Okarito, Lorne & Tyler

(so far - more to come but am having serious trouble getting motivated)

Tyler went inside and closed the door. It'd been a good day, fine and clear, but it was going to be a cold night. Sometimes it seemed that a blanket of cloud across the sky helped to hold the heat in. It didn't really, but it seemed like it.

He put a couple of chunks of wood on the fire to keep it going and opened the doors to his room out at the back to let the warm air flow through there.

He checked the cupboard in the kitchen to see what he was going to have for his dinner – it was not going to be much. His stock of food was getting low. It was about time he went shopping for more. So, what could he have?

There were plenty of noodles, a whole unopened 12 pack of individual servings. He could do a couple of them with a packet of mixed veges and a can of tuna. There was still plenty of tuna too, mostly because he didn't like it much.

When he was on the road, food he bought had to (a) be cheap, (b) be high in energy and (c) it had to keep and travel well. Whether he liked it or not was the last thing he considered. Now he could and he had a fridge. He could buy what he liked, as long as it wasn't too rubbishy, it didn't have to travel anywhere. Also, he didn't have to worry too much about the price. But he probably would – old habits die hard.

He put some water on to boil and reached for the noodles. Bits of noodle-cake scattered everywhere. 'What the? Oh.'

The back of the pack was half gone and individual packets had been eaten into. Mice! The little sods had been into his noodles. They'd even been eating tunnels through the packs. He hoped it was mice and not rats. He hated rats. No, it was mice – they'd left their calling cards. Rat-crap was bigger than that. 'Dirty little shits!'

No noodles for dinner then. He didn't fancy just tuna and vegetables – no thanks. What then?

Oh yes! He still had the vouchers from the new pizza place. That'd do nicely. Pizza would be great for a change.

He tipped the water out and put the pot away. It wasn't dirty. He found the vouchers and walked outside. Did he need a jacket? Nah, not that cold. It was going to be but not yet.

A car was going passed when he walked out to the road; he stopped and waited. The track into the bush was directly opposite. Should he have a look in there? Lorne was probably fine, if he was still there, but would it hurt to make sure?

Or, should he go and get his pizza first? He was a bit hungry now.


Lorne was bent over the fire, placing chunks of wood on it, when a weight landed on his back and something wrapped around his neck. He was dragged upright and the arm clamped around his neck tightened. He fought to get free but whoever it was, was too strong for him. He couldn't breathe. He got weaker and giddy and saw lights before his eyes. Suddenly, everything went black and he collapsed.


That was easy! Charlie looked at the long, blond boy he'd lowered to the ground and he grinned. A nice juicy boy – just what he wanted! Of course, once he'd had his fun with him he'd have to get the hell out of here, but that was okay, he was going anyway. This'd just be like his parting gift.

What was he going to do with him now? The kid'd blacked out real easy, but he wouldn't be out for long and, by the look of him, he wouldn't be that easy to take without a surprise.

“Lucky we've still got the duct tape in my bag, isn't it? Pretty much my lucky day all around, but not yours, Blondie.”

He got the tape out and, working quickly, wrapped the kid up, tying his hands and his legs together. He wrapped it around his head a couple of times to gag him and, for good measure, put some over his eyes as well. He hadn't been seen so far and that was a good way to keep it.

Okay, so he'd secured him and he wasn't going anywhere. What now? He looked around and, yes! There were three small trees growing at the end of the clearing, the perfect shape and size for his purposes.

Some days just click and everything went smooth and right. He had some lengths of nylon cord in his bag too – damm, he'd make a good boy scout – always prepared.

He got them and dragged the kid over to the trees and laid him down, face-up, in between them. He tied one cord around the kid's wrists and tied them, above his head, to the first tree. So far, so good.

Now he'd have to cut the tape off his legs, pull them wide-apart and tie them to the other two trees. Then he'd have him exactly where he wanted him. Piece of cake!

He sliced through the tape with his knife – carefully. He didn't want to hurt the kid any more than he had to. Not yet anyway. He tied the left leg to the left-hand tree, and then there was a problem. The kid woke up and started thrashing around, fighting getting to get free.

Whatever. He'd soon put a stop to that! He slapped him, hard, around the head a couple of times, just to get his attention, then he put his knifeblade, flat, against the boy's slender neck.

“Feel that, Sweetheart? That's a knife and it's sharp. Behave yourself and I won't have to hurt you. Fight it and I'll cut you. You'll bleed and you might die. You wouldn't want that now, would you? Nod if you're going to lie still and be good. Try to kick me if you're not and I'll stick you – your choice. So?”

He waited. The kid flopped. He was probably terrified and the fight was gone out of him. He nodded.

“There's a good boy. Be nice for me and I'll be nice to you.”

He pulled the legs wide apart and tied the right ankle to the other tree. The kid was trying to say something, but couldn't with the tape wrapped across his mouth. He slapped him a couple more times, so he wouldn't forget who was boss. It wasn't his conversation he was interested in.

“Now we've got a little problem. There was no time to take your pants off, so I guess we're just going to have to cut them off, aren't we? Lucky they're just school shorts. Looks like it's time you had some new ones anyway, these are getting a bit tight. Keep very still now.”

He started slicing up the outside of one leg, cutting both shorts and boxers.

“Like I said, this is a sharp knife. One little slip and there could be a nasty accident. You don't want to go home a girl, do you? Thought not.”

He cut one side, and then the other and threw the tattered remains into the fire. Not a good move – they should've flared up but they didn't and the smoke stunk!

“Now then, Nature Boy. What have we got here? Oh yes. This is nice. Very nice.”

He pressed the flat of the blade on his stomach, slid it across, back and down around his dick.

“Relax, Sweet Thing. Just relax, lie still and no-one's going to hurt you. I'm not into that shit – not unless I have to.

I could shave your dick and balls, this knife would be sharp enough to do that, but it looks like you've already been doing it. Or, did someone do it for you? Bloody kids today! No-one grows a decent pubic bush anymore because they all want to look like the shaved porn stars.

Still, you're so blond and fine, you probably wouldn't grow much anyway.”

Okarito, Lorne

Lorne was not having a good day. As a matter of fact, it was stink! - the worst day ever.

It started off when he woke up alone. He was used now to waking alongside Logan. They had a temporary bedroom set up in one of the old barns. It was pretty rough, but they hung old blankets around the walls and it was a good bed – warm, dry and comfortable with plenty of room for the pair of them.

But it was way too big for one person and cold too, without Logan's warm body in there with him. It had been two nights so far, he missed him like hell and he hated being alone. And there was still two more nights to go. Dammit!

Logan didn't care. If he did he wouldn't have gone off on his stupid football trip and left Lorne like this – home alone.

It seemed like he'd spent most of his life alone, and here he was back there again. Stuff Logan! He hoped that he was as miserable as he was, but he doubted it. Logan liked football, Lorne didn't.

He was happy to train with him, running up and down hills, lifting weights, swimming and biking, but when it came to actually playing the game – no thanks. He was useless and couldn't be bothered trying.

Rugby was all muddy and grubby and who wants to stick their head between others' butts?

So Logan played and he got to go away on school-trips. Lorne did not and he didn't. That didn't worry him, but he missed his mate when he wasn't there. Today was Friday and he wouldn't be home until Sunday night, which was stink.

Grumpy before he even got out of bed, he wrapped-up in his big dressing-gown, something he never had to worry about before Karen and her boys moved in, and went into the house to get a shower.

The 'House' – that was a joke. It was nothing but an old shack. It was, just, big enough when it was just his dad and him, but now Karen and her boys had moved in too, it was way too crowded. Seemed like he spent half his life these days waiting for someone else to get out of the way.

Sure enough, when he got inside, somebody was already in the shower, so he had to wait – again. He sat and scowled at the fire. Jack was the smallest kid in the place and he always took the longest in the shower. Probably just trying to hold everyone up. It was not like he had a lot to wash anyway.

Brad came in, with an armload of wood, and rudely shoved Lorne's legs out of the way. “Move it will ya!”

“Don't talk to me like that, you little shit!” He didn't kick him, but he felt like it. He just put a foot on his knees and pushed.

Brad staggered back and dropped the woods with a mighty crash. “Now look what you done, ya Ignorant Pig!” he yelled.

“It's your own fuckin' fault anyway!” Lorne yelled back.

Brad picked up a bit of wood and swung it at him. Lorne ducked, then grabbed another bit and fended him off Neither of them was backing down and they cursed and swore at each other.

“I hate you, Lorne. I fucking hate you – Faggety-arsed Prick!”

“I hate you more, you Little Bastard!”

“That will do!!!” Karen yelled at the top of her voice. “I'm fucking sick of this. Stop it and stop the bloody swearing!”

“Well he started it,” Lorne protested.

“I don't care who started it. It's over. Lorne, go and get in the shower. Brad, pick up this wood and clean-up your mess.”

“Not my mess, it's Lorne's. He shoved me and made me drop it all.”

“What? He just pushed you over for no reason at all? A likely story! Pick it up, Brad. Lorne, go.”

“What's all the yelling about in here?” Dan came in from out on the deck.

“Nothing new. Just these two fighting again.”

“About time you started acting your age, Lorne. You're far too big to be carrying on like this.”

“What about him? Am I supposed to just sit and take whatever this Little Shit dishes out, am I?”

“If you've got any complaints, you come and see Karen or me. Keep your hands to yourself.”

“I will when he does!” He stormed off to the bathroom.

Damm. He was starting to feel like a second-class citizen in his own home! His dad always took Karen's side and she always sided with her boys. He had no-one to support him, except Logan and he wasn't there was he? Damm and bugger the lot of them.

He finished in the shower, dried and dressed and went back for his breakfast. Had to get his own, of course. Karen was far too busy to worry about him. He sat down at the table, finally, and scowled at Jack when he grinned at him.

“Not having a good day?”

“Shaddup, Jack. Mind your own.”

“Don't start again,” Karen growled.

“Sheesh! Not even allowed to talk now. Can I breathe?”

“Can you not?” Brad retorted.

Dan said, “That's enough from the pair of you. Not another word! And hurry up. The sooner everyone's finished, the sooner we can go. I've got a big day today.”

He sat eating quietly and minding his own business. Brad and Jack were both trying to get a rise out of him, pulling faces and grinning at each other, but he didn't react. He wouldn't give the little swine the satisfaction.

Damm, he missed the days when it was just his dad, his granddad and him. He wished that Karen had never moved in with her tribe.

Not Logan though, he was okay. It was just his annoying little shits of brothers who were hard to live with.

He finished, went back to his room for his schoolbag, then sat out by the car to catch up on his texts. Nothing! There were a couple from others who he didn't care about so much, but the one he wanted to hear from was Logan and there was nothing from him, not a single bloody one.

Screw him anyway and screw his dumb-arse football mates too! Why Logan would ever prefer them to him, he'd never know. But he did, didn't he? He was with them and not here, at home, where he belonged. Fuck him anyway!

Logan didn't like him using the 'F' word. He said it was rude and crude and showed a dumb lack of vocabulary. But sometimes, like now, it was the only word that fit. Fuck him. Fuck his family and fuck the horse they rode in on. Did that feel any better? Not really.

Dan and Karen and the others came out, so he had to ride in the back with the brats. At least he got a window. He was not going to sit in between them.

Jack said, Are you working in town today, Dad?”

(Lorne wished he wouldn't do that. Dan was his dad, not these two's.)

“Just for a couple of hours. I've got a few things to take care of, and then I'll be coming back home.”

“How are we going to get home,?” Brad asked.

“You're not,” Karen replied. “You're going to your dad's for the weekend. Go to Gran's after school and he'll pick you up from there.”

“Me too?” said Jack.

“Yes, of course you too.”

Dan said, “I'll be back to get Karen at 4.30. You be there waiting at her office, Lorne, or you'll be walking home.”

“I'm just supposed to hang around until then, am I?”

“Of course. It's a nice day; it won't kill you.”

('Would you care if it did? Probably not – you've got these brats to call you 'Dad' now.)

They dropped the kids off outside their school and Lorne had to walk from there. It was only a couple of hundred meters, but that's not the point!

He arrived at the school and his rotten day didn't get any better – it got worse.

He walked in from the steet and passed a group of giggling, gossiping girls. They were like a coven of witches standing around a cauldron, except they didn't have a cauldron. They looked, he frowned and Alison Doyle reacted. “Who bit your bum today?”

“Probably nobody. That'd be his problem, “ Janie Hines chipped in.

“Eww!”

Usually he'd grin and shrug-off remarks like that, but not today. It rankled and he was so not in the mood for this. “Fuck-up you dirty-minded bitches!”

He probably should not have said that, too late now. He walked past them and into school. But they weren't letting it go and they all followed him.

“Who the fuck d'you think you are? We're not the ones shacking up and screwing every night of the week!”

“No. And don't you wish! Maybe you need bigger dildoes, then you wouldn't be so jealous.”

Okay, definitely he shouldn't have said that, but – whatever. He was not in the mood to be nice. They weren't being nice either, and they weren't going to. They all followed him, spitting insults and abuse all the way.

He tried ignoring them, that didn't work. It just carried on all day and others were joining in too. Mobs of kids can be just plain nasty when they've got someone to pick on. Today he was the someone, worse luck.

This wouldn't be happening if Logan was there with him. But he wasn't, was he? Damm him.

By lunchtime he'd had enough – more than enough. He threw his books into his locker, left the school and he wasn't going back. 'Screw the lot of them!'

He went down the road, avoided the main street where Karen's office was, and went through the park to the beach. There were people there, surfing and surf-casting, widely separated of course. Didn't they have jobs to go to?

He sat,out of sight, uder the flax-bushes below the dunes and promptly went to sleep in the sunshine.

He woke, sat up and stretched several hours later. School would be finished for the day, which was good. They'd probably all be gone home by now and that was good too. He didn't want to run into any of them; he'd had enough for one day.

He checked the time on his phone and – whoa! He was going to have to hurry if he was going to get a ride home. Karen's office closed early on Fridays. He stood up, then had second thoughts and sat down again.

Stuff them. He wasn't hurrying for anyone. Actually, he was not going home. If he did, he'd be the only kid there and guess who'd be doing all the chores?

No. He was going to have the night and be by himself for a change. It was weeks and weeks since he'd stayed in his little whare in the bush. He hadn't missed it, but there didn't seem to be much point in having it if he was never going to use it.

So, that was that. He'd sit there, out of sight, for a while. His dad wouldn't wait if he wasn't there. He'd bugger off home and Lorne'd be free for the night. Good job too. They could do their own chores.

He checked his pockets. Yes! He had cash – more than enough to get a feed of fish and chips. He hadn't done that for a long time either. He liked fish and chips, but never seemed to be able to eat a whole order.

So, he'd do what he'd always done. He sit on the beach, down by the rivermouth, and share his chips with the seagulls. They were always good for a grin.

It took ages to get served in the shop when he went there. Friday was not a good day to buy fish and chips because so many people did it. His granddad said that this was a hang-over from the old days when catholics weren't allowed to eat meat on Fridays, so all they had was fish and chips. Now they could eat what they wanted but fish on Friday was how the older generations were raised and it was a tradition.

Anyway, he finally got his order, wrapped in newspaper to keep it warm, and he went down to the rivermouth to eat there.

It was a funny sort of river really. Sometimes the water ran out to sea, sometimes it came back in again. That was because it was tidal and the only outlet for the huge lagoon. Biggest in New Zealand, people said.

He sat down on the stones, opened his parcel and tossed a small handful of chips out for the gulls. It always took a while for them to get the idea, probably because not many people fed them.

It's a different story in Christchurch. Sit on any beach around there and the little sods are everywhere and screaming for food. Even when you've got nothing to give them. Who said we don't have beggars in New Zealand?

What would Logan be doing? He was in Christchurch, but probably not sitting on a beach feeding seagulls and not alone at this time of day. Damm him!

The sun was getting low by the time he finished eating and the temperature was dropping. It was going to be a cold night, but that was okay – he had a warm place to go to.

He threw the rest of his food scraps out, bundled-up the empty coke bottle in the newspaper and went back to the main street to drop his rubbish in a bin. What a tidy kiwi he was!

Satisfied with that, he walked up to Wharf Street and his whare in the bush. The sky was lit-up in spectacular sunset colours, so it was going to be a fine day tomorrow. Excellent! It'd be way too far to walk home in the rain.

He could smell woodsmoke when he was going up the track through the trees. The air in town was often smoky when everyone was getting their fires going in the late afternoon, but not here. There was no house up here. There should've been one, but it never happened.

He came up over the lip onto the terrace where his hut was and it wasn't there! The remains of it were – a sorry-looking little heap of rusty iron and ashes. His whare, his home away from home, had burnt to the ground. It wasn't much but it was his and it was all that he had.

Where was he going to sleep now? Under a tree? He guessed he'd have to. It was going to be cold, good job it wasn't raining as well.

There was a small fire burning in the circle of stones on the ground too. Who had done this? He couldn't think of anyone who would've. It was basically only him and Logan who knew about this place.

Well, he decided, he'd better keep the fire going anyway. At least there'd be some warmth from that. Bending over, he picked up a couple of bits of wood and placed them on the fire. This had been one horrible day right from the time he woke up and finding his hut gone was the worst thing yet.

Then his day got worse.

Okarito, Tyler.

Tyler was late in to work next day; Bevan hadn't been home all night either. Cassie didn't ask where they'd been or what they'd been doing. Some things she didn't need to know.

“Morning, Gorgeous,” she smiled when he walked in. “I wondered when you'd appear.”

“I've been busy,” he grinned back. “Are there any bookings this morning?”

“Nothing that you need to worry about. You'll be wanting this.” She held out a piece of paper which he took from her.

“What's this? A bank draft for $800.00?”

“Of course. Off you go – get the cash and put it in Mrs Dale's hands this time.”

“I will for sure.” He looked at it again. “Thanks, Cassie, you're brilliant! I'll pay you back as soon as I can.”

“Of course you will. I wouldn't expect anything else. Don't worry, we'll take it out of your wages. A couple of dollars a week should do it.”

“I can afford more than a couple. Cassie, how did you know I'd be wanting this?”

“I knew because I know you and Jeffrey told me that Mrs Dale's money had been pinched. He spoke to you about it last night.”

“He did, but I didn't think he'd tell you about it. Shouldn't he keep that sort of thing to himself?”

“Jeffrey? Not likely. He tells me everything. He's a cop, Tyler, not a friggin' doctor. Now go and do what you've got to do.”

“I will. Thanks, Cassie. You're the best!”

“Yeah, I am, aren't I? Go away now.”

He did.

He ran downtown to the bank where he drew the money out, from the teller on the front counter this time, and then he went around to Mrs Dale's home.

She was kneeling, pulling weeds out of the small herb garden by her front door and she smiled when she saw him coming. “Good morning, Tyler. It looks like we're going to have a nice day today.”

“Yes – hopefully.” He looked around, and then said, “How's that teapot going, Mrs Dale?”

“Teapot? Would you like a cup of tea?”

“I'd love one – thanks.”

“Well, we will then.”

They went inside, she filled the kettle and switched it on. “Would you like a sandwich, Tyler? I don't have any biscuits.”

“No thanks. Just a drink.”

“Just a drink. I must get some coffee next time I go shopping. They have it on special now.” She got cups and saucers and sugar from the cupboard.

“Mrs Dale, I think your days of worrying about what's on special are just about over now. Jeffrey came to see me last night.”

“Constable Jeffrey? I asked him not to bother you.”

“He didn't listen. He had to question me, that's his job. So anyway, here's another attempt at paying you.” He laid an envelope on the table and pushed it across.

“Tyler, there is no need for this.” She pushed it back.

“There is every need for this. I insist that you take it, Mrs Dale. If you don't, we can't be friends anymore.”

“I don't want that, but I don't want the money either. You have already paid, very generously, for your shares. It's not your fault that it was stolen.”

“More my fault than yours. You are not the one who left cash in an unlocked mailbox.”

“True, but . . .”

“But nothing. I'm serious, Mrs Dale. I can afford this and I want you to have it. If you won't take it, then our deal is off and you can find someone else to run your mine for you.”

“Then you would be left with nothing.”

“Exactly.”

“Very well then, Tyler. I will take it but I still don't like this.”

“When we've got millions in the bank, we'll look back and laugh at $800.”

“Millions? Do you really think so?”

“I think it's possible, yes. Am I still getting a cup of tea?”

“Yes, of course you are.”

He finished the drink and stood up. “Thanks for that. Time I was moving – things to do today.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I advertised and I've got several people to follow-up on.”

“Miners, do you mean.”

“Yep. Experienced goldminers. Actually, there were lots of replies from dreamers who'd had no experience at all. But I've weeded them out and it looks like there's some good ones left.”

“That sounds promising. Do keep me informed of what's going on, Tyler. This is all very exciting.”

“It is for me too. Now I'd better go. Have a good day, Mrs Dale. Go downtown and waste some money – enjoy yourself.”

“I just might do that. A little anyway. Goodbye, Tyler.”

“'Bye.” He left, running again.

Back at the wharf, he got on the landline and started making calls. Cassie snorted and said it was about time he got himself a cellphone.

The new guy, Martin George, was out with a boatload of tourists and he was late back so there was a crowd of schoolkids milling around, waiting for their turn to go. They were inside and talking up a storm, so he took the phone outside and sat in the sunshine.

The Lady was on her way back in, he could see her in the distance, coming down the lagoon. Which was good – that noisy lot inside would be gone soon.

The first guy he called sounded promising. The second guy was not, he was all bullshit and bluster, so his name was crossed off the list. The next one, if his email was to be believed, was exactly what he was looking for – recently retired after a lifetime in the industry and bored silly and looking for a new challenge. He rang him and talked for a good half-hour.

Cassie was going to have a fit when she saw the phonebill!

While he was sitting there talking, the Lady berthed, people got off, the kids got on and they left.

There was a bush-covered block of land over the road, at the foot of the hill. He could see a shady-looking character lurking around over there – a skinny figure in a long dark coat. Was that Mrs Dale's nemesis? Maybe.

He didn't know everyone in town, far from it, but there weren't that many hanging around and up to no good in the middle of the day. He kept an eye on him while talking on the phone.

After a couple of minutes there, the stranger disappeared up the narrow track into the trees. 'Hmmm?'


Charlie got thrown out of the pub. The bloody cheek of it! He wasn't doing anything wrong, not really. He was just lying on the bed in his room when the old battleaxe of a housekeeper came banging on the door and told him to leave.

What the hell? It was only an old dump anyway, it'd be no great loss if it did burn down. He had the window open. The Old Cow! Stuff them and their 'no smoking in the bedrooms'. He'd paid for the bloody room, didn't he?

He left quietly. It always pays to pick the times for your battles. But they hadn't seen the last of him, not by a long shot. He'd be back, like MacArthur, but when no-one was looking.

The old pub was not exactly a booming business; there were more regular boarders than guests upstairs and the bar was dead quiet, as most of them are these days. But, they'd converted a couple of downstairs rooms into a pizza restaurant and takeaways and that was always busy – they must be making a fortune in there. He'd find a way to get his hands on some of that.

Anyway, he left quietly, for now. They might think they'd seen the last of him, but he'd be back for sure. Maybe late at night when no-one was watching.

He paid at the front-desk, paid with nice, crisp and new twenty dollar notes and he wandered up the street carrying his old black bag full of the good stuff – booze and cash, lots of cash and a change of clothes. What more did a man need? Well, a juicy boy'd be nice, but he didn't have one of those.

It was a nice sunny day for once, but where was he going to go now? There was a couple of other pubs, but he was sick of living by other people's rules. In any case, the old baggage had probably warned them about him. Those people stuck together, like flies on dogshit.

Stuff them all anyway. He'd just about had enough of this one-horse town.

There were plenty of empty buildings around, most of them two-storied. There'd be empty flats up above some of them. He could hole-up in one of them, it'd only take two minutes to break-in somewhere.

But he decided against that. The way they were all jammed-up against each other, he have to keep real quiet if he wasn't going to be noticed and he couldn't be bothered with that.

He needed somewhere where he could relax and not worry about some old bag coming and chucking him out. Ah, yes! There was a line of old shanties, fisherman's cribs, along the riverbank on the side of the lagoon, below the road on the way out of town. They were all sitting empty, it wasn't the season for Whitebait for months yet.

He went up there to check-out the possibilities.

No, there was nothing there that appealed. They were all-but invisible from the road but wide open on the water side. With all the kayaks and boats passing out there, there wasn't enough privacy. He didn't want to have to keep worrying about being seen. He have to find somewhere else.

Back on the road, he saw a narrow but well-used track into the dense bush and no buildings close by. Why was it there and where did it go to? He stood there for a couple of minutes to make sure he wasn't being watched, then quickly ducked off the road and into the scrub.

The track was rough and boggy in places, but it was well-defined and easy enough to follow. It went up the hill to a small terrace – just a big ledge really. There was a little shack there, nestled amongst the trees. A very small creek, a rivulet, ran out from underneath it and there was a funny smell in the air, like someone farted. It wasn't him and there was no-one else around.

The shack was locked, but that didn't slow him down for long. Using a rock, he whacked the lock off the door and looked inside.

It was dark in there. Apart from the door, the only light came from a sheet of novalite on the roof and that was half-covered in old leaves and shit. The hut was as rough as anything he'd ever seen.

It was basically made out of junk – bits and pieces of second-hand iron and mismatched bits of wood. He could do better himself and he was no builder.

But, it was a private spot, dry inside and surprisingly warm. The fart smell was even stronger in there. Was something dead? No, that wouldn't be it, it wasn't that sort of smell.

Rotorua! That's what it reminded him of. Rotorua stinks to high heaven, or maybe the other place – a sulphurous, brimstone smell. You soon get used to it and don't even notice it when you're there. Until you leave and go back again. It smells from all the hot-water springs, geysers and boiling mud in the area.

There was a thought. He backed out, went over and dipped his fingertips in the little creek. It was friggin' hot!

Hot water was bubbling up out of the ground underneath the shack. 'Look at that! This old place has got geothermal central heating!'

The hut was just a single room with nothing in it except a couple of old wooden boxes and an old couch, for a bed – there were two sleeping bags and a pillow on it. There was no other heating in there, but it didn't need it.

On the ground outside the door was a ring of fire-blackened stones around a heap of old ashes and half-burnt bits of wood.

He looked around and smiled. This would do him nicely for a day or two. He dropped his bag on the floor and bounced on the couch to try it out (and to make sure that there were no rats in it!)


Tyler finished his calls and took the phone back inside. That guy hadn't come out of the bush over the road.

“Cassie, there's a track that disappears into the scrub over the road. Do you know where it goes to?”

“Doesn't go anywhere, as far as I know.”

“So why is it there?”

“I dunno. Kid's stuff, I suppose. You know Lorne Beynon? - Tall, skinny and with blond hair.He lives way out of town somewhere and hangs around with Logan Green. He owns it.”

“Lorne Beynon owns the track?”

“No, he owns the bush-block that it goes into. It's about 10 acres, or something. There's nothing there, just bush – second-growth rubbish.”

“Ten acres? That's about 4 hectares. Why would he own a block of land with nothing on it?”

“His granddad owned it. He talked to Dad one time, about building a house in there, but he died and nothing happened. Lorne inherited it. I guess it's an investment for if the town ever needs room to grow. Why are you interested in it all of a sudden?”



“I'm not really. I just saw a shady-looking character going in there and wondered what he's up to? If there's nothing there, then he can't do any harm.

What's the best way to get to Brownsville? I need to go up there to see an old miner. I don't fancy hitch-hiking and biking would take far too long.”

“The quickest way there is by flying. The aero-club do charter flights, but it'll cost you.”

“That doesn't appeal.”

“Didn't think it would. Tell you what, give me a few minutes to get someone to come in and look after this place and I'll take you there.”

“You will? That'd be great, but isn't that a waste of your day?”

“Nope. It's only a couple of hours each way and I'll do a brochure drop while you're seeing your miner – time we got some more brochures up there.”

“Cool. Thanks. Love you Cassie.”

“Love you too!” She picked up the phone.

When her reliever came in, Cassie went home, got her mother's car and filled it with petrol, then came back to collect Tyler.

“You're not bringing Bevan along?”

“Nope. This trip is business and Bevan's at school anyway.” He got in and buckled-up.

“He is at school and I've noticed that he doesn't take time off these days. Is that your doing?”

“Partly, I guess.” Tyler shrugged. “We've got an arrangement, Bevan and I.”

“Which is?”

“He doesn't bunk school and I don't growl at him.”

“And that works? He's never listened to anyone before.”

“Maybe not, but he listens to me.”

“But why does he?”

“Because he loves me.”

“He surely does. He's a lucky kid.”

“Not as lucky as me.”

“Too sweet, my Friend.”

They drove straight up to Brownsville and didn't stop until they arrived. They had a late breakfast/early lunch at Maccas, which is always a treat when you don't have one in your hometown.

Then, Cassie dropped Tyler off at his contact's address and she raced around town, dropping brochures off at all the usual places.

He was standing outside, talking to a big middle-aged guy when she came back to pick him up.

“Hey, Tyler. Ready to go home?”

“Yeah, I'm ready. We're all done here. Hack, this is Cassie. She's my right-hand man and I couldn't do without her. Cassie is the boss really, it's easier that way. Cassie, this is Hack – Thomas Hacker. He's coming to work with us, to get the goldmine going.”

“Hello, Cassie.”

“Hello. Do they really call you Hack?”

“Usually. It's always been like that.”

“Okay then. Hey, Hack and welcome on board.”

They made a brief stop at the camping ground on the way out of town, dropped some brochures off there, and then carried on south.

“That's a very cool camping ground. Wish we had one like that in Okarito.”

“But we don't. Our little campground is pretty crummy. The council won't spend any money on it.”

“Maybe they will if the vistor numbers keep going up.”

“Maybe pigs will fly too. So you think that Hack is the right man for the job?”

“I do. I think he'll be just right. If he's not, well you'll just have to sack him.”

“I will? Why me?”

“Because he doesn't hit girls. Did you see the size of the hands on him? They're like meatplates!”

“Gee, you're so brave Tyler – hiding behind my skirts.”

“You haven't got any skirts. I'm not a wimp. I just like to pick my fights.”

“And you don't think you'd win against him?”

“Oh, I'd win. I just wouldn't like it. Hopefully, it won't come to that anyhow.”

They made a couple of stops in Hoki, where she got rid of the rest of the brochures, then carried on again.

“I always do that,” Cassie said.

“You always do what?”

“Run out of brochures. It happens everytime. I think I've got plenty, but it's never enough. Next time, I'll throw a couple more boxes in the boot.”

“I guess that everyone likes to think that they're getting something for nothing and you did put that voucher in there for $5 off per person.”

“Of course. It's a good scheme, or scam really – it costs us nothing. All I did was put the price up and then offer it back as a discount.”

“Sneaky.”

“That's business. It's all a game and good when you're winning.”

“May you never lose. My granddad used to say, 'It ain't work if it's fun.'”

“He had that right!”

It was early evening by the time they got back to Okarito. The sky was lit-up in a glorious sunset. The kayaks and the Lady had finished for the day and everything was packed away. Cassie dropped Tyler off at the wharf, and drove away home.

He walked up the ramp onto the wharf and stood looking around. It was always good to see a sunset, not just because they looked good, there was also the promise of a fine day coming. It didn't always work out, but it usually did.

Sunsets never lasted long. Even though the air was dead still and the surface of the lagoon was like a mirror, the oranges, yellows, pinks and purples were fading from the sky. He always thought that the town looked at its best like this – Gleaming in the Gloaming.

There were some wisps of woodsmoke hanging around in the trees across the road. That was unusual. Maybe it was just noticeable because the air was so still. Maybe that stranger had lit a fire up in there.

He was about to go inside and get some dinner when he saw someone walking up the road. A long and blond someone. Yeah, that was him – Lorne Beynon, and he was still in his schoolclothes. He turned off the road and onto the track and walked into the bush and out of sight.

What was he doing in town, all alone, at this time of day? How was that any of Tyler's business. It wasn't. He went inside.

Okarito, Mrs Dale, 3

Business was insanely busy for a weekday, which is a good problem to have, but still . . . Tyler was wanting to get away all day but didn't manage it until late in the afternoon.

“Cassie,” he announced on the way out the door, “we have GOT to get some more help around here!”

“Tell me about it,” she replied to his back.

He went out to the street and met Bevan who was on his way in.

“Hiya, Handsome. Where've you been all my life?”

“Working mostly. Bevan, I can't stop. I've got to get to the bank before it closes.”

“Going to rob the joint? I'll come with you then.”

“Good. I need to talk to you, we can do that on the way. C'mon then – walking.”

“Yes, Sir!”

On the way along the road, he asked how Bevan's day had been?

“It's been good, I guess. Yes, I've been behaving, but that's not what you wanted to talk about. So, what?”

“So. . . Do you know Mrs Dale? She's a widow who lives in the Council Flats on Arthur Street.”

“No. Should I know her?”

“Probably. She's lived here all her life and so have you.”

“So far, yeah. But, what about her?”

“She came to see me this morning and she has offered me shares in her goldmine. Well, her potential goldmine. That's why I going to the bank, to get some cash out for her.”

“Oh yes? A little old lady with a goldmine? Tyler, I think you're being conned.”

“I'm not. I know it sounds way too good, but it's for real. Mrs Dale has given me all the maps and papers. The early miners never found the mother-lode, where all the gold came from. Her husband searched for it for years and he found it.

But by then he was too old and sick to do anything about it. He sorted all the legal stuff and left it all to her when he died, but she's too old to work it too.”

“Why doesn't she just sell it then?”

“I'm not sure, but she doesn't want to. She doesn't want some big business to get the benefit of her hubby's dream. She wants me to get it going and split the profits with her. She's sick of being poor.”

“I'm not too keen on it either. But, hold on – you're going to do all the work and she gets half the proceeds?”

“No. I'm going to find someone to do the mining and I'll get 80% of the profits. Mrs Dale will get the rest and she says that that will be plenty.”

“She might be right. Do you have any idea how much money a goldmine makes?”

“Quite a bit I imagine. But it's not all profit. Workers have to be paid, tools, machinery, fuel and explosives and stuff have to be bought and paid for, and it will cost to have the mined ore processed.”

“There'll be plenty left over. Tyler, goldmines make millions!

“Millions of dollars? No. Maybe great big huge ones do, but this is never going to be like that.”

“You don't know that. They all started somewhere.”

“They did, mostly with big money to finance them and they're worked-out in a few years. Here's the bank. Are you coming in?”

“Of course I am.”

At the ATM machine in the lobby of the bank, he checked on his personal account balance.” “Whoah.”

“Something wrong? I've got plenty if you need a loan.”

“Thanks, Bevan, but no. There's no problem. There's just way more here than I thought there'd be. I'm rich and I didn't know it.”

“Rich? Let me see. Okay, you've got a bit, but I wouldn't call you rich. Tyler, you've been working hard and money's coming in. Maybe you should think about spending some of it sometimes.”

“I spend some, for food and stuff. I didn't realise that there's this much. Well, I'm spending more now.”

He withdrew $800, which made a big dent in the balance. He scribbled a note on the back of the withdrawal notice and put it and the cash in a complimentary envelope, which he wrote Mrs Dale's name on.

They walked around to where she lived. Tyler checked the Flat number on her door and left the envelope in her mailbox. “That's that done,” he said. “What'll we do now?”

“You're not going back to work, are you?”

“Don't think so. It's too late in the day now.”

“Come for a walk on the beach with me then.”

“Sounds good. We'll do that.”




'Not a bad little town.' Charlie quite liked it in Okarito. He wouldn't want to live there, it was too quiet for that, but it was a good place to lie low for a time. He hadn't helped himself to too much, not wanting to call attention to himself.

But sometimes – well, sometimes you just have to! If the marks are stupid enough to leave valuable stuff lying around, well – they were asking for it, weren't they? It always pays to make the most of what comes your way.

Some days are better than others. Some are not so good, but some are brilliant. Take today for instance.

“Always be patient. Wait and watch and take your chances when the time is right.” That's what his old, not-so-saintly mother used to tell him and he'd always found that to be good advice.

He was quietly minding his own business, admiring some eye-candy actually. The blond boy who was always busy working with the rental kayaks down by the old wharf, was leaving there, for once, and walking with another kid up the road to the main street.

Charlie had nothing better to do, so he followed them and watched where they went. Were they “partners” those two? Who knew? They were both nice-looking kids and seemed to be very comfortable with each other.

He wouldn't mind having a crack at either one of them, but especially the blond – he was a bit of choice stuff!

They went into the bank, to the ATM machine in the foyer and he hung back and watched. That was a fair wad of twenty dollar notes the kid was stuffing into an envelope. What was he planning on doing with it?

He stood and waited patiently. The pair of cuties came out and started back up the sidewalk, so he followed them at a distance.

In Arthur Street, they stopped at the mailboxes outside the Pensioners' Flats. The dark-haired one waited while the blond went over and checked the number on one of the doors. He went back and slid the envelope into one of the mailboxes.

'Interesting. What's he leaving cash for one of those old fogies for?'

The boys exchanged a few words. He'd loved to have known what they were saying but they were too far away to hear them and he couldn't lip-read. The blond draped an arm around the othjer one's shoulders and they started walking back towards him.

He turned around and started walking too -back to where he could get off the street in a tree-lined driveway. They walked past, oblivious to him and went back towards the main street, chattering away like a pair of lovebirds.

'Damm. If they're not screwing, I'll be an innocent virgin.'

Now he was undecided, should he follow them or should he go back to where the money was? Stupid question – always follow the money!

Back at the Pensioners' Flats, he quickly scooped the handful of mail out of box number 4. He went up the street, sorting it and dropping the junk-mail in the gutter.

There were four envelopes addressed to Mrs Dale. Three were obviously bills and who needs them? He discarded them too. He sat on someone's front fence, sheltered by an overhanging tree, and carefully ripped the last envelope open, savouring the moment.

Nice, crisp, new twenty-dollar bills – such pretty little things! He slid them out, crumpled and balled the envelope and held it in his hand while his spit-moistened fingers flipped the notes and he counted them.

Forty of them. Eight hundred dollars and all in ready and untraceable cash! That'd be more than enough to pay for his accomodation at the old pub he was staying at. A happy smile spread across his face, but it faded to a sneer when some old bat came out of her house and yelled at him.

“Hey you! What do you think you're doing? Get off my fence!”

“Ah, fuck off!” He tossed the balled envelope in her direction as he stood up and walked away. Interfering old bag! Did she think his bony butt was going to break her fence? It was made of bricks, for fuck's sake.

He went down by the wharf to sit and have a smoke and a drink from the half-bottle in his coat pocket. If he waited there long enough, he'd probably see the eye-candy coming back. They usually hung-out around the wharf.

Janice Corbett snorted her indignation as she strode out on her freshly-mowed front lawn. That villianous-looking man had thrown something at her when he got up off her front fence and left. The cheek of him! Some people have no respect for private property.

She scooped it up and went inside to throw it in the fire. On the way, she opened the ball a little to make sure that it was nothing valuable she was about to burn, and saw that it was an envelope.

She stopped and opened it fully – it was a torn-open envelope inscribed, 'With the compliments of the National Bank' and hand-written, 'to Mrs Dale, best wishes from Tyler R.'

Mrs Dale was one of the old dears who lived in the Flats up the street. She was the widow of one of Janice's old teachers. Tyler R must be Tyler Rodden, Bob and Kathleen Rodden's new grandson who had the canoe business down at the lagoon.

She'd seen him yesterday, walking in the rain with Mrs Dale and carrying something home for her. He was such a nice boy – you don't see many like that these days. What was he writing to her on bank stationery for? And what was that creature doing with someone else's mail? He must have stolen it!

The envelope was empty, but she opened it right up to check and there was a small slip of paper in there. It was a machine-printed withdrawal receipt with writing on the back of it – 'Mrs Dale, I know you said $80, but that really is not enough. This is not enough either but please accept and enjoy it. With my grateful thanks, Tyler.'

What on earth was he giving Mrs Dale money for? Maybe he'd bought something from her. It was fairly obvious that she didn't have a lot of money, perhaps she was selling something of her husband's. And that . . . that creature, must have stolen it! The withdrawal was for $800 dollars.

'Goodness, that's a lot of money, and he has taken it! Right then. We'll see about this.”

She went inside to put her jacket on, slipped her keys into the pocket and went out locking the door behind her. She didn't usually lock her door, but it seemed that there was a thief in the neighbourhood.

She went down the street, with the envelope still in her hand, and knocked on Mrs Dale's door.


Mrs Dale didn't want to make a fuss. She was disappointed that Tyler's very generous gift had gone astray but that was not his fault and she didn't want to worry him about it.

Janice disagreed. “The money, whatever it was for, did not get into your hands so he hasn't paid you, Mrs Dale. The theft was his loss, not yours.”

“But, no Dear. It was not his fault. He left it in my mailbox and it was stolen from there – stolen from me not him. Tyler made the payment in good faith, it's just bad luck that that horrible man got it before I did.

It must be the same man who stole my knife yesterday. There's not that many villians around here – very few in fact.”

“Yes, but more than enough, obviously. I don't agree, Mrs Dale, but have it your way, it's your money. Are you at least going to report this to the police?”

“Yes, I will be doing that. They have to know, don't they? I'll call in and report it when I go downtown tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow? It might be too late tomorrow.”

“It's getting late in the day and people have got homes to go to. Policemen have families too. I don't want to spoil anyone's evening.”

“You . . um. You really are impossible, Mrs Dale! You have to at least ring them. Someone will come around and take your statement. That's their job and they don't all work from 9 to 5, the station is open all night long.”

“All night? Whatever for? I can't ring them anyway. I don't have a telephone.”

“Maybe you don't,” Janice smiled, “but I do.” She took her cell out of her pocket and called 111.