While I was thinking about this I noticed a few cockroaches zapping about the loungeroom. These are locally called "Bondi Butterflies". Damn, my roach baits must need renewing. These things were acting like they were in some sort of rutting frenzy, wildly launching themselves around the place on darting, strafing missions. I waited until they came to a stop and whacked them with a sandal. Got two in one blow. Problem is there were more of them. I've never had this problem as bad before and was getting rattled. Eventually I'd sprayed and bashed them into submission with the same murderous intent and ferocity as displayed on the TV re-enactment of gangland killings in Sydney's south-western suburbs. Very puzzling where the roaches came from and why, all of a sudden this invasion. Getting new baits and spray today.
Crustacean Crime Scene (A Yabbie's Tale)
Yeah, that's me in one of my photo shoots. That McCormack guy really nailed my good side in this one. But let's step back a while. Back before the media got hold of me, when I was just a regular working bloke trying to do his best in a world of con men, killers and saucy females.
It was a lazy summer afternoon, one of those days which send even the sleep cells to bed. I was half dozing in my rock den when my junior assistant clattered up, waking me with his clumsy, youthful noise. The kid could never be quiet. He was nervous but managed to speak.
"H-Hey boss. Gotta sheila outside wants to see you. Says its a cold case going back generations."
He scuttled away and in walked the femalest yabbie a bloke's ever clapped peepers on. I played it cool, keeping a rogue feeler in check;
"So you got an old shell needs scraping? What's the story?"
She sidled closer and I got a full broadside of her body. Man, her shell was tighter and shinier than a clean opal and had bumps in all the right places. She didn't waste time in bringing me back to ground.
"Mind on the case, not the carapace."
I looked up.
She went on, "Goes back over twenty generations. Its a Wild Killer." The way she swung her tail showed she wasn't to be clawed with, but what she said next set my feelers flying around like those Crazy Stalks kids get in the joke emporiums.
"I have an artifact. Original evidence. Here!"
She flung down a piece of foil.
"We've been preserving it for decades. Open it!"
I excitedly clawed it over and unwrapped the thing. It was a soldified mass, some sort of human food. I was vibrating and it wasn't just the babe running my engine. I was eager, maybe too eager;
"The Killer's? You have to be kidding me. That's unheard of!" She just blinked back,
"It's true enough matey. I'll leave you with it. Don't waste time on this one handsome." She swayed her way out of my den, maybe out of my life forever. Didn't even let me tell her my rates. That didn't matter, I had to get to work. It was a rare chance and I wasn't going to let a rock roll over this one.
"Hey junior, get in here." The young bloke scrambled in, kicking up a few pebbles in his haste. "Get this down to the lab and take good care of it. Its an original. Tell 'em to pull out all the stops. We're after a Killer!"
He jetted out and down the creek beed, Down to The Cave where we sent all of our hard stuff. They have blokes down there in the Crustacean Crime Lab can tell you what tree a leaf came from fifty years ago. They can pick out a speck of sand from a creek bed and send it back to the coast where it started out as a piece of cliff. Yeah, they're good. The best.