‘You take all the time you want, mate.’ Les turned away quietly and left Jimmy Rosewater alone with his thoughts.
Instead of waiting in the car, Les leaned against the passenger-side door and gazed back at the little church and its surrounding graveyard. He’d barely met Jimmy. But in the brief time since he had, Les tried to form a rough opinion of George Brennan’s nephew. He was heartbreakingly goodlooking, but there was no mention of a girlfriend. Whether the cops had loaded him up or not, Jimmy was still a bit shifty. That’s why he was in the nick? His face was too clean to be a fighter and he didn’t have the attitude of a young thug. But he stood up to Les earlier, so he had spirit and definitely wasn’t weak. He didn’t have or seem to want many friends, so he was a bit of a loner. Nor did he have any time for his relatives. But he was obviously very close to his mother. It didn’t say anything on the tombstone about her being the beloved wife of whoever, so Les guessed Jimmy was probably illegitimate; he mightn’t even know his father. And going by the dates on the grave, and if Jimmy was around twenty, Rosemarie was about fifteen or sixteen when Jimmy was born and only somewhere in her early thirties when she died. It was rather sad and Les was a little sorry he’d revved him up like he did earlier, considering the poor bludger had just walked out of the nick and still probably didn’t know where he was.
Still, he managed to bounce back pretty smartly. One thing was for certain about Jimmy, though—with those looks he’d be unbelievable burley to take out chasing women. They’d be hurling themselves at him like javelins. No, Jimmy was all right. But summing up what Les knew about him so far. Jimmy’s favourite saying would probably be one of Norton’s. Know everyone. Trust nobody. And paddle your own canoe.
Les watched him as he came through the gate and closed it behind him.
‘So how are feeling now, Jimmy? All right?’
Jimmy nodded. ‘Yeah, I feel good.’ He gave Les a wrinkled sort of smile. ‘In fact, Les, I couldn’t feel better.’
‘Good on you, mate.’ Les stepped back and opened the door for him. ‘So where to now?’
‘Terrigal.’
‘Terrigal it is.’ Les closed the door after Jimmy, then walked round and got behind the wheel.
Les didn’t bother driving back down to the roundabout. There were no cars around so he tromped the Berlina and scorched straight across the double white lines. The sign said Terrigal/Avoca and they were following more winding road set amongst more hills thick with trees and John Anderson was crooning ‘Hillbilly with a Heartache’ through the car stereo when Jimmy finally spoke.
‘I have to pick up a bag at a friend’s place. It’s not far from Uncle Price’s.’
‘You know Price’s joint?’
‘Yeah, I’ve stayed there with George a few times.’
‘Ohh, right,’ nodded Les absently.
‘When we get there, come inside and I’ll show you something.’
‘Yeah?’
Jimmy nodded. ‘Remember in the papers about a year ago? A bloke called Baxter went off his head with a shotgun and shot four people in a house. Three young girls and a bloke. Then he drove off and shot two other people?’
Norton nodded slowly. There’d been that many shootings and killings in the last twelve months, not counting the ones he’d been involved in, he’d lost track. ‘Yeah, I think so.’
‘Well, this is the place.’ Jimmy’s face went grim. ‘I knew one of the girls, too. I used to buy chocolates where she worked. She was eighteen and pregnant. Just about to get married.’
‘And he shot her with a shotgun? Sounds like a nice bloke.’
‘Yeah, real nice,’ said Jimmy. ‘The cunt.’
They went past the Avoca Beach turn-off. The road curved up, then straightened out with the ocean on the right and farms on the left. Dams shone in the gullies, the hills were thick with trees and Les could hardly believe he was only an hour or so from Sydney. It was like being right up the North Coast. They came onto the road that took them past Price’s street. Jimmy told Les to go left and he drove down the same way he walked the night before when Jimmy said to stop near the steep hill Les had dragged Carol up. Norton pulled up in the driveway of a two-storey, yellow brick house with trees out the front, a double garage below and stairs on the left that angled up to a patio and a residence above. Les got out of the car and followed Jimmy up the stairs. The brown door was open and inside a young girl with dark hair wearing a black tracksuit was smoking a cigarette and watching TV. Jimmy knocked a couple of times, she looked up, smiled and walked over.
‘Jimmy. How are you? We got your message.’
Jimmy nodded. ‘Yeah, I got five days off for being a good bloke.’
The girl laughed. ‘Yeah, that’d be right. Come in.’
‘Louise, this is a friend of mine—Les.’
‘Hello, Les.’
‘Hello, Louise. Nice to meet you.’
The upstairs unit was spotlessly clean with light brown carpet, comfy furniture and white walls. An open archway off the lounge led to the kitchen and on the left when you walked in was a wooden cabinet with the TV and stereo. Laminated prints of Harley-Davidsons and American Indians hung on the walls and next to the kitchen was a full-length, laminated print from Reservoir Dogs. A two-litre swing bottle of Jim Beam sat on the TV cabinet with more motorbike and American Indian bric-a-brac. The laundry was in a corridor left of the kitchen, then the bathroom and bedrooms.
‘So, where’s the boys?’ asked Jimmy.
The girl gestured with the cigarette. ‘On the toe. The fuckin’ Tarheels have got a shoot-to-kill order on them. So they pissed off till they sort it out.’
‘Christ! What the fuck happened?’
‘Ohh, it’s just a big fuck-up. Two Tarheels got their legs broken and it wasn’t even Wade and Peirce. They were in Sydney.’
Jimmy’s face darkened and he shook his head. ‘Jesus, they’re a bunch of pricks.’
‘Don’t we all know it.’
‘So, where are they?’ Louise gave Jimmy a blank look. Jimmy nodded. ‘Yeah, righto. So is my bag here?’
‘Yeah. It’s in the garage. I’ll just find the key.’
As Louise went to the bedroom, Jimmy turned to Norton. ‘Have a look at this, Les.’ He took Les into the kitchen and pulled back the window curtain. Across the bottom of the glass was a crooked row of small fracture holes.
‘Shotgun pellets?’ said Les.
Jimmy nodded. ‘Come here.’ He led Norton to the corridor and pointed up to the ceiling. There were more holes. ‘See this.’ Jimmy pointed to one of the bedroom doors. There was a long scrape mark near the keyhole and the doorknob was all uneven as if it had been hit with a hammer. ‘One of the girls tried to lock herself in here and that’s where he bashed the door open with the butt of the gun.’
Norton ran his hand over the doorknob. ‘Lovely.’
‘Now have a look at this.’ Next to the front door, faint marks were still visible running down the wall. ‘He got one here. And—’
Louise returned, holding some keys. ‘We’ll go down through the laundry, Jimmy.’
‘All right. Have a look around, Les. I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Yeah, righto.’
While Jimmy and Louise were gone, Norton perused the unit. The marks were against nearly all the walls with four in one room where the gunman must have shot two people twice. Although the marks had been scrubbed and painted over, the force of the blast must have sent blood deep into the concrete because, despite several coats, it still kept seeping through. Beneath the white it looked as if someone had splattered about a dozen tomatoes against the walls and it had all run down to the carpet. It was macabre and Norton tried to picture what it must have been like in there when the killer burst in and opened up with the shotgun. Three terrified girls and one bloke all trying to hide. Almost unimaginable. Les was shaking his head and looking at some more pellet holes he’d found in the ceiling when Jimmy struggled into the loungeroom with a blue, canvas carry-all almost as big as hims
elf.
‘Christ, what have you got in there, Jimmy?’ asked Les. ‘A baby elephant?’
‘Just a few odds and ends,’ he puffed, dropping it on the floor. He turned to Louise. ‘Well, I’ll give you a ring or whatever. But I definitely have to see Peirce. So—’
‘Don’t worry, Jimmy. That’ll all be sweet. But ring me when you get to the house and give me the number.’
‘Okay, Lou. I’ll see you then.’
Jimmy went to pick up his bag and Les took it. ‘Here, let me. You’ll end up with a hernia.’
‘Oh, thanks, Les.’
‘I’ll see you again, Louise.’
‘Yeah, you too, Les.’
The bag was certainly heavy. But Les managed to get it down the stairs and onto the back seat of the car a lot easier than Jimmy would have.
‘Where to now, Jimmy?’ he said, closing the door. ‘Home?’
‘Yes. Home, James. I wouldn’t mind a quick swim, then a long shower. Get the smell of that fuckin’ nick off me.’
‘I understand perfectly, James. It’s not real good, is it?’
‘You can say that again, Les.’
There were one or two things Norton would have liked to ask Jimmy, however he thought he might let it slide for the time being. Les hit the ignition and they drove the short distance to Price’s house.
‘Righto, Jimmy. I think you can manage now.’ Les dropped Jimmy’s bag near the top of the stairs. ‘Where do you want to doss? I’ve got the room at end of the hall.’
‘There’s one near the pool’ll do me.’
‘All right. Well, there’s coffee and food and all that in the kitchen if you want. Just help yourself. I’ll be down the pool having a read if you want me.’
‘Okay, Les. I’ll sort my stuff out and see you in an hour or so.’
‘Take your time, mate. There’s no hurry.’
Jimmy got his bag and lugged it downstairs while Les went to his room and changed into an old pair of shorts and his thongs then got a glass of orange juice and took it into the loungeroom. Jimmy must have had the same idea as Norton when he first arrived, because by the time Les had tuned the stereo to some FM station and started staring out the window, Jimmy had left his gear and jumped straight into the pool also; except Jimmy didn’t worry about Speedos. Les watched Jimmy’s not-so-white backside gliding easily through the water and thought that, as well as looking fairly fit, he didn’t have a bad swimming style either. Go for your life, mate, Les smiled. You only got a week, then it’s back to the puzzle. Les drifted back to his room to get his book and sunglasses. By the time he got to the pool the only sign of Jimmy was a few wet footprints and the sound of someone singing in a shower. Les settled down on a banana-lounge and started reading. He was getting into stories about the Einsatzgruppen and Babii-Yar when Jimmy strolled casually round the side. He was wearing neatly pressed, white Alberto Biani shorts with an alligator skin belt, a brown Banana Republic T-shirt and tan Mezlin loafers. With his Iridium Oakleys jammed into his eyes he looked like he’d just walked out of a spread in GQ magazine.
‘So how are you feeling now, Jimmy? You’ve certainly brushed up okay.’
‘Yes, well I’m not quite into the all-Australian, Shanghai-riding boots and stubbies look—which is obviously your particular go.’ Jimmy gave Les a thin, pearly white smile as Norton self-consciously scrunched his toes in his old thongs. ‘And as to how I feel—as a matter of fact, Les, I’m hungry. What about you?’
‘Jimmy, I’m always hungry.’
‘Okay, let’s do lunch.’
‘Do lunch? You don’t fancy a barbecue or something? I got some grouse steaks in the fridge.’
‘I’d love to, Les. But I left my can holder back in the nick. Along with my Fatty Vautin cookbook and my thongs.’
Les folded his book. ‘Okay, lunch it is.’
‘And, Les, try and wear something a little decent, will you? The place I’ve got in mind is sort of—respectable.’
Wear something decent, Les. The place is respectable. Norton’s eyes narrowed and darkened slightly as he climbed out of his old shorts back in the bedroom. Then he caught sight of himself in the mirror and smiled. You started it, smartarse. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. He changed into a pair of Levi shorts, a blue Nautica T-shirt and black, lace-up Road Mocs and gave his hair a quick comb. Jimmy was waiting in the kitchen drinking a glass of orange juice like the French Consul sipping Beaujolais. He gave Les a quick once-up-and-down, followed by a grudging nod of approval.
‘So where are we doing lunch, James?’
‘A place called Waves. Opposite the carpark next to Terrigal Surf Club.’
‘Okay. Let’s go.’
Jimmy rinsed his glass clean and they walked out to the car. After Les put on his seat belt and started the motor he turned to Jimmy.
‘Just one thing, Jimmy, before we go.’
‘Yes, Les.’
‘If this place is so—respectable, how come they let you in there?’
Jimmy didn’t blink. ‘Because I generally take a moron redneck with me, get the management to rob him blind on the bill, then make sure he leaves a substantial tip.’
Norton didn’t blink either. ‘Fair enough.’
The restaurant was above a surf shop and an art gallery. Les found a parking spot in the carpark opposite and they walked back across the street. A blue awning with ‘Waves’ written across it in white sat above a short passageway leading to a set of stairs that angled up to a blue railing. Les stepped in and was almost on the front step when he heard Jimmy call out.
‘Where are you going?’
Jimmy was standing on the footpath with his arms folded. ‘In here,’ replied Norton. ‘This is it, ain’t it?’
‘What are you going to drink with your meal? Coca-Cola? Les, please. Some wine, surely?’
‘Fair enough.’ Norton rejoined Jimmy and they started walking towards the other shops. ‘Hey, Jimmy, if you’re going to get a flagon of cheap Moselle, shouldn’t we be going to that pub over near the bridge? I doubt if that bottle shop’d have any goonis.’
‘Droll, Les. Verrry droll.’
The woman was behind the counter puffing on a cigarette while she talked to a customer. Jimmy walked across to the white wines, had a quick peruse, then picked out a bottle and placed it on the counter.
‘Have you got a bottle of this slightly chilled, Sheri,’ he asked.
The woman looked at the bottle and put down her cigarette. ‘Sure have, Jimmy.’ She took the bottle and replaced it with one from a small chiller near the front wall. ‘By the time you get to the restaurant that should be about perfect.’
Norton looked at the label then at Jimmy. ‘Mount Mary Vineyard. Lilyvale Chardonnay. Is that any good?’ Jimmy looked at the woman. The woman looked at Jimmy. Then they both looked at Les. Les looked at the price. ‘Christ! It’d want to be.’ Norton knew Jimmy had absolutely no intention of paying, but he was still a bit slow getting the money out of his pocket.
‘Well,’ said Jimmy, ‘don’t stand there like a stale bottle of piss, Charlie Brown. Pay the woman.’
A cosy indoor dining room faced you as you walked into Waves with a large outdoor dining area overlooking the beach on your right. A bushy-haired woman wearing jeans and a crisp, white shirt was checking something at a small counter near the door. She looked up and smiled happily as they walked in.
‘Hello, Jimmy,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
‘Pretty good, Dyane,’ answered Jimmy. ‘Nice to see you again.’
‘You too, Jimmy. Always.’
Jimmy handed her the bottle of wine. ‘Have you got a nice table on the—?’
‘For you, Jimmy, always. Always.’
Dyane led them out to a bright, spacious, terracottatiled balcony edged with white brick and dotted with customers eating off white tables shaded by blue umbrellas. Two extensive greenboard menus sat either side of the balcony above several ceramic pots full of parlour palms and indoor plants. She s
ettled them at a table right at the edge and Les could see all the way to Wamberal and across to the boats in the Haven. A pleasant breeze drifted over the tables and you were far enough above the traffic to watch it but miss the noise and any car fumes. Without ignoring Les, Dyane had a few more words with Jimmy then came back with his wine in an ice bucket and two menus. She poured them a little over half a glass each, smiled again, then went over to have a word with a waitress and some customers at another table.
‘Well, cheers, Les,’ said Jimmy.
‘Yeah, same to you, mate,’ replied Norton.
The chardonnay was nice. But, unfortunately, Les had to admit wine was just wine to him. He could tell good from bad, red from white, then after that it was just all plonk. Price and George were wine buffs to the point of being Nazis and spent a fortune on the stuff at times. Les would listen to them waffling away about vintages and bouquets and whatever with rich punters back at the club and it bored the tits off him. He’d tried to appreciate fine wines on several occasions but to no avail. Even French champagne gave him indigestion. Try as he might, Norton was a wine philistine and preferred a glass of cold mineral water with a meal any time; especially sitting out in the sun during the middle of the day.
‘So, what do you think?’ asked Jimmy, swirling his glass gently like a typical wine-nazi-cum-connoisseur.
‘Yeah, not bad,’ conceded Norton. ‘Could be a bit colder, though.’ Les got some ice, dropped it in his glass, swirled it around vigorously with his fingers, then licked them. ‘Yeah, that’s better.’
Jimmy shook his head in disgust. ‘I don’t believe anybody can be that crass. Why don’t you put some cordial in with it?’
‘Not a bad idea,’ agreed Les. ‘They got any Lime Green Kooler in here? That would complement this wonderfully.’
Dyane came back with her notepad. Jimmy ordered a dozen Oysters Natural and Pan-Fried Cajun Coral Perch Fillets with sour cream. Les thought he might have the same only with a Malaysian Prawn Laksa for an entree, plus garlic bread, a side salad for two and a large glass of mineral water. When Dyane left them, Jimmy sipped his wine, crossed his legs and sat back. Les took a couple of sips of wine, watching Jimmy as he drank. He also watched the women at the other tables. Young and old, they were all pitching furtive glances at Jimmy; two young blondes to Norton’s left were almost drooling. Whether Jimmy was aware of this or not, Les couldn’t tell because of the sunglasses. But he was kicked back, looking around him and no doubt revelling in the more than pleasant surroundings. Though going from a cell to a first-class restaurant in barely a few hours, there would be something wrong with you if you didn’t preen a little. Norton’s mineral water arrived and he took a mouthful.
Guns 'n' Rose Page 7