Baiting the Rat

By Richard Ward

For followers of the ‘Boys Own’ genre, 'Baiting the Rat' is a fast-paced, action-packed read. Set in New Zealand's Northland, a trail of crime is unleashed by a young rebel. As the police close in, he turns to his 'old school' uncle. As these two personalities clash, values are tested and frustration reaches its peak until an unlikely solution to end the crime spree presents itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Ward
• Release date: May 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9780473249601

Richard Ward

Richard F. Ward is Fred B. Craddock Associate Professor ofHomiletics and Worship at Phillips Theological Seminary. Hisother books include Speaking of the Holy: The Art ofCommunication in Preaching.,

Book preview

Prologue

The police car would have turned into the farm entrance but the driver saw his contact across the next paddock so the car slowed and stopped on the edge of the dusty road. The policeman got out and donning his cap, stepped across the drain, levered himself over the boundary fence and ambled across the paddock. He walked towards a solitary, huge, dead, but still standing, macrocarpa tree. It had a truncated, bare stem and a few straggling branches sagged on one side of it. A forestry ladder was propped against the tree and as he approached an aged, wiry figure hailed him as he stepped off the ladder, a small chainsaw in one hand.

‘You’re a bit aged to be up a ladder with a chainsaw, old fellow,’ the policeman said. He stepped over some branches and sat on the back of a low trailer which was attached to a worn farm quad bike.

‘Old fellow yourself,’ retorted the leathery one. ‘You sit quietly now and catch your breath. Quite a walk across the paddock for a chap that pushes a desk all day. What are you here for anyway, Conlin? Run out of villains again?’

‘I’d be so lucky. Gotta follow up a call down your road so thought I’d drop by and bludge a cup of tea from you if you were up at the house, but you’re not so I’ll come to the point. It’s audit time again.’

‘Oh yeah. What’s that mean?’

‘I’ve got to check that you’ve not heard from Jar’d. Your great nephew, remember? That case is still on our books and as he’s never been found and this is his last place of residence, I have to be sure that he’s not been back or that you’ve seen him."

‘Bloody insulting!’ The stringy one flicked a glance to his friend and began to lift a branch onto that part of the trailer not occupied by the policeman.

‘What’s your problem? I have to sign off the audit. I know that if he’d been about, you would have told us but I still have to ask.’

‘Right, you’ve asked. He’s not here. Piss off and do something useful.’

The two men had known each other since childhood. "But you might want to come up to the house for a cup of tea, first. Give us a hand with these branches and I’ll give you a ride up.’

*************

CHAPTER 1

They had gathered in the sitting room for the ceremony. Drooping lace curtains, gathered halfway down in a Y shape, fell from behind brown roller blinds that never fully retracted. The curtains filtered the fading light from outside so the lights were on. Two bulbs under lace-frilled shades and a standard lamp in the corner, cast a yellow glow over the seven occupants. Most clutched a glass of beer and made half-hearted conversation because they had little in common. Any movement caught their attention and possibly prompted a few more static sentences.

At this moment most were watching the fifties-something woman in the blue, patterned frock and cardigan who stood before the twenties-something youth and brushed fluff or hairs from the shoulders of his obviously new white shirt. ‘We want you looking your best dear. You do look nice in a shirt and tie. You should wear them more often.’

The youth’s eyes sagged a little and his sulky mouth twitched sideways with a sigh. "Don’t make a fuss mother. And I can’t see myself wearing this shirt and tie again. Can’t we get this over with?’

‘Well, it is an occasion. Heavens knows when we had one before. And Uncle Fred has prepared a speech.’

‘He’s not my uncle. I’ve said that to you before. What do you see in that scruffy rat? The eyes now wide open and the head tilted aggressively forward with raised eyebrows. Fixed jaw and a stubble-covered chin and stubby hands that occasionally twitched a large, gold bracelet that hung from one wrist.

‘Shush dear, he’ll hear you. Fred’s been kind to me and he knew your father. Could easily be a distant relation. Turn around and let me see the back of you.’

The youth rolled his eyes, sighed and turned. He found himself facing the itinerant uncle. A small person with deep vertical lines in a round face with moustache, he also wore a new white shirt. But reminiscent of something from the turtle house, a scrawny neck protruded through a collar that allowed at least an inch of room around it. As the youth watched disdainfully, a finger ran nervously around the neck and then to the moustache and then to the nose to be sniffed. Below the collar, a stained, striped blue tie with a large gold tie clip.

Their eyes met. ‘Better get this show going then,’ the man said, again nervously running his finger around his collar line and to his moustache and to his nose. ‘Okay Thelma?’

Everyone must have heard the cue because all eyes focussed on Fred. While his right hand performed the rub and sniff action again, his left shook slightly as he focussed on the piece of paper there.

‘Thanks for coming, ah, everyone. Good to have this family gathering in honour of Jar’d. We couldn’t have it on the date of his twenty-first because he was, ah, away. But we’re not going into that. These are happier times. Jar’d is beginning a new life after his, er, time away and we wish him all the best. He hasn’t got a job yet but he’s working on it, I think, ah...’ The collar-moustache-nose act was repeated while Fred studied his notes.

‘But the main purpose of this gathering is to wish Jar’d well in his new start. And I said, he’s been away and we wish him well. To help with this start, I’d like to present him with this bank bond for twenty thousand dollars. It’s from the family. Your father had something to do with it. But it’s really family money.’ Fred gave a wan smile around the group as if implying that he was part of the family and somehow had part ownership of the money. The finger started its move again.

‘To conclude, ah, we all wish you well, Jar’d. This could help with a house when you get a job and, ah, you never know ah, what may eventu..., ah come about.’

Fred stepped forward and handed over the cheque. Some put down their beers and gave a half-hearted clap. One glass slipped on a doily and fell on the floor. The mother went for a cloth. A beefy neighbour went to the kitchen for another beer. A woman who Jar’d had never seen before came in with a plate of sausage rolls and invited a bystander to pull a small table into the middle of the group. Conversations developed.

Fred came from the kitchen with a fresh glass of beer. He approached Jar’d. ‘Thank goodness that’s done. Like the present boy? Could be useful as a deposit you know. But let me know if I can be helpful anytime.’

Jar’d’s eyes quickly scanned the room. He fixed his mother’s friend with a gelid stare, as if Fred was a laboratory frog he was dispassionately dissecting. He leaned towards him and slowly said, ‘I am not your boy. I don’t want your advice. I don’t like you near my mother. You’re a freeloader and no relative. Go away. Piss off’

Fred looked wary and defensive. He pursed his lips and shook his head. A finger moved inside his collar. ‘Your mother and I are companions. I’m helping around the house. I know I don’t have any income so to speak but at least I’ve been here for her while you were ins.., away.’ A right fingered circuit of the neck was followed by a left handed one and Fred walked off.

Jar’d approached his mother. She turned to him with a smile. ‘Didn’t Uncle Fred do well? Did you like his speech? And that cheque will be useful. This is Debs from next door. Do you remember her?’ But his mother was not really focussed on Jar’d. She looked past him, frowning. Someone had brought the crate of beer from the kitchen and put it on the floor. Another was standing over the La Gloria radiogram, looking through the vinyl records. There was considerably more noise and that Mr Jackson from two doors away had somehow appeared and was laughing with Fred.

The mother clutched her cardigan across the front of her frock and weaved through the throng to the kitchen. The two women at the bench were cutting a sponge cake, one holding the plate while the other used the knife. A third leaned past them and was opening cupboards above their heads. The mother didn’t know whether to attend to the cake or the cupboard issue first. There was a curious process of confusion and bewilderment which resulted in her blurting, ‘I was going to do that...’ Then to another woman, ‘What are you looking for? ‘

‘Just some more glasses dear. You could do with some new lining paper here, don’t you think?’

The woman felt her eyes stinging. Her sense of ownership was being challenged. Who were these strangers who had taken over? To avoid revealing her discomfort, she turned and went back to the living room, squeezing past her neighbour Debs in the doorway. Where was Fred or even Jar’d? She’d find Fred and draw breath.

She sighted Fred in the doorway on the other side of the room. He was leaning with his back against the wall, both hands behind him, still talking to that woman. He had loosened his tie so that there was even more room for the wrinkled reptilian neck to move. The mother confidently stepped towards them.

At that moment there was a crash from the French doors and a billowing of