Send In The The Clowns

Deceit, lies, low cunning, treachery, sexual betrayal and great steaming piles of dung -- yes, folks, it's the end of the Australian financial year again.

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"You'll have no problems following the channel, it's well marked with poles. Stay between them going into the estuary and coming out, and you'll be right. Once you get into the Peel Inlet, you'll have a lake ten kilometres wide to play around in, all sheltered water . . ."

Bob Creedy, the elderly proprietor of 'WEST AUSTRALIAN CRUISER HIRE' waved a hand to indicate the houses of the small town of Mandurah, the calm waters of the inlet now ruffled by a crisp breeze off the Indian Ocean. "I'm sure you'll have a nice time, Mr Benson."

His customer was in his early thirties, deeply tanned, with a strong face and a tall and wiry body clad in tee-shirt and boxer shorts, topped off with a dirty baseball cap. In the younger man's hand was one of the courtesy beers stowed in the ten metre cruiser's fridge on the first day of hiring.

"Call me Jim, Bob. As soon as I've finished this tinnie, I'll be off. It's great to get out of the bush for a change."

"OK, enjoy yourself then, Jim. She's all fuelled up and ready to go. If you have a major problem, you can always use the dinghy to come ashore and make a phone call . . . " Bob paused, looking to his left along the small jetty to the shore. "Is this your wife?"

A well polished Commodore had stopped by the hire office, the driver a solidly built yet shapely brunette in jeans and a tank top. With her was a young girl about seven years old with long hair the same colour as the woman's.

"Nothing to do with me, Bob." Jim sounded regretful. "I'm not hitched. Don't meet too many sheilas when you're living in a railroad line camp, two hundred kilometres from the nearest town."

The woman strode purposefully along the jetty towards them. Bob greeted her cheerfully: "G'day. Can I help you?"

"Sure. You've got a boat booked for me -- Elizabeth Demakos."

"Demakos -- Demakos." Bob Creedy's mood had swiftly changed to one of pensive concern. He looked along the wharf as though hoping to see another cruiser pop up out of the water like a submarine. "Mrs Demakos, I'm very sorry but there seems to be some kind of a mistake here. All my boats are booked and all out, except for this one, which will be sailing any time now."

The woman scowled at Bob and then at Jim, as though he was part of some conspiracy to cheat her. But she was a good looker right enough, even if she didn't seem too inviting just then, savage blue eyes raking the cruiser's deck like Captain Kidd weighing up a prize and holding firmly onto the child as if it were a reluctant member of a boarding party.

"My name is not Mrs Demakos, it is Ms Demakos and I've got a letter from you people confirming my reservation, together with the receipt for my cheque. Either you provide me with the boat I've paid to hire or you can expect enough trouble to match your gross incompetence."

Creedy's face flushed. "There's no need for that, Ms Demakos. If there's been a mistake, I'm sorry, but I've got a new secretary and perhaps she misplaced the booking form. I'll refund your money, of course."

"You'll do more than that, unless you want this mess to end up at Consumer Affairs." The woman's scowl was turning even more shrewish. "You'll let me have this boat I booked for free of charge. And I'll pay the rental to this gentleman in lieu of his using the boat. I promised my daughter a boating holiday and she's going to have it."

Jim immediately protested: "Hey, hang on, I drove thirteen hundred kilometres yesterday to get here. Judging by that fancy car you drive, you must live down here in the city, so you can hire a boat whenever you like. This one is mine."

"I live in Perth, yes, but that doesn't mean I can organise time off from work during the school holidays whenever I like. It's taken me a lot of effort to get this break organised and I'm not going to waste it."

Both of them paused, locked in an impasse. Bob Creedy intervented in an effort to prevent the argument escalating. "Listen, can I make a suggestion here? How about you both share the boat? That way you'd only have to pay half of the rent each."

The woman stiffened in anger but before she could speak, Bob rushed on hurriedly: "Ms Demakos, I'm only talking about sharing it during the day. The local pub is run by a friend of mine. I'll arrange a room to be kept there for Mr Benson to sleep in. I'll pay for that to make amends for the mistake the yard made in the bookings. The only thing is that you'll have to come back to Mandurah each night to tie up. Well, I'll make sure a berth at the jetty is left open for you and it's not much of an inconvenience in return for having your rental cut by half. It means more spending money left in your pocket."

"You're out of your mind. I don't know this man from a hole in the wall and you want me to go off on a boat with him?"

Benson laughed, unexpectedly. "It's all right, I'm quite controllable. Maybe this will help." He took out a wallet and extracted a plastic card from it. As he passed it over, Elizabeth Demakos caught a whiff of aromatic aftershave. If you discounted the scruffy clothes, he was reasonably presentable.

The card was a company I.D. issued by Ridgeline Mining, one of the biggest of the Pilbara iron ore miners, with Benson's photograph in one corner. He was wearing dark glasses in the photograph and looked like a Mafia recruit. "You can ring up the Ridgeline Railroad Works Supervisor in Port Ulster to get confirmation that I'm one of his gang bosses."

There was a hiatus as Ms Demakos considered the proposal carefully. Then she spoke: "Let me make three things perfectly clear. The first is that you'll be ashore every night by seven thirty. The second is that if you start getting grogged up, I'll push you over the side and leave you there. The third is that there will be no funny business, otherwise the whole deal goes up in smoke."

Jim grinned cheekily. "Don't worry about that, Ms Demakos. I bruise too easily to fight in the heavyweight division."

Ms Demakos sniffed in disdain but seemed willing to go along with the arrangement. Bob Creedy heaved a sigh of relief at having adroitly dealt with a difficult situation. And at first everything seemed to be, to coin a phrase, smooth sailing.

Four times the cruiser went out for the day and four times it returned at dusk. Four times Jim Benson came ashore, cheerful and happy, and then went off to roister his nights away, leaving the boat with hardly a backward glance. On the fifth he disembarked with an air of savage frustration that Bob detected even before Jim's feet had touched the wharf. He stood at the opened office door as Benson stalked by.

"Streuth, Jim, what's wrong with you?" he asked.

"Bob, that bloody woman is driving me wild. She won't let me put a finger on her."

"I thought you weren't interested in her."

"I wasn't, until I found out she's an inspector in the Commonwealth Taxation Office."

Bob twitched and cast a guilty eye on the set of opened accounts he was working on. "Hellfire and damnation, thanks for the tip off. But I don't quite see. . ."

"Don't see, you don't bloody see! I earn my money sweating my guts out in the dust and the flies, and those bastards take twenty thousand dollars off me each year! A hundred days a year I'm out in temperatures above the old hundred degrees F scale and my zone allowance hardly pays for a cold beer at knock off time, while the politicians are filling their guts with duty free booze at bars in Federal and State Parliaments. I live in the middle of a bloody desert to keep open a railroad that carries millions of tonnes of iron ore every month, and the poxy, motherless swine say my accommodation is a fringe benefit! And you don't see why I want to screw one of the tax people for a change!"

Jim actually stamped his feet in anguish. "Once, just once, I've got one of the sods within striking distance and I didn't even know it until today. Look at that figure, look at it -- that's my bloody tax rebate floating around out there, and I want it!"

"Jim, come and have a beer and let's talk this over."

Even after several beers Jim refused to be consoled. "Bob, this is like a crusade to me. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do the right and proper thing -- just one good night in the master cabin and at least I can have a little smile to myself the next time I have to pay one of those stinking assessment notices. Just one little scrap of pleasure on my side of the ledger to help balance the books, that's all I'm asking."

Bob nodded in appreciation. "For a roughneck ganger boss, you've the soul of a poet, Jim. But what's the story with the lady? Was she married, what happened to the daughter's father, does she have a boyfriend now?"

"The daughter, Tata, she said something about her parents getting divorced when she was a baby. That's all I know."

"Well, look here, young Jim, you're out there every day with Ms big mouth Demakos, cheek by jowl as you might say. It's up to you to get things moving."

"How -- by chatting her up? By whispering sweet nothings to a tax inspector! The words would stick in my gullet like a blockage in a sewage pipe. Anyway, she's about as cheerful as a croc on a vegetarian diet."

"Perhaps you should try being masterful then. Some women like that, whatever they pretend."

Jim sighed and put down his glass. "You stupid old bugger, aren't you listening to what I'm saying? The woman is an income tax inspector. Suppose she doesn't go for the macho male approach? Do you know what could happen if somebody like that decided to hold your return up to the light and go through it to the last decimal point? My accountant's good but once that mob of dingos get their teeth into you . . ."

Bob nodded in understanding. "It's a challenge, isn't it? Set them up again, while I have a ponder."

When Jim returned with the glasses, Bob was wreathed in smoke from a stinking old pipe. "Jim, lad, it looks like it's going to be a rotten day tomorrow. Dull, cloudy, probably some rain. During the early afternoon, I want you to trip the domestic power supply circuit breaker without being seen. Tell the lady you'll have to come back to the jetty for the electrics to be repaired. Arrive back as close to one o'clock as possible. Because it's a Saturday, I'll have a good excuse not to be there in the afternoon. She can't get at her car because it's locked up in my security pound.

"By about four o'clock you should all be bored stiff sitting there watching the rain fall. No TV, no radio, nothing. Wait for the daughter to start making a nuisance of herself."

"And then what?"

"Tell them you can see into the future by reading tea-leaves, or some such tripe. Put on a big show and tell Tata something is soon going to happen which will mean she'll have a wonderful evening. Mother Demakos is going to get very uptight about you making those kind of promises, especially in the foul mood she should have reached by then. Tell her that if you turn out to be right, you expect her to grant you one wish. She'll be so keen to show up your silly ideas with her usual arrogance that she'll say yes. And once she does, you're in like Flynn. Those sort always keep their word."

Jim was baffled. "What the hell can happen to give Tata a wonderful time while she's stuck at the side of your decrepit old jetty?"

"Never you mind, just you do as you're told, that's all."

It was bright and early on Sunday morning when Bob arrived at the yard gate. The last of the garishly coloured trucks was pulling out and accelerating down the coast road towards Pinjarra. Left in the small field behind the boat sheds was a circle of beaten down earth and a pile of very large animal droppings. Walking along the jetty were Tata and her mother. Elizabeth Demakos looked happy, relaxed and glowing. Tata came running over to Bob in great excitement.

"Mr Creedy, the circus came here yesterday! We were just sitting around with nothing to do and suddenly they came and put up the big tent, and there were elephants, and monkeys, and clowns . . ."

"Yes, they phoned me last week and said they were coming. I meant to tell you about it and it slipped my mind. Must be getting forgetful in my old age. Did you enjoy the show?"

"Most of it but I fell asleep at the end and Jim -- Mr Benson -- had to carry me back to the boat. But he said he had a fantastic time as well. He stayed on the boat last night because it was very late when the circus finished. He didn't seem to want to wake up himself this morning though."

"Oh."

Bob and Elizabeth exchanged glances. Hers was unabashed and confident. "I don't think you need to leave a space for us at the jetty at night any longer," she said. "By the way, we had an electrical problem yesterday. I was going to ask you to fix it. Then Jim suddenly wondered if it might be a tripped circuit breaker on the 240 volt system when he found out that he couldn't have any coffee this morning. That turned out to be the cause of the trouble."

"It occasionally happens when the generator surges."

"I suppose so. Electricity is like the male mind -- unpredictable. All afternoon yesterday Jim sat around trying to think of what could be wrong, completely baffled. Deprive him of his morning cup of coffee and he solves the problem in a flash. Very odd."

Bob scratched his chin, warily eyeing Elizabeth. "Sometimes a man needs some kind of a stimulant to get himself going."

"Yes, and sometimes he gets supplied with one. Tata, dear, go and see if Uncle Jim has finished in the head. And if he has, make sure he's cleaned all of those revolting bristles out of the sink."

"You're getting very nautically minded," Bob said, trying to be jocular. "Picking up the language very well."

"Perhaps it's simply a throwback to the five Sydney to Hobart yacht races that I crewed on. What is it about me, Mr Creedy, that gives you the impression that I'm a total cretin?"

Bob flinched. "Nothing at all -- nothing at all. What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that if it even crossed my mind to suspect collusion between you and Jim Benson in that pathetic piece of play acting which went on here yesterday, then I might just decide to give your business affairs the kind of scrutiny usually reserved for a newly discovered Rembrandt. Do you understand now what I mean?"

"Ah . . . yes, I think I get the general drift. But I can assure you that I don't know what you're . . . " Bob mumbled his way into silence as he realised he was doing no good at all.

"Don't bother wasting my time and yours. It's not likely I shall be working for the government for much longer anyway. I do believe that Jim and I will soon be living together permanently. Of course, he'll have to move back to Perth. He's done a remarkably good job in saving his money though. Between us we should have enough to start up a business. I think that would be an interesting challenge."

"Well, I hope you'll be very happy."

"I hope so too." Elizabeth stared across the estuary, molten in the rising sun, light shimmering through her simple white dress and creating an interesting silhoutte around the heavy breasts. Bob sighed.

"Tell me the truth. You set him up to get that promise from me, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"I object to being taken for a fool. But, strictly between ourselves, Bob, I'm glad you found a way of breaking the ice. I wanted to, but I couldn't find a way of showing it." She took a piece of bread from her pocket and tossed it downwind. A pack of gulls were squabbling over the scrap before it even touched the water.

"This is a nice place to live -- a nice place to work. I think running a fleet of boats for hire might be a good business as well. I saw a site on the far bank which might be just what we're looking for."

"You're joking!"

"Perhaps it would be better all round if we injected our capital in the form of a partnership in your business. I think you could use some younger blood around the place." Elizabeth turned to face him again and delicately brushed the crumbs off her fingers. "By the time I've been through your books I'll know exactly what a fair price is, down to the last dollar."

"Oh, will you?"

"Sure. Just because somebody goes to a circus, it doesn't necessarily mean they're a clown. Old Tax Office saying, Mr Creedy."

THE END