Chapter 9: RUSSELL LAYS MORE EGGS THAN MOST, BUT SHE DOES NOT BOAST

The next morning Ack and I walked over to Brent's house. We hadn't been there too many times before, but we knew our way. 

We carefully walked over a cattle grid that was at the front gate and walked up the lime rock driveway.

 Brent's grandfather's home was built of orange brick and old cement. It looked similar to the old state houses that my father had grown up in. 

Brent lived with his grandfather and uncle. His grandfather was a dairy farmer, I wasn't sure what his uncle did. 

We walked around to the front door and noticed the chicken (the one that Brent had stolen from the swimming hole.) resting on the top shelf of the shoe rack.

I gave the chicken a couple pats, while Ack used the door knocker. 

Russel the chicken moved off her perch revealing a cluster of freshly laid eggs. "This thing will lay twice as much." I had remembered Brent say of the hen. I suppose he was right.

The front door swung open and an old man wearing a thick beaning and a hunting jacket opened the door. He was of shorter stature and he spoke with a humming sneer, "What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked us.

"Hey sir, my name's Ack, this is Max, we're here to see Brent." 

"I don't see a box of beer?" slurred Brent's grandfather.

"Sorry?" 

"I need a dozen if you idiots are gonna be walking into my home. Sound good?" 

"We're broke." 

"So where's me dozen?" 

"Sir?"

"Fuhk oof." Brent's granddad finished as he pushed his door shut. 

Ack looked at me, "Guess we should come back?" 

"Maybe," I scratched my head, "He's probably just taking the piss. Knick again." 

Ack knocked with the door knocker again. The door knocker was a loud heavy thump, like a cops knock. 

Brent's grandfather yanked the door open, but this time he took a step towards Ack, "Get out of my way cunt or I'm gonna fuckin' drop you!" 

Ack stood there in a daze at first, then moved aside. Brent's grandfather smirked and tapped Ack on the shoulder, "I'm just fucking with you, Brent's in his room." 

as he slid into his muddy gum boots.

Ack and I slid our stolen shoes off and moved into the homes open plan kitchen, through to the hallway and down into Brent's room, finding him curled up and asleep on a beanbag.

I'd never seen the inside of Brent's room, but I didn't expect it to be the way it was. His bed was neatly made, his sneakers were organised in a neat row against the wall. And the flag of the United Tribes pinned above his bed. Brent was leaning out of his window smoking a rolled cigarette. 

"Sup bruv." said Ack, slapping hands with Brent. 

"Chur." said Brent, flicking his cigarette into his grandfather's vege garden.

"I've seen that flag around, what is it?" asked Ack, admiring the flag on his wall.

"I don't know, I found it when I was cleaning out my mum's place. I hung it there to cover this." Brent swept the flag to one side, revealing a series of fist-sized holes in his wall. 

"Why'd you do that?" I asked, as Brent let the flag back down.

"I got on the horse last night, can't remember a thing." said Brent, as he took a seat on his bedside drawer.

"Had a bit too much aye? Did you black out?" I asked further, taking a beer crate for a seat.

"I don't know. I don't even remember sleeping or waking up. I just remember seeing the holes in the wall and knew I needed to cover that shit, asap." said Brent, itching at his eyes.

"Fuark man, your poppas gonna be pissed!" laughed Ack.

"You think I don't know that? Are you gonna help or not?" spat Brent, leaning his forearm on his knee.

"I don't know how to fix drywall…" said Ack.

"Yeah, neither." I stated.

"Well shit, we have the greatest knowledge machine in human history at our fingertips. How about we google it aye?" Brent droned, pulling his phone out, only to notice that that too had been smashed. "Gis a look at your phone Ack." he said, with an outstretched palm.

"Hold up." said Ack, deleting something before handing his phone over.

"Who are you chatting up, Ack?" asked Brent, taking hold of the phone.

"Nah, no one." he replied, clearing his throat.

"Whatever…" Brent stated, digging through his inbox. Brent eyes widened with the discovery of something unworldly, "What the fuck you doing talking to Mercedes?" 

"Don't go through my messages, cunt!" Warned Ack, snatching his phone back from Brent, "She was just after some weed so I got her some from Kong's stepdad." 

"Bullshit, you're trying to get in there." laughed Brent.

"Why'd you go to Kong's stepdad, he sells dog shit." I said, scratching my head.

"He only sells dog shit to you, Max," said Brent.

"Speaking of which, should we go see Kong and score some bud off old 'Cricket'." I deflected, scanning the room.

"We need to sort my wall out first." Brent insisted.

"I think you might just have to face the music, Brent." said Ack, picking up an almost empty bottle of cheap Whisky.

"Nah! Put it back!" ordered Brent, snatching his bottle back.

"Well then come have a sesh with us, we won't be long. Besides, how are we going to get the money for drywall." said Ack.

"There's bound to be a sheet laying in the garage somewhere, just do me this solid once. I'd do it for you." Brent insisted.

"I think he's right, Ack we should do this then get blazed after." I agreed.

Ack shrugged his shoulders, "Alright, but I'll just stay here and YouTube how to do it." 

"Nah, fuck that, come help us get the stuff." I replied, as Brent made his way towards his bedroom door.

"Nah man, I'm not getting in the firing range of Brent's poppa if we get snapped." Ack laughed.

"So you'd rather be inside the house, in the bedroom over from where he keeps his guns?" said Brent.

Ack thought for a moment. Then followed us out.

Brent's grandfather had left to tend to the fields. Meanwhile, Ack, Brent, and myself began searching through piles and piles of junk inside the family's double garage. 

Blue tarpaulin and dust covered most things. Old hand tools lines one side of the garage, arranged neatly to the exact location that Brent's grandfather wished to have them. 

Ack was watching a YouTube video on his phone, and kept pausing and restarting the same section over and over in order to know the exact tools we needed, pulling each of the tools off the wall and then placing some he'd mistaken back on the wall at random.

"Christ sake man! Can you mute the video!" cursed Brent, as he checked under yet another blanket of tarp.

"Not if you want the right tools!" Ack spat, collecting all of his desired tools into an old Four square basket.

The garage was full of all kinds of interesting collectibles and Knick knacks. But perhaps the crown jewel was a retro pinball machine that had been shifted into the corner and seemingly forgotten about. 

"Does that thing still work?" I asked Brent.

Brent stuck his head up and looked over towards the pinball machine and then put his head back down, "Nah, something's gone wrong with the electrical. My uncle bought it five years ago as a project, but never got round to it." 

"I'd be keen to have a jam on that if it ever gets up and running." I stated, searching under more tarp.

Brent pulled his tarp back over a stack of boxes and placed the brick back on its edge. And began to sneeze into a fit.

I moved over to the last tarp and with fingers crossed pulled it back, and to my utmost dismay, found only a an old sewing machine desk. "I think we might be oughta luck, Brent." 

Brent looked up and noticed the exposed sewing desk, rushed over and pulled the tarp back over it, "Okay, everyone out!" he ordered, striding quickly for the garage door.

Ack began blindly putting the tools back on the shelf and we made our way back towards the front porch of Brent's family home.

"What's up, Brent?" I asked, as he wriggled on his Nike's.

"Nothing. Let's go to Kong's." said Brent, making his way down his lime rock driveway.

When he fell out earshot Ack muttered, "He's just pissed that he's probably gonna cop a hiding from his Pop." 

"Yeah…" I said, scratching the back of my head.