Nothing Lasts Forever Page 9

  “How dare you speak to me like that, Mr. Milo? I’ll make sure everyone in town hears about this outrage! You shall be blackballed!”

  Joe trotted into the shop from Mel’s residence, something he’d rarely done before. Mel almost laughed at the horror on Lisa’s face as Joe pranced before her, his face set in anger, and he shook his spear threateningly.

  With a high pitched scream Lisa ran from the shop. Mel heard her running down the street yelling “That black heathen threatened me! If I hadn’t got out when I did, he’d have killed me!”

  The police sergeant wandered into the shop a few minutes later, a lop sided grin on his face. “What’s the problem, Mel?” He knew too well what the problem was.

  “I was forced to insist Mrs. Brown leave my store after she scared the living daylights out of my friend, Joe.” Mel said evenly. Everyone in town knew of the harmless aborigine, Mel Milo’s friend.

  The policeman shook his head. “We all know Lisa too well. She likes to control everyone if she can and gets a lot of pain for her trouble. But she’s filing a complaint against Joe, and that has me worried. It’s not good to have an aborigine in court, even one as friendly as your Joe.”

  Mel was furious. The stupid woman could cause all sorts of problems for Joe. How could he handle this obstacle?

  The policeman took out his notebook. “Now, you say she threatened Joe and banned him from your home? This will make a very interesting case if it gets to court. Everyone here knows how controlling she is; she’ll just be making a big fool of herself in front of the judge.” He smiled a wide smile. “Leave this with me, Mel. I’m sure you’ll hear no more about it.”

  Mel heard no more about it, and Lisa Brown was not seen at any social functions for a long while.

  “Bad fella cumin,” Joe said one evening. He’d just entered Mel’s kitchen after one of his ‘little fella walkabout’ which was a roam around the local area.

  Mel looked up from dishing up chops and mash. “What do you mean, Joe?”

  “Two fella, camp at creek. They drinkum firewater and laugh ‘bout robbin people. They say gonna rob store.”

  John appeared suddenly. “They said they’re going to rob store? This store?”

  “Joe thinkum this store. They talk of good horse in stable, dark man in store they gonna robbin. Big man talk loud of fixing the nigger.”

  “It could be the loud-talking man who caused my demise,” John said thoughtfully. “I’d like to even the score with him.”

  “We can’t kill him,” Mel said, horrified at the thought.

  “No need to kill him,” John said with a ghostly smile. “Just scare the pants off him so he doesn’t try again. Everyone willing?”

  “Ready!” said Joe with a grin.

  “What have you got in mind?” Mel asked.

  “Eat your chops while I look around for an idea.”

  “Would you like a chop, John?” Mel asked.

  “Smart ass,” John said as he glided away.

  Mel looked sheepishly at Joe. “I forgot! I swear I forget sometimes that he‘s a ghost.”

  Joe grinned and picked up a chop in his fingers.

  Shortly after, John was back. “All right, you two. Into the shop. We’ve got a bit of carpentry to do.”

  Mel wondered just what the wily ghost had planned.

  It was very late when they’d finished. Joe had crept out now and then to check on Baylord.

  The serving counter with cash drawer was at the rear of the store, almost dead centre and facing the one large doorway giving access from the street. Under John’s instructions, a section of the counter front was sawn out, then remounted on hinges which allowed it to open down like a hatch. Behind the hatch they’d modeled a shelf, shaped and chiseled to securely hold a double-barreled shotgun horizontally. It took a little while to get the release on the flap to work properly, but just before midnight they had it operating to everyone’s satisfaction.

  “I don’t think they are coming to-night,” John said.

  “Mebbe not tonight, “Joe said. “They drinkum plenty firewater.”

  “All right, troops. To bed, and wait for the fun to-morrow.” John told them as he faded away.

  Joe slept in the stables as usual, Mel thankful to have him there on guard. Nothing would get past Joe.

  The next day passed as usual, a typical slow day in mid-week when no extra help was needed from Leonardo. Around four in the afternoon, two horsemen pulled up outside the Imperial Hotel beside the store. The unkempt riders wandered into the hotel and ordered a drink. There were no other customers. After sculling their drinks, the strangers went back to their horses, but only to slide rifles out of their saddle-bags. They walked towards Mel’s store, checking there was no-one else around to see them. The tallest of the duo walked into the shop first and looked around with a sly grin.

  “Well, lookee here. Lots of treasures.” He said in a very loud voice. His off-sider stayed just inside the door as look-out. “You got a sugar bag handy, nigger man?”

  Joe had warned Mel of their arrival and was standing around the doorway to Mel’s living room as backup.

  “Why do you need a sugar bag, sir?” Mel asked politely.

  “You need it to put in this…and this…and this…” The big man used his rifle to push goods off the shelves. He’d chosen his spoils well. “Come on, you nigger, and load these into the bag before I start busting things up.”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Mel said calmly, staying behind the counter. He was quaking inside, not accustomed to such confrontations. He hoped to hell their contraption worked.

  The big man laughed. “Who gives a damn what you think, nigger man? Now load up the bag while I look around some more.”

  “Have a look at this, it might interest you,” Mel said, and pulled the catch on the flap. John had designed it well, so that the shotgun slid out in full view.

  The big man did a double take, and almost ran for the door, but he stopped short and swung his rifle towards Mel, a nasty smile on his face.

  Mel pulled one trigger on the shotgun, and the pellets blasted past the big man’s chest, just missing his look-out and scattering into the street. The expression on the big man’s face was priceless.

  “And that was only one barrel. Want to try the other?” Mel said evenly.

  The robbers were on their horses and down the street before Mel got to the door. Sergeant Green ran up from the police station. “I heard a shot. What’s going on?”

  After examining Mel’s hidden shotgun, and hearing the story, he laughed and said “I’ll be damned. Good work, but I don’t know anything about this, O.K. You fired a gun in self-defense, no one was hurt, and you are well prepared if they come back. Mongrels, they are. They’ve been breaking in and stealing all over the town. Let’s hope they’ve had a decent enough scare to send them somewhere else.”

  Mel brewed a pot of tea, and Joe joined them at the table. “Good work, Joe. That was clever thinking to stay out of sight but ready to back Mel if necessary. You’d be good on the force,” Sergeant Green said.

  “No workum on force. Not good fellas, on force.” Joe said. He was referring to the aborigine trackers who rode with the rangers in the outback areas. Some reports told of unnecessary slaughter of tame aborigines.

  “Fair enough, Joe. I know what you’re referring to. In the meantime, you look after Mel. You are doing a grand job. We don’t want anything to happen to our popular store owner.”

  Joe beamed, then looked serious. “Allasame they be back, them bad fellas. They want robbin Mel.”

  Sergeant Green looked at Mel. “You think he’s right?”

  “Joe usually is.”

  “Then you call on me next time. I’ll get the buggers locked up if they come back.”

  “They be back. Not soon; later mebbee. They lose f
ace, not liken that.”

  Leonardo was washing his hands after a hard day’s work in the store. Two deliveries had come in that day, and customers kept Mel busy, so Leonardo had to manage on his own. With surprise he noticed the horse and cart waiting outside. Usually he jogged the two miles between farm and store.

  “What’s up, Mia?” he asked the young girl holding the reins.

  “Mama had a fall; Papa is patching her up, so he sent me to get you home quickly to tend the milking.” Mia kept her eyes on Mel, who had appeared to see Leonardo off.

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Mel said to Leonardo. “Is this your sister?”

  Leonardo nodded. “My younger sister, Mia.”

  As Mel’s eyes met Mia’s, he experienced a moment of unease. There was something in the young girl’s eyes which he couldn’t explain, but it bought about a feeling of discontent. This girl was trouble. The warning was very clear in his mind. But how could that be? She was only a child. Leonardo was a fine person, and his father was also a fine man. How could a strong reputable family have any possibility of creating an unsavory offspring? The word ’unsavory’ was perhaps a bit strong, Mel conceded, but the premonition was there, strong and sure.

  “Glad to meet you, Mia,” Mel said with a smile. He turned and entered the store with a late customer.

  John was being extremely difficult that night. Joe was accustomed to the ghost’s tantrums, and took no notice.

  “I think you are concentrating too much on clothing. Look at the shelves; they used to hold important things like household goods,” John said.

  Mel swung an arm around. “And they still do. Everything is here that the community requires for running and maintaining their farms.”

  “But you’ve relegated the important stuff to the rear shelves. They used to be up front…”

  “The items most in demand need to lure the customers in, John. As you are well aware from the sales books, most of the sales just now are from the clothing and cloth section, and it is good business practice to give the customers what they want.”

  Mel was getting just a bit worried. John was being particularly pig-headed to-night. He found himself wondering just how long this displaced ghost was going to hang around. When would he earn his wings or whatever was necessary to leave this world and roam around heaven in well-earned peace?

  Chapter Nine

  Joe wandered into the kitchen near sundown and watched Mel peel potatoes and carrots to put into the pot of stew for supper.

  “Bad men commin in dark,” Joe said quietly. It was two weeks since the last attempt to rob the store.

  Mel looked up with concern. “So they’re waiting for darkness to try again?” That could be a problem, Mel thought.

  “So the buggers are going to try us out again, eh?” John was suddenly there, as though he could sense trouble coming.

  Neither of them asked Joe how he knew, but knew what Joe said rang true. They sat at the table, waiting for the stew to cook, and talked about their options, and what advantages they may have.

  “Dry storm commin soon,” Joe said.

  “And…?” John asked impatiently. Why the hell was the blackfeller talking about a ‘dry’ storm when they were trying to work out their defenses in the face of a major conflict?

  “Dry storm makes some whitefella very nervous. Makes horses jumpy,” Joe informed them quietly.

  “And…?” John snapped. “This is useless information in the face of us being robbed and possibly killed in the process.”

  Mel turned his eyes to John. “You are worried about being killed?”

  “Well yes…no.” John realised the absurdity of that statement. “I just don’t want my store to be ransacked and robbed by those two low-life characters.”

  Mel turned his eyes to Joe. “Tell me about this dry storm, Joe, and the consequences of it.”

  “Forget the bloody weather,” John said frantically. “Let’s plan something before the thieving mongrels get here.”

  Mel shot John that ‘don’t annoy me’ look. “Can we use the storm to our advantage, Joe?”

  “Me thinkum mebbee yes. White fella’s eyes not good with flicker-light.”

  Mel dished up the tasty stew into two plates, and raised his eyes to John. He always felt guilty about excluding John from food.

  “I’m going to check the store again, make sure it’s secure,” John said as he faded away.

  Joe and Mel talked quietly between mouthfuls of food. They finished quickly and stacked their plates in the sink.

  “There’s chalk in the store, Joe. Do what you have to do. I’m going to run down to Sergeant Green and hopefully bring him back here. Won’t be long.”

  When Mel returned with the policeman, Joe was grinding chalk to a fine powder in the kitchen. Sergeant Green listened to their plans with a grin on his face.

  “I’ll be here for backup, Mel. I want to catch these thieving buggers and lock them up after Joe has them trussed up. Hopefully without anyone getting hurt.”

  The storm crashed around the heavens, and true to Joe’s statement, there was no rain. The lightning flashed intermittently; from flickering light to total darkness which dazzled the retinas. Joe had disappeared into the night, and the policeman wondered if he had decided to abandon Mel, then thought better of it. Joe would never let Mel down.

  It was late when Mel said “They’ve just ridden up, and tied their horses to the hitching rail at the front.”

  Sergeant Green wondered how the hell Mel knew that. They were both crouched at the kitchen window in the dark, and he’d seen and heard nothing. But he hadn’t noticed the wispy form which had floated to Mel with the information. The policeman squinted into the darkness outside the window. It was damned hard to register anything with the flickering lightning followed by lengths of deep darkness, and the thunder seemed to be echoing in his skull. It was truly an eerie night. He felt a headache coming on, and he’d had not a drop. Maybe later when this is over, he thought hopefully, and licked his lips in anticipation. He’d heard Mel was generous with good rum.

  There was much cussing and sounds of something hitting the hard ground at the side of the store. Mel smiled. He’d left it to Joe to set up multiple ropes at ankle height around the premises. Joe needed no light; Mel would have needed a lamp which would have given them away.

  The two bandits hauled themselves to their feet, only to trip on another rope a few steps away.

  “I’ll kill that bastard nigger,” the tallest bandit muttered, only to hit the ground again, causing a sharp pain in his knee. He staggered to his feet again, swaying with the pain, when he was confronted by the vision of a black man, his skin gleaming like an oiled lizard. But it was the stark white war paint on the face and black body that unnerved him more. The stripes and whirls added to the ferocious expression and intimidating stance of the armed warrior. The spear he carried looked immense.

  The lead bandit steadied his rifle to eliminate the threat, but with the next flicker of lightning, the warrior was not where he should have been. He now stood further back and to the side, but was gone with the next flicker. It was just too confusing, his brain was hurting; but he had a job to do.

  “Get up, Elroy,” he snarled at his mate, still on the ground with ropes around his legs. “Let’s head to the back door. Get up, damn you!”

  But his mate had lost interest in the planned job. He was panting with terror after sighting the black warrior, but the ghost…yes, he’d seen a bloody ghost, wispy and writhing and pointing an accusing ghostly finger at him. He kicked frantically at the ropes; all he wanted to do was get to his horse and get the hell away from this spooky place.

  The leader took a step forward, furious now. He’d take as much as he could from the store then burn it down. That nigger was not going to get the better of him. He felt a sharp, painful jab in his side an
d knew it was warm blood trickling down into his boots. Hell almighty! Out of the corner of his eye he caught the confusion of gleaming black with vivid white war paint. Shit! The blackfella had stabbed him! He swung his rifle around with all his strength to strike a fatal blow, but the warrior had gone, and the momentum behind the swing spun him around to wrap more ropes around his legs and bring him down again in a panting heap beside Elroy, who was frozen in fear.

  “Get up, Elroy!” the leader yelled at him. “Get to the stables and get that horse! I’m not leaving here empty handed!”

  Kicking and writhing to get out of the tangle of ropes, the leader slowly got to his feet. Shit, his side was hurting bad. Standing, hunched over with the pain, he was just about to kick Elroy and get him moving when something hit him a crashing blow to the back of the head. He fell like a rock.

  Elroy whimpered. The black monster moved like the wind…one never knew just where he would come from next. He saw Jerry slumped beside him in the next flicker of light, and knew he was out to it.

  Anxious to just get to his horse and get away Elroy frantically used his hands to feel the tangle of rope around his legs. Slowly he loosened the loops and slipped his legs free. Then he heard it, the whinny of distressed horses, followed by the fading sound of hoofs as they sped away.

  Elroy panicked, then found his feet and picked up his rifle. His escape was foiled, and his mind tumbled over itself looking for another avenue of escape. The fine horse in the stable! He’d take him and leave bloody Jerry to take the rap for this bungle. What a mess! But he’d come out of it all right if he could get that horse.

  Waiting for the next flicker of lightning to direct him, he jumped back in fear as the black warrior sprang in front of him. Elroy swung his rifle and fired a shot, but the warrior had disappeared. The ghost glided straight at him in the next flicker, and Elroy jumped back again, right into the mess of ropes he’d just got out of. He hit the ground hard on his back. The ropes had a life of their own as they wound around and around him, from his feet to his neck, and he couldn’t move an inch. He still had hold of his double barrel rifle at his side and as he lay, trussed like a Christmas turkey, he watched through eyes wide with fear, as the ferocious black warrior, side by side with the evil eyed ghost, approached him. The warrior raised his spear and without another thought Elroy pulled the trigger. Pain and blackness overcame him.