I met a crooked man
I met a crooked man, who walked a crooked mile
Luke walked along High Street looking up at the decorative facades of the old inner city buildings marvelling at the stone Grecian urns, plaster cherubs and chipped Olympian wreaths above the gift shops, cafes and perfumeries.
He spotted a man standing on a corner.
Luke approached the man, who was in his later years and wearing a check shirt and a flat cap.
“Excuse me, do you know the way to Barry’s Bar?”
The man replied,
“Hmm… Barry’s Bar… Let me think….”
A woman carrying a large Louis Vuitton handbag walked past. The man buttonholed her.
“Hey lady, can you tell us where Barry’s Bar is?”
“Yes. It’s on the corner of Elm street,” she replied matter of factly, then kept walking.
The man said, “There you go. Mystery solved.”
Luke replied, “Thanks. So you’re not a local either?”
“Born and bred here mate. It’s just hard to keep track of all these little joints opening up nowadays.”
“I see.”
“You?”
“Me? I’m from Murrumbeena.”
“Right.”
“There’s a bit of buzz here. Must cost a bit to live round here.”
“It’s only become trendy in the last ten years or so.”
“Oh, OK.”
“Hey, I tell you what. I’ll show you where that bar is. I’m heading that way anyway.”
“You sure?”
“Definitely. I know where it is. It’s just the name got me confused. It’s on my way”
“OK, thanks.”
They set off down High Street until they came to the corner of a side street.
The man said: “Hey, I just need to pop into my place for a minute. It’s just down here. Would you be able to give me a hand with something?”
Luke said, “Err, like what?”
“To carry something out the front.”
“If it’s not too heavy.”
“Easy for two blokes. That's why I was on the corner there, trying to spot a mate to help.”
“As long as it’s quick.”
“Two seconds mate. We’re already there.”
The two men arrived at an old house, a little worse for wear but with its original iron lace and window frames.
“Nice place,” remarked Luke thinking it looked the same vintage as the buildings on High Street.
“Wait here. I’ll just open up,” said the man, who set off down the side of the house.
The doorframe was divided into segments of crimson glass with ornate decorative patterns etched in. The door opened,
“Come in,” said the man.
Luke entered a long corridor and the old house smell enveloped him. A door at the end of the corridor opened out into a living room and open plan kitchen area.
The man said, “It’s just here. This old chest.”
A chest was sitting in the middle of the living area with an old gypsy like tablecloth over it. It looked like it was used as a coffee table. The man whipped off the covering cloth.
Luke looked at it and wondered what the knotted design was – possibly Celtic or was it Maori? They each picked up an end. The older man edged backward down the hallway, smiling back at Luke as he reversed out the front door and carefully stepped down the well worn stone steps at the front. They put the chest down by a station wagon parked haphazardly, half on the nature strip.
The two men lifted the trunk into the back but at first it didn’t quite fit. After some vigorous rejigging from inside the car, they squeezed it in.
“Great. Thanks a lot.”
“What are you doing with it?”
“Taking it to a French Polisher. Should come up a treat.”
“OK.”
“Hold on, I just have to check there is nothing else.”
“Look, can you just tell me…”
“I’ll be two secs.”
Luke stood on the footpath taking in the ambience of the leafy inner city streets with its pokey heritage houses and streets with not much room to drive in. His new friend emerged from the house with an ornate lamp.
Luke asked, “You’re not throwing that out are you?”
“Oh no, I’m leaving it with a friend for a while. She needs it for reading."
“Oh, OK.”
“Hang on. I just need to straighten up in the parking spot. I’ll get a ticket parked like that.”
Luke watched the man climb into car. The station wagon started up then drove off down the street leaving a trail of exhaust pipe smoke in its wake.
Luke stood there blinking. A bird chortled from a nearby tree.
Luke waited but there was no sign of the car. He walked along the street all the way down to the next corner and looked both ways. No car. He then walked back up the street, to see if the car was coming back the other way. He arrived back at the front of the house again. Annoyed, he shrugged his shoulders and decided to head back to High Street. But then he noticed that the front door of the house was left ajar. A bit careless wasn’t it? About to walk off, as he had to meet his work friend at the bar in five minutes time, he decided to look inside the house again.
Tentatively pushing the front door open, he made his way up the dark corridor to the living area. There was a door off to the side. Unsure, he approached the door.
Gently, he pushed it open. The room was dark but his eyes began to adjust.
A figure was splayed out on a futon bed low to the floor. The figure reacted to Luke’s presence with a sudden shudder and sat up. Grunting and mumbling, the figure began to unsteadily stand.
Luke backed out of the bedroom into the living room area.
The woman called out, “Who’s there?”
“I was just here with your husband.”
“Huh?”
“I was helping your husband. He just drove off.”
“What are you doing in my house?”
“I just helped him move some stuff.”
With the doona wrapped around her the woman shuffled into to the living area.
“My head hurts. Hey! Where’s the chest that was here?”
“Your husband took it in the car.”
“My husband has been dead for twenty years.”
“Oh…”
“Hold on. Now I remember, a little old fellow. We were talking out the front. He said he was from the National Trust. Then he said he needed a glass of water. Are you with him?”
“What?”
The old lady went to the sideboard, still somewhat groggy, and fished around inside. She then pulled out a old ornate gun. She pointed it at Luke.
“Don’t move. I’m calling the cops.”
Luke said, “Hey, wait a minute.”
“You stay put. I’m getting my phone,” she commanded.
While holding the ancient gun with one hand, which looked like a replica of a nineteenth century highwayman's pistol, the woman, found her phone with the other hand, and made a call.
“Hello? Yes. Hello? I want to leave a message for Constable Darren. Tell him it’s Veronica, Tilley’s mother, and that I have been robbed.”
She went on to explain that she had been knocked on the head and had one of the robbers in her house right now.
When she hung up, Luke asked, “Who did you call?
“The local police.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Stay there and be quiet. They will be here in due course.”
The old woman sat down at the table pointing the old fashioned gun at Luke who stood in the living room.
Veronica said, “Is that what you do? Case out joints to rob and if someone’s there, knock 'em on the head?”
“Look, I had nothing to do with it. He told me this was his house and he wanted a hand moving stuff.”
The stand off continued in silence, punctuated by occasional talk. Veronica sat at her table with a fizzy aspirin drink, pointing the gun at Luke and groaning every now and then.
“I hate guns. But you really crossed the line.”
“I didn’t cross any line. I don’t know anything about this.”
“You were in my house.”
“I thought something was not right. The front door was left open. I came in to check.”
*****
“I have never fired a gun but I could kill that bastard.”
“I am shocked too.”
*****
“He was a little guy.”
“Yes.”
“With a pointy nose and a rat face.”
“Yes.”
*****
“I wish the police would come."
*****
"What I am wondering is, would a little old rat face Aussie criminal have an Asian student as an accomplice? Everything is possible.”
“Excuse me, I am not an Asian student!”
“Where are you from?”
“Murrumbeena.”
“What do you do?”
“What?”
“For a job.”
“I work in IT.”
“Where?”
“In Carnegie. Why do you want to know that?”
“I’m just trying to see if I believe your story."
*****
"Here, write down all your details on this bit of paper.”
Luke took the pen and paper and wrote down his contact details. While still levelling the ornate gun at him, Veronica read what he had written.
“Do you?” asked Luke.
“What?”
“Believe me.”
“So you’re a dimwit from Murrumbeena?”
Luke shrugged his shoulders,
"I have never been in this area before.”
*****
Veronica groaned, “My aching head.”
“Can I call a doctor for you?”
“No. You’ve done enough.”
*****
Veronica reflected, “My daughter’s going to kill me. She’s very attached to the chest. It’s like a family heirloom.”
She rang a number on her phone. “Hello Tilly? It’s me again.” There was no answer.
*****
More time passed. Veronica kept the gun pointing at Luke.
“Where did this bloke say he was going?"
“He said he was taking the chest to be worked on by a French polisher or something. I don't know…
“How could you be so naive?”
“I just asked him the way to Barry’s Bar …”
“Barry’s Bar? That used to be the Peacock Palace.”
“I’ve got to meet someone there more than an hour ago.”
“The Peacock Palace - That’s where I got this gun I think. It’s an antique. I don't know if it works. When I was younger, much younger, I used to do an act there. It was a long time ago. Everything’s changed. I was a singing cowgirl...who fired a pistol!”
*****
Luke warily eyed the decorative gun.
“Look,” said Luke, “If you let me go I will do my best to find the chest, because he screwed me over too.”
“Maybe. Who are you meeting at the bar?”
“A work colleague.”
“A woman?”
“Yes, but she’s probably left by now. So far this day has been a disaster. She’ll never talk to me again.”
“Do you like her?”
“We are friends at work. We are meeting socially for the first time.”
“I met my husband when I was working at the gas company.”
“I’m sorry he’s dead.”
*****
After a while Veronica laid the gun on the table.
She announced, “Alright, you can go. I’m sick of this."
“Really?”
"You're not even afraid of the gun are you? You know it's a showpiece."
"I didn't want to test it. What am I going to do? Rush at you and take it out of your hands? Not after you've been attacked before," said Luke.
"You seem to be too nice to be a robber, although you never can tell. Hold on. I’ll give you my number.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to find the chest for me.”
“ Am I?”
“In forty eight hours.”
“Well...”
“Do you want to meet this woman or not?”
“Yes.”
“Well, off you go before I change my mind.”
“Um, can you tell me how to get there…”
“Where?”
“Barry’s Bar.”
*************
Luke rushed breathlessly
“Oh Rachael, you’re still here.”
“You’re late, very late. We were meeting at 3.30. It's now after five o'clock! I’ve been hit upon by three men so far.”
“I am so sorry.”
“Hmpph.”
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Make it a double.”
Luke headed to the bar and waited for service, looking around at Barry’s Bar. He returned to the table with the drinks.
“Here you go. Rachael, again I am so sorry. I was held up.”
“You seem reasonable at work. But I guess you never know.”
“Look…”
“You're the only one at work I get on with. You’re the only one at work who spells my name right.”
“Am I?”
“That's the sole reason I am sitting here.Unbelievable.”
“I am so sorry. There was a mix up.I'll tell you about it later.”
“Hmmph.”
“Is this your local bar? Do you live near here?”
“Yes not far away. I’ve never been to this bar before. It’s OK.”
“Is your place an old place or new? They seem to like the old buildings around here.”
“The outside of the apartment building is old but inside is new."
“Cool.”
“There can be a lot problems with the old buildings.”
“OK. How’s your weekend been, apart from waiting for me?”
“Not bad. My cousin rang this morning, so that kept me occupied for a while.”
“Have you got many, you know, cousins?”
“A few. Some here, some in Ireland. I haven’t heard from this one in ten years.”
“What did she want?”
“Someone gave her a DNA test kit for her birthday.”
“Is that what people do now is it?”
“She got the test results today and rang me in a state of shock.”
“Why, was there a family secret?”
“She said the report showed that she was mostly Celtic and Anglo but she was six percent Ashkenazi Jewish. She wouldn't stop going on about it. Anyway, after I calmed her down I looked it up and well, what a surprise, those tests are dodgy. Basically, if you’re of European background you’re going to have that percentage anyway. I told her this but she was still upset. She was drinking wine and carrying on. I rang her back but I think she passed out.”
She saw that Luke wasn’t listening. He was staring out the window. He stood and began to walk towards the window.
“Excuse me!” said Rachael loudly, “What‘s out there that is so interesting?”
Not getting a reply she added, “I think this meeting is a bad idea. I’m leaving.”
Luke turned and pleaded, “Please wait. I've just spotted someone. Sit down and I’ll tell you what just happened.”
He quickly told Rachael the story of the stolen chest.
“Well you’re a Class A idiot aren’t you?”
“I suppose so. The thing is - he's here now. I just spotted him across the road."
Luke found a quiet corner and called the number on the piece of paper.
“Hello Veronica?”
“Who’s that?”
“This is Luke, who was at your place before.”
“The dimwit from Murumbeena?”
“Yes.”
“Have you found the chest already?”
“No. But I’ve got something.”
“What?”
“He’s here.”
“Where.”
“Outside Barry’s Bar.”
“Barry’s Bar?”
“The Peacock Palace.”
“Really? He’s there?”
“Yes, the thief.”
“What’s he doing there?
“I don't know, but he’s across the road at the moment.”
“I’ll call my daughter. She’s married to a policeman.”
“OK. They should come soon.”
“Righto.”
Luke rejoined Rachael who had found a table close to the window looking out onto High Street and ordered more drinks and a basket of chips.
“He went into the TAB,” reported Rachael.
“Maybe he’s making a bet,” said Luke.
“Maybe he feels lucky.”
“Should I go and confront him? Veronica said she was calling the police.”
“Mmmm. Maybe wait this time.”
“OK.”
They watched, as outside, the late afternoon in High Street transformed into early evening. Eastern European style music could now be heard from the world music café down the street. The afternoon Shopping Crowd was being replaced by the evening Going Out Crowd.
Luke and Rachael watched for two rounds of drinks worth of time. While they waited they exchanged work gossip. They agreed that the IT manager was a control freak and that the people in HR were aliens from another galaxy.
Rachael said, “Look. There he is.”
Luke and Rachael watched the thief amble out of the TAB onto the footpath where he stood going through some betting tickets, throwing those he didn't want onto the ground.
“Tsk tsk, a litterbug as well,” said Rachael. “He’s going to leave. Shall we follow him?”
At that moment they heard a faint shout and the honking of cars.
Luke and Rachael looked down the street. Walking on the road, regardless of the evening High Street traffic that slowly cruised past, was Veronica, carrying an Aldi shopping bag.
A cruising motorist called out, “Hey, watch what you’re doing old Lady!”
“Oh heck, it’s her!” said Luke, “Come on!”
Luke and Rachael bolted for the front door of the bar.
At this moment the thief looked up and saw the old woman approaching. At the same time she saw him. They locked eyes on each other and knew exactly who was who and what was what.
The robber, suddenly animated, went to depart but was blocked by a well-dressed group heading out to a restaurant.
As Luke and Rachael crossed the road, dodging the prowling cars, the old lady produced the antique revolver from the shopping bag and pointed it at the thief. She marched up to him until she was only a metre away and fired the gun.
“What the hell!? cried Luke.
A big spark of orange explosion and black smoke went off. A child nearby screamed.
When the black smoke cleared the old man was lying twisted on the footpath with a splodge of black stuff over his face and wound in his chest.
Rachael rushed to the old man lying prostrate on the footpath.
“He’s alright!” she called out.
“He just had a fright,” said Veronica
Luke said, “Ring an ambulance.”
“I already have,” said Rachael.
Rachael removed her coat and lay it down on the footpath so the injured thief could lie on it.
“He’s bleeding. We need some water. ”
Luke rushed off to the bar.
Rachael said, “He’s been hit by some kind of black powder and other crap, like shrapnel, when it exploded.”
“It nearly took my hand off,” said Veronica.
Luke returned with water. Rachael began mopping the old man’s face and then cleaning his wound.
“Thanks Luke. Can you ask at the gift shop there if they've got a first aid kit? He’s alright, aren’t you fellah?” she said to the dazed old man, “The gun has fired some, I dunno, old gunpowder and bits of metal shavings, it looks like.”
Luke announced to anyone interested, “It’s OK everyone. It’s only a prop gun. The ambulance is coming.”
Alarmed onlookers stared, unsure what to believe. Was this local gangland crime or theatrical shenanigans by dotty old folks. The smoke from the ancient revolver had left a cloud of pungent stink above the footpath.
Luke found Veronica sitting on a bench.
“Are you alright?
“I’ll live,” said Veronica
“Where did you say you got this gun?” asked Luke.
“I’m not sure now. I thought it was from being on stage years ago. Or perhaps it came with the chest.”
“The chest, the chest.”
The thief, lying on the footpath, called out in a faint voice.
Veronica stood up.
“Where did you put the chest that you stole you coward, you rotter?”
The sight of a little old lady haranguing an injured little old man splayed out on the footpath, alarmed some passerbys. They paused to watch but most decided this was a private tiff between old folks and turned away from the scene.
Saturday night on High Street was now well underway. The relentless Saturday night crowd streamed along the footpath hungry for a Saturday night thrill.
“When’s this ambulance coming?” asked Luke rhetorically.
Rachael said, “Bollards. We need bollards, so people don't step on him. I think I saw some on the way here.”
She walked off into the milling crowd.
The thief called out with a faltering voice,
“Annie! Annie! I saw you. On the stage.”
“What are you saying?” replied Veronica.
“Shotgun Annie. At the Peacock Palace.”
“Are you for real?”
“When I was a kid.”
“Did you grow up round here?”
“Yes.”
“What was your name?”
“Jack. Little Jack.”
“Little Jack? Do you mean Little Jack the child actor, who went to Spensley Street primary?”
“Yes.”
“My God. Are you really Little Jack?"
“Hey,” Veronica announced to those around her, “This man is Little Jack. He was a well known child actor in theatre shows here on High Street.”
“And radio,” he croaked
“Yes, Sunday nights on the radio too.”
“When was this?” asked Luke.
“Here, right here, before the war, when there were theatres and picture palace all the way along High Street. It was amazing. I’m trying to think of the name of the show that I saw Little Jack in. It was a big success at the time.”
“I can look it up on my phone,” offered Luke.
“No, that won’t help.”
Little Jack lifted his head with great effort and hoarsely spoke,
“The Drunkard.”
“Oh, that's’ right. The London Players toured here and they need a local child actor. There were auditions. I remember. It was at the Preston theatre, the Roundhouse.”
At this moment Rachael triumphantly returned lugging a tall orange plastic bollard.
“Got one! There’s another one back there Luke, if you would be so kind. So the people don't step on the injured man.”
Rachael, despite being a little tipsy from sitting in the pub for several hours, set up the bollard on the footpath. When Luke arrived with the second, she placed them either side of the injured man and then set up her phone on one bollard with the torch light on. Now pub and restaurant goers, locals out for a stroll, tourists and hustlers were diverted around the defined area outside the TAB and across the road from Barry’s Bar.
Little (old) Jack’s feeble hand reached out to pull Veronica closer, “My parents took me to see you at the Peacock Palace.”
Veronica replied, “Little Jack, you’re the reason I went on the stage. When I saw you I begged and begged my mother to let me take up acting. How about that?”
Saturday night in High Street was now in full swing. Luke heard the strains of music wafting from a cocktail bar, formerly a shoe repair shop, reverberating off the 1880 walls. He growled at a passer by who attempted to walk straight through the bollard defined area,
“Watch it sir, you nearly stepped on an injured man here.”
Veronica asked, “Hey Little Jack. What have you done with my chest? Why did you steal my chest?
“I needed the money. For my debts.”
“At least he’s admitted to stealing it,” said Luke.
“Silly fool,” scolded Veronica, “I certainly didn’t recognise you when you came to my house wanting a glass of water. Where did you come from? Do you still live in the area or did you appear out of nowhere?”
Jack wheezed, “I’m in King Lake now.”
“So you came into town especially to rob my house?”
The thief coughed and wheezed, “Antique roadshow.”
“What?”
“I saw you on the telly.”
“Oh, now I get it.”
“Were you on TV?” asked Rachael.
“About three years ago. They showed it again recently. I’m on for about two minutes. I did it for Tilly. I wish I’d never done it.”
Addressing Little Jack she continued, “So, you saw me on the telly and you thought you’d help yourself to my pirate chest. And you, you fool, believed the story that I told on the show. But that was not a true story.”
“What story?” asked Luke.
“I said my grandfather who was a sea captain who travelled from the West Indies fighting pirates. I only went on TV for my daughter. She was the one who rang them up. The chest is definitely not from the West Indies. It’s from Moreland auction rooms in Coburg.
I told that story to my daughter years ago. I only made up the story because she was, you know, depressed. I wish I hadn’t. That’s the only reason we got on TV, because of that story. They made me say it.”
“But your daughter still believes it?” asked Rachael.
“Yes, and others, like this pest. Shame on you.” She aimed a kick at the little old man.
Little Jack, with his eyes closed, reached out with a dramatically shaped hand, “I’m cold. I can feel the snow. Hold me close. It’s getting dark and faint. Is it snowing inside Mother, Father…?”
“What’s he saying? asked Luke.
An onlooker asked Rachael, “Is this a pop up performance?”
The thief smiled weakly with watery eyes.
Veronica said, “Oh, I get it, that’s from the play he was in, all those years ago, The Drunkard.”
“I’ll get some more water from the bar. Anyone want a drink?” said Rachael.
Luke asked, “Where’s this ambulance?”
“Whiskey please,” croaked the thief, who then shut his eyes and rested his head on the footpath.
As Rachael crossed High Street a sudden movement washed through the Saturday night crowd. A group of young skateboarders weaved through the people walking on the road and sitting at tables on the pavement. What seemed to be a group of teenage boys and girls on skateboards whizzed down the hill swooping between the Saturday night tourists and grabbing handbags and phones as they went past. Rachael was brushed by a speeding skateboarder and spun around.
Cars honked. People called out, “Hey! What! Hey! Come back!”
But it was over before people realised it was happening.
Rachel returned with drinks, having fought her way through the crowd, which was now in a state of high commotion. The Balkan music from the world music Café intensified and the bass heavy music from the cocktail bar bounced back and forth off the 1880 walls of High Street. An approaching ambulance siren could be heard in the distance.
Rachael put the drinks down on a concrete block and exclaimed, “Where is he?”
Veronica and Luke looked at the footpath where a vacant coat lay.
“He’s gone.”
The three searched the immediate area. People they asked shook their heads and returned to trying to catch a glimpse of the purse-snatching skaters, who now returned to taunt their victims and perform a figure eight manoeuvre, all the while easily avoiding grasping hands.
He walked over to Veronica and said, “He’s vanished. Let’s get out of this madness.”
Veronica, Rachael and Luke took refuge in a narrow side street and walked back towards her house.
**********
While walking back Veronica paused in the street.
“Oh heck. Now I remember.
When we were kids at primary school we went on a school camp. It was a big thing to go all the way to Anglesea and stay overnight, two night’s maybe.
I remember we had to wait before returning home because Little Jack was missing. I remember sitting on the bus for ages looking out the window at the Anglesea River in the light rain. They found him talking to an old sailor. He had all this stuff, like anchors and other bits and pieces salvaged from under the waves from shipwrecks. Oh my god - and a sea chest, a pirate chest. I remember this now. Jack told us later.”
“Are you sure about where your chest comes from?” asked Rachael.
“The chest comes from Moreland auction rooms. I’ve even got the receipt somewhere. I remember he threw a terrible tantrum when they tried to get him back on the bus.
“He’s a violent thief,” reminded Luke.
When they reached the house Veronica said,
“Oh look. There’s Tilley.”
“Who’s that?” asked Rachael.
“That's my daughter and her husband Constable Darren.”
******************
“Mum! Where have you been I’ve been worried sick. Darren said you had been robbed!” exclaimed Veronica’s daughter, Tilley.
“Yes, I have, but it’s OK. These kind people helped me,” she said marching up to her front door and unlocking the front door.
Constable Darren said, “Sorry we couldn't get here sooner. Apparently there's some trouble down on High Street; some African youths were stealing steal peoples phones.”
“No,” said Luke.
“No, they definitely were not African,” said Rachael, “They looked like the sweet little high school students I see in the morning going to work.”
“It was more of a performance,” said Veronica.
An awkward silence passed between the group.
“Come in. I need a cup of tea. I’ll put the kettle on.”
Luke said, “Hey I’ve got to get going, if that’s OK.”
“Me too,” said Rachael.
“We still haven’t found the chest,” reminded Veronica.
“Oh yes,” said Luke.
“Constable Darren will find it, I’m sure.”
“Oh, OK then,” said Luke and turned to leave.
********
Walking back to the High Street Rachael said,
“What an amazing evening. I am glad we caught up.”
“Yes indeed.”
“I think I need to sit down after all the excitement, but not in a bar. Do you want to see my apartment?”
“Yes, that would be great.”
********
The radio was playing its usual Saturday late night religious program. The fellow had a nice voice. He was talking about the gospels. She wondered how old he was – he had had the same voice for all the years she had been listening.
Veronica felt her hair, which she let fall out of its bun. She felt the back of her head.
The voice on the radio was talking about redemption and punishment and what is an act of forgiveness. Veronica wrapped her hands around her hot chocolate cup and sat on the couch listening to the whys and wherefores of religious philosophy on forgiveness and atonement. Curiously, the moment of wanting to exact revenge held the same possibility to grow spiritually, said the voice.
Veronica wanted to put her feet up on the gypsy chest but it wasn't there.
The bump on her head started to hurt. Perhaps she should have gone to the doctor.
_______
Luke woke up the next morning in Rachael’s apartment.
Rachael smiled, “You want a coffee?”
“Yes thanks.”
“You look a bit dazed.”
“Well, yes. What a night.”
Rachael looked at him and held his hand.
The coffee boiled. They sat in her kitchen not talking but both replaying the previous evening in their minds.
“I hope Veronica is OK.”
“Where that the man got to, I do not know.”
“Look, I hope you don't mind," said Luke, "I’ve got to go do some stuff to do at home…”
“No, not at all. That’s perfectly fine.”
Luke finished his coffee and said, “I think I just need to get home and clear my head.”
“Sure. See you at work on Monday.”
“OK.”
“Bye.”
Luke walked back onto High St and towards the train station. As he did so he passed a narrow, leafy laneway. At the end of the lane he momentarily spotted one of the teen skaters, who quickly took off out of sight.
Then Luke noticed halfway down the lane, something sticking out from under a bush. Looking closer he saw it was one end of the pirate chest.
Feeling very tired he fished out his phone and rang Veronica’s number. He left her a message.
Luke made his way to the train station and waited for the train to take him back to the eastern suburbs.
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