Hit and run

Greg Baxter is an Astronomer, not a famous one although he does do a 30 minute programme, on a local radio station every Wednesday at 7pm. Who would be listening thinks Greg maybe, old people at old folks homes but, only when the TV is broken and maybe the odd fruit bat, roosting outside the studio window.

Greg is happy in the knowledge that, he could quite easily disappear into the crowd like, an anonymous whisper.

However, while buying a newspaper a shop assistant recognises Greg as, ‘that Astronomer guy on the radio’. Then further commenting that; “Astronomy is a waste of time, since it can only be done, at night”. Greg wonders how other occupations like for example prostitution or cat burglary would fare in this regard but, chooses not to take the matter any further.

Greg leaves the shop and walks down the street when, suddenly he hears screeching tyres and a loud sickening thump. This is then immediately followed by a sharp piercing pain in his left temple, which brings him to the ground and causes him to see stars, without a telescope.

When Greg regains control, he sees that, he is lying beside some putrid smelling wheelie bins; which have concealed him from the scene which, now unfolds on the road 30 metres away.

Two tough looking bad guys, rifle through the clothes of a third man who, lays motionless on the road. “It’s not here!” Says one. “Fuck!” Says the other. In the distance a police siren can be heard. The two bad guys quickly return to their car and drive off straight over the third man’s hand. He doesn’t even flinch. He must be dead thought Greg.

Don’t go to the cops, snitches get stitches. Or worse, runs through Greg’s mind.

As Greg moves to stand up, he finds a small black book on his chest, covered in what he now knows is his own blood. The book must have somehow been knocked by the impact with the car and hit Greg in the head. It must have belonged to the dead man. It must be, what the bad guys are looking for. Maybe it was concussion but, Greg against all better judgement, walks away with the book in his hand.

Greg goes two streets on, to a walk in clinic. A doctor proceeds to stitch up his head wound. The doctor recognises him as, the astronomer from the radio show. The doctor then persuades Greg to give a talk, at the local Astronomy club to boost their spirits. The Doctor explains that, they can’t get a government grant, to make up the difference; for what they need to build their own observatory. They had crowd funded and will have to refund their crowd sourced money, because it’s not enough to proceed.

As Greg leaves the doctor’s surgery, the doctor gives him the details of his Astronomy group and when to be there to give a short talk with, as Greg hopes an even shorter Q & A.

The doctor gives Greg one of his Astronomy club jumpers to wear. It is a size too big and the doctor says. “The bonus is, you get keep it, we over ordered last year.”

Greg leaves the clinic and is seen by two random youths who, recognise Greg as that wanky Astronomer guy and yell abuse. “Hey mate how’s Ur-Anus”. Greg realises that, aside from the head injury he has a really sore leg and is limping. The other youth yells “Oi dickhead, why are you walking like that, have you got something stuck up Ur-anus”. “That’s a good one, hadn’t heard that one before.” replies Greg sheepishly. The youths disappear around the corner behind Greg. Then reappear in an, old V8 commodore yelling more abuse and flicking him the bird; as they speed away sounding the unnecessarily loud car horn repeatedly.

Greg sees a manikin in a shop window with a t-shirt that reads ‘People what a bunch of bastards.’ Seems appropriate, thought Greg.

He orders an Uber and duly the ride turns up. Now the driver recognises him and tells him he loves his Astronomy show on the radio. Greg thanks him and the driver continues. “Pity you’ll be out of job soon though. Greg bemused says. “Why’s that mate? “It’s all going to be robots soon”. The driver replies and continues. “NASA and all that rover stuff don’t need human Astronomers anymore.” “Oh yes that’s the future” Greg replies drowsy and beyond arguing. “What will you do if you can’t be an Astronomer?” The driver asks, sounding genuinely concerned. “Probably get, a job driving a forklift.” Greg apathetic. “Really?’ Says the driver. “That’s what my brother does; maybe I could hook you up”. Greg smiling the smile of surrender says. “Well you know my number” “Oh yeah the radio number gotcha.” The driver replies then continues “Well here we are, I’ll be listening to your next show on Wednesday, can’t wait.” Greg stepping out on to the foot path says” Ok well thanks mate have a nice evening.” “You too” replies the driver. Greg shuts the car door and his ride drives away.

Greg walks to the front of his flat; the door is unlocked and slightly ajar. Greg freaks out and grabs an umbrella from beside the door. He sneaks gingerly in through the lounge room and into the kitchen, where he can hear someone moving around. He grits his teeth and runs through the door, trying to look as threatening as an Astronomer with a limp, in an oversized jumper can look. “Aahh Screams” his mum. “You nearly scared me half to death”. “What are you playing at and why are you dressed like that and what happened to your head and why are you limping? The questions came at Greg like machine gun rounds. “I got hit in the head with a sharp book, I fell over, I got stiches, the Doctor gave me one of his Astronomy club jumpers and I thought you were someone breaking in.” Greg returned fire hoping he’d covered everything.

“Well I’m not a home intruder.” His mum says in a motherly kind of way. “I’ve bought you some left over Lasagne from last night’s dinner, because I know you haven’t been eating properly.” “Thanks mum. ”Greg replies, “but, I can look after myself.” “Really?” His mother disputes. “I find that hard to believe when all that is in you fridge are two AA batteries and a bottle of tonic water.” “You’re not drinking too much again are you darling?” His mother continued. “No mum, that’s a left over bottle from my new year’s party.” Greg replies then continues. “Tonic water’s not even alcoholic.” His mother looking at him sternly says. “Yes, I am aware of that but, it goes quite well in a gin and tonic dear.” “Yes mum” Greg acquiesces.

What have you got there? His mum asks. “It’s the book that hit me in the head.” Greg replies. “Oh dear” his mother laments. “Sharp brass corners, no wonder you needed stitches.”

Greg’s mother leaves after a short time and reminds Greg that, Sunday lunch is at his brother’s house this time and to dress appropriately please. “Yes mum.” Greg complies.

Greg now sitting on his couch flips through the book. Almost every page is just filled with endless series of numbers. He flips to the end and sees an address written on the last page.

Greg decides to give the book to whoever is at the address. Hoping then they won’t come looking for him and he can relax.

The following day Greg goes to the address, an older rough looking guy takes the book and gives Greg a shoulder bag.

Greg says. “I don’t want the bag!” The rough guy pushes a gun into Greg’s chest, saying. ”Take the fucking bag!” “It’s your problem now!” Greg nearly pees in his pants. “Ok, ok, I’ll take it, please don’t shoot me!” Greg pleads. “Just fuck off and don’t come back!” The rough guy barks. Greg scampers to his feet, in his panic he has fallen on his side, he limps off, his right leg hurting even more now.

Greg limps about 300 metres down the road, before he orders an Uber, the ride turns up but, this time the journey proceeds in silence. Greg is as white as a ghost. The gun in the chest has rattled him to the core. The driver peeps at Greg every now and then, in the way that people quickly look, then look away from drug addicts in public places.

Greg gets out of the car and rushes inside. He locks the door behind him and checks the back door and that, all the windows are closed.

Greg sits on the couch and stares at the bag. What could be in it? He thinks, probably drugs, or something worse, a severed head, hand or just something bad.

He goes to the fridge, gets the tonic water and the bottle of gin from the top cupboard. He makes a triple straight up, then sculls it in one go. He needs another. After two more, he returns to the couch.

Bag is still there; severed head probably still rotting inside.

Greg opens the bag. Inside he finds $20,000 in unmarked bills, with serial numbers in non-sequential order. What money launderers would call clean money. Holyshit! This is drug money. He realises. “What the fuck am I going to do now?” he whispers to himself.

Greg decides to go back to the rough guy and give back the money and explain that he had the book by accident and the money is not his to take.

The next day, Greg arrives at the rough guy’s house and sees the two bad guys from the hit and run, yelling at the rough guy.

The taller bad guy, grabs the rough guy by his throat and says. “Where’s our fucking money?!” He then hits the rough guy in the head with a hand gun, knocking him to the ground. The smaller bad guy then, proceeds to kick the rough guy in the face, until blood spurts out his nose and mouth. Then the tall bad guy bends down and says “Last chance fuckhead!” “Where is our fucking money?!” “I don’t have it” the rough guy, almost sobbing says. “Your bag man took it yesterday!” “Bullshit!” Says the shorter bad guy. “We don’t have a fucking bag man!” The taller bad guy puts the hand gun on the rough guy’s temple. “Three seconds cunt!” He growls. The rough guy is now actually sobbing. “Three!.. Two! ..One!” A single shot rings out and Greg, who was cowering behind some nearby bushes, actually does pee himself this time.

Greg trying not to hyperventilate remains frozen, on the spot above, a small puddle of pee.

Can I run? Thinks Greg; nope, they’ll see me and my sore leg will make my running into a frantic hobble. Greg Still frozen behind the bush, sees the taller bad guy with gun start walking towards Greg’s bush. Greg is about to have a further ablution from his back side, when the scream of sirens and squealing police car tyres, causes both bad guys to take to their heels.

A short gun fight ensues and when over, both bad guys lay motionless on the road.

Greg realises that behind him was a retaining wall that, drops down to an alley way below. While the police are busy, he slips over the edge then, falls heavily on his right ankle twisting it badly but, not breaking any bones. He limps pathetically off for, as far as, he can then, orders an Uber home.

“Oh shit!” Greg exclaims when he gets home. In his haste to get away, he forgot that the bag he was carrying was, full of laundered drug money!

What do you do, with $20,000 you don’t want? Greg thinks as he lays on his couch, drinking gin straight from the bottle this time; and staring at the ceiling.

Wait a minute, Greg thinks back to his conversation with the doctor. The doctor said “Yes we will have to refund the crowd fund donors, since we don’t have enough to proceed.” How much short are you?” Greg asked. “Um $18,000 and some odd dollars.” replied the doctor.

That Saturday Greg gave a 45 minute talk at the West Manjar Astronomy club with, an extended hour of Q & A. Followed by the presentation of $20,000 to, the Manjar Observatory fund. Jubilant cheers and applause resounded and an honorary membership was, bestowed upon Greg.

Where did you get the money? The doctor asks Greg as he was leaving. “A friend of mine in the city was very dying to donate.” Said Greg.

The End.