Peter Corris - Forget Me If You Can

‘Don’t. Please, please, Mr Hardy.’

I eased up a fraction. ‘The alternative is you do everything I say. One refusal and I swear I’ll drown you and anchor you to the bottom. And I’ll wait until you’re awake to do it.’

‘Okay. I’ll do what you say. Okay.’

I had him load all the gold into the back of Bert’s 4WD, including the ones he’d already put in his Monaro. Then he drove the vehicle down to the boat ramp and got the dinghy into the water. By the time he’d loaded the gold into the dinghy he was almost too tired to row but he was too scared not to. When he was utterly exhausted I got him to lie face down in the boat. He blubbered but he did it. I started the outboard and took the dinghy well offshore. Then I made Tom take off his shirt while keeping his head down. I made a solid blindfold from the shirt and tied it hard around his head.

‘Sit up!’

He groped and shuffled onto the seat. I took an oar and jabbed it gently into his crotch. He winced and I left it there. ‘Now, one by one, you take up those bits of metal and you drop them over the side.’

It took a while and the sun was fierce in the sky. By the time he’d finished his neck and shoulders were bright red from sunburn and his tears had soaked through the blindfold.