Wingnut

'Oh, that he is,' Luke replied ruefully. 'You ever live or work on a farm?'

'Nope, but my mother is a champion rose grower. What do you need me to do?'

Luke held up a bucked.

'How do you feel about hand weeding?' he asked.

'If you've got gloves and a weeding tool, let me at it,' she said.

Two hours later they broke for coffee. It had rained that week and they'd easily pulled up buckets of weeds, but they were still hot, sweaty, and ready to sit down.

Luke sipped his cuppa and stared at the woman sitting in front of him. She was a good, hard worker; she'd been head down bum up the whole morning. Her hair was damp, her face was glowing pink, and her shirt was stuck to her body with sweat. She smelt of sunscreen and the earth, and her smile was magical.

'This is such a beautiful place,' she said. 'What happened to Mrs Luke?'

'There's never been one.'

'Didn't want one?'

'Never found the right one,' he admitted.

She regarded him carefully, and he could tell from the expression on her face she wanted to say something, but she didn't.

'I'm thinking of going to a farmer's market tomorrow,' Luke said. 'The coordinator rang me this morning and asked if I wanted a spot. Would you like to accompany me?'

'Do you need me to accompany you?' she asked teasingly. 'Or are you trying to get a would-be Mrs Luke off your back?'

Ah, women. He thought he understood them, and often he probably did, but they also had the uncanny knack of knowing when men were up to something.

'Her name's Marlene,' he said simply.

Shelley grinned. 'Point her out and I'll kiss you in front of her.'

Kissing was a pleasant thought, but Shelley did much more than kiss him after dinner that night. Despite the gloves her hands had blistered, and she was slightly sunburned and dehydrated, but she was obviously in the mood for loving, because she walked out of the bathroom in a pair of white cotton short shorts and a matching, transparent singlet through which two erect nipples poked.

No alarm bells went off in Luke's head, so he neatly picked her up and carried her into his bedroom. Once there, he divested her of her clothing and surveyed the incredible sight of a naked and willing woman. Tan lines indicated she'd been wearing a bikini recently, and her pussy was smooth shaven, but it was her smile that got him. Cheeky, provocative, and entirely shameless.

He was soon balls deep, sliding in and out of her slick twat, and enjoying the variety of moans she was making. He came after what he felt was a suitable period of time, and afterwards lay cuddled up beside her, giving her a scalp massage in lieu of the orgasm he'd failed to help her achieve.

More sex followed the next morning; quick sex, as they loaded up the produce they'd picked and packed the night before, and then it was off to Brisbane before the sun had even begun to rise. They ate hot buttered corn and drank luridly coloured slushees for breakfast, before selling their wares at a rapid rate. Shelley's charms weren't lost on the husbands, who happily followed their offspring to her table.

Marlene made an appearance but stopped dead in her tracks when she caught sight of Shelley. She knew when she was beaten.

Luke was happy. He realised he wouldn't mind Shelley hanging around pretty much forever.

Of course, having determined this, that wasn't what happened. They went to bed on Sunday night – no sex, he was fifty-seven, not thirty-seven, there was only so much he was physically capable of achieving – and woke up on Monday morning to find Shelley missing and a note on the kitchen table.

Sorry to cut and run. Thanks for a wonderful weekend.

Xxx

Shelley

Luke wasn't entirely surprised. She wasn't the sort of woman who would have stayed, was she? That had just been an idle daydream of his, one that he'd conjured up yesterday lunchtime, as they packed up the table and headed back home.

That was when he saw the cash tin he used at the farmer's market. It was still sitting on the bench, right next to his wallet.

Luke opened both, already knowing what he'd find, but hoping he might be proven wrong. He wasn't. Shelley had left his credit card, but taken yesterday's takings, as well as the hundred or so dollars cash he'd had in his wallet.

There was an IOU in the tin, stating the precise amounts of money she'd filched from the money box and his wallet. Luke crumpled up the note, threw it in the general direction of the bin, and sighed. It was already five past six. It was time to have a shower and high tail it to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason missed his wife and son. They'd left Friday afternoon and it was now Monday morning. He had nearly four whole weeks left on his lonesome.

He only had one job to do today; mowing the area around Jock's house, so the uppity Scottish cunt could show all his neighbours how a lawn should look, and he was in no rush to go there. He rolled over and reached for his phone. It was flashing, indicating a message had been received, and he unlocked the screen and read the missive.

Mate, I know you were only supposed to work Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday at the farm this week, but would you be free today at all? Bought some land recently and the sale settled on Friday. There's a good amount of African Boxthorn that needs to be removed. Was hoping you could help me and one of the boys get started on it today? Thanks, Kyle.

Given the choice between spending an hour or two at Jock's house perched on the man's fairway mower, or eight hours under the hot sun digging out thorny weeds, there was really only one possible choice. Jason picked up his phone and asked Kyle the start time, the address, and what he needed to bring with him.

Jason had heard more than one person remark that Kyle O'Sullivan was not the best of farmers. He had a 2IC who was good at that. What Kyle was good at was strategizing, and machinery maintenance, and paying people on time. Hard work but fair pay, no bullshit, no gossip, just get in and do it. Jason's personal favourite.

They finished just after four. A lot had been accomplished and that was always good, wasn't it? It was a nice thing to look around at the end of the day and see a difference. It was also pleasant when instead of bitching and whinging, the boss said 'thanks mate, see you tomorrow' and acted like he meant it.

Which meant that going to Jock's house was now less appealing than it had been that morning. He'd already worked one day for Kyle and had another three days' work lined up. On Thursday he'd be working with a bloke who did landscaping, prepping and laying turf. Friday night he was lined up to do his usual fortnightly mow for a widow in town who had a checkerboard effect on her lawn and was more than willing to pay Jason to maintain her preferred pattern. Saturday was going to be spent slashing three different acreage lifestyle blocks.

All up, he was due to gross over eighteen hundred that week. The work for the landscaper and the widow would be done through his business, so he'd need to pay for his insurance, fuel, business and personal taxes, and Kyle would, of course, tax him, but when it was all said and done, he'd probably net around twelve hundred for the week. Jock's work, when stepped tax tables, fuel and goods and services tax were taken account, would probably only net him an extra fifty or sixty. It wasn't worth it, was it?

Fuck it, he'd have to do it anyway. It was autumn. He'd end up working three days a week if he was lucky in the depths of winter, and it wasn't as if the mortgage wouldn't need paying just because the weather was cold. He needed to make every post a winner while he could, and he needed to keep every client on side.

Jock's house was situated on a hectare house yard, and ordinarily Jason would use his zero turn on a lawn that size, but Jock, like the widow, preferred cylinder mowing and some years ago had bought a fairway mower from a golf course so he could experience a quality mow on a large block. As such, Jason didn't need to supply any equipment, just his labour.

He got in his car and drove directly to Jock's farm. Fuck, he was looking forward to today being over and going home and seeing Mandy and Devin and... oh, that's right. Amanda and Devin were in China. Shit.

Jason pulled into Jock's driveway, got out of the car, and walked up to the house. He reminded himself not to lose his temper, no matter how much the old bastard pissed him off, and knocked on the door.

There was no answer. Of course there bloody wasn't. He'd texted Jock this morning, to let him know he'd be coming around at four, not at nine as previously discussed. Jock hadn't answered, but he often didn't. He preferred to yell and rant in person. It was now four thirty-four, so Jock was probably preparing to unleash a load of profanities on the only man in the district who could and would cylinder mow his lawn for under a hundred dollars.

Jason waited for the kelpie to come running out. Erin was Jock's only true friend, the only soul on the face of the earth to have somehow touched the angry farmer's heart. Her nature was the opposite of her owner; she was friendly, outgoing, and embraced everyone with open arms. Or paws, given she was a dog and not a human.

Jason knocked once more, and was again rewarded with silence. He pursed his lips. He stepped back and glanced at the driveway. Jock's car was in the driveway. Jason knew the farmer had an old motorcycle in the shed, but Jock had told him he no longer rode - left knee was in too bad a shape for him to be changing gears - so it was cars, and automatic ones at that, wherever possible. That meant he had to be at home.

Perhaps he was out somewhere on the farm. Jason pulled out his phone and rung Jock's number. There was no answer, but from somewhere inside the house, Jason could hear the stock standard Samsung ring tone.

Jason paced around the entry way, weighing up the facts. Jock's car was in the driveway. His phone was inside. The dog was nowhere to be seen. Jock wasn't answering his phone. Did that, or did that not, indicate something might be awry?

Maybe the old coot had had a fall. Or, maybe, he was asleep. But if he'd had a fall, or was asleep, surely the Kelpie would be out, barking madly, her red furry body wriggling in anticipation as she waited for a pat?

Or, or, Jason thought, the canny old bastard is hiding out, waiting for me to mow his lawn without getting my usual, up-front payment. He bristled at the thought. Neither Jason nor his wife earned a huge amount of money. They were comfortable enough, in a working class way, but they didn't have a giant fucking farm or new cars, and the tractor Jason owned as part of his slashing business was a lot older and less fancy than Jock's.

There was absolutely no way Jason was doing a minute's work without getting paid. And, with anger brewing at an incredibly fast rate, he wasn't going to be wasting any time knocking on Jock's door, either. The stupid fuckwit could either answer the next knock, or Jason would be going home to take off his boots, have a beer and think about making himself dinner.

He hammered angrily on the door, and nearly face-planted when it unexpectedly swung wide open.

'Shit,' he yelped, stumbling forward. He managed to keep himself upright, but the near miss put him in an even dirtier mood. 'Jock!' he yelled. 'Jock! I'm here to do the lawn.'

The house seemed deathly quiet. Jason rolled his eyes heavenward, baffled as to how he had found himself in this predicament, and half-expecting for Jock to come barrelling out to the front door, armed with his rifle. That would be a fucking good end to his day, wouldn't it? Dealing with a sixty year old man with a twenty year old Browning, screaming at him that he was a rip off merchant and should be ashamed of his pricing.

Something was off. Jason froze and tried to identify what it was that was making his skin crawl. Very slowly, he again rolled his eyes, this time being careful to observe what it was he was seeing.

Bullet holes. There were holes in the ceiling, two of them, and fresh by the looks of things. Jason's heart began to thump. He wasn't a brave man. He made no claims to heroism. He was just a regular slob, already almost completely bald, with a beard that made it near impossible for him to get prescriptions filled, because pharmacists always felt he was a dodgy sort who needed intense questioning. He was missing his back left molar, after a failed root canal, and he dressed in work clothes six days a week, and in chain store cloths on the seventh. Nobody's hero. Nobody's alpha male. He didn't even have a big dick. Flaccid, it was an abomination. He belonged to the category of men who were 'hard core growers', something which had caused his wife endless amounts of amusement over the years.

'Jock,' he called out, cautiously creeping forward. 'Jock, mate, are you home?'

Why, oh fucking why, was there no answer? Why was he required to put his life on the line in the name of decency?

Perhaps he should head to the living room and have a poke around under the lounge suite for the fabled gun. He'd been in the house a couple of times, so he knew where to look. Not that he could shoot – something he bitterly regretted at that moment – but holding a firearm would make him feel more comfortable.

Jason poked his head around the corner and into the lounge, not wanting to surprise anyone who might be hiding out in there. He laughed at the thought the moment it came into his mind. Anyone who was in the house would have to be damn hard of hearing to have missed hearing him tumble inside.

He walked into the lounge, crouched down, and peered under the sofa. There, just as Joe Eastwood had claimed, was a rifle. He picked it up and pondered his next move. He'd need to look through the house. He'd need to try and find Jock.

Jason searched every room, one by one, his fears for his safety being replaced by concerns for Jock's as he tried in vain to find some hint or clue as to where Jock and the kelpie might be. When he'd finished his investigation, he again surveyed each room. Again, there was nothing. No sign of Jock.

On his third tour, Jason searched not for Jock or the dog, but for clues. It was then that he saw Jock's phone, wallet and money tin on the kitchen table. Jason opened the wallet and money tin. Both were empty.

Jason picked up his phone and called the police.

~~~~~~~~~

The cops took a remarkably laissez faire attitude towards Jason's call, and told him they'd be around in a few hours. Some machinery had been stolen from a farm half an hour away, and that was a priority over a few bullet holes that may or may not have been made recently, and a farmer who may well have been working on a back corner of his property.

Feeling slightly foolish, Jason returned the rifle to it's position underneath the couch, then went outside to see if Jock's neighbour, Luke, was home. Luke had had a workplace accident last year which had rendered him incapable of caring for his small plot of land for a month, and Jason had picked up a few hour's work out of it. Luke had paid him twenty-five bucks an hour cash in hand to plant, spray, weed and harvest, and at the end of it, Jason had been slightly regretful to say good-bye.

Luke was at home and was inside, and when he saw Jason he ushered him in.

'Sorry mate,' Jason apologised. 'I was just around at Jock's house, but I can't see any sign of him or the dog. This might sound a bit weak, but when I knocked on the door it fell clean open, and there are a few bullet holes in the ceiling of the entryway. Suppose I might've just got a bit spooked, but I called the cops anyway. They'll be here in an hour or two. I was just thinking that if you knew where he was, I might call them back and save them a bit of time.'

Luke blinked.

'That doesn't sound good,' he said. 'Maybe I should go and have a look.'

The two men headed over to Jock's house, walked inside, and inspected the bullet holes. Jason wondered if perhaps he'd acted irrationally, but when Luke spoke, he confirmed what Jason had suspected.

'That's fresh,' Luke said. He kicked a boot in the direction of some dust on the floor. 'Look. Plaster dust.'

'That was my thought,' Jason agreed, even though he hadn't notice the plaster dust until that point.

'Better have a poke around,' Luke said.

Unlike Jason, Luke didn't seem to have any concerns about armed bogeymen jumping out and attacking them. He methodically searched the house, stopping when he saw the opened wallet and money tin.

'He's been robbed,' Luke surmised.

'Yeah.'

'This isn't good,' Luke remarked. 'Fresh bullet holes, signs of a theft, and not a whisper of Erin or Jock. When did the cops say they were going to be here?'

'Two hours.'

Luke shook his head. 'This really isn't good.'

'No,' Jason echoed.

Luke's eyes drifted over to the wallet and money box. Jason followed the man's gaze and frowned. Jock was known for being slow to pay people. Suppliers, tradesmen, anyone he could screw over, he would. Who was it Joe Eastwood had said was owed twenty-two hundred? Robert. Yes, Robert, the young electrician who a year ago had quit his job and started his own business, in direct competition to his old employer.

Robert's actions had had caused a bit of scandal at the time, and obviously the old boss wasn't too happy about the state of affairs – and Jason didn't blame him – because he was all too willing to get in the ear of a man like Jock and talk shit about his former protégé.

'Do you think someone came around to collect a debt and things got out of hand?' Jason asked. 'I heard one of the local electricians is owed over two grand.'

'I heard the Eastwood boy say something about that on Friday night,' Luke agreed. 'But Robert is far from the only person who's owed money, and I can't see him being the type to pick up a rifle and come barging in, demanding money, and ending up murdering Jock.'

'No,' Jason agreed. From what he'd seen of Robert, he was a soft sort. Not the type of man you pictured losing his temper in a violent rage. 'If you don't mind me saying, though, you keep staring at the wallet and money tin. Got any thoughts?'

'I do, actually, and before the coppers get here, I wouldn't mind getting your opinion,' Luke said. 'Perhaps we should go for a walk around the property and see if we can spot Jock or Erin while we talk.'

'No worries,' Jason agreed.

The two men left the house via the back door and began to undertake a search of the yards, sheds and adjoining fields. As they walked, Luke told Jason about Shelley. No detail was spared, except for the nitty gritty details of what went on in bed, although judging from Luke's lack of boasting, Jason was confident that had been an enjoyable experience for the older man.

Luke told him of his suspicions that Shelley was running from someone, her lack of mobile phone, her vague answers about her past and finally, the theft of the money from Luke's money tin and wallet.

'She left you an IOU specifying the amount she took?' Jason asked incredulously.

Luke gave a short, sharp nod.

'She did,' he agreed. 'Maybe it was her way of softening the blow.'

Jason tried to think back to Friday night. He'd seen the woman in the bar but hadn't paid her much attention. He'd been to busy thinking of Mandy and Devin.

'Maybe she didn't want you calling the cops,' Jason argued.

'Cynic,' Luke muttered.

'Well, you didn't call them, did you?' Jason prodded. 'So if that's what she was aiming for, she achieved it. You also need to consider the possibility that it wasn't a man she was running from, but the law. Whereabouts did you say she was from?'