Free Riddle Gully Runaway by Jen Banyard Page A

didn’t want to run out on Gran like he had, but he was better out of the way.
    â€˜Hey kid! You ignoring me?’ Benson became aware, over the music in his ears, of a gruff voice. He turned to see the Duke, as the other workers called him — a stocky man in his forties. The Duke was a few metres away and holding out a packet of cigarettes, a teasing look in his eyes under his wiry raised brows.
    Benson pulled out an earphone and shook his head — ‘No thanks’. He resumed staring at the sky. The joke was old already — they knew he didn’t smoke — but the other men bent their heads together and chuckled gleefully every time.
    â€˜Into your second day and ya haven’t come said g’day. Bit posh for us are ya?’
    This was off-script, thought Benson. ‘No, course not.’ He forced a smile at the Duke.
    â€˜Then come and have a chat with the boys and me.’
    â€˜Sure,’ said Benson. He pushed off the fence. The Duke headed for the cluster of workers and Benson followed.
    â€˜Only one rule,’ said the Duke as the men shuffled to make room for them.
    â€˜What’s that?’
    â€˜You gotta have a little puff every once in a while to come stand with us.’
    There was a round of hard, flat laughs and a few coughs.
    Benson shook his head and stretched a smile. ‘Nah, no way. It killed my granddad. Sorry.’
    The Duke took a drag and allowed the smoke to drift slowly from the corner of his mouth. ‘We got a problem then. If you stand over there all by yourself, how do we know what sort of a fella you are? How do we know we can trust you? The boys here get toey if a bloke don’t join in.’ He looked around the grinning group. ‘Don’t ya, boys?’
    The men nodded and smirked.
    â€˜But we like to think we’re reasonable,’ said the Duke. He scratched the stubble of his whiskers slowly, keeping his eye on Benson, thinking. ‘How’s about …’ — the men looked at one another expectantly and giggled — ‘… a bit of a prank? Harmless. No one hurt.’
    Benson scuffed the ground beneath his rubber boot. ‘What kind of prank?’
    â€˜All we want you to do,’ said the Duke, ‘is come back here tonight and take the boss’s family portrait from his desk.’
    â€˜Here — at the abattoir? But I’d have to break in, wouldn’t I? I’m not breaking any laws for you,’ said Benson.
    The Duke laughed. ‘You’ve been breakin’ laws sleepin’ in the shed out the back of the Royal Arms the past two nights,’ he said. ‘Yeah, that’s right. Tony’s missus is a cleaner there. You’ve been spotted, kid. Lucky no one’s put the law onto you already! A door jimmied open here, a lock smashed there — it’s all the same to a copper.’
    Benson shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground.
    â€˜Frankly, young fella,’ said the Duke, ‘you’re a bit on the nose. You wanna warm shower and a nice soft bed, am I right?’
    Before Benson could stop himself, he nodded.
    â€˜Well, take the photo from the boss’s office tonight and Tony’s missus will square it so’s you get a free room at the pub for a few days — no questions asked.’
    Benson imagined the dirt and stink of the abattoir swirling down a plughole. ‘Sounds fair,’ he mumbled.
    â€˜It’s more than fair.’ The Duke turned to his workmates. ‘It’s downright charitable of us, wouldn’t you say lads?’
    The men nodded, smirking.
    â€˜Thanks,’ said Benson flatly.
    â€˜Don’t mention it,’ said the Duke. ‘And then, like I say, we’ll know we can trust you. You’ll be one of us.’
    A siren sounded and the workers began stubbing their butts on the gravel and drifting toward the abattoir door. ‘One little thing,’ said the Duke.
    Benson