Hey fans of Benji.... haven't written any major frictional [sic] works since my e-book Boriclav and Gergana..... so here goes: Abos with nukes.... watch this spot... the story synopsis is some aborigines find some unexploded nuclear bombs in the south Australian desert from the British nuclear bomb testing in Woomera.... they endeavor to destroy Sydney with a nuke.... enjoy!
Thrum thrum... the didgeridoo piped a continual deep chirping.... clap, clap, clap... the musical clapping sticks of the corroborree kept a rhythm like gypsy women clapping at a flamenco dance. Step, hop, jump... the dust flew as men danced in the desert circle. Flames from a fire kicked higher shooting embers towards the glittering stars as topless women with their breasts hanging to their knees sat cross legged on the desert floor keeping the beat.
A group of Italian tourists in their thirties crowded around a solitary aboriginal man dressed casually in shorts and a shirt. Most of them talked amongst themselves in Italian passionately with great animation, the desert fires flickering in their eyeballs like a daubing of a paint brush on a wooden hull.
"What are they singing about Pete?" Asked one of the Italian fellows, Aurelio, to the aboriginal guide acting as a translator for his group.
"The rainbow serpent, what we call the Dreamtime you call a creation myth in the universities."
....
After yet another concert for the tourists, the next day, this one a little earlier, one of the clapping sticks Aboriginal ladies tried calling her cousin Albert back in Sydney, where the sun had just set. It was still light in northern Western Australia where Aunt Merle's clapping sticks concert had been. Aunt Merle was angry: the dumb white bitch from Canberra that controlled all the money, the assistant Minister for Aboriginal Affairs, had come with her fancy clothes and fancy shoes with a business class tag on her fancy leather suitcase and her fancy lesbian looking haircut to preach to everyone about God knows what bullshit. Merle wouldn't be getting any money because she'd signed her share over to her cousin Albert.
South of Sydney, near Bowral, Albert's phone vibrated on his thigh as Merle's name flashed up. He sat cross legged opposite his new boss and scanned his face for any recognition he'd noticed a quiet phone start vibrating quietly. Apparently, no.
'Now look Albert,' senior detective Griswold began. Griswold was by no means an aboriginal like Albert, but rather a mutt breed, part Greek and Scottish. 'Today is a helluva day, a helluva day. A murder suicide on a farm near Belangelo has just been reported. It's going to be a shitfight this weekend, an absolute shitfight. I'd hoped I'd have more time to brief you but now there's no chance. I have media to deal with. The State Crime Office. Forensics. Just an absolute clusterfuck. I thought I was going to have some quiet time this weekend.'
Griswold poured himself some neat whisky and offered Albert some but he declined. 'I'll call you later to inform you better. Basically you've transferred here from Blacktown to try your hand at undercover work for the first time. There's a construction mob up in Panania way, in Sydney, that we want you to infiltrate. We suspect them of being involved in drug racketeering and God knows what else. We strongly believe you are our best bet for not being picked for a policeman. So just take this file and open it to page one. It shows you the address to collect your skip bin truck. For the next month, at least, you'll be a skip bin driver. Talk to Moneypenny outside about the fine details as I'm just too busy now. Capeche?'
Albert nodded. He understood. Merle had stopped calling after the second ring rang out.
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