Sink: Old Man's Tale Read Free Page A

followed, not studied. If they had, they would have discovered a world not of black and white, but of the greys of a million different hues. By confirming he had received the letters, the old man had also confirmed he had taken no action. He was at the court’s mercy, and it most likely would not be in his favor.
    Mr. Pearson slowed the car at the junction that joined the motorway. The car stopped.
    “Get out,” Mr. Pearson said.
    For a moment, Graham wasn’t sure who he was talking to.
    “Me?” Graham said.
    “Of course you,” Mr. Pearson said.
    “What for?” Graham said.
    “These are your people,” Mr. Pearson said. “It’s your job to convince him to hand his property over to us.”
    “But he told us he received the letters,” Graham said. “We can hang him with that.”
    “We’ll need to go through the courts,” Mr. Pearson said. “We need faster results.”
    “How am I supposed to do that?” Graham said. “He won’t listen to me.”
    “Then make him listen to you,” Mr. Pearson said. “And don’t bother coming back until you have those deeds.”
    “Possessing the deeds doesn’t make us the property owners,” Graham said.
    “No, but dear old Mr. Witness neglected to register his property with the authorities,” Mr. Pearson said. “Without the deeds he’ll have a harder time proving he’s the owner. The perfect time for us to take it from him.”
    “You can’t do this,” Graham said.
    “No?” Mr. Pearson said. “That’s funny. I think I just did.”
    Mr. Pearson was serious. Graham looked to Dwayne, but he was looking away. Graham hesitated before getting out of the car.
    “Dwayne, join me upfront,” Mr. Pearson said.
    Dwayne got out and sat in the front passenger seat. His kept his eyes on the ground, pointedly not looking at Graham.
    “You know I don’t like you,” Mr. Pearson said to Graham. “Why else did you think I brought you on this trip?”
    He hit the gas and the wheels spun, kicking up dust, coating Graham. He coughed and watched as the car pulled away and disappeared over the horizon. He listened to the jabberings of the crickets and grasshoppers in the undergrowth before pulling his head back and letting out a scream. He kicked at a tuft of grass, swearing, performing a reenactment of Jeremiah’s tirade.
    The motorway was silent, the way it often was in Australia. There were no cars and the chances of hitching a lift were significantly less than the possibility of getting bitten by a poisonous snake, even after his boss had cleared the way.
    He turned to look back at the dusty road that led back to Jeremiah’s house. Jeremiah had a car. Maybe he could get a lift. He almost laughed. Maybe he could borrow Jeremiah’s car, just to town, and then call the cops and let them know where the car was so the old man could get it back. That wasn’t so bad, was it?
    Graham walked up the road toward Jeremiah’s house. He turned the puzzle of the deeds over in his mind. How would he get them? Could he get them without the old man knowing?
    Graham paused. He shook his head. He never even questioned whether or not he would try to get them, only how to get them. Mr. Pearson was an asshole, a bigot, a sexist, and arrogant beyond belief, but he sure was a formidable judge of character.

Chapter Four
     
     
    The kettle whistled, a high-pitched whine that would have made Jeremiah’s ears hurt, except he was too busy looking out the kitchen window at his back garden to notice. The muscles in his arms were tight. He was still bubbling with rage. He shook his head. What gave them the right to try and take his home away? It was all he had. And suddenly he felt weak and tired to his bones.
    Something wet pressed against his forehead. He reached up and touched it. His fingertips came away damp, and when he turned, he saw the kettle was still bubbling away. He switched the hob off and poured the hot water into his single chipped cup. There was just a dribble left. He refilled the