Honest John

The first weekend of trading began with the long awaited introduction of Honest John, mysterious and legendary larrikin figure of wyndham, kimberley and northern territory folk lore. We were cleaning up out the front, tony was up on the ladder doing something useful while i was aimlessly wandering around, feigning diligence. Out in the street, a car was hovering, an old white ute with a shadowy figure at the wheel, tattooed arm hanging out the window, just looking at us. The car and its driver sat there in silence for a while,  then a voice called out, "you'll kill the pig here...". We both looked up at the car.
"Yeah well, thats the plan i guess" replied tony.
The car sat there, no response.
"Should really kill the pig...those other bogans fucked off yet?"
 Presuming the stranger to mean gavin and mouse, we told him of their half-arse attempts to move on and the situation's incertitude.
"Yeah, they had no class, made a meal of this joint..."
Still the car idling in the street, no sign of the man's face, just the hairy arms.
"Who are you?" tony asked.
"whats that mate?"
"whats your name"
"Honest John".
aaahhhhh. Out clambered john from the ute, not bothering to park, just switched off the engine in the middle of the road. A huge man, weighed down a little by his years but it was obvious that in his prime the man was a giant. A few rough tats on his arms, and a gnarly old handlebar moustache underlined his fiery and inquiring eyes. A staffi with a gloriously shiny coat jumped out of the car with him, unfortunately the dog's name eludes me, and ran around into the shop to investigate. John himself walked straight up to the fence and started telling us about the old days when he used to run the shop, and all sbout it's potential to "kill the pig". With a sly grin he told us that he used to be a real wyndham business man, with scams running all over the show, to which dad laughed and said "yeah we've already heard about a few". John stopped and look at us with a wry grin and slowly, like an old motor car, broke out into a knowing guttural laugh.
It became apparent that "honest"was a nickname bestowed to john by a man or woman with their tongue firmly in their cheek, as he began to share his tricks of the trade with us.
"No beetroot. Never put beetroot in the salad, because it stains the leaves ya see? and they never eat all the salad, so you can take back the lettuce, wash it off an serve it to the next punter, they wouldnt have a fuck'n clue. But if ya got beetroot, it stains the lettuce, so ya gotta chuck it out"
"Dont even think about doing it by the books, all cash, straight into the sky rocket mate, dont give the government nothing."
"If your bread goes stale, dont chuck it out. Just get a bit of water on the bread, then sit it on the grill so it steams a bit, then cooks. It'll fall apart in 5 minutes, but by that time you've got the prick's bugs bunny and they've fucked off"
"Don't fuck'n worry about trying to serve em the good fish, the barramundi and what not, too bloody expensive. Just get the nile perch, the punter doesn't know the bloody difference"
This man needs to be interviewed or recorded in some way, a truly legendary australian character.