A Yacht Called Erewhon Read Free Page B

Hepi always came through, yet now Jim’d let a minor hiccup come between them.
    Dad rose from his chair and, without stopping to grab his jacket, burst out of the office. ‘Take messages, Lizzy,’ he bellowed, as he passed through the outer office. ‘I’ll be a while!’
    It was a brilliant, sunny day outside, but you’d never have known it inside the half-lit public bar of the Rose ‘n’ Anchor. The pub reeked atmosphere, tinged with the odour of stale beer. Somehow it had managed to be overlooked by the breweries and developers and still looked pretty much the way it had done for the past hundred years. No focaccia open sandwiches with Blue Hawaiian cocktails here—it was more your traditional pie and pint.
    There was no loud, ear-threatening music either, unless you counted the occasional outburst when Bert, the barman, started whistling as he loaded the glasses back onto the shelf. The Rose ‘n’ Anchor was probably the last true working-man’s pub in the city—a place to go and have a pint or two after a hard day’s graft.
    Dad blinked to adjust his eyes. He could just make out a familiar shape at the bar, hunched over his glass. He went and sat on the stool next to the lone drinker. There were a couple of fellows hovering in the shadows of the low lights above the pool table, and Mazey, one of the regulars, was playing on the one innovation to the scene, the pokey machine. Other than the clicking of pool balls and the sound of Mazey feeding the machine, the room was silent.
    As Dad sat down, Bert instinctively swung around to face the bar. ‘Bloody hell—look what the cat’s dragged in!’
    ‘Gidday, Bert. I’ll have a Red, and you’d better fill that one,’said Dad, pointing to the empty handle sitting on the bar in front of Hepi.
    Hepi accepted the fresh drink without the slightest acknowledgement of Dad’s presence. They both sat staring at their handles. Bert returned to loading glasses on the shelf behind the bar, and the pool players continued to tap balls around the table.
    Dad drained his glass and thumped it down on the bar. ‘You’d better fill these two up again, Bert, and the fat bastard needs a pie.’
    ‘Tell Bollocks I need two pies!’ Hepi finally broke his silence.
    Dad swung around on his stool to face Hepi. ‘Fuckin’ typical. I offer to feed you, and you bite me on both hands.’
    ‘Listen, Bollocks, if you want that bloody boat, it’s going to cost you more than two bloody mince pies.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I told you. There’s a tapu on that boat, and you can’t break a tapu.’
    ‘So what’s it going to cost me to lift this bloody tapu?’
    ‘You don’t buy off a tapu for a start! It can only be lifted by the tohunga who invoked it, or a direct descendant. The original tohunga is long since dead, and I can only find one of his grandsons.’
    ‘So what’s the problem? Get hold of this fellow and get him to lift the bloody tapu. Then we can get on with the negotiations to buy the boat.’
    ‘One small hitch with that plan—he’s about seven years into a life sentence for murdering his father and is currently residing in D block at Paremoremo.’
    ‘Oh, great. What’s the bad news?’
    ‘My brown brother is up for parole in a month, but he mightn’t get it. The other factor in this equation is that youngJohn Henry isn’t too keen on you honkies.’
    Dad slumped back on the bar stool. It had been months since he’d first clapped eyes on Erewhon , and despite Hepi’s best efforts he was no closer to owning her.
    ‘There’s another problem, too, Bollocks.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘The small matter that I don’t work for you any more.’
    ‘Bullshit you don’t. Remember the deal with Greenbacker? You’re mine for life.’
    ‘But what about my letter of resignation?’
    ‘You mean this?’ said Dad, withdrawing a handful of shredded paper from his pocket. ‘Stop wasting my bloody stationery!’
    Both men burst out laughing, and Dad gave Hepi a