A rare foray into fiction.
I’m getting old, Bertie muttered to himself as he made his way up the incline. The sun was about to disappear behind the hills. He walked past the bush block on his left, puffing harder and harder. Captain, his dog, had disappeared into the bush to explore, as he always did when they reached this point on their daily walk.
Suddenly the dog started yapping excitedly. A tiger snake! was Bertie’s first thought, before he realised that no snake would be out and about in this cool autumn weather. A minute later Captain appeared, wagging his tail and dragging something along in his mouth.
Bertie patted the dog. “Good boy! What have you got here, then?” It was one of those canvas man bags that had lately come into fashion amongst the blokes in the village.
He unzipped the bag and peered in astonishment at the banknotes that had been crammed tightly into the bag. Furtively he looked around. There was no-one in sight. Without thinking twice and overcome with excitement at his good fortune he quickly tucked the bag under his coat, called the dog and turned around to walk back to his house around the corner at the bottom of the hill.
As soon as he was inside the house he locked the deadlock on the front door with a shaking hand, put the bag down on the kitchen table and unzipped it again. Inside the bag were a variety of notes, mainly fifties and twenties. I reckon there’d be a few thousand quid in there, he thought.
It wouldn’t be someone who had accidentally lost his bag along the way, Bertie mused. The bag had been thrown into the bushes, probably by a drug dealer who had been pursued by his competitors, or by the cops. He hid the bag behind the cookbooks on the kitchen shelf.
Bertie’s wife had succumbed to the Big C five years earlier. The house mortgage had been paid off, but he was struggling to get by on the pension and of necessity he lived a very Spartan life. Now this was about to change.
He went to bed early that night, but he couldn’t sleep. He kept seeing the banknotes in his mind’s eye. Captain must have sensed his excitement, because the dog was unusually restless.
Now I’ll be able to afford a holiday, Bertie thought. Maybe I’ll go on one of those cruises to New Zealand that they are always advertising on the telly. Or perhaps I’ll trade the old Holden in for a later model. He was getting more and more excited.
In the middle of the night, however, a sense of disquiet began to reach its tentacles out to him. What if someone had seen me walking along there and had told the cops? Or what if the drug dealers had discovered who had taken their money and came after me? He had seen reports on the news of drive-by shootings and cold-blooded gangland executions. What if the money had belonged to the bikies? A shiver ran down his spine.
He tossed and turned until it was almost daybreak, when at last he fell into a fitful slumber.
Bertie was woken by Captain’s loud barking. Someone was knocking loudly on the front door. For a mad moment he thought about sneaking out the back door and running away as fast as he could. With difficulty he pulled himself together and croaked “Hang on, I’ll be there in a minute!”
He struggled to put on his dressing gown, first sticking his arm into an inside out sleeve in his hurry. He went to the front door and opened it with trepidation.
“Good grief, Bertie, are you OK? It’s eleven o’clock already and you look like you’ve just got out of bed. Besides, you look like death warmed up.”
It was his neighbour, George, clutching Bertie’s chainsaw which he had borrowed earlier in the week.
“I’m alright thanks, mate. Just feeling a bit crook, s’all. The Bombay Twostep or something.”
After George had left, Bertie drew all the curtains and fretted his way restlessly through the day. He jumped at the slightest of sounds, fearing another knock on his door.
Eventually, when the daylight began to fade, he carefully peered outside. There was no-one around. He retrieved the bag from its hiding place and unzipped it. Now the banknotes appeared to him as though they were the carriers of some awful disease. He put on his coat, hid the bag under the coat and put Captain on a leash, before setting off up the hill at a forced leisurely pace. He felt as if unseen eyes were watching his every step.
When he got to the bush block he surreptitiously peered around, but there was not a soul in sight. He took the bag out from under his coat and hurled it as far as he could into the bushes, before tugging on the excited dog’s leash and heading home with shaking knees.