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ONE SATURDAY MORNING Randy and Piho set out to steal money from the guy who owned the local racehorse farm. It had been Randy's idea to start with.
"He'll never notice it missing," Randy said. "He's got heaps of it. I mean, just look at that big car he drives around in, that Range Rover. He's loaded!"
"Yeah, sure," said Piho doubtfully. "Like he just leaves it lying around for people to nick. Oh sure!"
"I tell you he does," Randy insisted. "I was in town last night and he parked right where I was standing and I looked into the front of his car and there was all this dough, just sitting there, you know, in that little place between the seats. Oh, like - hundreds I reckon."
Piho knew he shouldn't have asked any more questions but they had the whole weekend ahead of them, and no money. He asked, "So, anyway, what's your plan?
"Easy. We go up to his place, say we want a bit of work 'coz we're raising money for something, then when no one's looking we get the stuff and beat it."
"So where's this rich dude live?" asked piho.
"About five k's further up my road. He's got this horse ranch thing, you know, a stub farm?"
"Stud farm, ya dork! Alright; come on; get your bike! Let's go."
The sign across the gateway said:
BENNITHORPE STUD - HOME OF WEE WILLI WINKI.
"Dumb name for a horse," said Randy as they cycled up.
"Even dumber for a stallion!" laughed Piho, stopping his bike. Randy stopped too. They looked up the driveway. There was the dude's Range Rover, parked near the stables.
"You ready?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Yeah."
"Wanna chicken out?"
"Er ... nope. You?
"Not me."
"Got the story right?"
"Yeah - raising money, league team, yadda yadda yadda."
"Geez man!" laughed Piho. "What would you do without me?" and he began biking up the drive. Randy followed, nervously. They stopped a few metres from the Range Rover. But as they got ready a sudden loud voice spoke behind them.
"You kids looking for something?"
They spun around. A man was walking towards them. He must have been over two metres tall, and about a metre wide. He wore a kind of uniform and a little name badge.
'Ah, ah ..." stammered Piho. "Ah, is Mr Bennithorpe around?"
Randy nudged Piho and whispered, "Let's just beat it, man!" but Piho scowled at him and stayed put.
"Not at the moment," the big guy said as he came closer, "but I'm the farm manager. Can I help?"
"Hi, ah – " Piho leaned closer to read the man's name badge, " – Mr Kerr, this is Randalf Cathro, and I'm Piho Waitere. We're raising money for our league team."
"To get new jerseys," added Randy. "For next winter."
"Yeah," continued Piho; "and we was wondering, like, if you had any work you needed doing round here?"
The guy nodded. "Yep, I've got just the thing. With a bit of hard work you could make heaps of money."
Randy glanced towards the Range Rover and grinned at Piho, who quickly jabbed him in the ribs again.
"Great!" said Piho as if hard work was the thing he liked most in the world. "So, ah, what is it, this work?"
"Horse apples!" said Mr Kerr.
"Eh?"
"Horse apples," the man repeated. "you know: manure?"
"Oh, horsesh-" Randy began. Piho cut him off with another jab.
"Be polite!" hissed Piho in Randy’s ear.
Kerr was talking again, all stuff about how he was always impressed by kids who still had the willingness to get out and do real work and yadda yadda yadda . . .
"Yeah, yeah," said Piho finally, "but what do we actually have to do?"
Kerr explained. "You bag it up and get it down to the stall, and you can have all the money it makes."
Piho figured it out the fastest. "Oh yeah, the stall, right. We passed it coming up."
"What's he talking about?" whispered Randy.
"Selling manure, dumbo, down by the road."
"Oh."
"Leave your bikes behind that fence, boys, and come with me," said Mr Kerr. "I've got some bags somewhere, and shovels." He led them around a horsey-looking building and into a big shed where he found them a bunch of empty sacks and two coal shovels.
"Coal shovels?"
"Trust me, it's easier," said Mr Kerr. He stepped out of the shed and pointed at a nearby paddock. "Start on the training track. I'd like it all clear by twelve."
They ended up shovelling up horse crab a mere fifty metres from the Range Rover, two fence-lines away. Every few minutes Randy would stop shovelling to look over at the car.
"Don't be so damn obvious!" snapped Piho when he caught him doing it.
"But what if it drives off before we're finished?"
"Then shovel faster! Soon's we got four or five sacks done, I'll go ask for a wheelbarrow. We'll take 'em out that gate there, right past the car, and down to the road. Sooner or later we'll get a chance."
"Right, yeah, good thinking."
Piho wandered off and soon came back with a wheelbarrow. They loaded it with five sacks and set off for the gate, Randy pushing the barrow. It tipped sideways at the first turn.
"Your fault!" Randy immediately shouted at Piho, ''You weren't steadying it!"
"No, your fault!" answered Piho. "You turned too fast!"
They picked up the bags again, arguing. One of the bags had already started to ooze and Randy got a big slop of it on his hand. 'Aw yuck!" he yelled and tried to wipe it on Piho's T-shirt. Piho grabbed Randy's wrist and tried to force his hand back into his face.
"How's it going, boys?" boomed the voice of Mr Kerr from right behind them.
They stopped fighting instantly. Piho grabbed up the wheelbarrow handles. "It's good, it's good," he answered quickly. 'Just dropped one. Got it now." He turned towards the road and whispered fiercely to Randy, "Don't even look at the car!"
The manure stall was about a hundred metres down the road. It looked like the back half of a tin shed with no front. There was a neat sign that said HORSE MANURE $2 A BAG, and a sturdy metal honesty box attached by a heavy chain to one of the corner posts.
Randy shook the box. It was empty. 'Aw stink!" he said.
"Exactly," laughed Piho. He laughed and laughed.
"What're you laughing at?" snarled Randy.
"This." Piho waved a hand at the wheelbarrow and the stall and the box.
"Not funny," grumbled Randy. He emptied the wheelbarrow and turned back towards the big gate. "Come on."
"No, don't you get it? We come up here to nick money but here we are instead making it legit!"
Randy stared at him blankly. "You serious?"
"Yeah. Look at this set up: five bags equals ten bucks, ten bags equals twenty bucks. We could even put the price up . ."
"Aw, come on! "
Piho jerked his head towards the farm. "You wanna get arrested for theft then? Go for it."
Randy pulled a face. "It was your idea."
"Oh bull! It was..." but Piho never got to finish the argument. "Hey! Here comes a car!"
Sure enough it was a car, and it was slowing down. In fact, it was stopping at the stall. At their stall. The passenger's window opened and a grey-haired lady smiled out at them. "We'll take two," she said, waving a five-dollar note. The old dude in the driver's seat said, "Hang on, I'll open the boot." He must have hit some switch inside because the boot popped open with a ping. "Put them on the plastic, will you? Thanks."
"Aaah, yes sir!" said Randy, looking stunned. He heaved up a bag and humped it to the back of the car, paused, then heaved it into the boot, leaving a big smear of green slop on the edge. Piho saw it and put his finger to his lips, making eyes towards the two oldies.
"Do this one together," he said to Randy, getting another bag ready. They swung it in neatly and shut the boot. The five-dollar note still stuck out the window. Piho looked at it and pulled a troubled face.
"Oh, gee, Um, we don’t have any change yet. See, we're raising money for our league team and we've only just started for the day and ..." Then his face brightened. "Hey, I tell you what: we’ll do you a half-bag ..."
"No, no, no," said the old guy. "Keep the change. It's good to see you kids getting out and doing something practical for a change. Good on you!"
"Oh well, thank you," beamed Piho, taking the fiver. "Thanks a lot! We're very grateful for your donation. That's great! Thank you!" The car began to move.
"Have a nice day!" called Randy. He turned on a big smile and waved as the car moved off.
That had been amazing! Five bucks; easy-peasy! It might have been four, and a big problem, but once again Piho had spun a line and saved the day. Randy was very impressed, and wished that he could be as good. He had to say something to Piho to show how much he admired his ability with words, something really warm and affirming.
"Geez, you're a crap-artist, Piho!"
"Yeah, cool eh?" grinned Piho, waving the five dollar note proudly in front of Randy's face. "Five bucks!" Then, "Hey! Another car!"
It stopped too, but the driver just wanted directions. Piho also told him about the new league jerseys and eventually managed to talk him into buying one bag.
"Seven dollars!" laughed Randy. "Seven dollars!"
"You'd better go get some more," said Piho, rearranging the last two bags. "These won't last long."
"Why me?" Randy protested.
"'Coz I gotta stay right here, selling."
"That's not fair!"
"Well we can't both go," explained Piho in his are-you-stupid-or-what voice. "Someone might come and nick our bags. I mean you can't trust anyone these days."
"Oh yeah, right." Randy took the wheelbarrow and set off for the stud farm, whistling. He filled another four sacks as fast as he could and got them down to the road. They waited. Seven cars went by, then a truck, then a Swedish tourist on a mountain bike.
"He could have bought one," grumbled Randy.
Piho laughed. "Yeah, should have bought two!" He glanced at his watch. "Is the training track clear of poop then?"
Randy shrugged. "I dunno."
"The manager dude said he wanted it clear by twelve."
"So?"
"So we've got to keep the man happy!"
"Yeah, okay, but it's your turn."
"Okay, okay, fair enough." Piho started off with the wheelbarrow.
"Hey!" called Randy after him. "What about the money? I might need change."
Piho left Randy with the money and started off again. He had only just made it to the gate when a car whooshed by, braked, and backed up towards the stall. He hurried back and helped Randy load another two bags.
"Like another?" asked Piho. "special price today - three for five bucks."
The lady shrugged, said "Why not?" and in went another.
"Twelve bucks!" grinned Randy as that car left.
"This is great!"
"Yeah! I'll go and get some more," said Piho enthusiastically and hurried off once more with the wheelbarrow. He was gone a while. Randy stood waiting for the next customer.
Five minutes later a scruffy white van came hammering down the road towards town. Randy was feeling so good he gave the occupants a wave, even though they didn't look like they would stop. But they did stop, well past the stall, and the van backed up. A pakeha dude with scraggy-looking dreadlocks stuck his head out the passenger's side window.
"Watcha doing, kid?" he asked.
"Selling manure, to raise money for our league team," said Randy. That didn't sound particularly good. Piho could have done better. So he tried again. "Yeah, see we're going to be getting these cool new colours, see, but we need, like, money to buy them - er, the jerseys that is, the new league jerseys. It's real good for the garden!"
"Doing well?" asked the driver - a big Maori guy with a real cool haircut.
"Yeah," said Randy, flashing the money proudly.
The side door of the van slid open and another guy got out. He was wearing a sweatshirt with the words ‘Shove It’ on the front, and had blue pen or something drawn around his throat. Randy looked closer. It was a tattoo of barbed wire.
"We'll take one," the guy said, digging a hand into his pocket and pulling out a wad of money. "Got change for a twenty?"
"Ahhh, just a tick.” Randy glanced at what he had. "Gee, sorry, no can do. Ah, you want four bags?"
"How much you got then?" said the guy. "We might be able to work something out."
"Twelve, I think."
"Let's see it."
Randy opened his hand, counting it again, but he didn't get past seven before the guy snatched the money with one hand and shoved Randy backwards with the other.
"Hey!"
Randy fell backwards over a bag of manure. He heard the side door of the van rumble and bang, the engine roar, and the wheels chew gravel as the van took off.
"Hey," he yelled again as he scrambled back onto his feet, "HEY!" but the van didn't stop. Randy ran after it, shouting.
All he got for his troubles was a face full of blue smoke.