Jerks in Kibble

Bob had a happy home, close to nature, infrastructure, and an artificial stream.

Sure, it leaked when the rain came, and the winter wind whistled through, but he was content.

So when the boys in blue came around with an eviction notice, you could say that he was not best pleased.

Bob had only had the place a few days. He was still settling in. Getting things set up how he liked. Unpacking.

Bob asked them to explain why he had to go. They didn’t reply but just repeated themselves. He must go. The younger of the pair looked slightly uncomfortable, but the other was only surly, a touch aggressive.

Bob wound his long grey beard around one hand thoughtfully. The guards stepped back a pace, wrinkling their noses. Bob’s last proper shower had been a wee while back. His place was … let’s say, rudimentary; it lacked the convenience of a powder room.

And walls.

Bob liked to think he knew his rights. He liked to think that he had some rights. He’d lost a lot of dignity somewhere along the line, but he did still have rights—right?

“You can get in touch with my solicitor,” he said now.

The older security guy sniggered, “Yeah right. Like you ever had one.” The junior shuffled his feet, avoided eye contact. A few beats of silence.

“And you need to give me notice,” Bob said, “in writing.”

“Like hell we do, old codger,” said the higher ranked. “Just piss off already.”

“Two weeks’ notice? Four would be better, but I’m prepared to accept two,” said Bob.

“LOOK!” shouted the bossy one. “The Christmas Markets are on Tomorrow—and YOU—need to be GONE! By. Order. Of. Management!”

“Glenn … people are staring …” said the younger in his colleague’s ear. It was true. A small crowd had gathered.

“Leave ‘im alone,” said a large bald man with a skull tattoo.

“Yeah,” said a young mum with a stroller, “not his fault, is it?”

Glenn turned and stood up straighter, widening his stance to take up as much space as possible. “Move along now. Official Park Business. Nothing to See Here.”

Nobody moved along.

“Where’s your Christmas spirit?” asked a woman who might be a church minister, judging by her collar.

“This shopping trolley,” said Glenn, with all the petulance of a sore loser, “is the property of Woolworths. If it is Not Returned by 5pm Today, I will be Notifying them of its Theft. They, in Turn, may choose to notify the Police. Let’s go, John.”

Boos and cheers erupted from the onlookers as the guards took the walk of shame back to their post near the fountain.

“We’re putting a hot lunch on tomorrow, if you’d like to join us,” the minister told Bob, pointing across at her church. “And then Monday, I think it is, the mobile laundromat will be around.”

“Cheers,” said Bob. He made a show of adjusting his tarp, then ducked under it.

Rudy was still inside, trembling, curled up as small as possible.

“Yer all right love. Show’s over now. Shall we have a bite to eat? What yer reckon?”

His companion made the very smallest positive sound.

“Beef jerky?”

They shared what was left in the packet, in silence.

Bob hazarded a peek into Kibble Park. They were safe, for now.

“Atta girl, Rudy. Who’s my best love?”

She crept into Bob’s open arms, nestling in.

“Jus’ you and me, babe. You ‘n’ me against the world, eh?”

Bob twisted the gold band on his ring finger, sighing. Ruby whined and licked his neck.

Bob was still grinning adoringly down at his dog when Glenn and John wrenched the tarp off the back of the park bench without warning.

“The fuck?!” Bob roared, trying but failing to keep hold of Ruby, who bolted like the ex-racing greyhound she was. “Fucking shitheads!”

“We asked you to vacate,” said guard Glenn. “You refused to comply.”

“Bullies is all you are. Effin’ bullies. Yer mothers must be damn proud,” Bob said, fixing his watery eyes on the John. “Look what you’ve gone and done,” he pointed to the new tear in his dirty blue tarp, then gestured in the direction Ruby had scarpered. “Like as not I won’t be seein’ her for dust.”

“Dogs,” Glenn said, all steely, “are Prohibited in the Park. By Council Bylaws. On the spot Fines Apply.”

The Glenn had this way of spitting out capitals. On a different day Bob might have admired it.