Milo had photocopied previous letters from his dad explaining why he could not attend school on a particular day. In one, Milo had to see the doctor on a matter of urgency; in another he had a dentist’s appointment. In yet another, he had to go to court for a ‘minor’ matter. Fluke had even written one for him, but Milo doubted that having ‘loose vowels’ was going to get him out of PE.
After Mr Chrysler had left for work, Milo got out of his school uniform and into his best clothes. They were the last things his mum had given him: a black ‘Einstein Rules Relatively Okay’ T-shirt, black jeans and Vipa sneakers. He wore these so that he’d make a good impression when he found her.
He also put on his Collingwood cap, in case he needed a disguise.
O’Grady Street was easy to get to, being only four blocks away, but it did mean passing uncomfortably close to the local police station and courthouse. Milo pulled his cap down tight and hunched his shoulders as they passed the station on the other side of the street. He had the odd prickly sensation that somebody was watching him from the station’s window but if Kosta or Barnes had seen him, neither emerged to pull him up or follow him.
Ten minutes later, Milo had a different problem to deal with. Though he fully appreciated the ‘No Canvassers’ sign on some of the gates in O’Grady Street, he didn’t feel he could skip houses – the one he missed might be the postman’s place! And anyhow, the signs could be old, put there by previous grumpy owners. Add in the signs that said ‘Beware of the Dog’ (and one that urged ‘Never Mind the Bloody Dog’) and Milo reckoned he’d have to avoid half the houses in O’Grady Street.
The first house they approached was next door to an old fire station, now a furniture store. Milo said a silent thank you to Mrs Appleby; he was starting to get excited.
He knocked on the door while Fluke stood back. A lady in pink curlers poked her head out of an upstairs window. ‘What do you want?’ She didn’t sound happy to see them. ‘Out with it. I haven’t got all day!’
Milo suddenly became confused. He hadn’t thought about what he was going to say.
‘I’m looking for my mother,’ he said, stammering.
‘Do I look like your mother?’ the woman snapped. Before he could reply, she slammed the window shut with a bang.
There was no answer at the next two houses. Milo was wishing he’d brought along a notebook to record them, when Fluke pulled one out of his pocket and scribbled down the numbers.
The next house had a row of motorbikes out front. That seemed a good sign. The postman had ridden one on his postal run. None of these bikes were red, though. They had a lot of chrome, and names painted on them like ‘Satan’s Mother’, ‘Vlad the Impaler’ and ‘I’m Innocent’.
While Milo was staring at the house Fluke said, ‘Better to leave no stone interned.’
Milo knew he was right. He went up the path to the front door and knocked. This close, he could hear loud music coming from inside. There was no answer to his knock so he tried again. When that didn’t work he kicked the door as hard as he could.
The music stopped suddenly. There was complete silence inside then somebody yelled something about flushing the toilet in a panicky voice.
A peephole opened above Milo’s head. He stood on tiptoes and smiled. A husky voice swore then said, ‘Whaddya want, kid?’
‘I’m looking for Mrs Chrysler,’ Milo said. At the man’s stony silence, he added hopefully, ‘Sharon Chrysler.’
‘There a Sharon Chrysler in the house?’ the man hollered.
Milo thought that was very odd. Imagine not knowing who was in your house.
A babble of voices replied to the query. A moment’s pause. Then: ‘Try across the street,’ the voice said. ‘She’s not here. Now get lost.’
‘What about the postman?’ he called out. ‘He rides a red bike!’
The door flew open.
Standing in a cloud of eddying smoke was the biggest, meanest looking bloke Milo had ever seen. He had a huge bushy beard and long dank hair. Tiny crucifix earrings – Yes! He’s a Christian! – hung from his ears and a chrome replica of a bent dog’s bone pierced his nose. His arms were dark with tattoos and hair poked above the neckline of a grubby blue singlet.
‘Whaddya want?’
Milo instantly knew that asking if his mum was there was the wrong question. He pulled the red sparkly shoe out of his backpack and held it up.
‘I need to find the one that matches this.’
The biker peered at the shoe then at Milo. ‘This trick or treat or something? You the prince from Cinderella?’ A woman behind him chuckled.
‘It belongs to – Shazza,’ Milo pushed on.
‘Listen, Einstein,’ the biker growled. ‘There’s no Shazza here. No one with red wheels. Or shoes. Now clear off before I kick your butt clean across the street.’
‘But I need to –’
Milo suddenly found himself dangling in mid-air, a shovel-sized fist gripping his shirt. The bushy beard – plus eyes, nose, and curled lips – were right in his face. The man’s breath smelled sharp and acrid and his pupils were gigantic.
‘He’s too little, Titch,’ the girl behind him said. ‘Throw him back.’
Milo said quickly, ‘I’m looking for a Suzuki GS500, red with chrome-plated –’ The biker shook him till his teeth rattled. ‘Only girls ride them,’ he said. ‘Do I look like a girl?’
‘Titch!’ the girl said. ‘You’re scaring the stuffing outta him.’
Milo shook his head, blinking. ‘I think you ride that Triumph Rocket III over there which has a fuel-injected, three-cylinder, twelve-valve 2,294cc powerplant giving 147 foot pounds of torque at 2,500 rpm. It also has a very good turning circle and a low centre of gravity which combine to make manoeuvring at low speed very easy, while the steering geometry and overall length give it a solidly planted and confident feel. Furthermore, twin butterfly valves for each throttle body are used to give precise control over the engine and the torque curve is therefore tailored specifically for each gear ratio.’
The biker’s grip on Milo loosened with every sentence.
Milo’s feet touched the ground. ‘And the result is extremely impressive – the engine’s enormous torque output gives the rider amazing levels of flexibility and makes the five-speed gearbox almost unnecessary. The Rocket III’s chassis is also quite special as it centres on a large tubular steel twin-spine frame, which houses the motor. The maintenance-free shaft drive sends power to the massive 240/50-section rear tyre, while 43 millimetre upside-down forks and spring preload adjustable twin rear shocks, built specifically for the Rocket III, add control, composure and supple compliance. The front brakes – twin four-piston callipers mated with 320 millimetre floating discs – are built to –’
Milo stopped. He realised he had an audience.
‘The kid’s a freakin’ genius,’ someone said in a slurred voice.
‘A freak, that’s for sure,’ Titch said. ‘All right, Einstein, now run along and play with your mate over there. Just don’t knock on this door again – or else.’
‘They liked your T-shirt,’ Fluke said as they headed down the street.
No one answered Milo’s knocking at the next four doors so he let Fluke try the next two, in case he had better luck. After all, ‘fluke’ didn’t just mean ‘accidental’.
Nobody in either of Fluke’s houses knew a Sharon Chrysler and although the next one had a blue motorbike out front it also had a very savage looking saliva-dripping Rottweiler, who seemed to eye Milo with a hungry expression. Milo went to bypass it altogether, but Fluke shook his head. ‘Nothing ventured, nothing sprained,’ he said, and for good measure added: ‘Real detectives search every crook and nanny!’
So to Milo’s alarm and amazement Fluke climbed over the gate, got down on all fours, and crawled towards the Rottweiler, ducking his head and making soft whimpering noises. Milo thought he was going to get his head bitten off, and at first his fears seemed about to come true when the Rottweiler erupted into a fit of manic barking. But Fluke did not back away. He shook himself, ducked his head again, and made more mewling sounds.
Suddenly the Rottweiler gave a little bark of pleasure. Fluke moved inside its leash radius, in reach of its jaws. And the Rottweiler started licking him. Fluke laughed and rubbed the Rotty behind the ears. The beast rolled over and arched its back.
Fluke rubbed its stomach, then waved Milo towards the door. Not quite as dog-proof as Fluke, Milo edged nervously past the two as they tussled on the lawn. He knocked on the door.
To Milo’s surprise, a girl of about his own age answered, one who – despite the heavy security door – Milo recognised. She was in a grade above him at school. He had a vague idea her mother was a teacher. ‘I’m looking for my mother,’ he said, still distracted by Fluke and the Rottweiler.
‘I’m looking for my father,’ said the girl. As if to emphasise this, she called out, ‘Daaaad!’
‘I hope he hasn’t run off,’ said Milo.
The girl’s face hardened. ‘That’s a stupid thing to say. He’s just doing overtime. He works a lot, okay?’ She seemed to realise she’d said too much and glared at Milo and Fluke, as if it was their fault.
Milo felt deflated. He wanted to call out ‘Muuum!’ too, but knew there was no point. And in less than a week he’d be locked up forever . . .
‘What’s that boy doing with my dog?’
‘Playing.’
‘Well, tell him to stop.’
Milo did so, then turned back. He was starting to feel desperate. He’d been so sure this would work, that with Mrs Appleby’s help he would find his mother. Now . . .
He pulled out his mum’s shoe. ‘Do you know anyone who wears a shoe like this? Have you seen the other one?’
‘Who do I look like, Dorothy? Or do you –?’
The girl’s face suddenly changed. It went from ‘glaring’ to ‘suspicious’ – and landed on realisation . . .
Milo watched the face with despair. Sooner or later, it always happened. People were friendly at first, then abruptly cold, even hostile. His mum said they were scared, but Milo could never figure out why.
‘We’ll be going now,’ he said, dejectedly.
‘Hang on. You’re that weirdo kid from Sidham Drive, aren’t you?’ Something else dawned on her. ‘You killed that old woman in her home!’
Milo backed away.
‘I’ve got a Rottweiler,’ said the girl, ‘and I’ll set him on you if you don’t leave right now!’
‘I only wanted to –’
She slammed the door in his face.
Defeated beyond comprehension, Milo went home, parting from Fluke a couple of blocks from his house.