A Croc Called Capone by Barry Jonsberg Read Free Book Online Page A

busy getting himself on the outside of a large burger and fries and wouldn’t have noticed if someone had set off fireworks in his shorts. But as soon as he’d finished eating, he pushed back his chair.
    â€˜Where you off to, Dyl?’ I asked.
    â€˜Need a quick word with someone,’ he replied. ‘Back in ten.’
    As soon as he said this, I knew. Sure enough, he headed straight for Goliath’s table. I bolted down the rest of my food and followed him.
    Look, I said I was terrified of this dude. And I was. But Dyl is my mate. What’s a small matter of confronting a mammoth serial killer when it comes to looking out for your mate?
    Well, a lot, actually. But I went anyway.
    â€˜Hey, Marc,’ said Dylan. ‘Meet Murray. Murray Small.’
    Small?
    I couldn’t help myself. I automatically put my hand out and the colossus shook it. This was a worrying moment. Murray appeared very capable of leaving me with a bloodied and mashed stump where my fingers had been. Either that, or he would whip out a chainsaw and carve his initials in us. That’s a popular choice among serial killers – at least, this is what my research of horror flicks suggests. But when he let go, my hand was still in one piece. I flexed my fingers and found, to my surprise, that they still worked. I sat.
    â€˜How ya going, mate?’ said Murray. He had piercing blue eyes set among a nest of wrinkles. I could see the reflection of the overhead fan sweeping over his shaved head. It was vaguely unnerving.
    â€˜Good. How are you?’ I replied.
    What was going on here? I had no idea of the correct way of conversing with a mass murderer, but I suspected ‘How are you?’ was not in the book of etiquette. But, when I thought about it, ‘Do you prefer dismemberment or acid baths in the disposal of corpses?’ was unlikely to hit the right note either.
    â€˜I’m really good. Isn’t this a terrific place? I was just saying to your mate, here, that I come for a holiday at this resort every year. Can’t keep away.’
    â€˜It’s great so far,’ I said. ‘But it’s our first time and we only arrived today.’
    â€˜I know. Saw you on the bus. But, trust me, you’ll love it here.’
    I hate to say this, but Murray appeared to be a very nice guy. He had a ready smile and he apparently wasn’t bothered by two kids inviting themselves to his dinner table. Then again, killers must be able to put on a good front to the world. They live next door to someone . Hold down jobs. For all I know, they do volunteer work and video their kids at school performances.
    â€˜Can I ask you a personal question, Murray?’ said Dyl.
    Now. You never know with Dyl. It was fifty-fifty he’d come out with something like, ‘Do you need good marks at school to be a serial killer?’ So I held my breath.
    â€˜Go for ya life, mate,’ said Murray.
    â€˜What do you do for a job?’ asked Dyl.
    Murray took a long drink from his glass, ran a hand over his scalp and pushed his plate away.
    â€˜Guess,’ he said.
    â€˜Wrestler?’ tried Dyl. ‘Bouncer, maybe. Hang on, I know. Bodyguard to the stars. You’re an enforcer.’
    Murray laughed. In fact, he laughed so hard he doubled over, his forehead almost touching the table. After a few moments he straightened and wiped tears from his eyes.
    â€˜Well, mate,’ he said. ‘I can’t blame you. I sure look the part. Enforcer, hey? I wish. No, mate. ’Fraid it’s nothing as glamorous as that. I’m a Consultant Paediatrician.’
    Dylan’s eyes widened. ‘A what?’
    â€˜A doctor for children,’ I explained. Dylan appeared to be relieved.
    â€˜So what do you do in your spare time?’ he continued.
    I think this was Dyl’s attempt at low cunning. He was probably hoping Murray would say something like, ‘Oh, this and that. Bit of serial killing on