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Topics - Ian H

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The everything board / Crocodile tears 27
« on: September 22, 2014, 05:05:47 PM »
It was dark as Andrews got back to his hotel, he scrubbed of the musty swamp smell. Put on fresh clothes. Then tapped on Jean's door not knowing that in doing so he was changing his life forever.

In the streets the tourists coloured clothes reflected the light from the full moon like butterflies in the jungle couples walked hand in hand giggling like teens. It was only when you got closer you realised that they were retireies.

Jean and the detective and joined hands their eyes as starry as the tropical sky was.

They idled meaningless. Until Jean stopped dead in front of a poster in front of the fair grounds. As she read the lights in the grounds were on, workmen scuttled about like demented ants. Hammering and crashing assaulted the ears. Jean read on her eyes bright.

Andrews joined her to see what she was reading. She smiled. “Didn't you say you wanted to be a screen writer?”

The Detective nodded. Her face sagged sad. “Pity this is on Sunday. If we had more time you could write a script for us. I feel we would make a good team.”

Andrews put his arm around her. “Maybe it isn't too late. I have a sketch that might be adapted for us. It is fairly simple. We could learn it in a day and if we do make a mistake on stage only you and I know it.”

Jean leant and kissed his forehead as he reached for his cell. “Whatcha doing?”

“Ringing my flat mate in Brisbane getting him to put my Constable Klutz uniform on the first plane tomorrow.”

Jean giggled. “Klutz what a  wonderful name. Come on. We'll find someone and sign up for Sundays talent show as 'The Klutzs.”

The wandered pressing against each other under the sign 'Christmas in July.' until they found someone to sign them up.

It only took moments to sign up then they wandered down the hill towards the river.

They stood on the wooden planks of the wharf listen to the gentle slap of the water against the piles. There seemed to be two moons one casting cupids arrows in the sky the other floating gentle on the waters of the river.

All along the front of the wharf anglers shouldered their way to get their lines in the water. The mullet were jumping trying to reach the moon. One enterprising boy was swooping around with a fish landing net. Every now and then he would dive it across the water.

Nearly every scoop revealed a writhing shiny silver fish.

Excited shouts went up now and then excited shouts went up as someone hooked a much desired sat water Barramundi.

With the warmth of Jean on his shoulder it was a perfect night.

Just as well for the gates of hell was to open first thing in the morning.

The everything board / From tanks to toys 1/2/1 Santa
« on: September 22, 2014, 01:27:37 PM »
Santa entered his office rubbing his back with one hand and his brow with the other. He poured a glass of soda and broke two paracetamol tablets out. He groaned maybe he was getting to old for this game. It was only February and he had six weeks recuperation from what each year was becoming a more and more hectic Christmas eve.
He looked at the trays on his desk. The solved tray was empty. The problem one was almost stacked to the roof. The more urgent tray was a quarter the size and again the most URGENT tray was just a few.

He picked up the top most urgent one and began reading when the wizen head Elf knocked. Santa sighed. “What is it?”

“You know the new chamber we are blasting, the biggest yet?”

Santa nodded. “Every year there are more children, more and more children.”

The Elf nodded. “Orica has sent three times the dynamite we asked for and wont take the rest back.”

“Oh well, we might find a use for it down the track.”

The Elf shook his head. “You don't understand. The older dynamite gets the more dangerous it gets. The clay in it begins sweating out the nitroglycerin and Orica gave this to us because it is near its' use by date.”

Just then a loud bang shook Santa's office. Santa started “What the hell?”

The elf went greener. “It's those darn Rushies. They are drilling the North Pole for oil. I thought the UN put an embargo on drilling here.”

Santa shrugged. “You know the UN. First any proposal must go to a committee to decide if it is in the UN's purvey. If it is then it's assessed it is, along to the trivia committee  and so on. Sometimes the proponent is dead before his proposal gets to the main meeting of the UN. The North Pole proposal was presented in 1961 give it time.

The elf kept looking at his watch. Santa smiled. “Going somewhere?”

The Elf nodded. “Last year all the think ice melted rather than breaking up. The polar bears had no where to fish. This year all the ice around the pole is to thick to break up. We are going to help the starving bears.”

Santa nodded. “Good idea take some dynamite you might find it handy.”

It was nearly midday, that at the north pole is the 24 June the pole only having one day a year, when Santa decided on getting his annual dose of vitamin D.

It might have been day at the north pole but it was night in Australia he watched as a relay of slays driven by elves unloaded the donation from Australia.

He picked up a piece and examined it. Turning it round and round he would swear it was high quality coal. But he knew it had been donated because it was full of sulphur and useless for anything but putting in the stockings of naughty boys and girls. He examined the pile. About a thousand year supply he guessed.

It was then he was made aware of a truly terrible crisis.


The everything board / A thought
« on: September 20, 2014, 08:51:13 PM »
Today the Prime Minister of England must have made a worlds record promise. Less than 24 hours after he made a promise to the Scottish people he broke it.

This got me thinking. If you jailed every pollition who lied you would end up with full jails and empty houses of Parliament.


The everything board / Who gives way
« on: September 15, 2014, 06:01:27 PM »
A call over the police radio goes out. A violent fight was in progress.

Off they went foot down, sirens and lights blaring as they approached the fork where two roads became one.

Off they went foot down, sirens and lights blaring as they approached the fork where two roads became one.

They reached the fork kaboom. Two police cars written off.

The everything board / From tanks to toys 1/1/2
« on: September 15, 2014, 12:41:51 PM »
Putin sat back. “Maybe you should put me in the picture from the start.”

The Secretary for Peace stood up. “The war was very necessary. We found the oil. It is ours. The evil kingdoms of United Europe and America joined forces to deprive us of it.”

The people around the table responded with a round of “Here. Here.”

The man went on. “As the land was unclaimed we were going to build a fortress town over the oil then claim the land in the name of Mother Russia. To stop the EU and USA from stopping us we sent in an armed battalion to protect the engineers.”

Putin scowled so those stinking capitalists are behind all this?”

The minister for peace shrugged. “Who knows? How do you fight a war against an enemy you never see?”

A voice came from the end of the table. “Have they invented the cloak of invisibility?”

Putin purpled. “ Nonsense. Trash like that comes from those decadent books the west is fond of. Harry potter is a good example.”

The man in charge of war shook his head. “Maybe it is magic. To many weird thing seem to happen.”

Again the voice from the end of the table cut in. “Ghosts?”

Putin's shout could be heard in Heaven. “No such thing.”

The war minister looked stern. “I agree. But by putting all the injured in hospital all over Russia the rumours from them are we are fighting ghosts and the unintelligent are becoming to believe them.”

Another man picked up a list from in front of him. “Amazing. 8 thousand injured needing hospital but no recorded deaths. What sort of war is this? How man injured or dead do you estimate for the opponents?”

The war ministered blushed. “None. We have never sighted the aggressors. ”

The room was silent for a moment. Putin's eyes burnt fire down the table. “Have the great brains in Intelligence worked out where our trucks and tanks disappeared too?”

The war lord shrugged. “All they say is they were there disabled one day and gone the next.”

Putin slammed the table. “How can a whole division of tanks disappear over night


The everything board / From tanks to toys 1/1/1
« on: September 11, 2014, 10:07:40 AM »
 At the end of the old oak medieval table so long you needed roller skates to get from end sat Putin. He rubbed his hand along his thin hair feel the horns that were invisible to mankind. His long army boots his the fact his cloven hooves were tapping on the floor.

The ceiling hung 27 ft supported on massive oak beams topped the room that housed the Russian High Command. The table was lined by hard primitive chairs aimed to torture. The only comfortable seat housed Putin's tail.
The rest of the high command straggled in. All were big bearlike men with small heads. Their uniforms were plain grey chests but their broad chests rattled with medals.

Big they might be but today the seemed like lambs in the slaughter yard. Slowly almost reluctantly they made their way to their assigned seats.

They placed their folders on the table and sat back. They sat and sat. Silence froze the hall.

Putin's eyes burnt with the fires of hell. He sent a blast of brimstone down the table. “What are your reports. We'll have causalities first.

One of the men picked up his folios. His lips began moving but nothing came out. He tried again but only a squeak was heard.

The table rocked under Putin's fist. “Give the man a drink of water and if that doesn't work pour vodka down his throat.

As if inspired Putin picked up a bottle and poured a decent dose of white fire down his throat.

The man gulped down the water then coughed. “A-A-eight  t-t-thousand wounded or injured.”

Suddenly a light came on in his eyes, he stood straight. “What idiot ordered them to be dispersed to hospital all over mighty Russia. Where they could spread their hallucinations they were fighting ghost. It isn't good for moral.”

Another man spoke. “Who would be stupid enough to believe their tales of Duracell bunnies, musket carrying Red Coats. Thomas the tank engine and constructor sets.”

Yet another man spoke. “Any man stupid enough to join the Russian Army is that stupid he would believe anything.'

A chorus of Amens went up.

Putin frowned. “Durracel bunnies? Redcoats? Thomas the tank engine. I know all about constructor sets. A western invention designed to drive children mad. I was given one as a child. The bridges I built wobbled and fell over, the skyscrapers I made crumbled to the ground when a door was banged. The only thing I managed to make was a torture wrack.”

One of the man grinned. “Very handy that for the future head of the KBG.”

The original man stood up. “you have seen the TV adv. Where the toy rabbit keeps on and on?”

Putin nodded. “Western propaganda implying they do things better than us.”

The man nodded. “the rabbit is called the durracell bunny in many countries. Thomas the tank Engine is a BBC cartoon ans small models of him are very popular toys. We have no idea were the Red coats fit the picture.”

Putin sat back. “Maybe you should put me in the picture from the start.


The everything board / Crocodile tears 27
« on: September 06, 2014, 10:53:15 AM »
Andrews swallowed. “I s that a cricket helmet?”

The sergeant nodded. “HQ said we didn't need riot equipment and laughed even louder when we told them it was to protect us from an old lady. So we improvised. We figured if a helmet could protect the head from a hard as rock tennis ball weighing 5 ounces and attacking you at 100 miles an hour. It should ward off Dell's umbrella. The football shoulder pads will save broken collar bones.”

It would take some time for the constable to get back to them and whilst the sergeant arranged a forensic team Andrews returned to his office.

A gentle tap on the door caused him to open it and Jean came bubbling in. “Sorry to bother you at work but I have very good news.”

Andrew face warmed to a smile. “You're not going tomorrow.”

Jean looked like she was boiling over. “The Manager is curled up in a foetal ball in one corner of his office having pink and purple kittens. Any body sticking their head through the door is likely to be decapitated by what ever he can reach and throw. And at the same time he is calling you 57 varieties of bastard.”

Andrews chuckled. “That is education for you I can only think of 21 varieties of bastard.”

Jean laughed. “How did you do it?”

Andrews shook his head. “I didn't do it. The police have no power to keep people in town. Nobody has. But the Drugs in sport committee can tell an athlete or team  where they want drug testing and when . If the athlete doesn't show he is suspended They decided to do the tests here because of the information I sent them.”

Jean grinned. “You really sent the manager in a spin.”

Andrews nodded. “He knows by this time next week he will be joining the unemployment queues.”

Jean took a deep breath. “You mean he is mixed up in the drugs scandal.”

Andrews shook his head. 'I can't say but managerial responsibility plays a part here. Even if he doesn't know he should and could be banned for a minimum of two years from sports. But judging by the seriousness of what we have discovered it could even be life.”

Jean looked at him intently. “How does a man like him get a top job?”

He looked at her. “It's the school tie network.”

Jean nodded. “When I peeped in his room he was fingering his school tie and muttering he was going to contact his old school mate the commissioner and have your head on a platter.”

Andrews laughed. “I'm broken that many off the commissioner's rules now I expect I'll be in the same unemployment ling as your manager.”

A tap on the door dragged Andrews attention away from her. “They are ready I must go.”

It was dark as Andrews got back to his hotel, he scrubbed of the musty swamp smell. Put on fresh clothes. Then tapped on Jean's door not knowing that in doing so he was changing his life forever.

The everything board / Crocodile tears 26
« on: August 30, 2014, 10:32:27 AM »
Andrews looked at the sheet of junk the constable was balancing on the desk. “What is it. It looks like it might have come from a recreational light weight plane.”

The constable grinned. “No. I know what it is and even better where it came from.”

The door swung open and the sergeant strode in. “All going well?” 

The constable got out the running log and handed it to the sergeant who studied it. He chuckled. “I can't wait for the real Christmas. It will give me great delight to sit down and eat my share or Rasputin.”

He turned and looked at the junk on the counter. “Is this what Dell found. What is it.”

The constable moved it slightly. “It is made from reinforced Kevla. The strongest man made thing.”

The sergeant frowned. “I can see that.”

The constable shrugged. “Have you ever noticed how many bikies limp on their left legs or how many have artificial left legs?”

The Sergeant nodded. “I can't explain why but yes I have.”

The constable drummed his fingers on the junk sending a hollow plastic like ringing through the police station. “I don't know if it works or not but bikies believe that Kevla faring protects their legs in a fall. It also makes the bikes faster because they are lighter.”

The sergeant nodded patiently. “Go on.”

“Limpy Dick would be very concious of accidents as he had already lost his left leg. This is the left front faring from his bike.”

Andrews stood straight his eyes sparkling. “Are you sure this is from Limpy Dick's Harley?”

The constable nodded. “Remember he was one of the two bikies I gave the works.”

Andrews swirled to the sergeant. “I need your help with my case. This is very important. Could you send someone out to interview Dell and find where she found this.”

The sergeant turned to the constable. “Get dressed.”

They watched as the constable disappeared into the men's locker. Andrews went on. “When we find the bike can it be declared a crime scene and a forensics team be sent to the site. Now listen carefully.”

The Sergeant moved forward his ear closer to Andrews.

“If the saddle bags are still on it. I don't want them opened. They are to be taken straight of and put in a sealed forensics bag and sent to forensics. I will make up the tag as soon as we start.”

They sat discussing the details until the door to the locker opened.

Andrews looked up.

He went wide eyed. “My God.”

The everything board / Crocodile tears 26
« on: August 27, 2014, 11:09:45 AM »
The junk man smiled. “Yep; very strong and very light and if I miss my guess this is laminated to avoid vibration.”

Andrews looked at him. “But what is it?”

As the junk man left a red-faced woman burst in. “That horrible Rasputin  has raped my Mitzi again. It was horrid he jumped on her back grabbed her neck and it was to horrible to watch.”

The constable looked sternly into her eyes. “Muriel you have been told before to keep Mitzi out of his way. There is nothing we can do. You have to see the council or take civil action.”

The woman threw her arms in the air and swore. “All they tell me is keep Mitzi away from Rasputin.”

The constable shrugged. “Well what else can I do?”

The woman looked like she was ready to tear him apart limb by limb. “You could shoot the bastard.”

“Madam do you want me sent to jail? Now out with you I have important work to do.”

The woman swore and turned on her heel her dress fluttering.

As she rumbled out the door Andrews looked at the constable. “What was that all about?”

The constable was studying the object that the scrap merchant had brought in turning it at every angle. “Rasputin is a local character that makes life in a country town interesting.”

He turned the object in yet another direction and studied it. “When the Gods were handing out characteristics they accidental gave him a double dose of sexual drive. He will have sex with anything his size or smaller. And it doesn't even have to be alive.”

A chuckle interrupted his narrative. “You should've heard the ruckus the day he was running screaming down the main street his penis stuck in a Coke can.”

Andrews shook his head to clear it. “In a Coke can?”

The constable nodded ans stood the piece of junk on one end. “Yep in the ring pull. I tell you there isn't a turkey chicken in fifty miles that he hasn't fathered.”

Andrews laughed. “So he is a turkey.”

The constable nodded as he positioned the piece of Kevla once again.

Andrews watched him intently. “And who or what is Mitzi?”

The constable looked at the Kevla and moved it just a fraction. “Have you seen that shaggy toy dog. The one so hairy you don't know if it is coming or going wandering around?”

Andrews nodded.

A grin crossed the constables face. “Well that is Mitzi.”

Andrews looked at the sheet of junk the constable was balancing on the desk. “What is it. It looks like it might have come from a recreational light weight plane.”

The constable grinned. “No. I know what it is and even better where it came from.”


The everything board / I'm Still alive
« on: August 22, 2014, 09:24:51 PM »
Chemo therapy has more side effects than one can imagine. It reduces the immune system down to nothing. As a result I'm a pretty sick boy at the moment. Although not fatal I'm very weak and can't concentrate for long. Something I expect to beat in the very near future. Could you all help me out by keeping the board rolling.


The everything board / Odd dream
« on: August 18, 2014, 01:37:06 PM »
In my dream I was in a four bed hospital ward. In the far bed beside the door was Bob grooming his beard and rabbiting on about boxer his dog. Beside me was Stan, we were discussing the man who had escaped from the bed opposite me and had fled to the normality of the outer world.

The lady with a uniform on wheeled a trolley in and gave Bob and Stan a cup of coffee. She turned to walk out.

"Oi what about me?"

She turned. "Sorry love I thought you were asleep."

I turned to her. "Yes I'm asleep and dreaming."

"And what are you dreaming love?"

I grinned. "A nice lady is going to give me a coffee."

Then I woke.

The everything board / Crocodile tears 25
« on: August 18, 2014, 01:26:59 PM »
Andrews was whistling to himself. If the manager wanted to make things hard for him. He can make it hard for the manager.

As he reached his desk the phone rang. Smiling he picked it up.

The call began with the usual pleasantries but Andrews soon smiled as he came to the reason for his call. “I'm the officer investigating the disappearance of the Olympic Rower at Cookton. Whilst investigating that I have fallen into a lot of evidence of drugs in sport and the teams involvement.”

The silence at the other end confirmed he had hit home.

He smiled. “The drugs are coming up from Victoria in the saddle bags of two Dragon Venom's motor bikes. I have their names here.”

He picked up the constables notes and read out the names of the bikers.

He brightened. “Oh you already have alerts to bring them in for questioning. You can forget Hannibal 'Shorty' Dick. They passed the drugs onto Fred Lemmon.”

Andrews laughed as he was interrupted. “I can understand you could never find Fred Lemmon because his only assistance is a bank account at the CBBA bank at Parramatta N SW he is actually our missing oarsman.”

Andrews listened to the excitement at the other end. “What are you're thoughts on the team manager?”

He listened for a while. “Yes I have found he tries every think to stop my investigation. In fact he is moving the team out of the state tomorrow making some of my investigations impossible. I wonder is this deliberate. One wonders if he is up to his neck in the drug dealing going on.”

Andrews laughed. “Yes I know if you injected a brain cell into his head it would die of loneliness but involvement in the drugs is something I can't rule out at the moment.”

The call went on for ages and ended with an agreement to swap all present and future evidence which put Andrews at the fax machine when the man came in carrying the brightly coloured what ever.

He placed it on the counter. “There is plenty of things in the jungle that have scrap value. Dell comes into my yard at time to time with junk that might et her enough for another bottle of plonk. This morning she came in with this. It has no junk value but since I thought it might be of interest to you and the fact Dell brings me a lot of stuff a gave her a cheapo red.

Andrews picked it up and drew his finger down it. “It's colourful. Shiny smooth and very very light. What is it?”

The constable examined it. “It seems to be moulded Kevlar.

Andrews looked at him. “You mean the material they make bullet proof vests from.”

The junk man smiled. “Yep; very strong and very light and if I miss my guess this is laminated to avoid vibration.”

Andrews looked at him. “But what is it?”


The everything board / Crocodile tears 24
« on: August 16, 2014, 09:26:59 AM »
The woman stepped to one side. Andrews knocked on the door, then turned the handle and pushed the door open.

A wall of  burning foul language hit him in the face. He stood there swaying in the blast with a slight grin on his face.

The manager stopped for breath. Andrews smile got larger. “Sir you seem to misunderstand. This isn't the little world you rule over. This is the real world where a police investigation has precedence over all else.'

There was ice in the managers eyes. “Nothing is more important than the nations honour. Winning gold medals is more important than some puny police investigation.”

Andrews swallowed. “What happens to our honour if the gold is tainted by drugs?”

The managers desk rattle under the fist hitting it. “ASADA has given us a clean bill of health. The Russians will do any thing to steal our gold medals.”

Andrews laughed. “I didn't know Russia had a rowing team. The truth is all my evidence collected so far indicates that your team is a conduit for drugs.”

The managers face got redder and redder. “Nonsense serf. This is a Putian plot to bring his betters down.”

The man sat there fingering his tie just like the Commissioner did when he was under pressure.

Andrews drew himself up. “It seems to me that the quicker I can finish my investigations and if you are telling the truth the better for you. Why make things harder for me?”

“I have a swag of Gold medals to protect.”

Andrews shook his head as if to clear it. “I have to ask you to stop here until I have completed my investigations.”

The manager sounded like Satan as he laughed. “This is real life not the movies you can't order us to stop in town or even the state.”

Sadly Andrews shook his head. “No I can't. But I think it would be in your best interests if you did.”

“Nonsense man. We move tomorrow.”

As he left Andrews caught a glimpse of Jean's calves as she bent to do some filing. He shrugged. He had done his best but had failed. He walked back to the station bumping into things he didn't see so deep in thought was he.

On reaching the station he smiled at the constable. “Can you get ASADA on the phone and connect with the team that was here?”

Andrews was whistling to himself. If the manager wanted to make things hard for him. He can make it hard for the manager.

As he reached his desk the phone rang. Smiling he picked it up.

The everything board / Crocodile tears 23
« on: August 14, 2014, 09:23:41 AM »
He handed over the money and turned back to Jean. “Last lunch sounds almost biblical what do you mean?”

Jean looked about to cry. “We have been ordered to pack up, the whole show will be moved to Ballina tomorrow. Where there are no crocs.”

Andrews burst out laughing. “Ballina on the Richmond, interstate. Is the team manager a foreigner or just plain dumb. A rowing hull was bit in half by a man eating shark last year. The river is full of them.” 

Jean looked at him. “The team manager says the rowers will be perfectly safe in the river.”

Andrews shook his head. “Last months shark death was at the mouth of the river. Yes but there have been four shark attacks in the Richmond river already this year. The rowing hull was bitten in half at Coraki 27 miles upstream from Ballina. The Australian bull shark accounts for most fatal shark attacks and it has two sets of gills. One for fresh water and another for salt water. Have you been to the Territory and K gorge?”

She nodded sadly. “You mean looking down on the sharks from the cliffs above it?”

“Exactly. You can see the sharks hunting in clear water 217 miles from the sea.”

Tears were seeping down her face. “Why are you laughing. You know what this means?”

He nodded. “I was laughing at the stupidity of some men.”

Jean looked at him. “The manager got the job because of his old school tie. He is from the Eaton Grammar system.”

Andrews grinned. “That explains a lot. 'We who are born to rule no matter how dumb we are.'”

Despite herself Jean giggled. “I think you added that second part onto their motto.”

They sat silently for a while the Andrews got up. “Here I will walk you back to your offices.”

Hand in hand they walked slowly back to the rowing HQ. Andrews only released her hand when they had entered and approached the receptionist.

He fronted the girl. “I must see the manager immediately.”

The girl looked at him like he was something a dog had deposited on the side walk. “Do you have an appointment?”

Andrews waved his badge under her nose.

She straightened up. “He is very busy today. I'm under instructions not to let any one in. Even Jesus himself.”

Andrews started towards the door marked manager. The girl tried to step in front of him. Andrews smiled and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Miss Lemon sweeten up. Do you want to be arrested for obstructing a police officer in his pursuit of duty?”

She looked confused. “My name isn't Lemon.”

Andrews nodded. “Well. You are as bitter as one. What name do I put on the charge sheet?”

The woman stepped to one side. Andrews knocked on the door, then turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The everything board / Crocodile tears 22
« on: August 11, 2014, 12:19:22 PM »
The woman looked at Jean. “It is only rhinos do you want sides?”

Jeans eyes lit up. “My favourite. A fitting last lunch here. No sides thanks.”

Andrews felt an empty feeling in his chest as he jerked up. “Last lunch?”

Jean looked like she was about to answer when a man somewhere in his eighties shuffled up to the pair.

The man must've been between 70 and eighty pounds, he walked with a bent back and his bony fingers were gnarled with arthritis. “Sorry Jean all I could catch last night were rhinos.”

Jean smiled and looked at Andrews. “Meet our host. Fred. He goes out every night in a small clinker boat that belongs in a museum. No motor just oars. A Tilley pressure lamp on a pole. What ever he catches becomes the catch of the day the next morning.”

The man coughed. “Our pension is more than enough to keep us. But retirement is boring. This gives us an interest in life.”

The old lady shuffled up carrying an oval platter about two foot long filled to overflowing with read small shrimp.

The man put a bottle of beer on the table and opened it pouring two glasses.

Andrews looked at it. “I'm on duty. I can't have beer.”

Jean giggled. “It isn't beer. It's rhino sauce. Take a sip and roll it in your mouth.”

Reluctantly Andrews did.

Then Jean took a shrimp. “Be careful. The horn can go half way through your finger.”

Andrews picked up a shrimp and looked at the single horn on its head. “I can see why they call then rhinos. Rhinoceros shrimp right.?”

 Jean looked at him. “Strip the tail and enjoy it before the beer esters dissipate.

As he chewed the shrimp a look of approval flooded his face. “Terrific.”

The shrimp flew off the plate as they sipped their beers.

Andrews reached for another shrimp but withdrew his hand as he realised it was the last one.

Jean's smile caused his hear to race.

Andrews sat back and rubbed his stomach. “What did you mean. Last lunch?”

Before Jean could answer the old woman shuffled up and gave Andrews the bill.

He studied it wide eyed. “This must be a mistake.”

The old woman smiled. “No mistake.”

Andrews looked at the bill again. “You serve up a meal fit for a god and that big I feel bloated and all you want for 2 meals is $11.80 your robbing yourselves.”

He handed over the money and turned back to Jean. “Last lunch sounds almost biblical what do you mean?”

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