A Croc Called Capone (12 page)

‘It's actually Mr Small,' he said. ‘Consultants are called Mr. But I would much prefer it if you called me Murray.'

‘Mr Small,' I said. ‘Isn't that a character from a kids' picture book? You know. Mr Small, Mr Greedy … Mr Mean?'

Murray smiled.

‘Quite right, mate,' he said.

He sat between me and Dyl and insisted on buying drinks for all of us. I turned him down. So did Dyl. For the first time in his life he passed on a cola! I would have taken a picture, if I'd had a camera. Murray snapped his fingers, and Brendan came over to take the order.

Rose and Cy reacted as though they'd been zapped with tasers. They went from multi-coloured mounds of misery to sickeningly chirpy in less than a second.

‘Hi, Brendan,' said Cy. She dragged out all the syllables of this imaginative greeting. It seemed to go on for thirty seconds. ‘How
are
you?' she added, thus clinching her status of inspirational conversationalist.

‘Hi,' said Brendan. ‘Can I get you guys some drinks before you order food?'

‘Please,' said Murray. ‘We'd like a bottle of …'

‘Brendan, I think what you did this morning was the bravest thing I have
ever
seen!' This was Rose. ‘Battling a crocodile to save the life of
poor
Dylan here. You deserve a
medal
.'

Brendan shifted from one foot to the other and scratched behind an ear. The resulting draught nearly knocked me off my chair.

‘Well, not sure “battling” is the right word. I just helped to pull the kid out.'

‘We'll go for the bottle of …' said Murray.

‘How
modest
!' simpered Cy, batting her eyelashes in Brendan's direction. Given she was wearing very long false ones, he almost toppled over in the breeze. I was beginning to think we didn't need ceiling fans, when Rose harrumphed and knocked a glass of iced water into Cy's lap. Cy screamed as she jumped to her feet.

Murray took advantage of the confusion to order a bottle of champagne. I sneaked a peek at the wine list. It cost
$
190
.

Cy gave Rose a look designed to turn her into stone. Then she rushed off to change and peace reigned for a while.

‘What do you want for Christmas?' Murray whispered to me.

‘A healthy environment,' I whispered back.

‘Tricky to wrap.'

‘But worth the effort.'

Murray took a sip of champagne while I toyed with the idea of knocking a glass of iced water into his lap. I didn't, though. I refuse to imitate Rose, even when she comes up with a brilliant idea.

‘I reckon a boy like you might really appreciate a new computer,' Murray said after a long pause. ‘Possibly the latest games console as well. Plus games. A mobile phone, maybe. What do you think, Marcus? Would you like those things for Christmas?'

‘Nah,' I said. ‘Too expensive.'

‘Not necessarily.'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘Necessarily.'

‘There must be something you'd like.'

I thought about this.

‘There is, actually,' I replied. ‘There's one thing you can do for me.'

And I told him.

Dylan and I watched
TV
, but we weren't really paying attention.

Dyl had scarcely said a word all evening. He hadn't even smiled when Rose and Cy got stuck into each other during dinner. And it was quite a performance. Whenever Brendan was around they oozed happiness and joy from every pore. As soon as he left, it was as if someone had turned off the tap of wellbeing. They sank into misery, punctuated by occasional moments of outright nastiness. Eventually, they became so bitchy that Mum sent them back to their cabins.

Dyl and I could hear them yelling at each other over the sound of the
TV
. We had to crank up the volume. But I
felt
the slam of their cabin door. It was a minor earthquake. Maybe Cy was making her getaway. Maybe Rose had taken to Cy's head with her knuckles and got disembowelled by a thrust from a light sabre. Serve her right.

We must have dozed off for a couple of hours, because the next thing I was aware of was a hammering at our cabin door. I got to my feet and glanced at the alarm clock. It was past midnight. Dyl sat up in bed, blinking his eyes and looking groggy. I staggered to the door.

‘Who is it?' I called.

I didn't want to open up. I remembered what Blacky had said about Al paying a visit. For all I knew, a mob of crocs could be outside with broad-brimmed hats, sawn-off shotguns and bad accents.

‘It's Dad,' came a muffled voice. ‘Open the door, son.'

I did. It wasn't just Dad. Mum was there. So was Rose, Brendan and his father, Ted, the resort manager. They glanced past me into our room.

‘Is Siobhan here?' asked Mum.

Had she lost her mind? Cy in our cabin? I'd sooner entertain a five-metre croc. I shook my head.

‘What's up?' I asked.

‘She's gone,' said Mum, almost choking on the words. ‘Siobhan has disappeared.'

Apparently, Cy had taken off after my sensitive sister had pointed out a few of her character flaws. Such as:

She didn't have a character

She was as attractive as a pitbull terrier's backside

She couldn't pull a muscle, let alone a guy like Brendan.

I had to read between the lines to get this information.

Anyway, after a couple of hours, Rose decided to look for her, possibly because she had thought up a few more insults and wanted to share them. But Cy was nowhere to be found. Rose alerted our parents who, in turn, sought out Brendan as the likely person Cy would run to. He hadn't seen her. He and Ted searched the entire resort and turned up nothing. Finally they came to our cabin.

Now only one place remained.

The bush.

And it was past midnight.

Mum hadn't recovered from Dyl's dip with Al. Now she had to face the prospect that yet another person's child was in serious danger. Judging by the look on her face, she realised she'd blown her chance of being nominated Responsible Guardian of the Year.

We searched the resort again. It gave us something to do, rather than follow Mum's lead of slumping in a chair, moaning ‘Oh my God' and smacking herself around the head with a heavy palm leaf. Okay, I'm exaggerating. But only just. By the time we'd finished it was one-twenty-seven and Cy still hadn't been found.

Ted gazed into the bush.

‘We can't go in there,' he said. ‘It's too dark. Anyway, I reckon she's probably only a couple of metres in, trying to scare us all. You know, making someone pay because she's upset. With luck, she'll get tired and come back soon. No worries.'

But she didn't. When dawn arrived, the resort was stubbornly Cy-less.

Worries.

Search parties were organised at first light. Most of the holiday-makers volunteered to help and Ted Branaghan divided people into groups and gave them areas to search. I noticed Murray poring over maps. Dyl and I joined the queue of volunteers, but Mum dragged us out.

‘You are
NOT
going,' she said. ‘I will not risk it. From now on, Marcus, you will be chained to your bedpost until you are forty. Possibly forty-five.'

‘But we want to help, Mrs Hill,' said Dyl. He was close to tears. All this sitting around was driving him crazy. Around sixty cans of cola bubbled and fizzed in his system and the sugar was demanding release.

‘I know you want to help, Dylan,' she said. ‘Which is why I need you to stay here and watch in case Siobhan comes back.'

We argued, but it did no good. Mum wasn't so much firm as set in quick-drying cement. So Dyl and I slouched off to sit on the edge of the swimming pool.

‘Man, this sucks the big one,' said Dylan. If anything, the darkness of his mood had deepened. I agreed, but what could we do? I stuck my feet into the water, made small waves and watched them break against the poolside. Part of me hoped Cy wouldn't be discovered until the flight this evening had left. Though, on reflection, even if we missed the flight, we'd be off home as soon as Cy turned up. Dyl
and
Cy in danger? We'd shoot through even if Mum and Dad had to hire pushbikes or hijack a passing camel train.

‘I know where she is.'

In all the drama I'd forgotten about Blacky. I was so surprised by the voice I nearly fell into the pool. He was sitting on the diving board. I got the sudden urge to see him attempt a half-turn with pike, but thrust the thought to one side.

‘You know where Cy is?'

‘Sure do, tosh. I think I already mentioned that there is little that goes on in this world of which I am unaware.

She's fine, but needs your help. If you'll follow me …'

‘But Mum said we've got to stay here, Blacky. Can't I just tell one of the search parties and they could follow you?'

‘Oh, I see, mush. “This dog told me where the missing person is. Kindly follow him. This is a Disney movie!” And how about an encore, bucko? “I'm also in email contact with a small dingo called Ernie.” That should guarantee you a fitting for a straitjacket.'