Rusty & Slasher and the Circus from Hell

By Jenny Harrison

Rusty and Slasher Naills have decided to ‘go straight’. Rusty wants to be a policeman and Slasher has ideas of entering the church although he may not like that idea once he realises he will have to wear a dress. But Pa, when he returns from his long sojourn in Her Majesty’s 5-Star Hotel, has other ideas. As a family bonding exercise, he wants to organise a security-van heist. Nana will be the wheelman (once she obtains her adult diapers), Pa and the boys will do the dirty work. It’s going to be easy money. Then things begin to go wrong. Messer Neville Smythe and his valet, Dick Crotch, re-enter the scene and Pa has to go into hiding. To help out there is Felix the circus manager Pa met in jail. He hides Pa in full view among the colourful circus folk, the trapeze artists, jugglers and clowns. But this is when the real trouble starts and the circus becomes the site of mayhem and carnage. Be prepared to go on the funniest (Ghost Train) ride of your life!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jenny Harrison
• Release date: Jul 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301117468

Jenny Harrison

I only started writing in 1995 in my late 50s (yeah for us late bloomers!). Debbie’s Story - the story of childhood sexual abuse - was a huge hit when published in 1997, one of those books that appeared just at the right time and in the right place. It was second on the bestseller list for that year. We immigrated to New Zealand in 1997 and in 2000 I co-authored a book called A New Life in New Zealand with my good friend Surita Nortjé. That has since become the preferred textbook for potential immigrants to New Zealand. After that there was a lull when I wrote almost exclusively for magazines and newspapers, in particular Connections and Migrant News. In 2006 I published a gift book called To the Child Unborn, a delightful book filled with wisdom and love which, I think, is the best thing I've done. 2007 and 2008 marked the start of my life as a fiction writer. I wrote The Falling of Shadows, The Indigo Kid and Accidental Hero - all set in the fictional small town of Panui. You can buy print copies through my website, www.jennyharrison.co.nz I recently launched the fourth book in the Panui series, Rusty & Slasher's Guide to Crime, on an unsuspecting world.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Can you see the problem? Senior Constable Rob Evans asked when Rusty arrived at the local cop-shop early one morning with a packed lunch, ready to report for duty.

Russell Naills, known as Rusty or, behind his back and at the risk of severe retribution, Painted, stood before Rob Evans with calm anticipation creasing his face.

He was no Dorian Grey. Even he would have admitted that. He looked more like a failed experiment by Dr Frankenstein, one put together with wire and spit. He was the Mach 1 version, an experimental monster that was later binned as being a bit on the gormless side. Many had discovered there was a lot more gorm to the man than at first appearance. But first appearances were definitely against Russell Naills.

The present problem was that he had Aspirations. He wanted to be a policeman. It would be easy to imagine his hulk clothed in official blue, facing down the worst of the Mongrel Mob gangstas. Even they would quail before his large fists and implacable size.

But, unfortunately, there was a problem.

You’re just not acceptable, Evans said.

Why?

Senior Constable Evans sighed. It’s your father, Rusty.

But, what’s my Pa got to do with me joining the police?

Rusty Naills did not really need to ask. He knew. Evans knew. The whole freaking town knew. Having a convicted felon in the family, in this instance his father, was more than an inconvenience. It was downright annoying.

Rob Evans sighed. Rusty, this isn’t the first time we’ve discussed this, but let it be the last. Evans threw down his pen and pushed away from his desk. I can tell you right now, I wish you and your family lived on some other copper’s patch.

Hey...

Your Pa was a trouble before he was arrested. And I’m willing to bet, when he comes out there’s going to be more trouble.

Hey...

Over the years, you and your brother have caused me more problems than any dozen other guys in Panui.

Rusty was indignant. What did we do?

Evans could have listed the youthful infringements but chose not to. He could also have listed his suspicions at their adult transgressions but, again, kept his trap shut. Instead he concentrated on the problem at hand; Rusty’s dream of becoming a policeman.

Rusty, your Pa has some explaining to do.

Not my problem, Rusty answered. You shouldn’t be picking on us like that. We’re innocent.

Yeah, right. But look at it this way, Rusty, Evans said. Your father robbed a bank?

Yeah, but...

And he got away with, plus-minus, a million dollars.

Yeah, but...

And that money hasn’t turned up. He never gave it in, even after he was offered a reduced sentence. And the police never found it.

Yeah, but...

Rusty. Evans’s patience was being sorely tested. Where’s the money?

I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Pa.

The police have been asking him for years and all he does is sit there and grin at them. You know they offered him an easy way out. Time off for information. But, no, nothing. He wouldn’t even give up the names of his co-conspirators. Quite frankly, Rusty, I can’t see you getting into Police College with all that hanging over your head.

I see your point, Rusty said. To give him his due, when things were explained to him slowly he usually managed to catch on. What you’re saying is, if I get my Pa to hand back the bank’s money, you’ll see to it I get into Police College.

Evans hesitated, wondering if he was genuinely above a spot of obvious blackmail.

Let’s face it, ‘bro, Rusty went on earnestly. Solving the puzzle of the Missing Millions would be a feather in your cap. It would give you a major kick-up-the-backside to future promotion.

You mean as an incentive?

Yeah, worth its weight in gold.

Yeah, well...

Rusty gave his most innocent smile.

The conversation had given him an idea. He had no clue where Pa had hidden the bank’s money, but he was damn sure he was going to find it, if it meant getting into Police College.

***

He remembered the very moment when his desire to join the cops had been cemented in concrete. He had seen the blokes in Technicolor Action, all blue and bluster. Marvellous! In particular, he had become starry-eyed about the AOS, the Armed Offenders Squad, New Zealand’s elite guys whose weapons were only a little less lethal than those of the Men in Black.

He and his brother, Slasher, had been innocent bystanders; well, fairly innocent, when the armed and masked blokes burst into the rugby team’s showers after a particularly gruelling match. They had caught the chaps standing around in the nuddie, all of them looking pink and scrubbed.

There is nothing like being stared at by strangers waving rifles to break a man’s confidence and shrivel his gonads. Several of the blokes in the team had crumpled to the floor like puppets with their strings cut.

Rusty himself had landed on the floor, but his crumple was entirely different. That reason being the luscious Lily Trubshaw, dressed in unexpected and official blue, standing there looking at his Mr Jolly and winking her approval. It was then that Mr Jolly decided to join the party and looked up with expectation. The only thing Rusty could do was fall to the floor. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?

The reality of the problems surrounding Rusty’s Police College dreams rose up like zombies straight out of the tomb soon after the whole caper had finally been brought to a conclusion. He had spoken to Evans and the cop just shook his head and said, In your dreams, Rusty.

But nothing seemed quite as attractive, or as purposeful, as striding about in a blue uniform, handing out parking tickets, holding drunks while they puked...

...wait a bit, though, he thought. That wasn’t the dream. Nah, Rusty decided, he’d be in the AOS before you could say super-frayed-elastic-extra-halitosis.

***

Senior Constable Evans brought Rusty’s thoughts back to earth.

Go home and think about how this can be solved, he said sympathetically, for the look on Rusty’s face was enough to melt the heart of a Wall Street banker. Anyway, you boys on the team had better start planning how you’re going to handle the rugby season without some of your key players.

You didn’t have to lock them up.

Yes, we did. There was the death of a police officer, and one of them was involved. Now, off you go.

Rusty mooched out of the police station, his shoulders hunched and his normal good humour at half-mast.

Chapter 2

Senior Constable Rob Evans had one problem family on his watch, and that was the Naills bunch; Mildred and her two sons, Russell and John. The father, Ernest Naills, had been in Rimutaka Prison for a number of years after a bank hold-up and was about to be paroled. Another thorn about to be planted in the side of the law.

And then - the worst of the worst – there was the grandmother, Gladys Delilah Naills. Constable Rob Evans thought of her as the Nana from Hell. He’d had a memorable and horrendous run-in with her a year or so back.

It was a Saturday night, well after the hour when most senior citizens had slurped their Milo and were safely tucked up in bed. He walked up to her car after he’d clocked her at one hundred kilometres per hour in a sixty zone.

Licence, please, Constable Evans had said. Very calmly. He always started off calmly. After all, he was one of that rare breed of policeman who can be seen in recruiting advertisements; poised, calm, unruffled. Staring into a bright future with one hand fearlessly curved around the butt of a Glock.

When dealing with the public he usually finished off as calmly as he had started.

Most drivers were pretty philosophical when caught. But Nana Naills was a different kettle of trouble altogether.

Constable Evans repeated his request. Licence, please.

Don’t have one, the old girl said.

Why not?

Got took off me.

I notice your warrant of fitness is out of date.

So am I, young man, Nana Naills cackled.

Are you drunk? Evans asked as the scent of New Zealand’s finest brew wafted out of the car window.

No more than usual.

Evans was beginning to lose his temper.

Madam, I’ll need to breathalyse you.

Over me dead body.

Evans decided to continue with his patient and official tone. I require you to blow into this mouthpiece so that I can ascertain the level of alcohol in your system.

I’m not doing that. Nana Naills was indignant. I blow into that thing and you got me, for sure.

You don’t blow into That Thing, Evans snarled, curling his lip the way he had been taught at Police College. I’ll arrest you for failing to obey a police officer in the course of his duty.

Nana closed her mouth tight and her lips disappeared into a nest of wrinkles. Evans leaned into the car. Come on now, Mrs Naills. Let’s be reasonable about this.

And that’s when she took out her false teeth and bit him.

He still had the scar.

He’d heard via the cop grapevine that she had frequented the sex-pits of Auckland and, in particular, K Road which was notorious for its prostitutes and cruising johns. Evans brushed away the horrible thought of a seventy-something-year-old Nana Naills parading up and down K Road in fishnet stockings and a leopard-skin tank top. Nor did it help that her skag days were well behind her. He could not imagine Nana Naills ever being young enough to attract the johns.

Instead, he tried to think of more mundane problems and wondered how the boys of the rugby team were going to solve their particular dilemma, a shortage of useful players.

***

It was after Rusty’s conversation with Senior Constable Evans that a rather tense and earnest discussion took place at the rugby team’s favourite pub, the Inn of Earthly Pleasures.

Fat Roger Blake, owner, manager and coach of the Panui Golden Glow rugby team had blotted his copybook, as far as the police were concerned, although there were forlorn hopes among some of the members that things would work out for the Fat Man. Rusty wasn’t so sure. He and Lily Trubshaw had been on the receiving end of the Fat Man’s vicious caper and Rusty rather hoped he’d be away for a long, long time.

In the short term, with the Fat Man gone, there was no one capable of banging heads together to lead them to victory. On top of that, they were also missing a couple of their key players, swept up in the same net. Things looked dire. Coming second in a rugby match was not what the Golden Glow boys had in mind as they brooded over their beers.

Susan Smith, part-owner-slash-barmaid of the Inn of Earthly Pleasures, placed the usual Tuis, Monteiths and packets of salt-and-vinegar potato chips in front of the players. She had no need of orders, she knew what was required. She had seen men this glum before. She had worked long enough on the pub side and dealing with riff-raff like Rusty Naills was well within her ambit.

Susan, common-or-gardenly known as Alka Seltzer from the days when she ran the Crud Farm café, was now the business partner of Lisette du Pre who ran the posh side of the establishment, with its French cuisine of escargot and steak tartare with bread sticks to match. Lisette, all French accent and long Parisian legs, was a hit with the public. Susan rarely if ever showed up well beside the glamorous Lisette. No matter, those who looked hard and well, could see that Susan Smith was like a star whose light only shone in the darkest of hours. To the boys of the rugby team she was a star and a god-send.

Rusty took his beer and thanked Alka. He silently admired the delicate curves of her neck and cheeks as she bent over the beer spigot. She reminded him of his very first love, a photograph of the bust of Queen Nefertiti. At the age of seven he used to kiss the photo every morning before going to school, covering it with childish slobber, until Ma pronounced it unhygienic and burnt it. But the profile was the same that he remembered with such adoration; the long swan neck and imperial cheeks. The sleek hairstyle and the kohl around her eyes came straight from the film, Cleopatra, and was pure Elizabeth Taylor.

If he weren’t so in love with Lily...

Rusty joined in the morose slurping of beer and chomping of potato chips and the many attempts at conversation that all died at birth.

How about we...nah, that won’t work.

Hang on, maybe...

Why don’t we...

Let’s see if we can...nah.

There was a collective sigh of despair. They had a problem with no solution in sight. No coach, no manager and only half a team. It looked like the end of the world, as they knew it.

Wait a bit, tough, James Franzen, the new boy, said. None of them chaps has been to court yet. None of them has been found guilty. They’ll be out on bail and the rugby season is only just beginning.

True, true, they nodded. Life may not be as dismal as they had first thought.

Still, although Rusty felt the Case of the Missing Team Members was a very real problem, it did not quite gain priority over the dilemma of Pa and the Missing Million Dollars.

Chapter 3

At the breakfast table next morning, Rusty broached the question of Pa and the loot.

Ma’s breakfasts were world-famous in the Naills household. She had a magical way with hash browns, the recipe for which, rumour had it; Jamie Oliver was ready to kill. Her bacon was so crisp it broke into succulent pieces and eggs turned so that the edges were crunchy but the bright yellow yolks still ran like hot butter.

Ma’s coffee was also a treat but her tea defied chemical analysis. The boys always opted for coffee.

The boys tucked in noisily, crunching on the toast, slurping at the coffee, but Rusty’s thoughts were on the million bucks somewhere out there with Pa’s name engraved on them.

Rusty made sure Ma was not handling a weapon, such as a hot frying pan, when he posed the question.

Ma, what do you think happened to the money Pa stole?

He hoped he had come on it with some subtlety and repeated the question in case Ma hadn’t heard the first time. Then, heart-stoppingly, he noticed the bread knife. It was close at hand. Too close. Rusty saw Ma glance at it and prepared to run. But Ma only sighed.

Stole? That’s a harsh word coming out of your mouth, Ma said. He didn't steal the money, you know.

Then what?

He liberated it from thieving liberal capitalists.

Ma, whined Rusty. Seriously.

Yes, Slasher said, doing his bit. Don’t get all political on us, Ma. Where’s the dosh?

If I knew where it was, we’d’ve been in clover or in the south of France, she said, impatiently flicking wisps of grey hair out of her eyes. Pa got arrested so quickly I never had time to find out. Next day the fuzz came for him. Stupid bugger gave the finger to the security camera and the police would’ve known that finger anywhere. Anyway, we never got a chance to talk about it. After he was sentenced he just kept his mouth shut.

But, there was a gang, wasn’t there? The cops said so. What happened to the other blokes? Those in on the deal? They never went into the nick, did they?

No, they didn’t and it still rankles on me something horrible. Pa served his sentence and the other blokes got off free as air. They could’ve come forward and given your Pa an alibi but, no. I bet you they’ll be waiting at the prison gates when Pa gets out, wanting their share.

Maybe they took the stash, Rusty said gloomily.

Don’t think so. Your Pa was too cheerful when I saw him last. If those two had the money he would’ve been ropeable, I can tell you.

And Pa never said anything when you went to visit him?

Let’s get something straight. I don’t know what he did with the money. What’s all this sudden interest? Ma asked. Why don’t you just hang on and ask Pa when he gets out?

But...

Ma held up the bread knife, a warning glint in her eyes. Rusty decided it was better for his health to keep quiet on the subject of Pa’s Missing Millions. If Ma knew, she wasn’t saying. And, let’s face it, Rusty thought, they had managed pretty well during the years Pa had been away. Financially, they never seemed to want for anything. No luxuries, of course, but new PlayStation games and new jeans and T-shirts seemed to flow from Ma as if from a fruit-and-veggie-filled cornucopia. Even a new second-hand car after him and Slasher had totalled the last one. He wondered how Ma had done it.

Then a horrible thought struck him. Had they been living off ill-gotten gains all this time? Had Ma been using the missing millions to feed and clothe her boys? Were they the inadvertent receivers of stolen goods? Would he have to put aside his ambitions of becoming a police officer because Ma had been dipping into someone else’s dosh?

He desperately hoped not. Just as he hoped Constable Evans knew nothing about the couple of near-criminal activities he and Slasher had tried over the years. They had been totally unsuccessful and he now thanked his lucky stars things hadn’t worked out.

Rusty gave a forlorn sigh that echoed like a lighthouse warning the Costa Concordia not to come any closer. There seemed to be so many obstacles in the way of his dreams; Pa and his Missing Million dollars not the least.

***

Another problem loomed large on Rusty’s horizon; that of his brother, Slasher. Rusty had long ago concluded that Slasher was one of nature’s anomalies. He was a great guy and intelligent enough when it suited him. Generous too. He’d give his shirt to the next down-and-outer and often did. He was also an asset to the rugby team, a pretty good loose head prop. Rusty thought that being called a loose head conveyed more about Slasher’s mental capacities than his position on the team. Not that he’d say that out loud in Slasher’s hearing. He valued his skin