The Mob Ch. 03

Treat Animals Nicely

It was six weeks later when Sergeant Dale Warrell drove the police four-wheel drive carefully down the Mears long driveway. He had to. Kangaroos constantly jumped across his path, not giving his vehicle the slightest consideration. Australians generally and police specifically know it's not a good idea to run into a roo with your car. They might look fluffy and insubstantial, but under the grey fur was very solid, tightly packed muscle. Even a smaller one could knock the front end of your car in at speed, and the larger ones had put plenty of Australian drivers in the ground.

On top of that, it was made very clear at the station that even running over one of the kangaroos tails would see him in a world of hurt. The world was watching, apparently.

Which was funny because Sergeant Warrell hadn't seen a single person, and he'd been checking over the Mears property all morning.

He had seen, was still seeing, more roos than he'd ever seen in his life, not just individually but collectively. It was impossible to estimate a total with any sort of confidence, but the boss would want a figure. Sergeant Warrell was leaning towards four thousand.

Shirley met him at the door.

"Hello, love. How's Anne and Billy? Gosh, he must be nearly five now. Come in, come in, I've just put the kettle on and there's fruitcake that won't eat itself."

Dale got in a word where he could as Mrs. Mears bustled him into the kitchen. She didn't get as many visitors as she'd like.

"Sit down, Sergeant. Now to what do we owe the pleasure? Storm coming, is there? We should be so lucky, eh?" She clattered around the kitchen for cups and plates.

"No, Shirley. It's about the mob."

Shirley stopped in her tracks, her heart suddenly bursting with hope.

"God save us, Sergeant. Are you going to do something about them? Ian's out the back shed with Chooka, but I can get him on the mobile, no problem."

But Sergeant Warrell was more than happy to complete his task without seeing Ian Mears. This would be hard enough as it is.

"Please, don't interrupt him. We can't do anything about the mob, and neither can you. That's what I've been sent to tell you. You can't shoot them, Shirley. You have to tell your husband that."

"What? We know that, Sergeant Warrell. If there's one thing Ian's strict about, it's obeying the law."

"May I ask if your firearms are correctly stored?"

Shirley put her hands on her hips.

"If you want my foot up your bloody backside, you can. When John Howard brought those stupid new gun laws in, who was the first one lined up to do the right thing?"

"Calm down, Shirl."

"No, I will not calm down. You tell me, who was it?"

"It was Ian."

"Darn right it was. And how much easier did that make your job, eh? How many people said, 'Well, if Ian Mears thinks it's okay...'? And now you come out here and cast aspersions. I won't have it, Dale Warrell. Not in my own home, I won't. You apologise right now or turn yourself around and go back to town."

"Sorry, Shirl."

"Right then. Sit."

Sergeant Warrell sat.

"... asking me about firearms," Shirley muttered to herself while laying on a spread fit for a king. Not just fruitcake and tea, but sandwiches, scones and pikelets too. I'll be buggered if you're getting any pav, though. Common courtesy's one thing but when you come here, impugning that fine man...

"I'll be having a word with your mother before you're very much older," she said, bringing her cup tea to the table.

"I'm not trying to cause trouble, Shirley," he protested through a mouthful of scone, jam and cream, "but there's people who are. Do you have Pay TV?"

They did, Dale had seen the dish on their roof plenty of times.

"Yes. Why? Ian likes to watch the football, and I occasionally (religiously, she thought) watch Young and the Restless since they took it off proper telly."

"Put it on the news channel, it's been on all day."

From outside there came a wheezing, gasping, rattling sound, a sound well known to admirers of the 1987 Toyota Landcruiser all the world over. Two doors slammed.

Ian and Chooka were home for lunch.

"Oh look," said Shirley. "It's that silly pop singer again. Isn't that handbag made of crocodile skin?"

"... and I just want to say that murdering, like, the endangered kangaroo is totally cruel and, like, barbaric. You know? And I also think all my fans should, like, just totally boycott Australian... things. And to all my fans down under, I want to send big respect, peace and love and remind them my new album is available to download on i-tunes and I can't wait to see you all when I kick off my world tour. Rock on."

The Mears family stood alongside Sergeant Warrell, watching in stunned silence. There wasn't really much anyone could say. The tickertape underneath read -- Australian TAN President accuses National party member Tom Hunter of genocide.

The politician's surname triggered a connection with Chooka.

"Mum, don't they, like, hunt moose and things in her country? Owww!" His father smacked him in the back of the head.

"I've warned you about that 'like' rubbish."

"Sorry, dad. It's contagious. Owww!" This time it was Chooka's mother doing the smacking. "What was that for?"

"That's for the filthy joke you didn't think I knew about."

"Which one?" Chooka might have been slow, but he wasn't stupid. This time he ducked.

"Use contagious in a sentence. 'I saw a bloke painting a fence and I thought, 'It'll take that..."

"Shut up, will yez? I'm trying to watch this."

"... and now we cross live and direct to a press conference at the head office of Treat Animals Nicely in Sydney, and the organisation's head of operations in Australia, Tonya Donatella."

Ian looked from the television to Sergeant Warrell in a daze. "This can't all be about us, can it?"

The policeman nodded.

Tonya Donatella tried to remain calm. It was difficult. She wanted to have a screaming fit so big it would make that youtube Britney boy look like Winston Churchill.

But she couldn't. TAN needed to be taken seriously. Showing a little anger was okay, but she had to stay in contol.

They were ready for her.

She took a deep breath in a last attempt to calm herself, and stared down the barrel of the camera.

"My fellow Awe-straliens, and animal lovers around the woild.

I share your shock and sadness on hearing the member for Moollawarra, the honourable Tom Hunter's declaration of war on Australia's native wildlife. Since our defenceless marsupial cousins cannot fight for themselves, we shall fight for them.

Treat Animals Nicely has already received commitments from major chain stores in Europe and the United States to suspend the sale of all Wiggles and Bindi the Jungle Girl products until the brutality stops."

A discontented rumble went through the press corps.

Tonya spoke above them.

"And this is just the beginning! Unless the Prime Minister agrees to meet with us on this issue, we will pressure American radio stations to remove all Air Supply songs from their play lists. The United Kingdom is quite prepared to do the same for," she checked her notes, "Ralph Harris songs."

This didn't have quite the impact she was hoping for. Oh well, time to bring out the big guns. This was a tricky one, in fact she wondered if they might have gone too far. Not that you could go too far in the defence of animals, but she would have to tread carefully just the same.

"Now while nobody wants it to get this stage, I must inform you we've received a commitment from the American company, Kraft Foods Incorporated. If the kangaroos currently seeking refuge on western New South Wales farms are not treated nicely, they will halt production of Twisties..."

The conference went into uproar, the journalists rising from their chairs as one, screaming their questions.

Tonya stood up herself, grabbed the microphone and shouted, "... and Vegemite!"

A jerking camera showed her leaving the room at speed, her notes clutched to her chest as the vision cut out.

Ian hit the big red button on the remote, stumbled into the kitchen and collapsed onto the chair, staring at nothing.

"What am I supposed to do, Sergeant?"

"Nobody's really sure, but the feeling seems to be that while they're on your property, they're your responsibility. You have to see no harm comes to them. It's not fair, but you can see what the country's up against."

"Mate... they're all going to die anyway. Slowly. The sheep are already halfway there, just not enough feed. The roos have stripped the land bare and still they come. What am I supposed to do?"

"If they can't survive here, TAN wants them transported."

Ian laughed, dryly. "I'd like to see that."

"I'm sorry mate, I've gotta go. Good luck. I hope I don't have to come back any time soon, do you follow me?"

Sergeant Warrell wasn't sure if Ian had heard, but figured the distracted wave was acknowledgement enough. He drove back to town to tell the station the message had been delivered.

Ian got tired of tossing and turning and finally got out of bed around midnight. He was wondering if a hot chocolate would work when his wife noticed the cold empty side of the bed, and joined him in the kitchen.

"Sit down, love. I'll get us both one."

They sat at the table facing each other, their hands wrapped around the mugs, neither very interested in drinking them.

"It's over, Shirley. We have to sell."

She nodded, and looked around the kitchen. The photos of loved ones, the knick-knacks, the little gifts from friends and family littered around the place, they'd all come with her of course, but they wouldn't look the same. It wouldn't be the same.

"Who'll buy?" Who will walk around in my kitchen, in my bedroom?

Ian shook his head.

"The stock. I'll have to-"

Shirley put her hand on her husband's wrist.

Rubbing his eyes, barefoot and pyjama'd, Chooka wandered towards the table.

"What are you guys doing?" he yawned.

"Nothing, mate. Go back to bed."

"Oh, it's alright. He might as well join us. I'll get you a hot chocolate too, and then we'll all go back to bed."

He took his mother's seat. "I bet you're talking about that bloody TAN woman. Taking away everyone's Vegemite and blaming us for it."

"I'm sure it won't come to that, mate."

"It might though, dad." And if it did, Chooka didn't think he could take it. Imagine the whole country going without because of him. "It's easy for her though, isn't it? Sitting in her Sydney office, telling everyone to be nice to animals. I could do that. I bet she's never had to get a sheep untangled from a fence. She'd just stand there and whinge that it was the wrong sort of fence."

His father smiled.

"You're probably right."

"You know what, dad? I don't reckon she's ever even seen a kangaroo."

"Probably not many to see in Sydney, or wherever she was before that."

"You know what I wish? I wish we could take all the kangaroos here and put them in her office. See what she'd do then, Eh? Since she's the bloody expert."

"Chooka, please..." his mother gently scolded.

"It was only bloody, mum."

"I don't care. Not at the table."

She put the drink down in front of him and joined them.

"Although I do like the sound of that," she smiled. "All those kangaroos bouncing around in her office. On top of the photocopier, on her desk... bounce, bounce, bounce. What do you think, darl'?"

They waited.

"I think... I think the boy's a genius."

"You're both bloody mad."

Shirley knew it wasn't the first time she'd said that in the last half hour, but she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Bloody mad."

They ignored her. It was the hour for discussing mad plans and solving the world's problems before dawn, and more sensible people (if such can be imagined) have fallen under its spell than Chooka and Ian.

"You're just tired. You'll see what nonsense this is in the morning."

But they didn't.