Life was a bit lonely for John these days. When he tired of talking to
his long wave friends on 80 metres all over the world until very late at
nights, he would clamber up on to the roof. With his binoculars - provided
the weather was okay, of course, he would train his eyes on anything interesting
that was going on in the neighbourhood. And he always had his camera with
him. People might have wondered why he always appeared to be fixing his
roof, or adjusting his dipole again, he thought.
This day was no exception except that it was in the middle of the day.
Might as well kill two birds with one stone, he thought. The house next
door was, yet again, a paint-peeled villa but with a difference. Clive,
who lived over there alone had installed a really big aluminium window
in the back part. It was not visible from the street though. Clive was
a strange guy. A closet gay. Not too many of those around in these days
of "open secrets" gay pride, demonstrations and articles in the
Argus saying how good, wonderful, all this gay crap was and how
we all had to be so nice to all these disgusting poofters.
He and Clive had only one thing in common. Their crop. They shared thework
and the spoils of their highly illegal labour. This was the time of year
when the low-flying helicopters swooped around like lazy dragon-flies,
lifting out almost tons of cannabis plants. Some said up to 15,000
plants last year. They would lift them up in slings, the seeds shattering
and splattering all over the countryside, ensuring a decent sort of crop
much later in the year and even into next season. The stuff grew wild.
It was wonderful.
to keep the courts and lawyers, not to speak of the police, undercovers
and drug squads, judges, prison officers and other sundry hangers-on
to the industry, in employment, and well enough off to
enjoy the nicer things in life. Some even liked having the
odd puff themselves. In secret, of course, John mused.
Their own patch was cunningly selected. The church at West Heremunga
was only used a dozen or so times a year. The Anglican Vicar
who had services there every fourth Sunday regarded the
parishioners as a bunch of scumbags anyway and who knows, he was
probably right! There was never any maintenance done on the church or
grounds. Nobody to fish or fossick around where they were not
There was a really good swamp out the back. It was just a matter of
growing the plants in plastic bags and sitting them on pallets.
There would be automatic watering through the bottom
of the bags. The little old brown weatherboard church had a really
high spire on it and the copter boys avoided the area like
poison, in case they crashed into it. They'd end up crucified!
Ha Ha Ha!
Suddenly there was a click at Clive's front gate. John crouched down
behind the chimney as an older sort of guy, thickset and with
long stringy hair and thick lips came into sight up the
driveway and around to the back of Clive's place. He was wearing
a tight skivvy with wet patches under the arms. You could see
his thick chest hair thrusting against the tightness
of the garment. John saw Clive answer the back door and open it wide.
His ears just caught the sound of their voices.
"Oh, hello." said Clive, "you must be Boyd - please, please, do
There was a period of about five minutes while Clive and his visitor,
Boyd sat and peered at what looked like magazines. Then Clive
turned on the television and got a video tape from a
row of them on a shelf next to the set.
The set sprang to life and John peered at the forms on the screen as
they wove back and forth, pinkly, clutching and thrusting at
each other. It wasn't too long before Clive and his visitor
were into it themselves! One had a condom. Clean bugger, anyway.
John nodded with approval. Enough to make you throw up, regardless.
John's hands were shaking and the images in his camera viewfinder were
wavering around in front of his eyes. It wasn't often that
he'd got such a good sight of Clive's performances with
guys. Usually, Clive pulled a net curtain across the big window at
night and although John guessed at what was going along inside,
he could never really see just precisely what it was.
John looked all around at the empty street. He focussed the
camera carefully - the big telefoto lens which had also escaped
his ex-wife's matrimonial clutches, was ideal for