Authors: Damian Davis
Digger Field (7 page)
I was clutching the half-brick so hard my hand was hurting.
There were a couple of little rooms behind the kitchen. I guess one used to be a toilet and the other one was a pantry, or something. I didn’t really know what I was looking for.
I called out, ‘Hello.’
Nobody called back. There was no one there.
I was squeezing the half-brick so hard I was amazed I hadn’t crushed it. I pegged it against the chimney in the kitchen and it bounced off and rolled across the floor.
It made a
bup-de-bup
,
bup-de-bup
,
bup-de-bup
noise as it bounced along the wooden floorboards.
Bup-de-bup
,
bup-de-bup
. Then,
boing
.
Boing
? The last bounce sounded completely different. Like it was on a different surface. And it sounded like there was nothing underneath that surface.
I went and picked up the brick and dropped it again on the spot.
Boing
. Weird. It sounded like the brick was hitting metal.
I picked it up again and dropped it half a metre to the left and it went
bup-de-bup
. Wood.
I brushed away the dirt on the floor just in front of me. Underneath was a trapdoor. I tapped it and it was definitely made of metal. It looked like it had only just been put there. It was about the size that a man could go through. I guess that’s why they call them manholes.
I wanted to try and open it but there was no way I was going to do it on my own. I ran up and got Wrigs.
‘So what?’ he said when I showed him the trapdoor. ‘It’s probably always been there.’
‘Look, it’s metal. It’s brand-new. The rest of the floor is old floorboards,’ I said. ‘And whoever put it here didn’t want anyone to find it. They’d covered it with dirt so it looks like the rest of the floor. They’ve even painted it brown like the wood.’
‘Mr Black?’
‘S’pose,’ I said. I bent down and looked to see if there was any way to open the trapdoor. There weren’t any handles on it, or anything.
‘I can’t open it,’ I said.
‘There’s something under there and we’re not meant to know about it,’ he said. ‘Let’s go to the cops.’
I found a little flap, about the size of a twenty-cent piece, which slid sideways. Under it was a lock.
Wrigs looked at me for a second. Then he said, ‘
Graa-aa-ee-agh!
’ and ran out of the kitchen, down the corridor and out of the house. What a sook. I spread the dirt back across the trapdoor so Mr Black wouldn’t know we found it, and then chased after Wrigs.
Wrigs was waiting for me at the top of View Street. We started walking to the police station, which should have taken us about ten minutes, but we walked so quickly it took us about four.
The police station is an old brick house in Queen Street. We were about to walk through the front door when I said, ‘What are we going to tell them?’
‘We’ll tell them what we’ve seen.’
‘What, that there’s a trapdoor in a deserted house?’
‘Yeah, and about Mr Black,’ he said.
‘So we’ll say that we’ve seen a guy hanging around who looks like he stepped out of an old black-and-white gangster film?’
‘Yeah,’ said Wrigs.
‘They’ll think we’re idiots.’
‘Well, I’m going to tell them anyway.’
‘They’re going to say we’re wasting their time.’
Wrigs looked at me for a moment. He knew I was right. We turned to leave.
Just then I noticed a garden bed next to the police station door. Someone at the station must have really liked cactus plants. There were loads of them, all different shapes and sizes.
But, better than the plants, were the quartz pebbles covering the bottom of the garden bed. They were exactly the right size and shape for skimming.
I picked up a couple and put them in my pocket.
DAY 15: Saturday
My skims: 0
Wriggler’s skims: 0
Training for world record stopped. For a while, at least.
Money made for tinnie: $0 ($725 to go.)
We’ve got a plan, it’s not perfect but that’s its only problem.
Wriggler reckons Mr Black is keeping someone he has kidnapped under the kitchen. I reckon it’s where he hides stuff he steals from people’s houses. Whatever it is we have to find out. Then an idea hit me like a rolled up newspaper swatting a mosquito.
When Wrigs came around I said, ‘What we need is a sensor camera. Y’know, a camera that takes photos when it senses movement.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s no way Mr Black would risk opening the manhole during the day when people might see him, so I reckon he must only go into that cellar at night.’
I pointed at a photo on the computer I’d found online. It was of a camera that we could buy from any electronics shop.
‘If we had this we could photograph him in the dark and see what he does down there. The police wouldn’t be able to ignore that.’
‘We haven’t got enough money for one of those.’
Typical Wrigs. Always worried about detail.
‘You can buy one for about a hundred bucks. Think how much reward money we’d make when we catch him. We’d definitely get the tinnie then.’
‘Yeah, but still it’s a hundred bucks we don’t have. We have fifteen dollars. Or twenty-five, if you’re willing to wash the vomit off the ten-dollar note Squid made selling the biscuits.’
‘We can earn the rest.’
‘How? Black Princes again?’ He pointed at his broken arm.
‘What about Tearley?’ I said. ‘I bet she’s got it.’
‘Yeah, Tearley’s got heaps of cash. She’s saved every dollar she’s ever earnt or been given,’ Wrigs said.
‘Maybe we can borrow it from her,’ I said.
‘Fat chance. She’s the scabbiest person in the world,’ said Wrigs.
‘Come on, let’s give it a crack.’
So we walked around to Tearley’s to see if she would loan us the money.
‘You’re not allowed in, Dribbler,’ Tearley said when she opened her front door. ‘Mum says you’re banned from here.’
‘What about him?’ I said, pointing to Wriggler.
‘No. Mum likes Wrigs.’
So I had to stand outside on the porch while they chatted in the hallway.
Wrigs told Tearley about the metal trapdoor in the deserted house and our plans with the camera. Then he asked her for the seventy-five dollars.
‘How will you pay me back?’
‘We’ll give you some of the reward money when we find out what Mr Black is up to,’ I called out from the porch. ‘We’ll get a reward. And if not, it’s Wrigs’ birthday next month and he always gets some money from his grandparents, so we’ll give you that.’
I was glad I couldn’t see Wrigs’ face when I said that. But we were going to have to make sacrifices and Wrigs might as well be the one making them.
Tearley thought for a moment then said, ‘Will you write that down and sign it?’
‘Yes,’ I shouted from outside.
‘Wriggler?’ she said.
‘Okay,’ Wriggler mumbled.
‘And if the reward money is more than the seventy-five dollars, I get half of the rest of it, no matter how much it is?’ she said.
Man she drives a hard deal.
‘All right,’ I called out.
‘And,’ she said, ‘I get to help catch Mr Black.’
‘No way,’ I shouted.
‘Why not?’ Wrigs called back.
‘It’s blackmail, we don’t want her hanging around with us. And besides, every time she gets involved things go wrong,’ I shouted.
‘Dribbler, every time you do
anything
it goes wrong. You don’t need me there to stuff it up,’ Tearley shouted back.
Then she pushed Wrigs out onto the porch and shut the front door.
‘What are we going to do now?’ asked Wrigs.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a plan.’
DAY 16: Sunday
My skims: 0
Wriggler’s skims: 0
Training for record still halted.
Money made for tinnie: $0, thanks to the people of Pensdale
Wriggler had the bucket and I had the squeegee. We were standing at the traffic lights halfway down Queen Street. We had been waiting fifteen minutes and not a single car had come past.
Queen Street is the centre of the Pensdale shopping strip. Actually it’s the whole strip.
On one side of Queen Street is the mall, which was built in the nineties. Next to the mall is a huge hardware superstore, which takes up a whole block. On the other side is the daggiest row of shops ever. The chemist, a cafe, a greasy burger shop, a Chinese restaurant, a hairdresser called ‘LuvUrHair’, a two-dollar shop and a shop that sells trophies. How do you make any money selling trophies? Especially in Pensdale where we don’t have any winners.
There was absolutely no one around.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t have come on a Sunday,’ said Wrigs.
‘No, it’s perfect,’ I said. ‘There’s less cars so people won’t be in such a rush. They’ll have time.’
Wrigs wasn’t convinced.
‘The trick of making money is to have a plan,’ I told him. ‘This one is gold. As the drivers come over the hill, they’ll be driving directly into the sun.’
‘So?’
‘So, the sun’ll hit their windscreen and they’ll see how dirty the glass is. Then they’ll drive down the road a bit, and see us—the solution to their problem.’
Just then a car came over the hill. Sure enough, as soon as the sun hit the windscreen, the driver pressed the water spray on her car and used her windscreen wipers to try and clean her windscreen.
Even I was impressed with my plan.
Wriggler pressed the pedestrian-crossing button just to make sure that the car got a red light. The car pulled up. It was old Ms Burke from my street. She had on her best clothes and a really old-fashioned hat that had a fake peacock feather on top. She must have been on her way back from church. An easy touch.
‘Hello, ma’am, may I please wash your windscreen?’ I asked.
I had soapy suds all over the windscreen before Ms Burke could say no. I ran the squeegee across the window like a pro. I started at the top of the window and worked my way down. I flicked the squeegee between each stroke to get off excess water—not that it did anything, but it looked good.
There’s more to cleaning windows than just getting dirt off. You need to smile at the customer, even tell a joke, and act as though cleaning their windscreen is the most important thing in the world.
I made a big show of wiping off the last drops of water on the windscreen with a rag that I whipped out of my back pocket. Ms Burke looked really impressed. She smiled and put some money in my hand before driving off.
I opened my hand to show the money to Wrigs. It was two five-cent coins. I didn’t know they still made five-cent pieces.
‘Only nine hundred and ninety-nine cars to go,’ said Wriggler. ‘Let’s go and ask Tearley again.’
‘No way,’ I said.
More cars were coming down the street now. They all got green lights.
I pounced on the next car that stopped. A big sandy-haired bloke was driving. I removed every skerrick of dirt from his window. I was a windscreen-cleaning artist. His front window was glistening by the time I finished it.
As I wiped the last splash of water off the glass I saw the bloke take five dollars out of his wallet. I looked at him and smiled.
My fingers were just about to close around the crisp note when he said, ‘Hey, are you the kid that threw a rock at me when I was kayaking?’
He didn’t wait for an answer. He just put the money back in his wallet and drove off.
The next couple of cars that came down Queen Street saw us early and sped up so they would get through the lights before they turned red.
The next car that got caught by the lights was a huge four-wheel drive. I was about to spray the water on the driver’s windscreen when she saw me. She hit reverse, went back up the road and then did a U-turn over the median strip so I couldn’t get to her.
The people of Pensdale aren’t ready for a premium windscreen-washing service.
Finally someone pulled up at the lights. The car looked familiar. It was Ms Burke again. She wound down her window.
‘What detergent did you use? It’s left marks all over my windscreen.’ She held out her hand and Wrigs gave her back her ten cents.
As she drove away Wrigs picked up the bucket and said, ‘I’m going to ask Tearley again.’
DAY 17: Monday
My skims: 18
Wriggler’s skims: 3 (Left-handed.)
Tearley’s skims: 14 (Controversial.)
World record restarted.
Total needed to buy tinnie and repay Tearley: $825
Sometimes you’ve got to spend money to make money.
We went back to Tearley’s house yesterday to see if she would loan us the money for the sensor camera. She stuck to her guns and we didn’t.
Now she is part of both Operation Catch Black and the skimming world record attempt.
And
we owe her seventy-five bucks.
And
she gets half of any reward money we make. I’m never going to let Wrigs negotiate again.
We needed to go to the electronics store at the mall to buy the camera. It was about ten-thirty before we could go because Tearley had to do an hour of maths exercises. She said she couldn’t trust us with the money so we had to wait. Maths homework in the holidays! I’d prefer a thonging.
But it did give me time to wash the vomit-covered ten-dollar note. It was disgusting. Crusty and kind of flaky.
I hung it on the washing line with a whole lot of clothes pegs. Then I sprayed it with the garden hose—full bore. Then I let it dry. It still stunk but luckily the guy at the shop didn’t notice.
The camera is about the size of a tennis ball cut in half. It picks up infra-red light, so it can see things in the dark. Whenever it senses a movement in front of its lens, it takes a photo. The most important thing is that you can’t hear the shutter click, so you’ve no idea you’re being photographed.
After we bought the camera, we went down to the deserted house. Wrigs wouldn’t come down from the path until I checked out there was no one around.
The idea was to mount the camera on the wall above the manhole so that it would take a photograph of whatever happened when Mr Black opened it.
