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Growing Pain
Growing Pain
Growing Pain
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Growing Pain

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What do we ever really know about the direction our lives will take?

Matt Massey"s marriage and business have failed and now he is trying to work the small banana plantation that his father left to him. Matt will make some decisions, decisions just like we all have to make at some point but will those decisions be right or wrong? Will his choices lead him along the path that he hopes or will they end in an entirely different result. As his father always told him, you never really know.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherCraig Decent
Release dateJan 5, 2015
ISBN9781310715921
Growing Pain

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    Growing Pain - Craig Decent

    1 The End is Nigh

    The first boom echoed around the hills and sent the birds springing from the trees like an emergency ejection system had been activated. The second sound was more like a whip cracking. Another boom was followed by the screams of someone in genuine agony. Not the ‘Oh fuck, I’ve kicked my toe’ sort of agony that most people consider the genuine pain benchmark but true, life-threatening injury type agony. It was a scream so primal that it could not be rehearsed. It was pure situational response. The thud of multiple footsteps running was met with two more whip-like cracks and a whistle; another boom in response; more hurried foot thumps and the grunt of a heavy landing.

    He dared not lift his head but couldn’t help himself when muffled voices sounded close by. He peeked to his left and right before raising his head just enough to see above the pile of timber that was his only protection. Shadows flashed across the opaque plastic walls of the hot house. Again, the whip crack, which he now recognized as a rifle, was responded to with the boom of the shotgun. He told himself to get his head down, let these pricks shoot each other, just keep out of it.

    As he dropped his head the plastic wall behind him exploded and a huge silhouetted figure burst through. It wasn’t until after this event had registered in his mind that the sound became apparent to him; the two almost synchronized booms that had propelled the man into, and then through, the plastic. He closed his eyes and curled into a ball, praying for this to end. His eyes slowly opened wide when he heard the gurgling noise. It sounded a lot like a dog growling under water. He looked at the man who laid perhaps two metres away, blood oozing from his chest through the torn leather he wore. The man’s mouth was working like a tiny volcano, spitting and spurting and sending rivers of blood over his lips and channelling through his thin beard. The gurgling sound coincided with the ragged breaths that he tried to drag past the blood that was flooding his throat and down to the lungs that had provided his body with life support. He could battle for breath as hard as he might; all avenues for air were not only blocked by blood but led nowhere useful anyway; the lungs had been destroyed by the lead of the shotgun shells. The man still battled to achieve a breath as if one breath would be enough. The final, desperate gurgle was a sound that would stay with anyone who heard it.

    There was a flurry of cracks and booms and more screams before everything went eerily quiet. Slow steady footsteps and a couple of short, quiet, words. The air flooded with the smell of gunpowder, fertiliser, blood and fear. The hot house plastic flapped in the breeze like the shreds of untended flags. A single set of footsteps grew louder and he knew they were headed his way. He unfurled his body from its coil and when he opened his eyes looked up into the barrel of the shotgun; wisps of smoke dancing free of the single barrel. He could not settle on a single thought for his mind was overwhelmed by thoughts, feelings, memory and regret but the constant, identifiable feeling was resignation; the sure knowledge that this was the end.

    2. Matt and Merv Massey

    The screeches of black cockatoos in the eucalypts that lined the fence to the north of the house woke Matt Massey. He rolled onto his left side and focused one eye on the red digits displayed on the clock radio that sat barely an arm’s length away. He sighed when he finally registered that it was 6:07. Unless it was pm it was far too early to be awake. The cockatoos continued to squawk and screech and it was not far removed from the sound of fingernails on blackboard. The old timers would tell you that it meant rain was coming if the black cockies were flying around the treetops and screeching. For Matt, it meant he would spend the day frustrated by his lack of sleep after staying on the internet until the early hours looking at pornography and chatting to similarly lonely and uninspired people in cyber world.

    He rolled onto his back and stared at the cracked and mouldy ceiling. Every time he looked at it he had the same conversation with himself about cleaning it up and giving it a coat of paint but like every other piece of maintenance or improvement work that had been added to his mental to-do list, the day hadn’t yet arrived where to-do became got-done or even got-started. Matt was not categorically lazy but he struggled to stay on top of things and was not averse to putting off until tomorrow what he could have done today. He knew he was fortunate in many ways; his 175 centimetre frame carried just more than 85 kilograms and he was relatively fit and healthy. He enjoyed the lifestyle and quiet location where he lived. There were people all over the world who would love to live a few hundred metres from the beach in a home with ocean views. Matt had looked at this view all of his life and whilst he understood that it was impressive, like anything that you looked at regularly; it is difficult to maintain a sense of appreciation. It is far too easy to take for granted what is right in front of you.

    Matt had inherited the house and ten acres of banana plantation when his father, Merv, had been defeated by liver cancer nearly three years earlier. The front gate of the property was just more than twenty kilometres north of Coffs Harbour, a regional centre on the sub-tropical north coast of New South Wales; and home to about sixty thousand people. His father had been something of a local legend; having been a talented rugby league five-eighth and a vital player in the North Coast side which travelled to Sydney and defeated the stars of the Balmain side in the State cup in 1976. It was the first made-for-television knockout competition and in the early rounds pitted country sides against the high-profile city teams. Most of the country sides proved cannon fodder; being simply outmatched by more skilful and cohesive opponents. The exception to that rule had been North Coast; who turned up with a side with good skill, a few experienced players and an attitude of genuine fearlessness. Merv’s part in that single win cemented his reputation in local sporting circles.

    Merv had purchased the land in 1978; with the money that he negotiated for his next contract as captain-coach of the local side being the forty percent deposit he put down. After the game in Sydney the locals had dug deep to raise enough money to keep him in the face of interest from a couple of city clubs. Merv had never had any real interest in moving to the city but was happy to get the sort of money that was being offered. The land sat on a hill less than a kilometre from the Pacific Ocean and was not as steep as most of the banana plantations in this part of the world. It did rise sharply about halfway up from the eastern boundary and climbed further still to the top of a hill that sat a further hundred and fifty metres up beyond the western boundary; which lurked barely thirty metres behind the house and was separated from the next property by the road that carried through into the National Park. The house, a modest weatherboard creation with three small bedrooms; provided ocean views from its position close to the top of the property. Despite its modest size, the plantation had provided a good living for the Massey family over the years.

    Janine had been Merv’s wife and mother to Matt and his younger brother Shane. Janine and Shane had been killed in a collision with a semi-trailer on the highway a few kilometres from home on a wet summer night in 1987. Matt had been fifteen. Prior to the accident, Matt had been determined to get away from this rural existence and being ‘Merv Massey’s boy’, and move to the city once he’d finished school. The death of his mother and brother didn’t change his desire to do it, just his resolve.

    For Matt, the ensuing six to eight months had been a whirl of angst, misdirected anger and lost sense of himself and the world around him. He regularly missed school or wandered off part way through the day. Merv rolled with it as best he could. He too felt much the same way but kept his head down and worked hard, as was his way. He knew his son needed to work his way through it in his own way and whilst he felt the urge to stay close, to guide and shield Matt, he gave him the room he thought he needed and turned a blind eye to many of what were ultimately minor indiscretions. At a point some months after the accident the school had called Merv in to discuss Matt’s issues. The principal, Sam Lanskey and school counsellor Simone Gonski had arranged a session alone with Merv, to be followed by a session with Merv and Matt;

    After initial pleasantries Sam Lanskey commenced;

    Merv, we understand that …what happened… was a major upheaval and we have tried to give Matt some latitude because of that but we are concerned that he doesn’t seem to be getting back on track

    Merv nodded but said nothing.

    Simone thought she would clarify Matt has always been a good student and a valuable member of everything we do. He is natural leader and has always been a positive contributor but he is just not focused at all and his attendance continues to be a problem

    Again, Merv nodded but said nothing.

    Sam and Simone exchanged glances before Sam spoke again We are hoping that if we have a talk with you and then with you both that we can work out a path forward that will help Matt get back on track

    Still Merv said nothing.

    Simone leaned towards Merv Are you okay to discuss this, Mr Massey?

    Merv smiled Yes, I’m fine to talk about this. I just thought I’d let you guys spit out what it was you wanted to say

    Simone rolled back upright and looked at Sam. Sam nodded slowly then looked directly at Merv Can I take it that you don’t think there’s a problem?

    No, not at all; I know Matt’s been doing it tough. I know he hasn’t got his mind on school or anything much at all. We all know why. I’m pretty sure he’ll come out of it but I’m not interested in pushing it with him. He’s young. He needs time. I’m keeping my eye on him and I don’t think he’s doing anything much that couldn’t be expected and certainly don’t think he’s doing too much that’s causing too much grief to anyone else

    Simone leaned forward again and spoke in her gentlest voice We’re just concerned that he’s not the boy he was. Children can lose their way completely during their teenage years, particularly after a major…um…trauma …or upheaval

    Merv had to work not to laugh at her I appreciate your concern and I know you have Matt’s best interests at heart but I don’t think putting pressure on him will fix anything. He’s a good young bloke who’s going through a bad patch for a good reason. He’ll come through it

    Sam looked to Simone We might bring Matt in

    Simone went outside and ushered Matt into the room. Matt looked a little anxious but not frightened or intimidated. He took a seat beside his father and Simone returned to her seat. All four sat silently for a couple of moments longer than was comfortable before Sam spoke Matt, we’ve just been speaking with your father about a few things that we are concerned about and now we’d like to have a chat with you about it

    Matt nodded and waited.

    Ms Gonski and I are worried by your attendance. You have… he looked down at the sheet of paper on his lap … twenty-three unexplained absences over the past two terms

    Matt held the principal’s gaze but said nothing.

    Simone leaned forward towards Matt Do you understand why we are worried about that, Matt?

    Not really

    Well, if you are not attending school, we need to know why. Otherwise, we become concerned

    Matt leaned back in his seat and smirked I thought you’d like me more

    Simone held his stare Why would you say that?

    Doesn’t absence make the heart grow fonder?

    Merv almost laughed out loud. Sam Lanskey had to look down at his paperwork to hide his smile.

    Simone Gonski didn’t think it was funny Matt, I don’t think this is the time for joking around

    Matt shrugged her rebuke off. Sam could see that Matt was not particularly interested in Simone’s approach Look Matt, if you are not at school or leave through the day we need to know that and we need to know why. And there’s got to be a good reason. It needs to be done with our consent and with the consent of your father. So please let us know and get your dad to complete the form and bring it in for us. Okay?

    Matt nodded. Merv stepped in Can you give me a few of these forms? I’ll make sure it happens for you

    Sam nodded to Simone who made a note on her notepad then looked to Merv I’ll organize that for you before you leave, Mr Massey

    Thanks

    The rest of the meeting went much the same way. Sam and Simone expressed their concerns, Matt shrugged them off and Merv paid them lip service. As they left the school, Merv rolled the stack of ‘Explained Absence Forms’ into a tube that he carried like a relay runner’s baton. He looked at his son out of the corner of his eye. Matt felt the sideways glances and was expecting his father to have something stern to say. As they walked along the footpath outside the school and over towards their car, Matt waited for the reprimand but nothing eventuated. When they settled into the car and Merv had started the engine, he turned to Matt;

    If you’re going to have a day off let me know so we can give them some paperwork and keep them happy

    Yeah, alright

    Mate, you’re going to have to get your head down again at school

    I know

    Okay, as long as you know and you let me know what you’re doing so I can keep them off your back, it’ll be sweet

    Matt sat and looked at his father. He had expected a lecture; he wasn’t even sure why it wasn’t being delivered. He just knew this was better. Not just due to relief but because it felt like his father understood what was going on with him. Since the accident that had exploded their family life they had not argued, or fought or sat crying in each other’s arms. They had just existed; each going through the motions like they were drifting in a life raft; quiet and aimless.

    His father laughed Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Jesus that was funny. I nearly pissed myself!

    Matt laughed along with him.

    Inside the school, Sam Lanskey was telling the same story to his administrative assistant and laughing just as hard. Simone Gonski sat at her desk and worried what was to become of Matt Massey when his father seemed to be so hurt that he was incapable of working through things with his son.

    When it had been purchased, the property was bounded on the south and west by banana plantations. To the north and east was Crown land. The northern portion had eventually become part of the National Park. Between the eastern boundary and the ocean was a stretch of land that was claimed as Aboriginal land and had been assigned to the newly established Local Aboriginal Land Council during the 1980’s. There was a dirt track which cut along beside the southern fence line of the Massey property and ran down through the Aboriginal land to the beach. It provided access for the Aboriginal residents and when the conditions were right it was popular with local surfers who would come in search of the good waves that peeled off the headland on the southern end of the beach.

    Merv’s local legend status within the broader community had been forged a couple of years after he took on the plantation when he had been working alone on the high part of the property one spring afternoon. After cutting a bunch, he placed the bananas on the ground while he tidied up the stool. He bent down and collected the bunch and hoisted it to his shoulder, bringing up with it a two metre brown snake. He’d grabbed at it with the left hand he had spare and the snake, which was as panicked as Merv, used its only available defence, which was its mouth, and latched onto a finger as the hand slapped around its head. Merv stumbled backwards down the slope driven by the weight of the bananas. He’d landed heavily and tumbled down the hill. The snake and the bananas flew high over Merv’s tumbling routine and the trio completed an acrobatic act as spectacular as any circus had ever produced and as unusual as any freak show. Merv ruined any possibility of a perfect ten from the judges when he landed hard and awkwardly. The snake and the bananas continued on down the hill. The bananas stopped first. The snake was just keen to go and keep going and escape this chaos. When Merv came to a halt he examined his index finger and saw the puncture marks. He then looked down to where his leg was hurting and saw the bone protruding through the sock which sat just above his ankle-high work boot.

    He lay there for a couple of minutes, clutching his finger so tightly that it was purple; absorbing the pain from his leg and working out his options. He was the best part of one hundred and fifty metres from the house and on the steepest part of the hill, where walking on two good legs was a challenge. With no one else on the property he thought it unlikely that a call for help would be heard but he called out anyway. When nothing resulted from that after perhaps five minutes he made a decision and put his hand on a nearby rock, picked up the machete he used for cutting the banana bunches and stools and lopped the bitten finger off. When his eyesight had shaken off the red and white cloud that had flared in his brain in response to the blade he had tied the stump up as best he could with a handkerchief and begun the long, slow crawl to the house. He had eventually made the call for help from the telephone in the house almost two hours after the incident occurred. Nobody; from the ambulance officers, to the staff at the hospital and finally the general population who read about it in the local and national newspapers; could entirely believe the story but as Merv explained, he could see no other way to keep himself alive. Many agreed that it had been smart; it was highly likely that the snake bite would have had him sick and then dying before he made it to the house. Most agreed they could not have done what he did.

    By the time Matt had taken over the property the plantation up the hill behind had been bulldozed and the land sold with its primary attraction being substantial ocean views. The plantation to the south had been converted from bananas to blueberries a couple of years earlier. The small banana plantations of this region were struggling to compete with the large scale operations that had mushroomed in the tropics of North Queensland. The flood of produce from that area kept prices low and volume of product became a critical issue. The smaller operators simply could not produce enough to make money at the low prices at market. In the 1980’s a case of bananas had averaged ten to twelve dollars at market and cost two to four dollars for these small scale operators to produce. Twenty years later, the average sale was eight to ten dollars against a cost of six to eight dollars. As a result, many of the small producers were switching to alternatives crops such as blueberries, raspberries and avocadoes.

    3 Meet the Spagnolis

    It was 2005 when the property passed to Matt. He was thirty-three years old and his beachside café in Coffs Harbour was failing almost as rapidly as his marriage. He had married Katrina in the spring of 1999. When it had finally ended in the winter of 2007 she had left him as devastated as that other Katrina had New Orleans. She had left with their two children, daughter Jess who had been seven and son, Adam, who was five, and also along for the journey was the man Matt thought was his best friend. Matt had known Luke Brown since high school and had not had any inkling of the affair that Katrina had instigated and which Luke enthusiastically progressed over the two years prior.

    Luke and Katrina had briefly lived in Coffs Harbour, before they moved to Campbelltown in the outer south-western suburbs of Sydney. Few people would ever consider that a move forward but Katrina knew there was little left for her in Coffs. She had no real connection there beyond her soon-to-be ex-husband and a few friends and was eager to leave behind the Massey brand. She had worked in childcare and she and Luke took advantage of some available government funding assistance to purchase and re-open what had been a corporate childcare centre in their new neighbourhood.

    Matt had closed the doors on the café to go to work on the plantation but had struggled to make enough from it to make any sort of dent in the pile of debt that had accumulated in the café. He had continued to plug away at the bananas and juggle the debt collectors and tax office for a couple of years. When Katrina made her break he had struggled to adapt despite the knowledge that the marriage had not been a happy or contented one and he was as much to blame for that as anyone. She commenced divorce proceedings and demanded a half-share of everything. As Matt pointed out, she was more than welcome to a half-share of the debts. She pointed out, the debts were in his name. Eventually the court put a stamp on an arrangement somewhere between those two points and Matt had been ordered to hand Katrina $110,000 and ongoing maintenance payments for the children. Given that his bank balance on that day was $1422.70 it did create more than a slight problem and he thought he may have to just sell the property.

    The banks would not lend him money given his recent trials with the café business and the earnings from the bananas. A few days after the court made its ruling he was leaning on the fence talking with Antony Spagnoli, who owned the property to the south. Antony was a black-haired, round shouldered, even rounder bellied man whose father had bought the property on his arrival from Italy some thirty-five years earlier. Antony had been literally born on the property and now, at thirty-two, looked after the twenty acres of netted blueberries;

    So, you’ve got the divorce done, Matt?

    Yeah, I’ve got to give the bitch a hundred and ten grand

    That’s got to hurt

    Yeah, hurts more because I haven’t got it. I’ll probably have to sell the place

    Why can’t you borrow it? This place is worth plenty more than that

    I’ve only had the place a couple of years and you know they haven’t been great years so the banks won’t touch me. I think I’m fucked

    Spagnoli pursed his lips and took a moment for a thought before he spoke I might know someone who could help

    Matt looked at his neighbour Who?

    My cousin, Lino; he does a bit of private financing

    Private financing?

    Yes. He and some other guys do a bit of it. They have some good business contacts that are always looking to invest some spare cash. It’s more expensive but it can be a way around the banks

    Matt considered this Do you think he’d be interested in something like this?

    I don’t know but if you want to have a talk with him I can get in touch with him

    Matt hesitated but then thought that it couldn’t hurt to have a talk Yeah, if you can organise a chat and we’ll see what comes of it

    Alright, I’ll let him know

    Thanks, Antony

    No problem. I hope it helps

    A couple of nights later the telephone rang and Matt picked it up;

    Hello

    Hello the voice had a thick Italian accent; the kind that every mainstream comedy with an Italian character would have "Isa this a Mart Marssee?"

    Yes

    It’s Lino Spagnoli. My cousin Antony tells me you want to have a talk to me

    Oh, yes, Lino. Antony thought you might be interested in, um, some private finance

    Sometimes I can do this. What do you need?

    I need a hundred and twenty thousand Matt paused and then added maybe a little bit more

    And you own property?

    Yes, I have the ten acres with the house

    Perhaps I can help. I will come to see you

    Okay; when?

    Tomorrow

    Okay, I’ll be here

    I’ll come at 11 tomorrow morning

    Okay, thanks Lino

    See you then

    Before Matt had a chance to say anything further Lino had terminated the call.

    The following morning was still, warm and clear, a perfect early autumn morning. Exactly the sort of morning that tourism marketers would have you believe arrived daily. Matt cut a few bunches and was pottering about in the packing shed when a black Porsche Cayenne rolled down the driveway and pulled up in front of the house. Matt stepped down the two rough timber steps from the packing shed and watched as two men stepped from the vehicle. The passenger was perhaps late-forties, tall and heavy-set with wavy black and silver hair combed straight back from his cliff-face forehead. He was dressed in black trousers, shirt and jacket, like a European version of Johnny Cash. The driver was much younger, in his twenties; about the same height as his companion though much trimmer. He also wore black but in this man’s case it was a very tight tee-shirt atop black designer jeans and boots that were decorated with what appeared to be stainless steel tips. His longish wavy black hair was held in place by too much hair gel, giving it a wet look.

    Matt approached the men and up close it was obvious that the men were related, probably father and son. The facial features and chocolate-drop eyes could easily be swapped without any loss of recognition.

    G’day said Matt brightly

    The older man spoke Matt?

    Yep

    I’m Lino. Nice to meet you a hand was thrust out which Matt shook.

    Likewise, Lino

    And this is my son, Eddie

    G’day Eddie this time it was Matt’s turn to thrust out a hand.

    The young man took it and gripped with knuckle-cracking pressure Hey Matt Matt shook his hand free before permanent damage was done.

    Come on in, guys Matt held a hand towards the house and led the men inside. He offered them seats at the old laminated dining table Can I get you something to drink; coffee or tea?

    Lino replied for both No thanks, we’re a bit short for time Matt nodded and quickly took a seat.

    Lino got straight down to business So you need to borrow one hundred and twenty thousand, is that right?

    Matt nodded Yes, I have to buy my ex-missus out of this property

    Lino pouted his fat lips And you own this property outright?

    Yes

    Why don’t you go to a bank?

    Matt winced I did but I only inherited this place a couple of years ago and the last couple of years haven’t been great for the bananas and so they aren’t real keen on taking a punt on me making a profit I guess

    Lino nodded They like a bit of certainty. We understand that farming has its ups and downs. One or two years is never a good indication of how a farm is going. Well, how it works with us is we put the money in and you register us as part-owners of the land. You pay the stamp duty and whatever other costs there are. The interest rate is fourteen percent and for what you want to borrow, it is payable in a maximum ten years. So we work out what you need to pay each month over ten years. That total amount is the amount that needs to be paid even if you pay it up early. At the end, we come off the title. It’s that simple

    Matt chewed this over for a few seconds I would have thought a mortgage or something would have been how it worked

    We aren’t a bank. What you are asking for is for us to invest in you. To do that, we need the security of being on the title. We will be your silent partners

    Matt pushed his tongue into his cheek and then under his bottom lip And the fourteen percent, for a fully secured loan could that come down a bit?

    No

    Okay, so if I wanted a bit more, say a hundred and fifty?

    We could do that. Why would you want it?

    I’m thinking about putting some of the property under blueberries or tomatoes; like Antony’s done. There’s not enough money in the bananas but I’d need twenty or thirty to do it

    Lino nodded We could do that

    So what would the payments be on something like that?

    Lino looked to Eddie who furrowed his brow for a few seconds then responded About two and a half grand a month

    Lino looked at Matt We’ll give you the exact numbers before we agree to any deal but Ed is good with numbers; that will be very close

    Matt knew that he’d need to be making more money than he was now to be able to afford it I’ll have to work out my finances and make a decision

    Of course you must think about it Lino Spagnoli handed Matt a business card that that revealed only his name and a mobile phone number Give me a call when you are ready

    Thanks. I’ll ring you in the next day or two

    The Spagnolis stood, shook hands and proceeded out to their car that Matt guessed was worth pretty close to double what he was seeking to borrow.

    4. Mick and Reg Come Calling

    Scott Purton was in the kitchen of his coffee shop, cleaning up the last of the dishes from the day. He had closed the doors on another ordinary day of business and as he did every evening, finished the cleaning up and did some preparation for the following day. Scott had bought the coffee shop, which held a position in the main thoroughfare of Coffs Harbour, in the autumn of 2009. He and his wife, Bree, were living in Melbourne and had holidayed in Coffs Harbour the previous summer. Like so many before them, they had enjoyed themselves so much they had decided on a move to the laidback coastal lifestyle with dreams of daily swimming and walks on the beach and catching and eating fresh seafood. They would not be the last to go on holiday and think that they’d love to live like this, buy a little business to make a living and just enjoy life a bit more.

    It had not taken the full three months of poor trading that beset every retailer through winter in these beachside towns before Scott realised he was under-capitalised. He knew, or at least prayed that he knew; the trade would be better in summer but had under-estimated how poor the winter would be. Like most of his fellow small retailers in this street, it was a case of make your money in the four to six weeks of the summer season and the last chance at Easter before hanging on grimly from then until next summer. It meant long hours for little reward and little or no time to indulge in, and enjoy, the very things that made them want to live here in the first place.

    As Scott scrubbed around the rim of a steel tray with steel wool he heard the door in the shop swing open. He was expecting Bree; she collected him each evening after she finished work at an office supplies store but it was earlier than normal for her to arrive. He dropped the tray and steel wool into the suds and wiped his hands on a tea towel as he walked over to the louvred swinging doors that hung between the dining area and kitchen. Peering over the doors he was mildly surprised to see two men walking through the shop. The lights in the shop were off and the men were silhouetted by the light from the street that trailed in behind them, making it hard to determine their features clearly. They were both average height but very thickset and they moved slowly, deliberately. They both held their arms awkwardly wide of their bodies, like they were gunslingers in an old western.

    Scott pushed through the doors and took a step or two into the shop Can I help you guys?

    The men stopped perhaps three or four metres short of where Scott stood, close enough for Scott to know that he didn’t know them but he felt that sense of having seen them somewhere before. It made him uneasy. The lead man tilted his chin up to the left;

    Scott Purton?

    Scott’s unease doubled in intensity Yeah, what can I do for you

    The men moved forward a couple of paces and for the first time since they had entered Scott recognized the black tee-shirts, jeans, boots and leather vests as the uniform of the ‘Ghost Riders’, one of the motorcycle gangs that saw themselves as modern outlaws; separate from society and its regulations. With the realisation that these men were Ghost Riders, Scott’s heart began frantically thumping at his chest, seemingly seeking a way out. The men moved closer and the man in front came to within a metre of Scott before speaking again;

    Do you know who we are?

    Scott shook his head No idea

    I’m Mick Alchin the man paused for dramatic effect I’m a Ghost Rider

    Scott looked from Mick Alchin to his companion and back You guys are ghost writers? Seriously? Who do you ghost write for, Beavis and Butthead? Despite the terror that was sending the butterflies in his gut on jet fighter runs at his insides Scott was pretty amused by his joke; at least he was until Mick Alchin delivered a right hand that knocked the butterflies into orbit. Scott dropped to his knees, seeing explosions of light behind his eyes as his wind left him.

    Mick Alchin stood above him Fuckin’ funny cunt, aren’t ya Alchin stepped past Scott and moved towards the kitchen barking over his shoulder as he moved Bring him in here

    Mick Alchin’s companion was named Reg Gardiner. Reg was thirty-two years old and had been in and out of institutions and jail for most of his life before becoming involved with the Ghost Riders during his most recent stint in Grafton jail. He considered it one of the best moves he had ever made. He had remained out of jail for almost three years since joining the Ghosts without surrendering himself to the drudgery of the average citizen. Reg hooked Scott under the armpits and heaved him up onto his feet. Scott did his best to suck some air in and reminded himself that sometimes it was smarter to keep your mouth shut.

    Reg shoved Scott through the doors into the kitchen. The stainless steel island bench in the centre of the kitchen stopped his journey. Scott remained on his feet but was hunched over, leaning on the bench. He looked warily towards Mick Alchin who

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