The Deep Enders by Dave Reardon

Author:Dave Reardon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mango Media
Published: 2021-09-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter

22

Dark wind and heavy rainclouds hung over Broome the following morning as Mother Nature gave one last hoorah for the wet season, filling water tanks to the brim and turning unsurfaced roads into muddy tracks.

Banjo usually hated the rain, but today he was happy for it to pour. Wild weather kept most decent folks in bed, which was ideal, given the contents of his backpack. Even so, he knew that he’d need a good dose of luck for this to work.

Streeters Jetty was dark and vacant at 5:00 a.m. as Banjo dropped the gangplank onto the edge of Waltzing Matilda and stepped across to the aft deck. The mayor’s boat creaked, rocking gently in the foaming, windswept waters.

The cabin door was locked. Banjo wedged a screwdriver into a window joint and slid it wide enough to clamber through—careful not to bump the heavy leather satchel slung over his shoulders. Inside, the cabin was dry and smelled of fatty sausages. He walked its length, running a finger over the walnut record player before flopping onto Dom’s high-backed throne with his legs over the armrest. Banjo looked around and reached up for the pull-cord attached to the amber light in the ceiling. Click. The cabin filled with a warm orange glow. He waited five seconds, then switched it off and quickly checked out the window that he was still alone.

Satisfied, he stepped up onto the seat of Dom’s throne, unscrewed the glass lighting fixture in the ceiling, and removed the lightbulb inside. Banjo touched the electrical contact at the base of the bulb.

“Strewth,” he yelped at the red hot contact.

Banjo blew on the bulb until it cooled down, then fished in the pocket of his shorts and found the last of the M-80 pyrotechnics from his cousin. He held the M-80 alongside the lightbulb as he clipped it back into place, with its short fuse wedged in next to the globe’s electrical contact. Then he tugged lightly to check the fuse was firm.

Outside, a gust of wind rattled the windows and Banjo froze, his heart running like a rabbit. He was as good as dead if he was caught. Hell, he might be as good as dead if he wasn’t caught!

Turning back to the task, he removed the satchel, and slowly lifted it above his head and taped three sides of the bag flat against the roof using a whole roll of duct tape. He let go of the satchel and held his breath. The liquid inside the waterproof bag sloshed noisily, but it stuck firmly to the ceiling. Trembling slightly, he slid a hand between the ceiling and the one side that wasn’t taped to the roof. He located a zipper on the side of the bag and opened it just enough to slip one end of the M-80 in the liquid.

Banjo longed to switch on the light again to double-check that the fuse would ignite, but he couldn’t be anywhere near if it did! Instead, he gathered up the discarded amber light cover and dusted off the throne.

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