Double Take (9 page)

Dad looked up, but he didn't seem to be okay. In fact he looked worse. Now Trent was getting nervous.

From the front, the shed was almost at ground level, but the land dropped away steeply towards the creek, so that the building was nearly one storey above ground at the back. Trent led the way around to the back, where a small landing jutted out. They stopped at the bottom of the eight stairs leading up to it. “Do you boys know what this shed was used for?”

“No,” the brothers said in unison.

“When I was a kid it was a thriving business, repairing small boats. They'd float them up the creek, then load them onto a trolley on a set of rails and haul them up.” He ran his fingers over his moustache. “See the set of train tracks off that back deck there?”

Trent looked up at the landing. Two rusted rails jutted off the end of the platform like giant chopsticks. “Yeah,” he said.

“That's what they used. It was really high-tech back then. And see that?” Dad pointed at a metal arm that was attached to the back of the building. It was nearly eaten away with rust. “That was part of the pulley system that dragged the boats up the hill. From here they would push the trolley off the rails and into the shed.”

“So you've been here before?”

Dad huffed again. “Actually, I used to play under here just like you two. My dad was a boatie. We lived just down the road.”

“You never told us that. How come no-one's here now?”

“Back in 1974 a huge flood washed out most of this area. The boatshed was deemed irreparable and they pretty much abandoned it. It's a wonder it's still standing.” He slapped the side of the building and then dusted white, powdery stuff off his hands.

Trent shrugged. “Looks pretty good to me.”

Murray looked down at him and Trent noticed the blue vein running down his forehead. He'd never seen it before. An image of his mum flashed into his mind. At the end, in the final weeks before she died, spidery blue veins had popped out through her skin everywhere. The backs of her hands, her arms, even her face. It was as if even her blood was trying to escape the cancer. Trent dragged his eyes away from his father's bulging vein and tried to shake off the memory. He much preferred to remember his mum how she looked before she got sick.

He turned away and walked under the landing. His dad would have to duck his head to fit. He'd once overheard his mum bragging to one of her friends that Dad was over six feet tall. Trent hoped he'd get to be that tall, he only reached his father's chest at the moment.

The area under the shed was built-in with vertical planks spaced an inch apart. Between the landing and the stairs several boards had been broken, creating a hole only just big enough for Max to fit through. Max demonstrated this by practically jumping through the gap. Trent followed next. He, too, had little trouble. Their dad, however, did some kind of contortionist move to get his body through and, just when Trent thought he'd made it, caught his arm on the jagged edges of a broken plank. It ripped his jacket and grazed his arm as well.

“Damn, I love this jacket.” Dad thumbed away the trickle of blood.

“It's okay, Dad,” said Max, looking at the cut. “When we get famous for this you can buy another one.”

“Being famous doesn't always mean you'll be rich.”

“Of course it does. Come on, Dad, who's famous but not rich?”

Murray thought about this for a bit and then said, “Mother Teresa, and Gandhi.”

“Who're they? I'm talking about real TV stars.” Max shook his head.

They moved further under the shed and pretty soon Trent had to bow his head to fit. His dad was fully bent over. Ancient cobwebs hung from the splinters along the wooden beams like ragged threads. The smell of the damp dirt was so strong that Trent could taste it in his mouth as he breathed. Slivers of the setting sun shone in through the roughly spaced boards, creating pale yellow lines on the dark ground. For a brief second he thought they looked like prison bars. He hoped it wasn't some kind of voodoo-omen thing and, as he quickly shrugged off the thought, he reached for his torch.

He shone the beam ahead of them. “See our track, Dad?”

“What?” Dad's deep frown dragged his bushy eyebrows together.

“Our track. This is where we race our cars,” Max said and he scrambled forward. “See, there are two tracks. How cool is it?”

Once again Trent thought his dad was going to throw up. He hoped he didn't. It would stink to hell down here for weeks. Not to mention the ants that'd take over. Max moved further along and lay flat on his stomach. Next second he was waving at them, with his arm threaded beneath a pile of planks. “Hi, Dad,” he yelled.

“Shhh. What's he doing?” Dad whispered.

“He's showing you the tunnel we made under the wood pile.”

“Jesus, boys, can we just get to the spot?”

“Okay, but you know we have heaps of time.”

“I'd just feel better if I see it and we get set up.”

Trent shrugged and moved further under the shed. Soon he was on his hands and knees. He looked behind him and just about burst out laughing when he saw his dad doing the commando crawl.
He's going to be completely covered in dirt and shit by the end of this
.

Another metre or so and Trent stopped. “This is it.” He slapped the smooth ground. “This is where I put the boom box last time.”

Murray was filthy and sweating like crazy by the time he arrived at the spot. And when he wiped his forehead he left a dirty smudge on his sleeve. His constant wriggling didn't help either. Gemma was going to freak out when she saw him, thought Trent. But at least now she'd understand how they got so dirty every time they came here.

“Are these guys going to jail?” Trent said.

His dad rolled to look at him. “Of course. What they're doing is illegal.”

“Why do you think—?”

“Shhh.” His dad froze. The whites of his eyes were huge. Trent's stomach flipped over at the fear he saw in his father's eyes.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all
.

Murray rolled onto his front and propped himself up on his elbows, whispering something under his breath. Trent thought it might have been, “This is crazy,” but he didn't get the chance to ask because right now one of the robbers was walking right towards them. He heard his dad suck the air between his teeth and Trent was certain he could hear his own heartbeat too. It was all so much scarier now that Dad was here. Seconds later he was looking at heavy boots while the man jiggled with a set of keys. The door opened above them and then the feet disappeared. The sounds of footsteps above were followed by a whoosh of breath. Dad had obviously been holding it. Trent glanced past his dad and noticed Max grinning. He gave a thumbs up and it seemed like ages before Dad matched him with his own thumbs up signal.

The next robber came and scurried upstairs so quickly Trent wondered if he was worried about being seen or something. The third man took his time. Strode in like he owned the place. He was huge and fit-looking too. The muscles on his arms bulged out everywhere and Trent imagined he was a boxer or something. It wasn't until he saw all the tattoos that he thought just how scary the guy was. He glanced at his dad and by the look on his face he was thinking the same thing.

Trent remembered the camera and jabbed at it.

“Oh yeah.” Dad unhooked the camera from his neck. The next robber was the woman and obviously Dad was just as shocked as Trent had been the first time he saw her, because by the time he brought the camera up and looked through the lens, he missed getting her photo.

Dad was ready when the fourth man arrived. He steadied himself on his elbows with the camera clasped between his raised hands. When he clicked the button, the noise seemed to echo off the ancient floorboards above them. Trent's breath caught in his throat. He expected the man to stop. But he didn't. They were lucky. Dad lowered the camera back onto the dirt. He obviously wasn't going to attempt any more photos. Trent didn't blame him one bit.

When the final robber arrived, Dad just lowered his face to the ground, forehead to dirt. Once that man's footsteps were upstairs, he raised his head long enough to press the record button on the boom box, then plonked his head down again.

Trent rolled onto his back and stared at a cobweb blowing in the breeze as he listened to the conversation above them.

J
ack arrived at the shed a few minutes early. Once again he was relieved to see everything as he'd left it. But then again, it should be. Based on the amount of dust blanketing everything when he first rediscovered the shed, he was pretty sure no-one had been in this building for a very long time.

It was pure fluke that he'd found it again. A few weeks ago, he got lost while looking for a man selling established sago palms. What he found was a solution to a problem that had been bugging him for weeks. He did find the man with the palms. They were much cheaper than what the nurseries were asking and he didn't mind digging them out himself, especially when he was set to save four hundred bucks by doing it. But the whole time he was digging, his mind was on this shed. By the time he'd put the plants in the back of his ute, he had known exactly what he was going to do.

And here he was, three weeks later, first to arrive at the abandoned shed and preparing for a bank robbery he'd been devising in his head for months. Everything as it should be. Except for the fact that he was about to commit a serious felony. Suddenly claustrophobic, he opened the back door and propped it open with a rusted chunk of metal he found on the outside landing. As he stood there in the doorway, enjoying the cool breeze and sunlight, he glanced down towards the creek. Weeping willow trees lined the creek's banks, blocking the view of the water.

He stepped back into the shed and again chose the red chair at the head of the table. The chair was another bargain, just $3 at a garage sale. In fact, the entire table and chair setting cost just $27. He'd had to scour three garage sales to put the lot together, but it had been worth it. Meeting in this shed gave them the privacy they needed. It also meant, with the padlocks on the doors, he could leave things here, like the bank layout, without worrying about Candice finding them.

Good old trustworthy Donny was second to arrive. His slicked-back hair glistened in the sunlight as he walked into the shed. They shook hands before Donny pulled out a chair beside Jack.

“How's Candice doing? Any improvement?”

Jack shook his head.

“I'm sorry to hear that. It doesn't seem fair.”

“I know. We've been on the waiting list for the operation for over two years now, and every day she gets that little bit worse. I need this, Donny. Candice needs it.”

“I don't understand. What's the hold-up for the operation?”

It was a good question. One that Jack had asked at just about every doctor visit they went to. “For starters, we don't have private health insurance.” Jack rolled his eyes. “And, when Candice was first diagnosed, she was only twenty-eight and otherwise healthy. You'd think they were good things. But that's what put her a long way behind the elderly and very sick.”

Donny dabbed his upper lip with his handkerchief as he listened in silence. “Before they decided to operate, they tried a cocktail of different drugs—amiodarone, procainamide, magnesium sulphate and a pile of other ones I can't even pronounce—to see if they could regulate her heartbeat.” Jack felt his chin dimpling. “This took time and all the while her health was deteriorating. She's no longer the healthy woman who was first diagnosed. It scares the hell out of me, Donny.” He met Donny's eyes. “She could have an attack and die any day.”

Donny placed his hand on Jack's forearm. “Don't worry. It'll work out.”

“I hope so.” Donny was a good bloke. And that only made Jack more nervous about the whole plan. If anything went wrong then the thought of Donny, or any of them for that matter, going to jail crushed him. For the umpteenth time Jack wondered if his plan was foolish.

But then again, how else was he going to get his hands on $74,000? This was the plan. His only plan. And it had better work.

Stubbs was next to arrive. “Hey guys, how ya going?” Stubbs made a point of shaking their hands before he sat down.

“So what've you been doing with yourself, Donny?” Stubbs asked.

“I teach carpentry at TAFE, been doing it for ten years now.”

Pete arrived and strode towards the table. “Hey Pete.” Jack held his hand forward and Pete squeezed Jack's palm in a brutal handshake. He did the same to Stubbs and Donny, then grabbed a chair, sat down and folded his arms across his chest. Well, as best as he could with those bulging biceps. Jack wondered if he shoved his fists under his arms like that on purpose. He had already made up his mind he wasn't getting anywhere near them.

“Carpentry, hey?” Stubbs said. “Remember back in high school when we had to make those stupid folding chairs?”

“Oh, that's right. Don't think mine looked anything like it was supposed to.”

“Mine either, silly thing wouldn't fold up.”

Jack didn't know what they were talking about. He'd missed the last couple of years of high school.

Jimmy stomped through the door and made a show of the pizzas he was carrying. He'd brought two, not three, but Jack was just impressed that he even remembered. Jimmy grunted his greeting and didn't even glance in Pete's direction. After tossing the pizza boxes on the table, he dragged his greasy hair behind his ears, then opened the lid on the top box and lifted out one huge slice, drawing it upwards until the string of cheese broke free. He folded the slab of pizza up and fed a huge portion of it into his mouth.

“You still building roads at that mine, Stubbs?” Jimmy asked through a mouthful of pizza.