So Sick! (10 page)

‘That’s for getting me into trouble,’ says Hamish.

‘Who threw the plum in the first place?’ asks Luke. ‘The Sugar Plum Fairy?’

Hamish scoffs, ‘And sardines fly?’

The boys face each other, Luke giving in and rubbing his shoulder while Hamish scratches his balls.

‘It’s all your fault I’m grounded,’ spits Hamish, moving in for another punch.

‘No, it’s not!’ says Luke. He sidesteps and the punch falls short. Hamish charges, tackling Luke around the chest and dragging him down.

Oscar and Eli start to clap and chant, ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’

Zac leaps onto Hamish’s back, trying to grab an arm. ‘Get ‘im!’ he calls to Karl. Together they manage to pull Hamish off.

‘Whatcha do that for?’ asks Oscar, his voice a howl of disappointment.

‘Yeah!’ says Eli. ‘Just as it was getting fun.’

Zac nods at Luke sprawled in the grass. ‘You’re twice his size!’ he says to Hamish.

‘Hmphh!’ snorts Hamish. ‘He’s just a chicken.’

Luke’s now on his feet. ‘I’m no chicken,’ he says.

‘Not so tough now, Lemon Boy!’ taunts Hamish. ‘Bwarrk, bwk bwk bwk!’

Luke’s shoulder is hurting. He still feels winded but there’s no way the Warriors are going to get the better of him. He gets an idea. ‘Let’s see who’s the chicken?’ he says.

‘Whaddya mean?’ asks Hamish, his eyes narrowing and his palms curling at his sides.

Luke smiles to himself but he’s careful not to show it. ‘Let’s see who’s chicken?’ he repeats.

Hamish is listening. ‘Go on,’ he says.

‘How about a fight?’ asks Luke. ‘This Friday afternoon. The Wallaroos versus the Warriors. The Wallaroos’ll win,’ he adds.

‘That’ll be the day.’

‘Simpson Park. Four o’clock. We fight — with weapons,’ Luke challenges him.

Hamish is nodding his head saying, ‘You’re on. What weapons?’

What’s the most revolting weapon I can think of? Luke wonders. His thoughts go back to their latest skirmish … Mrs Sully … And then he knows.

‘Chook poo!’ he crows.

‘Simpson Show’ says the sign on the telegraph pole. Hay Rides, Sideshow Alley, Pony Rides, Arts and Crafts, Sheep Dog Trials, Pigeon Races — the list goes on.

‘Sideshow Alley’s the best,’ says Zac as he, Luke and Karl stand in front of the sign. ‘Last year I shot six ducks and won a gnome.’

‘Didn’t its hat break off?’ asks Karl.

‘And its arms.’ Zac shrugs, then grins. ‘It’s the winning that counts.’

‘Which reminds me… ’ says Luke. He looks worried.
‘How are we gonna win the fight if we don’t have ammo?’

‘Easy,’ says Karl. ‘What’s a metre and a bit tall, wears overalls and parades around with a pigeon on its head?’

Luke shakes his head. ‘No way! What if Dad gets wind of it? He’ll kill me if I get caught stealing. I’m steering clear of Mrs Sully.’

‘Your old man’s not that bad,’ interrupts Zac.

‘No?’ asks Luke. ‘Last time I got in trouble I got a boot up the bum. I’m still wearing the tread.’

Zac flings his arms round Luke’s shoulders. ‘My old man just told me never to do it again, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he said it.’ He grins. ‘He’s pretty good, my old man.’

Luke sighs and frowns. ‘So, it’s back to the problem of the chook poo.’

‘I know!’ says Karl. ‘What if we just
borrow
a bag or two off Mrs Sully? She won’t notice they’re missing and before she does we’ll replace them.’

‘How?’ asks Luke.

‘The Show!’ says Zac. ‘There’s bound to be someone selling bags of chook poo. We’ll pick some up there on Saturday. Mrs Sully will never know.’ He leans forward and grips Luke’s arm. ‘And neither will your dad.’

And that’s how Luke comes to be lurking under
Mrs Sully’s lemon tree for the second time in two days.

‘Wonder where she keeps her supplies?’ says Karl.

‘Bet it’s right under our noses!’ jokes Luke. ‘By the smell of things she’s got a mountain of the stuff.’

‘There’s a shed,’ whispers Zac, peering through the fence palings. ‘Up in the corner. Bet it’s in there.’

‘There’s the side gate,’ adds Luke, pointing down a side path.

‘Good,’ says Karl.

Waiting beside the fence is cruel to noses so the boys decide to move into action. Luke turns to Karl, ‘You go to the front door and distract the Sullys. Zac ‘n me will nip in, grab the chook poo and run.’

‘Why do I have to go to the door?’ asks Karl.

‘‘Cause you’ve got muesli for muscles,’ says Luke.

‘Oh,’ says Karl. ‘Okay.’

Karl marches up to the front door and knocks. It isn’t long before someone answers.

Luke can hear the grating tones of Mrs Sully’s voice and Karl’s eager reply. ‘C’mon,’ he whispers to Zac.

While Karl is busy pretending that he’s looking for his aunty’s house Luke and Zac creep down the side path till they come to the gate. ‘Hope it’s not locked,’ whispers Luke. He reaches up, pokes his hand through a hole and slips the catch. The gate swings open.

Karl’s voice floats down the path … ‘But, I’m sure my aunty lives in Bloom Street. Her name’s,
um, Gladys. Gladys Thursday.’

Luke starts to giggle. ‘Very clever,’ he whispers, then explains to a puzzled Zac. ‘Glad it’s Thursday.’

‘Oh!’ says Zac, looking sheepish.

‘Let’s go,’ whispers Luke.

The boys walk down the side of the house, then stop. Peeping around the corner they scour the backyard for signs of life. There are signs of life all right, but not human ones. A huge aviary stretches down one whole fence. It is full of pigeons. Nesting boxes hang from walls, perches and feed boxes do, too. Birds sit with heads tucked under wings, others peck on the ground. One or two are busy at the seed tray.

‘Wonder which one is Pretty Boy?’ says Luke.

Zac shrugs. ‘Don’t know. Don’t care. C’mon!’

Making sure to step over a multitude of pot plants, spades, rakes and trowels the boys creep to the shed. Luke grabs for the sliding door and pulls. Nothing happens. He tries again. ‘Bit stiff,’ he says to Zac.

Zac grabs at the handle, too. ‘Here, I’ll help.’

A shrill scraping sound pierces the air. Luke and Zac freeze. They look around. Luke’s heart tumbles in his chest like a washing machine off its thread.

No one comes.

With one quick glance around the yard the boys duck through the opening, into the dark.

‘Errrh! says Zac, covering his nose with his hand. ‘Festy.’

‘We have to move fast,’ hisses Luke. His eyes
strain in the dim light. He can just make out a wheelbarrow and a watering can. He takes a hesitant sniff, then turns. ‘There they are!’ he says.

Chicken manure sacks are piled on top of one another. Grabbing a corner Zac hoists one on his back, trying to hold his breath at the same time. ‘I’m off,’ he croaks.

Luke waves his hand under his nose saying, ‘You’re telling me.’

‘Meet you outside,’ gasps Zac.

As the boys round the corner of the house they can hear Karl say, ‘My aunty used to be a Pigeon Racer!’

And then comes an excited reply. ‘Did she now?!’ There’s giggling. Luke’s eyes widen. No one’s ever heard Mrs Sully giggle before. ‘I’m entering my Pretty Boy in this weekend’s show. Maybe your aunty will be there?’

‘Sure,’ says Karl. ‘She’d love to meet you.’

Another giggle.

Luke grins to himself thinking, Karl can even pull the wool over a fox’s eyes!

It is Friday afternoon at Simpson Park. Luke, Zac and Karl have dragged their sacks of chook poo behind the climbing frame, the best position for attack.

Luke checks his watch. ‘A minute past,’ he says. ‘Wonder where they are?’

‘There!’ cries Zac, pointing as Hamish, Oscar and Eli roll up.

Luke grins to see that they, too, are lugging heavy-looking sacks that look remarkably like their own. Another Mrs Sully
donation
, thinks Luke. He pokes his head out from behind the frame. ‘Take a minute to pick your hiding spot,’ he says, ‘seeing as us Wallaroos are so kind.’

Hamish puts down his sack and signals for the others to do the same. He stands with his feet apart, his arms hugging his chest. ‘We’re Warriors,’ he says, ‘we don’t have to hide.’

‘Suit yourselves, then,’ responds Luke. He steps from behind the climbing frame and walks up to Hamish. ‘Here’s a little token to show what good sports we are.’

Hamish puts out his hand asking, ‘What is it? What’s it for?’

‘A hanky,’ says Luke with a dead straight face. Then he bolts, calling back over his shoulder. ‘To clean the crap off your face!’

Hamish stands looking at the hanky. He throws back his head, opens his mouth — wide — and lets out a blood-curdling cry. Then he blows his nose, a big juicy blow, folds the hanky and puts it in his pocket.

The first clod of chook poo hurls through the air, hitting Hamish full on the chin.

‘Raaaagggh!’ yells Hamish, thrusting a hand in the sack, but before he gets any further …

Toot! Toooot!

Both boys turn to the sound of a horn. There seems to be a problem on the road beside the park. Even though the lights are green the first car has stopped.

Luke wonders if it has broken down. Beep! Beep! The drivers behind are getting impatient.

Luke watches as a small figure steps from behind the wheel of the first car. He watches as the small figure marches across the road and into the park. It is wearing overalls and a pigeon on its
head. ‘What the … ?’ he says. He turns around just in time to see Hamish pluck out his hanky and toss it on the ground. But there’s no time for Luke to wonder about it, the next thing he sees is Hamish bolting off like a streaker at a footy match. Eli and Oscar are flat out behind him. Their bags of chook poo lie abandoned on the grass.

‘Stop!’ yells Mrs Sully. ‘Don’t think I don’t know who you are!’

Luke gulps. He’s in trouble. Big trouble.

‘Come out the rest of you!’ roars Mrs Sully, twirling around to scout the rest of the park. ‘And show your weaselly faces. I know you’re there!’

Luke slides down behind the frame. He looks around at Zac and Karl. He knows that there is no way Mrs Sully could have seen them. They’ve been out of view the whole time. ‘Hide!’ hisses Luke.