Read Online The Punjabi Pappadum by Robert Newton - Free Book Online Page B

some good shots, but we need something that’s going to really hurt them.”
    Luckily, they didn’t have to wait long.
    â€œHang on, this looks promising,” said Ron, lifting the camera to his right eye. “Good boy, Grubby. I wonder what’s in those three yellow envelopes?”
    Ron’s trigger finger got busy on the telescopic camera.
    â€œCome on, boys, don’t be shy,” he whispered. “Show Uncle Ron what’s inside.”
    Zoom. Click.
    â€œGotcha!”
    Like a fisherman whose line’s been swallowed, Ron went to work, reeling off shot after shot.
    â€œThat’s it, fellas, make sure you count it now … Oh, this is beautiful.”
    Finally the succession of clicks ended with the zing of a rewinding film.
    â€œShow’s over, boys,” said Ron. “Let’s go.”
    Before the boys had a chance to move, Burger Barn’s double red doors burst open. Sectors Two and Three hugged the brickwork, pressing their faces hard against the restaurant’s east wall.
    â€œWhat were you bloody well thinking, parking the ute out front, ya moron?” yelled Grubby, giving his offsider a clip across his left ear. “I could train a monkey to do a better job than you. God knows it’d be a damn sight cheaper.”
    â€œSorry boss.”
    â€œYou got the keys?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œAnd the address for the drop-off?”
    â€œSeventy-four Boundary Road, Hillbrook.”
    The offsider rubbed his palm slowly down the ute’s side panel like a horse-lover admiring a thoroughbred’s hind quarter.
    â€œShe’s a beaut all right, boss. Must’ve cost you a fortune to hire this baby. It’s got that many extras, a bloke could live in it.”
    â€œListen, Mullet, just get in, drive to the drop-off, unload and get yourself back here. Got it?”
    â€œDon’t worry.”
    â€œOkay then, I’ll see you in three hours.”
    â€œSweet.”
    Checking that the canvas was secured correctly over the tray, Mullet jumped into the driver’s seat and took off. With Grubby back inside, Sectors Two and Three hightailed it back across the road to the laneway. The Morris was empty.
    â€œWhere’s Sam?” asked Ron, worried.
    â€œShe was supposed to be out front,” replied Dexter.
    Four sets of eyes peered out from the darkened laneway, searching frantically for signs of movement. Nothing stirred.
    Suddenly a faint but familiar voice crackled over the two-way.
    â€œSector One to Sector Three, come in.”
    â€œSector Three here,” answered Ron. “You had us worried there for a minute, Sam. Where are you?”
    â€œOn my way to Hillbrook, I think.”
    â€œYou didn’t?”
    â€œSorry, I did. I couldn’t help it. I’m under the canvas but I think I’m on to something.”
    â€œHang tight, Sam, we’re on our way … Get in, boys!”
    Ron pressed the accelerator to the floor and the Morris responded as best it could. Down the street it chugged, first gear, second, then third. Soon it was out on the highway, roaring and whining in top gear.
    â€œIs that it?” asked Travis.
    â€œâ€™Fraid so,” replied Ron. “We’re flat stick.”
    The passengers were edgy. By now, everyone had done the maths in their heads. It was simple — Hillbrook was an hour and a half away. The longer they drove, the wider grew the gap between the two cars. All they could think of was Sam, huddled under the canvas, scared sick.
    Dexter grabbed the two-way.
    â€œSam, it’s Dexter, do you read?”
    â€œOnly just,” came a thin reply. “Nice night for a drive, hey?”
    â€œAre you all right?”
    The two-way crackled static then broke up.
    â€œAre you all right?” persisted Dexter. “Sam, do you read?”
    Silence.
    It was official. Playtime was over. Inside the Morris, everyone was thinking the same