Guns 'n' Rose

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘Have you ever done a cross-wind take-off before?’ the co-pilot asked him.

  ‘Only a couple. I’m not real good at them.’

  ‘I done one once. You want me to do it?’

  ‘No, it should be all right.’ The pilot put his hand up to his face. ‘My glass eye’s playing up today, though.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yeah, I think I got a bit of grit in it.’

  The co-pilot pointed to his face. ‘Do you want to borrow mine?’

  ‘No, it should be okay.’

  The others seemed to nod something. There was just a numbed silence from Les. When they got out into the open the pilot hit the throttle and away they went.

  It seemed to take a while then slowly but surely the little plane lifted up and Les watched queasily as the water began falling away below them. Seconds later Les could see Lion Island, Barrenjoey Point and all the way to Sydney before they banked right over Pearl Beach and Patonga. The noise inside the cabin was almost deafening and although it seemed a little hairy at first, once Norton figured out the door wasn’t going to suddenly spring open and the two pilots didn’t want to ditch any more than he did, it was one unforgettable buzz. The seaplane soared on into the blue. Underneath them the Hawkesbury River looked absolutely spectacular as it encompassed Berowra Waters and flowed into Pittwater like a long, wide, emerald-green ribbon, sparkling against the lush, warm jade of the surrounding bush.

  It looked that good, Norton got his camera out of his bag and clicked off a few shots out the window; then took a couple in the cabin as well.

  The pilot began to bring the plane down, then banked left and Les thought the wing was going to hit the water. When the plane straightened, the pilot executed a perfect, two-pontoon landing and they began to taxi along a wide tributary, past some holiday homes set against the low cliffs that were accessible only by boat or seaplane. A couple of boats went past and waved, then from somewhere a small police launch went past and didn’t wave. Beneath the noise in the cabin Les thought he heard one pilot mutter to the other that he wondered what they were doing here. The plane turned right, then pulled up against a pier beneath a restaurant that was all glass windows facing the water. The young couple in the front got out as a waiter came down to greet them, and a few words were exchanged with the co-pilot. Then he got back in, the pilot started the engine and they began taxiing off again.

  ‘What do you reckon so far?’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Unreal,’ replied Norton enthusiastically. ‘We’ll have to do it again.’

  ‘Any time at all, Les. Any time at all.’

  Norton turned back to watch the water going past. He couldn’t see all that much from the window, but as they went further he noticed the police had pulled the two boats over. Next thing the pilot hit the throttle and they were soon airborne again.

  This time they barely seemed to skim the trees as the pilot followed the river past cliffs thick with trees or dotted here and there with tiny, pristine golden beaches. Les clicked off some more photos and could hardly believe he was only a few minutes flying time from a huge city like Sydney. The pilot banked left to a mumbled ‘oh shit’ from Les, then straightened and they swished gently down on an absolutely secluded bay about the same size as Sydney Harbour. The plane taxied up to a small jetty with a few runabouts and a couple of motor launches moored alongside, and the co-pilot got out and tied up while Les and Jimmy climbed down the steps to be greeted by a young blonde girl in a white T-shirt and brown jeans and of all people, the grey-bearded pianist from the Baron Riley Bar. It was all smiles and hellos, then the girl led them across a neat, landscaped lawn dotted with palm trees. The restaurant was set beneath a shelter in a semi-circle of long wooden tables and wooden benches which faced a paved courtyard with a pergola in the middle for the piano player and his music mixer. A low cliff full of trees and shrubs sat behind the restaurant. There was a house just visible on the right, some small cabins and a pool on the left; then that was it. Absolutely nothing for miles but a huge beautiful bay surrounded by low, rolling hills thick with trees.

  ‘What do you reckon now?’ said Jimmy.

  ‘What do I reckon?’ Norton shook his head in wonder. ‘I never even knew this place existed. It’s unbelievable.’

  ‘And Sydney’s just down there.’

  Les shook his head again. ‘Unbelievable.’

  There were about thirty or so casually dressed people seated around the tables sipping drinks, ducks bobbed around by the jetty, birds called to each other in the trees, and lying or roaming around the grass were three dogs, including a black and brown Doberman. The smiling girl in the brown jeans sat them down at a table near the end closest to the water and said she’d be with them in a minute. A tall, grey-haired man with a moustache came across and said something to the pilot and they walked down to the plane. They had a few more words, then the co-pilot left him and walked back up to Jimmy.

  ‘Mr Rosewater,’ he said politely. ‘We might be running a little late this afternoon.’

  ‘We’re not in any mad hurry,’ answered Jimmy. ‘What’s up anyway?’

  ‘We’re going to have to do a few trips to Pittwater and bring some police in.’

  ‘Police?’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Yeah. Apparently some nutters have stolen two boats and shot a couple of fisheries inspectors. Then they shot up a police launch. So the police are stopping and searching all boats in the area. And we have to give a hand. But it shouldn’t affect us that much. Maybe twenty minutes or so. We’ll do our best, though.’

  ‘Yeah … righto,’ replied Jimmy.

  ‘So have a good day,’ smiled the co-pilot, ‘and we’ll see you this afternoon.’

  ‘Roger over and out,’ said Norton.

  The co-pilot walked off and Les turned to Jimmy, who looked like he was thinking furiously. He stared at Les, then this noise suddenly came from Norton’s overnight bag. Jimmy heard it and started to move. Les held up his hand.

  ‘No, I’ll get it, Jimmy. I mean, I’m your driver. I may as well operate the switchboard as well.’ Les unzipped the overnight bag and handed Jimmy his mobile phone.

  Jimmy snatched it and pulled out the aerial. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I just fuckin’ heard. Can you fuckin’ believe it? Yeah. Okay. Yeah.’ Jimmy looked at Les for a second. ‘No, that’s no problem. Yeah. Yeah. Okay, see you then.’ Jimmy pushed the aerial back in, Norton took the phone off him, put it back in the bag, then took out his camera. He aimed it at Jimmy and took a photo. ‘I don’t know how that’ll turn out, James. You weren’t smiling very much.’

  Jimmy stared evenly at Norton for a moment or two. ‘What are you doing tonight, Les?’

  ‘What am I doing tonight? Hah!’ Les turned round and took a couple of photos of the seaplane taxiing off. ‘What do you think I’m doing? Carting you around somewhere, I suppose.’

  ‘You fancy a quick trip up to a place called Avondale and back? It’s just this side of Newcastle.’

  ‘Sure,’ shrugged Les. ‘Why not? That’s what I’m here for, aren’t I?’

  ‘We should be back in Terrigal by ten o’clock.’

  ‘Terrific. Just in time for a drink at the resort and before the disco gets too crowded.’

  Jimmy detected the sarcasm in Norton’s voice. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Les?’

  Les looked evenly at George’s nephew. ‘Jimmy, I couldn’t give a shit. And I don’t give a fuck what you’re up to either. But if the cops arrive and start asking questions, and they find out you’re a dirty, scrumbo abo who should be in the nick,’ Norton smiled and shook his head, ‘Jimmy, you’re on your own, soul brother.’

  Jimmy returned Norton’s smile. ‘Thanks, Les. I always knew I could count on you.’

  Norton was about to say something when the girl came back and asked if they wanted any drinks.

  ‘Yes. I’ll have a Bloody Mary, please,’ said Les. ‘And the bloody hotter, the bloody better.’ He gave the girl a wink then looked at Jimmy. ‘Even if I’m driv
ing, I can still have one.’

  Jimmy looked at Les for a second, then smiled up at the girl. ‘Bloody good idea. I might have one, too. But I think I’ll be having more than one.’

  While he waited for the drinks to arrive, Les strolled down to the water’s edge and took some more photos. Another seaplane arrived with four people on board, a cruiser pulled up, a couple of boats went past towing some kids on surfboards and in the distance Les was sure he could make out the markings of another police launch. So, Jimmy, he mused, the wallopers have stuffed things up a bit at this end. Bad luck. But I knew he was up to something. Should I ask him? No, I think I’ll just act the dumb heavy for the time being. If he wants to tell me, I imagine he will. Not that I really give a stuff to be quite honest. Les looked around the hills in the distance and the magnificent green bay shimmering in the sunshine. I’m having too much fun playing lifestyles of the rich and useless. He took a photo of the ducks, then strolled back to their table.

  The Bloody Marys arrived, complete with a big, crunchy stick of celery, and there weren’t enough Ps in perfect to describe them. Les took a healthy sip and his eyes watered, his throat burned and his taste buds started doing a Maori Haka on his tongue. Les was hungry when he got on the plane. Another sip of his Bloody Mary and he was ready to grab a wooden stool and start bashing away at the nearest rock with any oysters growing on it. There was no need. The girl arrived with the day’s menu and said not to worry about ordering any entrees, she’d bring the lot over on a plate. Just order the mains. Les went for the Rack of Lamb with celeriac puree and sweet potato chips. Jimmy opted for the Quail Stuffed with Grapes, served on a bed of couscous with a citrus sauce. Minutes later the entrees arrived. A platter of king prawns caught the day before and a plate of oysters picked and washed that morning. Marinated calamari, croute emmantaloise, salad of smoked chicken fillet and roasted red pepper in a seeded mustard mayonnaise, smoked salmon fettuccine with creamy vermouth and dill sauce and Thai fish cakes. Norton thought he was going to die from overenjoyment.

  While they were ripping into the entrees, the pianist walked over to the pergola, followed by the Doberman, and started plunking out ‘How Much is That Doggie in the Window’ and the stupid bloody dog started singing along with him. He did another song and the dog joined in again, even dropping its howl a key. It was a complete hoot.

  ‘Thank you very much, ladies and gentleman,’ said the pianist. ‘Could we have a round of applause for the dog.’

  Everybody clapped wildly, then the pianist slipped into all the songs he did at the resort only without the dirty ditties. Before long the mains arrived along with a bowl of perfectly cooked vegetables. They were absolutely delicious. Les washed his down with mineral water and for some reason Jimmy stayed on Bloody Marys though he didn’t appear to be getting drunk. The pianist played more songs, the dog did another bracket, then a blonde-haired woman who was the owner’s wife got up and belted out a few tunes in a good, strong voice and wowed them. After that, everybody got into the singing and dancing, boozing away and having a wonderful time. It was more like a big, old party among friends than an afternoon in a restaurant. Les and Jimmy got to meet some nice people and danced with a couple of blokes’ wives. One couple even invited them onto their cruiser for a look and it was more like a luxury, floating home unit than a boat. After that it was back for sweets and coffee; Mississippi mud cake with tamarillo coulis and cream, and sticky date pudding with butterscotch sauce.

  As an afternoon it was as good or better than any Norton had spent anywhere in the world. The only thing missing was a nice girl, because with the sun going down over the still, green waters of the bay, it wasn’t only beautiful, it was truly romantic.

  Les looked at George’s nephew over his coffee. ‘I’ll tell you what, Jimmy,’ he said sincerely, ‘this place is sensational. I only wish you were a sheila.’

  Jimmy gave Norton a quick once-up-and-down. ‘Christ, I’m glad you’re not.’

  Sadly, before Les knew it, it was time to go. The plane taxied in to collect them. Les settled the bill and then the owner, the pianist, the staff and just about everybody else in the place saw them off. It was like saying goodbye to old friends. Before they climbed on board, Les stopped.

  ‘Jimmy,’ he said, ‘I’m stone, cold sober, but that’s one of the best days I’ve ever had. Thanks, mate.’

  Jimmy flashed his infectious smile. ‘Like I keep telling you, Les—any time at all, mate. Any time at all.’

  They were the only ones on the plane this time and the pilots had obviously been flat out all day, so they didn’t go on with a great deal of banter this time. But the flight back into the setting sun was a breeze and the view as they left the Hawkesbury and flew into Brisbane Water was truly magnificent. Les popped off another couple of photos, the co-pilot took his camera and popped one of Jimmy and Les sitting in the back, and by the time Les finished the roll they were swishing gracefully onto Brisbane Water. As they taxied back to the jetty the sun was just saying adios for the day. Jimmy must have settled with the pilots earlier as they thanked them for a safe journey, said goodbye, then walked back to the car.

  ‘There’s no need to go back to Terrigal,’ said Jimmy, as he did up his seat belt. ‘Just go straight back along The Entrance Road and I’ll tell you when to turn off.’

  ‘I’ll have to stop for some petrol first.’

  ‘Good. While you’re doing that, I’ll get a torch and a road map.’

  Les pulled up at a garage on the other side of the punt bridge, filled the tank and got a packet of Jaffas, while Jimmy got what he needed. Then they got back in the car. Les had only brought one tape with him when they left earlier and, with ‘Tube Snake Boogie’ by ZZ Top bopping lightly through the car stereo, he set off into the night not having the foggiest idea where Jimmy was taking him.

  They drove past Erina and Wamberal then Jimmy told Les to turn left at some roundabout. As they did, Les got a quick glimpse of a sign saying Tumbi Road. It was a long skinny road that curved a bit here and there. Les couldn’t make out much in the darkness except trees and houses and other cars going past. They got onto some other road and Les glimpsed a sign saying Berkeley Vale, another one saying Tuggerah, and signs pointing to Newcastle. Then it was all monster roundabouts, more roundabouts, a huge shopping centre, Westfield or something, more roundabouts, more signs pointing to Newcastle, then another one next to another monster roundabout.

  ‘Christ! What the fuck do you call this joint?’ said Les, slowing down again as he watched a small truck in the rear-view mirror with its lights on high beam almost run up his arse. ‘Land of a thousand fuckin’ roundabouts.’

  ‘Not that much further,’ replied Jimmy, ‘and we should come to the freeway.’

  ‘Terrific,’ said Les, as the truck went around him.

  They went on further through more roundabouts and signs pointing to Newcastle when Les saw the traffic slowing down ahead.

  ‘Ohh no. I don’t believe it,’ he said happily. ‘A set of lights for a change. You fuckin’ beaut.’ Les stopped for the red light and pointed out the window. ‘Hey, look over there, Jimmy. A McDonald’s. You want to stop for some fries or a chocolate sundae? What about a McFeast?’

  ‘Just keep in this lane, Les,’ said Jimmy. ‘You got to turn right onto the freeway up ahead.’

  ‘Whoopee. I can’t wait.’

  When the lights turned green, Les drove on, then took a hairpin kind of turn right and came down onto a long, straight freeway. He kept in the inside lane and stayed right on the speed limit while Jimmy switched his torch on and began shining it over the map. Les still didn’t let his curiosity get the better of him. Whatever happened would happen and he had a feeling whatever Jimmy was up to it was only something petty. Though someone had mentioned Newcastle to Les recently, but he couldn’t think for the moment where or when. All Les did notice was that they crossed the Wyong River and another sign loomed up on the left saying Morisset.

  ‘Left here,�
� said Jimmy.

  Les drove off the freeway, then pulled up at a set of lights a bit further on. ‘Morisset. Isn’t that where the rathouse is?’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You got any relations in there?’ Les asked, half jokingly.

  Jimmy shook his head and half jokingly replied, ‘Not in there.’

  When they got into Morisset, Les noticed a sign saying Welcome to Lake Macquarie—Australia’s Largest Coastal Lake. Then after that it was a complete balls up. Jimmy twisted and turned the map around under the torch and looked at it like it was a Chinese newspaper. Left here. No right here. No, go back there. Left there. Wait on, go right. Les glimpsed a sign saying Sandy Creek, then they got onto some long, straight road and Jimmy said this was it. Les put his foot down, then about four kilometres further on hit the brakes in front of a prime-mover parked across the road with a sign on it saying STOP, ROAD UP FOR REPAIRS. Jimmy cursed, and stared at the map, then it was back the way they came and go right. Or left. They crossed Dora Creek and went through Dora Creek Station, Les kept going as instructed and they finished up at Eraring Power Station. After more cursing and running the light over the map, it was back to Dora Creek Station where they drove round in circles while Jimmy tried to figure out how to get to the other side of the railway lines. As a navigator Jimmy made a good steamroller driver and Les could have come up with some great lines to throw at him and choice amounts of shit to put on him. But it was just as much fun listening to the stereo, eating Jaffas and watching Jimmy flounder around trying to read the map. Finally Jimmy found a way out of the puzzle, they got onto some other straight road and it was now a definite straight ahead. This is it. Les drove on past an old, empty shop and some houses and another sign, this one saying STOP, BRIDGE UP. Then another sign STOP, BRIDGE UP. Then another. On just about every corner they came to was a black-on-yellow sign—STOP, BRIDGE UP. After about the sixth sign Les pointed out the window.