Page 5 of The Cocky for Cody
“You mean the police on the island only work part time?”
“On the contrary, all the islanders have Bazza’s number in their phone in case of emergency. He works twenty-four seven when he has to.”
“Bazza? Who’s Bazza?”
“The police sergeant on Maggie. But seriously, there’s no point bugging him. This isn’t exactly a police matter.”
A cast iron pot banged and bounced its way out the door. “Are you sure? Because this is feeling very much like a police matter to me. Who’s in there, anyway? An ex-boyfriend? Some jilted lover you need to tell me about?”
“I’m not a lover, I’m a fighter!” screeched the voice from inside. “Squark!Take one step closer and I’ll gut you like a goanna!”
Cody gave another fake, feeble laugh. “Haha. He’s just joking… kinda.”
“Whoishe?”
“I guess you could say he’s my flatmate. He’s not here all the time, he comes and goes. I was hoping when we got here he’d be gone. Sorry, I probably should have told you about him.”
“You think so?” Warily I peered inside the shack. It was a single space—like a loft—with a high ceiling, sparse furniture, and worn floorboards strewn with kitchen utensils and random cookware. There was an overturned lamp in one corner, a bookcase emptied of books, and from where I stood I could see every cupboard in the kitchen had been opened. And yet, strangely enough, there was no sign of Cody’s flatmate anywhere. “Jesus, either your flatmate’s a complete slob or he’s ransacked your house.”
“It’s a bit of both,” Cody admitted. “Don’t worry. This is just his way of telling me he’s missed me. It’s his love language.”
“Smashing up your place is his love language? What does he do to people he hates? Actually don’t answer that. I’m not sure I want to know.” I glanced inside again. “Where is he anyway? I can’t see him any—”
Suddenly a hardcover copy of Moby Dick almost hit me in the face. Somehow I managed to dodge it just in time, catching sight of a flash of white feathers flapping through the rafters in the ceiling.
I turned to Cody. “Wait a minute. Is your flatmate by any chance… a bird?”
Cody nodded and pointed with his thumb into the shack. “Brooks, meet Kevin. Kevin, this is—”
“Your latest slutty strumpet!” Kevin finished for him. “That’s who it is!”
I decided to whisper. “You have a talking bird? Who are you, Doctor Doolittle?”
“No. Kevin’s a cockatoo. They’re smart as hell, able to pick up words and imitate them.”
“Imitate them? Cody, this isn’t a case of ‘Polly want a cracker.’ That bird is using fully formed sentences. He’s using syntax and context and—”
“I can hear you, you fucking tramp!”
“And a whole lot of curse words! He didn’t learn those words from you, did he?”
“No! Maybe some. He picks up words here and there all over Maggie. What can I tell you, there’s a lot of colorful characters on the island. And like I said, cockies are smart as hell. Now if I could only teach him some bloody manners.”
“Hey! Watch your language!” came the shriek from inside.
Cody took a deep breath. “Kevin, you need to calm down because we’ve had a very long flight and we’d like to come inside… if that’s all right with you.”
“You have to ask a bird permission to enter your own house?” I whispered harshly.
“I told you it was complicated. Now just stay behind me.” Shoving me behind him and raising his hands like he was negotiating with terrorists, Cody took one step then another through the door while I huddled in his wake. “Kevin, did you hear me? We’re coming in now.” He glanced up and added, “I can see you up there. Can you please put down the barbie tongs? I want to introduce you to Brooks properly."
With a reluctant, “Okay, fine,” Kevin let the tongs clatter to the floor.
I saw a flashy flutter of feathers, I heard a whooshing of wings, and suddenly a huge white cockatoo perched itself on the edge of the kitchen sink a few feet from where Cody and I stood in the middle of the disheveled shack.
At the appearance of Kevin, Cody gave a laugh that was half relieved, half unhinged, half attempt to calm me down. Okay, so I know that’s three halves, but like Cody said, this situation was complicated… and fraught with an uncertainty that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Speaking of hair, I suddenly noticed that Cody’s gravity-defying locks looked a lot like the spikey feathers sticking up out of Kevin’s head. As though the cockatoo didn’t like me looking at him, those feathers seemed to flare up even more. I quickly realized this was the bird’s way of warding off enemies, or at the very least his way of warning me that the chance of the two of us becoming friends was out of the question.
