jogged up to the roadhouse on the edge of town. He crossed the forecourt, dodging the patches
of oil and grit beside the bowsers. The front window was plastered with advertisements and messages. He bought two meat pies and a Chiko Roll from the pallid-skinned girl behind the counter. He was shouldering his way out when a help-wanted note caught his eye. It was fly-spotted, yellowed and curling at the edges.

Princeville Abattoir.
Immediate start.
No experience necessary.
Monday–Saturday. Apply at office.

He turned back inside. The girl was now sliding cellophane-wrapped pies into the pie-warmer. He checked her name badge and cleared his throat.

‘Excuse me … err … Ebony.'

Ebony tucked her hair behind her ears, looked toward the door into the back room and smiled hesitantly. ‘Yes?'

‘That help-wanted sign for the abattoir over there,' said Will. ‘It looks a bit old. D'you know if it's still current?'

Ebony nodded. ‘Uh-huh. It's not a nice place to work. People leave there all the time. The sign just stays up.' She looked Will up and down. ‘You're not planning
to ask for a job there, are you?'

‘Me? No … no way. Just wondering,' said Will.

‘Funny. You're the second one's asked about that sign in two days. A guy came in late Thursday and bought two pies, same as you. Then he asked for a pen to write down the name of the place.'

‘Was he wearing his cap to one side, d'you remember?' said Will. ‘You know, hip-hop style?'

‘Yeah. And a black T-shirt with some band logo on the front — a weird painting of a face all the wrong way round,' said Ebony. ‘And he kinda danced when he walked. Didn't seem the type for an abattoir job. But I s'pose people got to earn a livin'. And it's not like most of us don't like a bit of lamb when it's cooked up and served on a plate.'

At that moment, a beefy woman wearing a greasy apron came through the fly-strips from the back of the shop. She shot Will a dirty look.

‘That's me mum. Gotta get back to work,' said Ebony.

‘Thanks heaps, Ebony,' said Will. You've got a great memory!'

‘Aw, I dunno about that. Hey, drop by again sometime, eh? Anytime. I'll be here.'

Will jogged back to Pollo, handed her a pie and
told her, between hot mouthfuls, about the sign in the window and what Ebony had told him.

‘Will Hopkins, you amaze me sometimes,' said Pollo. ‘I couldn't have done better myself! Right then, let's go!'

‘Go where?'

‘To Princeville, of course. To the abattoir.'

‘What? Now? Like, right this minute?'

‘Benson will be short of money, so chances are he took a job there. The abattoir operates on Saturdays, according to the job ad, so we might be able to catch him at work if we hurry. It's only thirty or so kilometres up the coast. We can catch the bus.' Pollo jumped to her feet.

Will stayed sitting on the bench, Ebony's words pulsing in his head.
It's not a nice place to work.
‘What about Shorn Connery?' he said, trying to buy some time.

‘He'll have to come too. The bus will be nearly empty at this time of day. The driver won't mind. Probably.'

‘But maybe we could just come back tomorrow with HB and Angela.'

Pollo looked at her friend wearily. ‘You know what adults are like, Will. Benson's not doing anything illegal, remember — not yet anyway. And if you started talking to them about old selves and new selves they'd pat you on the head and tell you to get an early night. Then you'd
be stuck in Riddle Gully for the rest of the weekend.' Pollo began pacing up and down. ‘We can't risk it, Will. Not with Benson at the abattoir. We need to go now — as a team.'

‘A team that includes a sheep,' said Will sulkily.

‘Shorn Connery contributes in strange and mysterious ways, Will,' said Pollo brightly. ‘Without him falling in love with Ear at Two Wells, we wouldn't be here right now. Think of that.'

Will did … and found his mind drifting to the Chinese takeaway they often had at home on Saturday nights.

‘Shouldn't we, you know, get provisions or something?' He was scraping for excuses now. He wasn't even sure what provisions were exactly.

‘If Benson's at the abattoir and we find him soon enough, everything will be simple. We'll be home in time for tea. Come on, let's go get Shorn Connery! Stop talking and start walking!'

Will sighed, heaved himself to his feet and swung his backpack onto his shoulders.

*

They were still two hundred metres from Mr Mallard's house when the bleating of Shorn Connery carried to them on the wind.

‘Crikey!' said Will. ‘He's mad about something! I hope the neighbours haven't complained already.'

They hurried up the street and knocked on Mr Mallard's door. From the backyard, Shorn Connery bellowed more loudly than ever. ‘He's not home,' said Pollo. ‘Let's go around the side.'

As they rounded the side of the house, they saw a salt-white sheep in the farthest corner of the yard, backed up against the timber fence. It was closely shorn, as naked as a sheep could get. Pollo gasped.

‘That's not … is it?' said Will.

Baa-aa-aah!
The animal suddenly galloped across the lawn at them. It took Pollo out at the knees and stood over her, thrusting its snout at her face and neck, as she lay spreadeagled on the ground. Will began to giggle uncontrollably.

‘He's sheared Shorn Connery!' laughed Will. ‘Mr Mallard's sheared him! He's only half the size!'

Baa-aa-aaa-aaah!

‘Get out of it, old buddy!' cried Pollo, ducking her head side-to-side.

Baa-aa-aaa-aaah!

Pollo rolled on the ground, cackling, trying to dodge her faithful assistant as he nibbled her nose and jabbed
his fuzzy snout in her ears. Eventually — with no help at all from Will — she was able to get to her feet and put her arms around Shorn Connery's skinny neck. Shorn Connery huffed short, indignant puffs of air through his nostrils.

‘Poor Shorn Connery,' said Pollo. ‘He's never been shorn by a stranger before. Mr Mallard's done a good job though. Thorough. I wonder what he did with the wool.'

‘There's something over there next to Shorn Connery's lead,' said Will, pointing to the back step of the house.

On a bulging hessian bag was a note. Pollo unpinned it and read:
Dear Pollo, hope you don't mind. Needed to know if I still had the knack. Take the fleece if you want, and give my best to your dad. Sincerely, Harry Mallard.

Pollo lifted the bag. It was about the size of a pillow, tightly packed with Shorn Connery's wool then sewn closed across one end with bailing string. ‘It's not too heavy,' she said, hefting it onto her shoulder. ‘Aunty Giulia would want to spin it, I'm sure.'

‘Here, give it to me,' said Will, taking off his backpack. ‘I've only got a few paints and brushes in here now.'

‘Are you sure?' said Pollo.

‘It's no problem,' said Will. ‘The laugh was worth it. Now let's get on that bus to Princeville before I change my mind.'

Pollo, Will and Shorn Connery thanked the driver and clattered from the bus down onto the main street of Princeville. It was after four and the sun was beginning to lose its kick. Litter eddied on the cracked footpaths, whipped by the wind off the sea. The newly denuded Shorn Connery trembled slightly, whether from the cold or the tinny animal smell of the abattoir a few kilometres out of town, Pollo couldn't tell.

They looked around. The bus stop was in front of the thrift shop, its display window filled with outfits their grandmothers might have worn, the lower halves faded from sitting behind glass so long. On opposite corners of the nearby intersection were two pubs, the balcony of one — the Royal Arms — bowed and flaking. Behind it, a church spire streaked with gull droppings rose
hopefully. Across the road, overlooking the steely ocean, was a playground, but from the look of the weeds rising around the cubbyhouse and the glass slivers glinting on the old rubber paths, no one had used it in a long time. A swing on hinges in need of oil creaked rhythmically in the damp wind. It looked like a ghost-child was riding it.

Will pulled the sleeves of his windcheater down over his fists. ‘Let's go find Benson,' he said. ‘I don't want to hang around here any longer than I have to.'

They set off toward the abattoir, the trees either side of the road out of town bending with each swirl of sea air. After half an hour of walking, they came to the gateway of an access road. Above it was a large sign —
Princeville Abattoir.
Nearby, a tree had fallen and pushed down the fence.

‘Which way?' Will couldn't help lowering his voice, though no one was around. ‘Through the gap in the fence or up the driveway?'

‘We've nothing to hide,' said Pollo, not sounding so sure. ‘I say we take the driveway.'

‘So we're just going to stroll into the office and ask to see Benson? That's it?' said Will.

‘Why not?' said Pollo. ‘We can say we've got
important information for him.'

They headed up the access road lined with twisted, whispering eucalypts. Above their footfalls they could hear sheep bleating in the distance. Buildings, a gravel car park and an unloading dock, a semitrailer parked alongside, eventually came into view. They forced themselves onward. Shorn Connery shuffled close to Pollo, his hooves barely missing her heels, his ears flattened, his nose waving as the smell of animal fear wafted over them. As they neared the abattoir, beyond the truck and adjacent to the main building, they could see two large holding pens. The one nearer the truck was empty. From the pen further away, a thousand-odd eyes stared at them bleakly.

They edged around the car park toward the main entrance, their every move tracked by the bleating, scuffling sheep. Running between the holding pens and what looked to be a slaughterhouse was a concrete platform. It was separated from the pens by a high steel fence that curved inward at the top, back toward the animals, preventing any escape.

A tangle of small trees and shrubs formed a garden of sorts leading to the entrance steps. Pollo scratched Shorn Connery between the ears. ‘This is where
we tie you up, old buddy.' She and Will picked their way through the bushes and had just tethered Shorn Connery to a tree at the back when a loud siren wailed. Instinctively, they dropped to a crouch.

‘Home time,' whispered Will, when the noise had faded. ‘Are we too late?'

‘This works out even better,' said Pollo. ‘We can grab hold of Benson out here and follow him till we make him see sense!'

The big front doors were flung open. Men and women began filing out and heading for their vehicles, joking and jostling with one another, checking their phones or just hurrying, head down. After several minutes, a figure in a baseball cap and hi-top sneakers plodded down the steps, plugged in earphones, shrugged into himself and began trudging toward the long driveway — and them.

Pollo rammed her elbow into Will. ‘Here he comes!' She shifted, ready to spring from the cover of the garden.

But Will grabbed her jacket, yanking her back. ‘Wait!' he hissed. ‘Someone called out to him. That guy over there, see?'

A heavy-set older man was sauntering across the car park to Benson, his face in a haze of tobacco smoke. Benson, only metres from Will and Pollo, stopped
and waited, grinding at the gravel with the heel of his sneaker.

‘About tonight, kid.' The man tapped the side of his nose as he approached. ‘Just a heads-up. The fellas are a sociable lot, but if you were to front up tomorrow morning empty-handed, I can't guarantee things mightn't get a little … let's just say … awkward for you.' He clapped a hand around Benson's shoulders and pointed to a red ute. ‘Jump in with me, eh? We can run over things on the way back to town.'