Thursday, 23 December 2010

PART 10 – ‘C’mon Granny, you’re our only hope!’

New to Thieves? Start here

The island of Fiji sailed into the distance with the Chief Kiwi in chains. Her kinfolk sat forlornly on Bondi Beach.

‘I hope you’re feeling proud of yourself,’ Hemi snapped at Stu. The poor young Kiwi sank his head and looked away.

‘That’s enough of that talk, Hemi,’ said Shirelle sharply. ‘We can play the blame game later, if we need, when all this is over. Right now we need to keep our heads. We’re Kiwis, goddamit!’

‘Well, what exactly do you think we’re going to do about this?’ said Hemi, his voice rising to a shout. ‘We’re stuck in bloody Australia. The South Island has been stolen. Chief Kiwi is in Pacific Police custody and Grandad Kiwi is asleep on the Northland!’

‘We still have one card to play,’ said Shirelle. ‘Old Granny K.’

She looked out to the horizon. Somewhere, beyond the sea, high on flat white, New Zealand’s oldest Kiwi was hunting her lost homeland.

‘C’mon, Granny,’ said Shirelle. ‘You’re our only hope.’

*

A long, lonely night passed for the Kiwis on Bondi Beach. While they slept, hoping for a brighter morrow, a single figure carved the waves of the Pacific with a graceful front crawl.

Granny K swam through the night on the South Island’s trail. She rested occasionally by hitching a lift with a whale or a dolphin. Marine life instinctively recognised the good nature of all Kiwis, and they were pleased to help Granny on her quest. It seemed the stars would never give way to day, but eventually the sun rose once more on the vast Pacific.

The first rays of light skimmed the surface of the water and struck a long, dark object drifting in the currents.

The lights were off on the South Island. Every building was dark, every streetlamp extinguished. The solitary swimmer found her way ashore in the dim glow of a natural dawn.

Old Granny Kiwi, running on sheer willpower and caffeine, waded the last few steps out of the water and onto the soft sands. Her bare feet padded along her native shore and she felt revived with pure Kiwicity.

When her whole body had absorbed its fill of energy, resolve and sheer national pride, she took stock of her surroundings. Birds, woken by first light, were singing from the bushes beyond the rolling dunes. A single crab scuttled across the damp, packed sand close to the water’s edge.

There was not an Aussie in sight.

Old Granny K had been around long enough to know both islands like the back of her hand. She jogged inland with the confident sense of direction of a woman walking her own garden path.

‘Find the Aussies, stop the Aussies,’ she told herself. Chief Kiwi had given her mission and a flat white. The coffee’s effects were beginning to ebb after the long swim, but Granny Kiwi’s resolve was still strong. She sniffed the air for the tell-tale scent of Aussie.

There was nothing.

She could detect the fragrance of blossom, the salt of the ocean, even the warm, lived-in smell of Kiwiland, rather like the cosy smell of one’s own childhood duvet.

There was something new, however. Familiar, but far too strong. Something…not quite human.

She came over the crest of the hill.

In the marsh valley that lay below, there was a vast sealed cube, as big as a house and built of glass.

It was jam-packed with writhing humanity.

Old Granny K’s eyes weren’t what they once were. She fished a pince-nez from her pocket and perched it on her nose.

The figures trapped under glass came into focus.

There were 22 million of them. Aussies.

Goddamn Aussies. Sealed in a cube.

‘G’day,’ said Bruce, his face squashed against the cube.

Old Granny Kiwi sniffed the air once more – again there was that odour. Not Aussie B.O. but something distinct, curious…and yet strangely familiar.

She put it from her mind.

‘I think you’ve got some explaining to do, Aussies,’ she said.

Wednesday, 1 December 2010

Part 9 - Shame of the Kiwis

New to Thieves? Start here

Back in Sydney, Hemi and Stu woke up with a start when the door to the store cupboard banged open.

‘Huh? What? Eh?’ Hemi reached up and realised there was a hat on his head, with corks hanging from the brim by strings.

Stu laughed. ‘Found it under the sofa. Put it on you for a joke,’ he said sleepily.

‘Well, I for one don’t find it funny,’ said a voice sharply.

‘Chief Kiwi!’ The boys jumped to their feet and stood up very straight. Stu discreetly wiped the crumbs of kangaroo-shaped potato chips from around his mouth.

‘Have you used your Kiwi ingenuity to make a South Island catcher?’ The Chief Kiwi asked.

‘Ah…’

‘See…’

‘What happened was…we started watching these DVD’s for research…’

‘We needed some brain food…’

‘And some drink to wash it down with…’

‘And,’ the Chief Kiwi finished for them, ‘you ended up lounging around, drinking tinnies, watching TV, stuffing your faces, like a couple of…a couple of…AUSSIES!’

Hemi looked down at the hat in his hands.

The Chief Kiwi cocked her head and listened to a distinctive hum in the air.

‘Is that air conditioning?’ she growled.

Stu looked at his feet.

‘I think you boys have a lot of explaining to do. Come on. Your brothers and sisters are waiting. You’ve really let them down.’

Stu and Hemi hung their heads as they followed the Chief Kiwi out of Sydney.

*

The Kiwi nation gathered on Bondi Beach once more. It was a bit intimate, squeezing four million of them together on the sand, but everyone was good mates and what’s the big deal about cuddling up when you’re one huge happy family?

‘Kiwis, I have sad news,’ said the Chief Kiwi. ‘Two of our brothers have let us down. Slacking off when they should have been demonstrating Kiwi ingenuity. Wasting energy on air conditioning – ’ a quiet gasp of horror passed through the crowd – ‘and generally acting like Aussies.’

The crowd gave a low boo.

‘Why they didn’t put a clause in te Tiriti about not acting like Aussies I’ll never know,’ The Chief Kiwi said under her breath.

‘Now, Hemi and Stu have agreed to show their good faith by apologising and – ’

The Chief Kiwi was interrupted by a shout.

‘Look!’

‘Over there!’

‘Out at sea!’

‘Is it Granny K?’

‘Is it Grandpa K?’

‘No! It’s the island of Fiji!’

‘THIS IS THE PACIFIC POLICE,’ said a voice through a loudhailer. ‘CHIEF KIWI, YOU MUST SURRENDER AND COME WITH US. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST.’

Friday, 19 November 2010

PART 8 – CSI TONGA

New to Thieves? Start at Chapter One

Hours after the service station robbery, Filipe was sweeping the last of the rubbish from the floor of his shop. He heard the single whoop of a siren and looked out of the window to see Fiji pull up, piloted by a Captain in the Pacific Police. He came to the door with his broom in his hand as the Captain jumped down from her island.

‘You reported a robbery and some vandalism to your store?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ said Filipe. ‘I’ve tidied up now but I can give you the security tapes.’

‘That would be excellent, sir.’ Filipe took the Captain through to the back room.

‘Kava?’ he offered.

‘No thanks,’ she said, ‘I’m on duty. May I see the tape?’

‘Surely.’ Filipe wound the images back to the time of the robbery. The Captain watched intently.

‘Freeze frame.’ Filipe did as she said. ‘Wind back two frames. There.’

The Captain’s black-gloved finger pointed to the licence plate of the runaway island.

‘N-Z-2,’ she said. She walked back to Fiji and punched the details into her police computer.

'Anything come up?’ Filipe asked, leaning in through the driver’s-side window.

‘Yes,’ said the Captain. ‘It’s registered to this woman.’

A picture flashed up on the screen. The Captain compared it to the blurry security video of the island’s driver.

‘Did you recognise the perp?’ she asked.

‘Well…’ said Filipe doubtfully. ‘Whoever it was, was wearing a kakapo feather in their hair and whistling the tune from Shortland Street. I recognised it at once.’

The Captain raised one eyebrow.

‘It’s a well-made piece of television drama,’ said Felipe defensively. ‘And Adam Rickitt is just one more good reason to tune in!’

‘I think that’s the Chief Kiwi of New Zealand,’ said the Captain, peering at the security picture. ‘I’ll call it in to the station and put out an APB. If she’s in the Pacific, we’ll find her…and take her down.’

Monday, 8 November 2010

Part 7 - 'The Caffeination of Old Granny K'

New to Thieves? Start at Chapter One

‘Grandpa! GRANDPA!’ Shirelle was shouting down the telephone. ‘It’s Shirelle. SHIRELLE? From New Zealand? NEW! ZEALAND! I’m sorry, Chief Kiwi,’ she said as the leader of the Kiwis approached, ‘he’s just very hard of hearing these days.’

‘Grandpa!’ She tried again. ‘GRANDPA! Put Kereru on. KERERU!’

Over on the North Island, the podgy pigeon put down her glass of fermented berry juice and swiped the receiver from Grandpa’s hand.

‘Yesh?’ said Kereru with a crooked smile.

‘Shirelle here, Kereru. Any chance of you coming around to pick us up in Stewart Island? Grandpa knows where the keys are.’

‘I – HIC – really don’t think thatsh a good idea,’ said Kereru, burping massively. With one feathered hand she rummaged in the cooler for a chilled Steinlager.

‘What about Kakapo? Has he been drinking?’

From behind Kereru there was an awkward scuffle in the branches of a rimu tree, and then an almighty CRASH as Kakapo plummeted out of the sky to land in a heap on the forest floor.

‘Uh…I think he’sh out of the picture too. Hashn’t even been drinking, but…well, you know. Shorry,’ slurred Kereru. She put the receiver of the phone down, missing the cradle twice.

Shirelle gave the Chief Kiwi a helpless shrug.

Chief Kiwi gave a low whistle and looked out across the horizon. The cup of coffee was still steaming in her hands.

‘I guess it’s all down to this then,’ she said, looking at the silver fern of milk froth. ‘GRANNY KIWI!’

Old Granny K waddled up to the Chief Kiwi.

‘Yes, dear, how can I help you?’

‘I’d like you to drink this flat white, Granny K,’ said the Chief Kiwi.

‘Oh dear, I’m not sure. I really only drink tea these days. It doesn’t do to get overexcited; I’m not the spring chicken I once was!’ Granny Kiwi chortled.

‘Please. For the children,’ said the Chief Kiwi, and she pointed to all the homesick and forlorn little Kiwis sitting on Bondi Beach. They whimpered right on cue. The Chief Kiwi winked at them.

‘Well, if you insist,’ said Granny Kiwi. She took the cup, looked at it, and then knocked the coffee back in one.

‘I’d stand back if I were you,’ the Chief Kiwi told Shirelle.

‘BbbURRRRbbbURRRRbbbbURRRRRRbbbbbURRRRR!’ said Granny Kiwi. She began to shiver and shudder very fast.

‘Is she all right?’ Shirelle asked.

‘She just has quite a reaction to caffeine,’ the Chief Kiwi said.

Granny was vibrating so fast that she had gone blurry around the edges.

‘MmmmmmmfullofbeansfullofbeansfullofCOFFEEbeansI’vegotsomuchenergyIjustdon’tknowwhatodowithit!’ said Granny K.

The Chief Kiwi took Granny firmly by the shoulders. She spoke loudly and clearly.

‘Granny. We need you to track down the Aussies and get our island back. Do you think you can do it?’

‘YesyesohyesI’musedtotrackingAussiesdownthey’vegotadistinctivesmellitsmellslikemeatdon’tyouknowI’mgoingtotrackthatmeatyAussiesmellandswimafterthemandgetourislandback!’

‘And you need to do it before the caffeine rush runs out,’ the Chief Kiwi reminded her.

‘If you feel yourself conking out, just duck back into Melbourne and I’ll rustle you up another flat white,’ Shirelle said helpfully.

‘Now – OFF YOU GO!’ the Chief Kiwi said.

And before the last word had escaped her lips, the oldest and most venerable Kiwi was sprinting down Bondi Beach, through the breakers and into the deep water, where her arms began to spin like racecar wheels. She cut through the ocean waves, leaving a line of roiling foam on the surface of the sea. Soon she had disappeared over the horizon with a hoot of sheer pleasure.

'We really should let her have coffee more often,’ the Chief Kiwi said.

Monday, 1 November 2010

Part 6 - Have you ever, ever felt like this?

New to Thieves? Start at Chapter One

‘Hemi! Hemi! I think I got something!’ Stu was rummaging around the storage cupboard in Sydney. The boys had been set a mission to build a South Island catcher.

The Aussie cupboard was full of Caramello Koalas, Stefan Dennis singles, and inflatable kangaroos.

‘It isn’t another digeridoo, is it?’ said Hemi. ‘I really don’t think that’s going to help.’

‘No, this is better,’ said Stu. He emerged from the cupboard. His arms were piled high with slim plastic boxes.

‘It’s the Aussie DVD collection!’

Hemi gave Stu a sceptical look.

‘They’ve got way more discs than we do back home,’ insisted Stu. ‘We’ll find inspiration. Look – ‘Round the Twist’, ‘Blue Heelers’, we’re sure to get a heap of ideas from these!’

Hemi frowned, unconvinced.

‘Hemi…’ pleaded Stu.

‘I guess the Chief Kiwi would want us to think outside the box,’ Hemi said after a minute.

‘I’ll put the first disc on,’ said Stu. ‘And there’s some potato chips, and a few tinnies in the fridge to wash them down.’

Hemi was about to speak, when the haunting melody of Theme from Round The Twist called out from the television. Have you ever, ever felt like this? Within seconds, he was firmly parked on the Aussie sofa.

As the boys sank deeper into their evening’s entertainment, the house seemed to come alive around them. An insidious, mechanical whispering filled the air of the room.

It was that most Aussie of sounds, low, sinister and sibilant…it was air conditioning…

And the Kiwi boys were in more danger than they could know.

Thursday, 21 October 2010

Part 5 - Tongan Fill-Up

New to Thieves? Start at Chapter One




While the Kiwis plotted their next move from Bondi Beach, over in Tonga, Filipe, the guy who ran the service station, was dozing behind the counter. It was a searing hot afternoon and there’d been hardly any business all day.

Filipe was woken by the sound of a high-revving engine. A vehicle looking remarkably like the South Island of New Zealand slewed between the pumps, sending salty spray all over the building.

Filipe grumbled to himself and stepped outside.

The passengers were all piling out of the island, playing with the pumps and pulling out the hoses.

‘Excuse me. EXCUSE ME!’ said Filipe. ‘This is an attendant-serviced station. Just wait in the vehicle, I’ll see to you.’

The Chief Aussie was sitting behind the wheel of the South Island. He had cunningly disguised himself by putting a kakapo feather in his hair and whistling the theme to ‘Shortland Street’.

‘How much would you like?’ asked Filipe.

‘Fill ‘er up, mate,’ said the Chief Aussie.

Filipe unscrewed the island’s filler cap and began to pump petrol. Behind him the 22 million Aussie passengers of the island were kicking up quite a ruckus.

‘Behave in there!’ shouted Filipe, but they took no notice. They had gone into his shop and were causing trouble however they could. Some were opening packets of crisps and tipping them into their mouths. Others were grabbing magazines off the top shelves, or leaning over the counter to snatch cigarettes.

‘Can you not control your passengers?’ Filipe asked the Chief Aussie.

‘Mate, I can’t even control myself!’ beamed the Chief Aussie, letting out a massive, pungent fart. He cackled loudly, pumped the accelerator on the island and pulled away from the station. The passengers ran to jump on board before the island reached open water. The pump line stretched and stretched until the nozzle slipped out and snapped back with a rubbery BOING!

Filipe caught the nozzle one handed and squinted at the license plate of the rapidly receding island.

‘N - Z – 2,’ he read. ‘Bloody Kiwis!’

And he stomped inside to report New Zealand to the police.

Friday, 8 October 2010

Part 4 – MacGyver Was a Kiwi

New to Thieves? Start at Chapter One

The South Island roared off across the ocean, while the Kiwis watched from Bondi Beach. The white swell from the outboard motor lapped across their ankles.

‘They’re getting away!’ shouted Shirelle.

‘Don’t worry,’ said the Chief Kiwi. ‘We’ll have this sorted lickety-split.’ And she clapped her hands together to call the Kiwis’ attention.

Four million bright Kiwi eyes turned to the Chief.

‘First, Shirelle, you’re going to go to Melbourne and make me a flat white.’

Shirelle looked at her strangely.

‘It’s part of the plan. You can try their electric milk frother and everything.’

Shirelle beamed with excitement.

‘Second, has anyone seen Grandpa Kiwi?’ The Chief Kiwi looked around.

The Kiwis all shrugged and shook their heads.

'I do believe we left him napping in the Northland,’ said Old Granny K. ‘He hates to be disturbed after lunch on a Sunday, unless the rugby’s on. And the Northland’s just so cozy!’

‘Brilliant,’ said the Chief Kiwi. ‘Shirelle, once you’ve made the coffee, go find the Aussies’ phone. Ring Grandpa. Mind you reverse the charges, though. And speak up, his ears aren’t so good. Tell him to bring Stewart Island over and pick us up. He’ll need to get the spare child seats out of the loft too, ours were all on the South Island when the Aussies stole it.’

Shirelle ran off, happy to be of help.

‘Don’t forget – reverse charges!’ called the Chief Kiwi. ‘I don’t want it said that Kiwis don’t pay their bills.’

Hemi and Stu, two teenage Kiwis, were listening at the back with their arms folded.

‘Chief Kiwi! Excuse me, Chief?’

‘What is it, Hemi?’

‘Are we just giving up on the South Island, then? Just going to report it to the cops and drive around in crappy hatchback Stewart Island for the next month?’

The Chief Kiwi raised her eyebrow at ‘crappy’.

Hemi looked at his feet. ‘Excuse the language, Chief Kiwi.’

‘Thank you for your courtesy, Hemi. In answer to your question, no, we are not just going to give up. We are Kiwis. Ingenious, hardworking, kind and tolerant. Everything that Australians are not. You are going to have a look in the Aussie junk room and see if you can use your native ingenuity to rustle up a South Island catcher. Do you think you and Stu can manage that?’

‘Sure thing, ma’am!’

The boys ran off to Sydney to check the Aussie cupboards.

Just then, Shirelle came back with a fresh cup of coffee.

'Here’s your flat white, Chief Kiwi,’ she said proudly. ‘I even did a silver fern in the foam using the Aussie milk frother.’

‘Well done, little Kiwi,’ said the Chief. ‘Go call Grandpa.’ She looked around Bondi Beach with the steaming cup in her hand. ‘Now - where’s Granny K?’