Davo's Little Something by Robert G. Barrett Read Free Book Online Page A

her.
    There you are, sir,’ she said pleasantly, as she handed Davo the two articles in a white paper bag with the name of the pharmacy on it. Thank you very much. And don’t forget Saturday night,’ she added with a whisper.
    â€˜As good as gold,’ whispered Davo. ‘Thank you, miss.’ He smiled at her for a moment then turned and walked casually from the shop.
    Sandra had a smile on her face too as she watched him walk out the door. Well he finally got round to asking me our she thought whimsically, as Davo disappeared amongst the other shoppers. I don’t suppose I can actually accuse him of sexual harassment or monstering me. It’s only taken him a year. She couldn’t help but chuckle to herself as she stared out the door after him.
    â€˜Are you alright, Sandra?’ came a voice to her rear.
    â€˜Huh?’ She turned around to see the owner looking at her curiously. ‘Yes. Sure, Mr Gilmore. It was just something that customer said—that’s all.’ She smiled at the owner and went back to stacking the shelves.
    The sun had started to go down and a chilly, westerly wind was whipping along the quickly darkening, concrete canyon of Oxford Street Bondi Junction as Davo strode past Grace Bros towards Bondi Road and the warmth of home. The people huddled at the bus-stops or swarming along the bleak, windy footpaths blinked their eyes against the dust and grit swirling in the air and buried their necks further into the collars of their jackets as they cursed the bitter westerly that chafed their lips and stung their ears. Jesus I reckon I’ll be wearingsomething a bit warmer than this tomorrow thought Davo, stuffing his hands deeper into the pockets of his windcheater. He felt the piece of paper with Sandra’s phone number on it, stopped, pulled it out and opened it. Have a look at that. Can you bloody believe it. He stood there smiling and shaking his head, stared at it for a moment or two before folding it neatly and placing it in a safe part of his wallet. He jogged across Oxford Street to get a newspaper off a kid who was still shivering despite a heavy layer of scarves and jackets then, at a brisk pace, headed up Bondi Road; despite the cold Davo was smiling and whistling and walking along like he had wings on his feet.
    The six pm news was just starting when Davo walked into his home unit and turned on the kitchen radio, hitting the switch for the electric kettle at the same time. He rubbed his hands together and stared out the plate glass, sliding kitchen door that led onto a balcony with a good view across Bondi Road and Waverley Oval. One of the local rugby league teams was training on the main ground. On the adjacent fields several other teams of young men were playing touch football under the milky, yellow glow thrown out by the ground lights which had just blinked on. Even from where he stood Davo could see how cold and miserable it looked and gave a little shudder; he was glad it was them running around out there in the wintry darkness and not him.
    The unit being on the second floor, Davo got quite a good view of the oval and beyond and with the two bedrooms at the back, he missed nearly all the traffic noise of busy Bondi Road. Sometimes he’d go for a jog round the park adjacent to the oval for twenty or thirty minutes and maybe do a few sit-ups in his large garage downstairs but training was never Davo’s forte. He was always going to put a proper gym in the garage but the longer he left it the more he seemed to lose interest, plenty of swimming in the summer months would do him; besides, working in a butcher shop was exercise enough wasn’t it?
    He made a cup of coffee and started thumbing idly through the paper, spread out on the bar-type kitchen table. There wasn’t a great deal in the headlines. Some new group of terroristshad hijacked a French plane and were going to blow it up. A mob of skinheads had beat up some gays in Oxford