Page 5 of Secrets of Riverside

‘Yeah, but it was worth it.’ Jarrah couldn’t help but frown as Jasmine stuck her head out the door, spotted him, then quickly ducked back out of sight to where she should have been focused on meal prep, and not chatting Tommy up. ‘You better go see if everything’s running smoothly, and I better go and get changed before getting stuck into some dreaded bookwork.’

‘Yeah, righto, boss.’ The screen door of the kitchen slapped shut as Tommy stepped away from it, and then stubbed his cigarette out beneath his boot.

Boss? What the hell? Tommy has never called me that. ‘Make sure you pick up that cigarette butt.’ Tommy’s sarcasm had irked him.

‘Yup, righto, boss.’

And there it was again. Jarrah had always seen them as a team, so this was new. He almost spun around to ask where in the heck Tommy’s sarcastic statement had come from but refrained. There was an odd static energy between them, and he didn’t want to provoke it. These days he liked to steer clear of drama. In his previous life he’d had enough of it to last him a lifetime.

Twenty minutes later, showered and sculling his lunch from a carton of milk he’d just shaken two heaped tablespoons of Milo into, a noise at the back door caught Jarrah’s attention. He turned to see a snout planted against the flyscreen. ‘Oh hey, Scruff, you’re right on time for your lunch, as usual.’

Scruff pressed his snout in further, creating a bulge in the screen. ‘Oi, you, stop that or you’re going to bust it, again.’ Eyeballing his mate as he tipped a bag of diced steak into a metal bowl shaped like a dog’s paw, he frowned as he neared him. ‘Far out, Scruff, would you look at the state of you.’ His loyal companion had visibly lived up to his name. ‘What in the heck have you been up to, or should I say, into, mate?’

Plonking onto his rump, soaked, matted and muddy, the mix-breed fluffball with big floppy ears that Jarrah had saved from a local farmer – one too many run-ins with the bloke’s ducks as a mischievous puppy had pushed him over the line – replied with an enthusiastic woof.

‘Is that so?’ Jarrah shoved the screen door open with his socked toe. ‘Don’t even think about stepping a paw inside here mister.’ He plonked the bowl of chuck steak down beside Scruff’s hammock bed. ‘Because you’re a grot and you reek to high heaven.’

Scruff stayed put, and with his tail slapping the floorboards waited for his okay to tuck in. Jarrah toyed with him for a few seconds and then told him to tuck in. Scruff gulped down his meal in five seconds flat.

‘Hungry then, buddy?’ Folding his arms, he looked towards where the garden hose was. ‘You know what’s coming next, don’t you?’

Following Jarrah’s line of sight, Scruff’s ears flattened and he dropped his head.

‘Sorry, bud, but if you want to sleep inside tonight, you need a hose down and time to dry off before you do.’

After wrestling with the hose and Scruff, and succeeding in staying somewhat dry, Jarrah strode into the roadhouse, saying quick g’days to familiar faces in passing. The two local waitresses were ushering plates of food out, and piles of empty plates back into the kitchen. Tommy was busy making coffees and milkshakes, a tea towel tossed over his shoulder. Jarrah tried to keep out of everyone’s way. He was pleased to see it was packed to the rafters despite the fact that the food was slipping. He’d have to try and make that right quick smart, or risk losing customers. If only Mary could come back, but she’d made it clear she’d only return if he was in a pinch, for a day or two. And after forty-eight years spent cooking wholesome food around Australia, she’d earned her retirement.

Clearing the takings from the till, he was pleased to see business was picking up again now that the monsoon season was almost over, which meant most of the trucks could get through again. The pile of twenty-dollar bills was nice and thick, as were the fifties, and there were quite a few credit-card receipts too. Shoving it all into the banking bag, he was about to make his way out back, to the safe in his office, when a familiar, unwelcome face drew his guarded attention to Ken Buller, who was making a direct line for Tommy. Tucking himself behind the segregating curtain, not far from Tommy, he decided to eavesdrop. Ken spelt trouble with a capital T. And he wanted none of that at Riverside Acres. Or for Tommy.

Tommy wiped his hands on the tea towel over his shoulder and then held one out. ‘Hey, Buller.’ Clasping hands, the men shook in greeting. ‘How are things panning out?’

‘Yeah, all good, King.’ Shifting his beady gaze left to right, Ken dropped his voice. ‘I’ve made some inquiries, and it looks like we can go ahead with our business idea.’

‘Awesome.’ Tommy dropped his voice too, as he leant into Ken’s space. ‘Go on.’

Jarrah had to really hone his hearing to be privy to their quiet conversation. There were only snippets, but enough to get the gist. Unregistered weapons. Ken was trying to sell them. Tommy was agreeing to talk to a possible supplier, and they’d both make a decent percentage. The exchange was so blatantly illegal Jarrah couldn’t believe his ears, or the fact that Tommy would get himself involved. This was how it had all started for Joey. It was like history repeating. He thought he’d raised Tommy better. Jarrah’s fury hit boiling point, and he took a breath. And another, before he trusted himself to be able to step in without throttling the pair of them.

What was Tommy thinking?

Having heard enough, he made his presence known. ‘What are you doing in here, Ken?’

Ken fidgeted with his belt buckle, and then gestured to Tommy with a tip of his head. ‘Just chatting to me mate.’

Jarrah liked the fact that he was almost twice the size of this little weasel. ‘About what?’ He leant forwards to accentuate his size.

‘Nothing important,’ Tommy swiftly replied from beside him.

Jarrah shot Tommy a look that spoke of his disappointment, and then fired his steely gaze back to Ken. ‘I heard something about guns, and FYI, Buller, Tommy’s not bloody interested.’

‘Hey, don’t speak for me.’ There was no apology in Tommy’s gaze, just utter defiance. ‘This is private business between me and Ken.’

‘Tommy, don’t do this, especially in here.’ Taking a slow, calming breath, before he said anything more in haste, Jarrah pinched the bridge of his nose, then shot both Tommy and Ken a warning glance. ‘I’m not allowing illegal dealings to go on under my roof, and I’m certainly not going to step back and allow you to get yourself involved in something so reckless and stupid, Tommy.’ He waved a hand towards the door. ‘Now bugger off, Ken, before I drag you out myself.’

A couple of regular, burly truck drivers sitting at the breakfast bar seemed to catch on to the heated dispute and shifted in their seats to let Jarrah know they had his back, if needed. Jarrah offered a brisk nod in appreciation. The air shifted, thickened. Other people began to glance in their direction. Detecting he was very unwelcome, and very outnumbered, Ken couldn’t hightail it out the front door fast enough on his short, stubby legs.

Jarrah huffed and shook his head, then placed a parental hand on Tommy’s shoulder. ‘What the hell are you thinking, getting yourself involved with that piece of scum?’

Tommy’s lips pressed together, and with the insolent look he gave Jarrah in that moment, it was as if Joey had risen from the dead and taken over his son’s body and mind, ready to fight Jarrah tooth and nail all over again on his decision to stay loyal to the Martino blood.

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