Before the Storm by Sean McMullen

Author:Sean McMullen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ford Street Publishing

Having got off the train at Balaclava, Daniel pedalled the bicycle while Barry rode in the delivery basket. Soon they were at the edge of Acland Street. Barry hid the bicycle in the bushes of somebody’s front yard, then they set off in search of anyone looking artistic and speaking with a foreign accent. They were trying to look as if they were freelance vendors of photographic artwork at a loose end, but in fact they resembled nothing more than a pair of schoolboys up to no good. On the other hand, this made them blend in perfectly, so there was no harm done.

After trying three cafés and discovering nothing more sinister than two Italians who did not speak English, they decided to loiter out on the street for a while. Barry nudged a discarded tobacco tin with his foot, then picked it up.

‘Are you looking for secret messages from spies?’ asked Daniel breathlessly.

Barry shook his head, then took another tin from his spare bag and emptied the few shreds of tobacco from the discarded tin into his own.

‘Not enough baccy to make a fag, but it all adds up,’ said Barry, holding out his own tin for Daniel to inspect. ‘When this lot is full, I can sell it for seven pence.’

‘Arkoola,’ Daniel read on the side of Barry’s tin. ‘Kangaroo Fat Oil for the Relief of Haemorrhoids.’

‘I sells it to old McKenzie, the ganger. He thinks it’s special, rare baccy from South America, and that I’m sellin’ it cheap ’cause I stole it.’

‘But surely one glance at the label –’

‘Silly old bugger can’t read,’ said Barry suavely.

‘We are supposed to be spies!’ insisted Daniel, who was beginning to feel annoyed by Barry’s attitude.

‘We should be spying.’

‘Jeez, Danny Boy, don’t you know nothin’? Spies aren’t folk wot go poncin’ about in cloaks an’ wavin’ daggers. They blend in with the crowd, they look ’armless.’

‘How would you know? Ever been a spy?’

‘I done me share.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘It’s true! In the railways, you know. Stuff gets ’alf-inched, an’, well, at the station I stands around, sweepin’ and lookin’ thick as two short planks tied together, so I hears stuff.’

‘Stuff?’

‘You know, coves talkin’ about packages missin’ and bein’ hid in places. Soon as nobody’s lookin’, snap! It’s in Barry’s bag.’

‘So you take it to the police?’

‘Nah, I makes the contents available to folk of discernin’ taste at reduced rates.’

‘You steal from thieves?’ exclaimed Daniel.

‘Shush! Keep yer friggin’ voice down!’

‘Barry, two wrongs don’t make a right.’

‘Nah, but they makes a profit, and yer conscience don’t kick up. Now then, keep an eye sharp for fag ends and baccy tins, and folk will think that’s what we’re doin’.’

‘If Mother ever finds out about this, I’ll never hear the end of it.’

Barry and Daniel decided to check the cafés again, sidling into them to check the floors for unspent matches, partly smoked cigarettes, and even the occasional coin. As people got up to leave the tables, Barry finished off the discarded coffee in their cups.

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