Blood Junction Read Online Free

“That would be great,” she said.
    Albert’s cafe, where India found herself at ten past eleven that morning, was halfway along the main street of Cooinda. Frank
     had been wrong about Reg Douglas. He hadn’t been open at ten at all. He’d been nursing a ferocious hangover and had been very
     apologetic that he hadn’t collected her car yet, but he would, love, he swore, pick it up early arvo and have it fixed in
     a shake so she could get on back to Benbullen and her horse-trek, honest.
    Albert was pinning up tinsel behind the counter while she sipped her coffee. He was brown and fat and had a thick black moustache.
     The tinsel was red and gold and still had last year’s Sellotape clinging to it.
    India was sitting on her stool at the counter, trying not to worry about Lauren, when the door burst open and two men strode
     inside. She glanced around, recognized the ’roo lampers. Red-cap and Dungarees. They could have been twins. Two walking beer
     bellies with tattoos.
    “Have much luck?” she asked them. To pass the day. To be polite. Above all, to distract herself.
    Both stopped talking and stared at her.
    “What the …” Red-cap said, and took a step backwards. The color was draining from his face as he took her in, and Dungarees’
     eyes were big as soup plates. Their mouths hung open as though in shock.
    “Kangaroos,” she added warily. “You were after ’roos, right?”
    She heard Dungarees hiss, “
Shit
.” Then they turned and were racing each other to be first through the door.
    “What the hell was that all about?”
    “You scared them,” said Albert.
    “Sure I did,” she said.
    “No, honest.” He peered at her earnestly. A strand of gold tinsel clung determinedly to the dark stubble beneath his left
     cheekbone. “You’re too good-looking for them. Intimidates them, right? A woman smarter than them.” He gave her a quick smile.
     “You remind me of my missus. Tough as old boots but soft as a peach inside. And just as pretty.”
    India laughed, went back to her coffee, gazed outside. A Ken-worth road-train rumbled past, stirring up clouds of red-brown
     dust.
    “Please, Albert.” The voice behind her was a whine, with the faintest of wobbles, as though the speaker might burst into tears.
    India glanced around. An incredibly skinny, filthy Aboriginal girl stood at the end of the counter, holding a dirt-encrusted
     foot behind her with one hand. Her face was pleading.
    Albert didn’t even look at her. “No.”
    “But,
please
.”
    “If I gave you a feed every time you asked, I’d be broke. Bugger off, Polly.”
    The girl’s lips trembled visibly, India recognizing her struggle not to cry. “Sorry.” It came out as a pathetic whimper.
    India sighed. “Make it my shout,” she said, and pushed a ten-dollar note onto the counter. Albert gave her a startled look.
     “You sure?”
    India nodded and turned to the girl. “What would you like?”
    The girl’s eyes were huge, dwarfing her narrow face. “Eggs?” she said doubtfully.
    “How many?”
    Her face lit up. “Two,” she said. “With fried bread and sausage and bacon and beans.” Then she smiled, a broad smile that
     showed two rows of small white teeth, a gap where the top left molar should have been. Unwillingly, India found herself smiling
     back.
    “You sound funny,” Polly said, then she looked anxious. “Nice funny though.”
    “I’m from London,” India told her, wondering if she knew where it was. Polly nodded sagely.
    Albert dropped the tinsel. “Gotta go get your eggs, Poll. Believe it or not I haven’t had time to scratch myself. They’re
     still out back under the chooks.”
    While he went to fetch Polly’s eggs, India swung her legs around on her stool to face the window. Expecting to see trucks,
     perhaps a couple of shoppers loading their utes with groceries, for a second she couldn’t believe her eyes. Dungarees and
     Red-cap were standing at the window. Crowding alongside them was a mob of