"Hey, look at that, man!" Jason turned to Tatua. "What's he takin  pictures of...."
   "That's Clive the Poofter's house.....! - he he he he, ha  ha...." Tatua stifled  further  laughter and peered intently from behind the big bush they had sidled  into.
   "Yeh - hey,  he mus be takin pictures of Clive. Whadya think Clive's  doin, ay?"
   "......hey John's real busy, ay, we could get on over there and get in  his door. He's  alone now. His wife went off with the Rastas...
 "  "Hey make it quiet, man..." Jason steered Tatua towards the door. "He  must have  sumpin there we could flog off for some bread to buy hooter.... maybe  even some money,  hey!"
   John had just taken his fifth photo. He was lining up a sixth. He  detected something  and looked behind him, carefully lowering the camera down on to the tin.  Suddenly there  was a scrape of stone on stone - a scuff..........
   "Hey what the shit.........!"
   "Jeez man... he's seen us", Jason stared into the air, straight into  John's eyes. They  were halfway up the drive heading for the door.
   John stood up full length, the strap of the camera twanging. He'd  recognised those  two. They were notorious sniffers and dopers in the town. They'd be  after his hootch!
   "BY SHIT I'M GOIN TO GET YOUSE TWO...." he shouted.
   Hearing the commotion on the roof, Clive and Boyd, now well into their  'routine',  looked up at John's roof. They saw Clive's neighbour with the now  swinging camera,   tottering with red-faced anger.
   "Shit, he's doing pics of us! Clive turned to Boyd as they hurriedly  struggled with  condom, clothes; each other to try to regain some appearance of  normality.
    "He must have been watching," Boyd said limply, "What sort of  neighbours have  you got?"
   Jason and Tatua scrambled away from the front door and raced round to  where  John's Holden ute was parked in the drive. It was near the entrance to  the drive and they  might have to scarper pretty quick.
   "GET AWAY FROM THAT UTE.....!" screamed John. He lurched  forward, his  legs tangling with the camera strap. He fell and began to roll towards  the edge of the roof.  His feet caught the edge of the guttering and he plunged, head over  heels into the tray of the  ute with a huge CLUNNG....NG!!
   The cardboard boxes in the ute burst and the plastic bags in them  cracked and split  open. All the newly packed marijuana leaves and heads flopped about in  the back of the  ute. John and Clive were going to deal with them that night. Meantime it  didn't matter if they  dried out a bit in the boxes in the ute. John was totally immobile, his  neck broken.
   Jason and Tatua leaned over the tray of the ute.
   "Shit, I think he's dead, ay!" Tatua looked at the funny angle  of John's head,  the  eyes half open staring calmly into nowhere. Their eyes rounded when they  saw all the  marijuana.
   "He He Hee He Hee, haha...." Jason teetered nervously. "Hey man,  see if  the key  is in the ignition." It wasn't, but a few seconds searching around the  cab revealed a bunch of  keys, tucked under the mat. They clambered into the cab.
  "You drive this thing?" Jason asked Tatua.
 "Yeh man - here we go....did you see all that dope!"
  "Course I did. Get goin - get GOIN!"
  Just at that point, Clive had leaped over the fence and was advancing  towards the  ute. He, along with Boyd, had seen John plummet off the roof and  calculated from the angle  - and from the noise, that John had crashed into the tray. He'd just  reached it as Tatua was  gunning up the motor and crashing it into first gear.
  Clive and Boyd stood there heaving and puffing with fright and Clive,  in particular, in  terror... He turned to Boyd.
  "Those kids've got our hootch," he screamed. "I think mad John  is dead...."  Clive  turned to Boyd, "Come with me!"
  The ute lurched out onto the roadway just as Clive was revving his Ford  Falcon V8  up in his drive. The race had started!