Read Online Beware of the Dog by Peter Corris - Free Book Online

alarm systems installed. I’d solved Terry’s immediate problem but, last I’d heard, his paranoia had got worse. He stayed open until he was absolutely sure that no one was going to wander in to rent a jackaroo and a tent.
    A tired-sounding female receptionist put me through to Terry.
    â€˜Are you still driving that bloody Falcon, Cliff?’ he said.
    â€˜Same car, later model, but I’m … ah, temporarily without wheels.’
    â€˜I can sell you a Subaru. Ex-fleet but the cleanest, sweetest …’
    â€˜No, Terry I want to rent something. I’ll be over in a cab. Give me half an hour.’
    â€˜Where are you? I’ll pick you up.’
    â€˜What? You can’t knock off yet. It’s only just gone seven.’
    â€˜I’m getting help with all that. Trying not to be so obsessive.’
    â€˜You? Not obsessive?’
    â€˜Yeah. I’m having therapy. C’mon Cliff, give me a break I’m trying to re-focus.’
    â€˜Jesus. I’m in Petersham. New Canterbury Road, comer of Crystal Street.’
    â€˜What’re you doing there?’
    â€˜Terry …’
    â€˜Okay. Stay put. I’m in a white Commodore.’
    A lot of cars went past as I waited near the corner. It was dark and the warmth of the day had vanished. A cold wind blew along Crystal Street carrying fast food aromas, exhaust fumes and dust. I was wearing a leather jacket, Levis, a green corduroy shirt, cracked and battered Italian leather shoes. My heavy dark beard had sprouted since the none-too-close shave of that morning. I looked and felt like a suspicious character. A police car cruised by and I had to steel myself not to shrink back into the shadows.
    The white Commodore pulled up on the other sideof the road, paused, and did a showy U-turn to end up immediately in front of where I was skulking. I leapt forward, wrenched open the door and dived in.
    â€˜Shit, Terry,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you try to make yourself conspicuous?’
    He gunned the motor, waiting for another car to pull out around him. ‘Sorry, Cliff. I just feel so good.’
    I was pushed back against the well-padded seat as he accelerated away. ‘Terry,’ I said, ‘take it easy. You’re a respectable businessman driving an accessory to Christ knows what.’
    He made the next turn on the amber light with screaming tyres. ‘I don’t care. I’ve got to feel loose.’
    â€˜Fuck loose,’ I said, ‘I’ve got to feel safe.’
    â€˜Put your seat belt on, then.’
    He drove in his expert, if sporty, manner through Stanmore towards Surry Hills.
    â€˜I heard you were shacked up with a female copper,’ he said as he passed the railway and entered Eddy Avenue.
    â€˜Right,’ I said.
    Like most of my male friends, Terry had met and admired Helen Broadway. ‘The only cure for one woman is another woman,’ he said.
    â€˜Right,’ I said again.
    â€˜I want you to meet Wanda.’
    â€˜Wanda?’
    â€˜My therapist put me on to her. It’s fantastic. She’s helped me enormously.’
    I leaned back against the padded seat and closed my eyes. ‘Good, Terry,’ I said. ‘I’m happy for you. I hope she hasn’t turned you into a totally solid citizen.’
    â€˜What’s the trouble, Cliff?’
    â€˜You wouldn’t want to know. But if you can fix me up with a four-wheel drive, a tent and a primus stove it’d be a big help.’
    â€˜Serious problems can’t be solved by material things, mate.’
    â€˜Terry,’ I said. ‘Don’t. Just don’t.’
    Wanda turned out to be a big blonde woman of about Terry’s age or a few years older. Everything about her shrieked ‘Mum’, but Terry seemed to lap it up. He told her about how I’d cracked the stolen car racket and how I had a penchant for old Falcons with defective heaters and no cassette player.