Guns 'n' Rose

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘Your bloody little mate did this,’ she almost spat. ‘Beat me up for no reason at all.’

  ‘He what? Jimmy? I don’t believe it.’

  ‘How do you think I got this? Walking into a bloody door? The rotten little bastard. I knew he was no good.’

  Les looked at her and felt quite uneasy in the pit of his stomach. ‘Shit! I’m sorry, Megan. I mean, I don’t know what to say. I just can’t believe it. You were both getting on famously the last time I saw you.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you can believe this. I’m getting some photos taken tomorrow when this colour’s right up, then I’m going to the police. See how tough your friend Jimmy is when I have him charged with assault. And a few other things too.’ Megan cast her eye around the house. ‘Nice home he’s got here. And I know plenty of nice cops.’

  Les stared at her, trying not to believe what he was hearing. ‘Are you fair dinkum, Megan?’

  ‘What?’ She turned to Paula. ‘You saw this, Paula. You know what happened. You too, Les. You saw it. You’re both witnesses.’

  Paula looked at Les. ‘Ohh, I reckon I’m with her, Les.’

  Norton looked back at her. ‘Yeah, I reckoned you might have been.’

  Les didn’t for the life of him know what to do. Whether to lend assistance, try to calm Megan down, offer her a Panadol. He wasn’t quite in a panic, but this was pretty heavy shit. Megan had definitely been punched in the face. Besides wondering what to do, Les was also wondering where Jimmy was. Norton’s questions were answered by the tooting of a horn outside.

  ‘Ohh, I reckon that’ll be the taxi,’ said Paula.

  ‘Good. Let’s get out of here.’ Megan dabbed at her lip again and already her black eye seemed to be getting worse. ‘Well, come on, Paula. Are you coming?’

  Norton made a helpless gesture with his hands. ‘Well, goodnight Paula. Shit! I’m sorry about this. I was hoping I might have seen you again.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Les,’ hissed Megan, ‘you’ll be seeing her again all right. In court.’

  ‘Goodnight, Les.’

  ‘Yeah, Paula. Goodnight. Goodnight…’

  Before Les could say Megan, she’d stormed off down the hallway with Paula in tow, slammed the front door behind her and taken off in the taxi, leaving Norton in the kitchen still wondering what was going on and wondering what he was going to do. About the only thing he could do for the moment was have a glass of cold orange juice. Les poured himself one and was about to put the container back in the fridge when he heard a voice near the kitchen door.

  ‘Don’t put it away. I’ll have one, too.’ It was Jimmy, standing behind him in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. He took the container from Les, poured himself a glass of orange juice and drank nearly half. ‘That crazy fuckin’ aunty gone?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Les. ‘She just left in a taxi with Paula.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Jimmy, what the fuck’s going on? You should have heard what she said before she left. Mate, it wasn’t real good.’

  ‘I half-heard her going on about something. I was having a leak.’

  Les told Jimmy about Megan raving away in the kitchen and how Paula was backing her up. ‘Jimmy, she’s going to the cops. If she does, you’re in deep shit. Have you see her face?’

  ‘Ahh, fuck her. The silly old moll.’ Jimmy drank the rest of his orange juice and refilled his glass.

  Norton couldn’t quite believe Jimmy’s indifferent attitude. But there’s always two sides to a story. ‘So what happened anyway?’

  ‘She said, “Hit me”. So I did.’

  ‘Hit her?’

  ‘Yeah. She’s fuckin’ mad. She went off her head and got me to do all these weird things with her. Then she asked me to hit her. So I belted her one.’

  Les gave Jimmy a double blink. He knew Megan was a little kinky and liked a bit of the bizarre. But Jimmy had completely blown it. ‘She probably meant she just wanted a bit of a slap and tickle.’

  ‘Yeah, well I gave her what you gave that bouncer outside the disco. A left hook, a right uppercut, then another left over the top. And down she went like a bag of shit. She got up all right, but I was too busy lying on the bed laughing.’

  Norton slapped his forehead. ‘Jimmy, you idiot. You don’t hit women.’

  ‘Ahh, who gives a fuck? It’ll do her good anyway, the dopey old bat. I’m only sorry I didn’t kick her in the ribs.’

  Norton shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to say, Jimmy. I honestly don’t know what to say.’

  Jimmy raised his orange juice. ‘How about “goodnight”? I’m knackered and I want to go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.’ Jimmy got to the doorway and stopped. ‘If I’m not up, will you give us a yell about nine or ten.’

  ‘Yeah, righto.’

  ‘And don’t worry about it, Les. It’s nothing. Remember, we got a good day on tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah, terrific. See you in the morning.’

  Les finished his orange juice, turned off all the lights, then went back to his room. He stripped off and got under the shower, still not quite believing what had happened. Although he tried to enjoy the nice warm water and soap suds, it was no good. It had happened all right and Jimmy was in bad trouble. Even if it was only half his fault, Megan had him bang to rights, and that wasn’t even taking into account that Jimmy was already a prisoner out on some sort of leave. Jimmy was up shit creek without a paddle and there was every chance Norton was going to be involved too. Then there was the small matter of a box of machine guns sitting in the boot of the car. It didn’t seem to get much better after Les dried off, put on a clean T-shirt and got into bed. Apart from the food and the weather, Norton’s holiday in Terrigal was turning into a disaster. In the meantime, though, Megan wouldn’t get the photos till her face coloured right up and by the time she got the photos round to the cops and they got their shit together, it’d be late Sunday or early Monday before they’d be banging on the door. Whatever—Norton’s holiday was going to be cut short. Very short. For the time being, though, about the only thing Les could do was try and get a good night’s sleep. It had been a long and winding day, with not a bad root thrown in at the end.

  The following morning Les was up and had his act together by around eight-thirty. Outside it had clouded over a little and what wind there was appeared to have swung round to the north-east. He wasn’t feeling all that hungry as he stood in the kitchen sipping a glass of orange juice, so rather than have breakfast down the beach Les decided to get the papers, have something light at home and watch the ‘Sunday’ programme on Channel Nine. Norton zapped down to Terrigal, doubleparked outside the newsagency and was back in the loungeroom with a cup of coffee and some toast watching Jim Waley right on nine o’clock. The feature story was something about the IRA; Les half watched ‘Sunday’, half read the Sunday papers and mainly thought things out and planned his next move.

  Thanks to Jimmy being a complete little smartarse, running round with guns and belting women, life on the beautiful Central Coast had suddenly become extremely tropical. And Les was more than a bit dirty because he was starting to enjoy himself. The food was sensational and some of the girls weren’t too bad either. But the wallopers would be around shortly and as well as Megan and the boot full of machine guns, there was a chance Norton could get pulled in for assaulting those two bouncers, along with the girl, and possibly that mug down the beach with the dog as well. So it was time to split—and the sooner the better. But there was no need to go racing out the door now, thought Les, and let Jimmy think he’d shit himself. No, I’ll stick around and act like nothing’s happened, let Jimmy think he’s Joe Cool. I’ll even go and see this band and check out all the old motorbikes with him. That sounds like fun and I want to enjoy my last day up here in Terrigal. Besides, driving into Bondi during the daytime on Sunday is like hell with neverending traffic lights. We should be back by seven or so. That’s when I’ll depart and miss all the traffic. And as I’m going tell little shitbags ex
actly what I think of him. See you, mate. You won’t be needing this food in the fridge or the booze either. And if you’re not back in the nick before Wednesday I’m sure the limo can run you up to the gate, you little prick. I should be back home by around eight-thirty, nine at the latest. I won’t tell Price or anyone I’m back. Just go straight home, put my feet up and watch TV. Hello, Warren, nice to see you. Did you miss me? Then after I’ve filled Price in on what’s been happening and told George exactly what I think of his nephew, I’ll continue my holiday somewhere else. How about down the South Coast, where I wanted to go in the first place?

  Feeling a lot happier now that he knew exactly what he was doing, Norton continued to half read the papers and half watch TV. He finished his coffee and toast and somehow felt that had sharpened his appetite as well. Les was about to go back to the kitchen and organise some more food when Jimmy came up the stairs into the loungeroom, wearing his tracksuit pants and a blue T-shirt.

  ‘G’day, Jimmy,’ said Les brightly. ‘How are you feeling, mate?’

  ‘Not bad, Les. How’s yourself?’ Jimmy sounded a little surprised or vague even, as if instead of being all bright and cheery he was expecting Les to have a fullon case of the shits with him.

  ‘Pretty good. There’s some fresh coffee in the kitchen. I’ve been down and got the papers if you want to have a look.’ Les kept his eye on the TV while he spoke to Jimmy as if he was concentrating on what was on.

  ‘Yeah, righto.’ Jimmy went to the kitchen, came back with a cup of coffee and sat down in one of the loungechairs. ‘What’s this all about?’

  ‘The IRA and Sinn Fein.’

  ‘Any good?’

  ‘There’s plenty of bombs going off.’

  They watched the last of ‘Sunday’ more or less in silence. It ended with a guitarist, then some ads, and Les switched the TV off.

  ‘So what’s doing today, Jimmy?’ he asked.

  ‘You feeling hungry?’

  ‘Jimmy…’

  ‘Yeah, I know, Les, you’re always hungry. How would you like lunch down the Galleon?’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Right in Terrigal Haven.’

  ‘Sounds pretty good to me. How’re we getting there? You want me to drive?’

  ‘It’s not too bad a day outside—I wouldn’t mind walking. It’s only about fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Righto. I don’t mind a bit of exercise.’

  ‘Then about four o’clock we’ll get the limo and go over and see the band.’

  ‘Okay. What time do you think we’ll be back?’

  ‘Oh, about six. Seven at the latest.’

  ‘Unreal. I like to watch “Sixty Minutes” on Sunday night if I get the chance.’

  Jimmy took a couple of sips of coffee and studied Norton over his cup. ‘You’re in a good mood today, Les.’

  Les had started to half glance at the papers again. He looked back up. ‘What do you mean, Jimmy?’

  ‘I mean, after last night. You were blowing up the last time I saw you.’

  ‘That?’ Les made a dismissive gesture with one hand. ‘Forget about it. I thought things over and I reckon that old scrubber’s full of shit.’

  ‘That’s what I reckon. Fuck her.’

  ‘What’s she going to do anyway?’ said Les. ‘She was pissed and fell down the stairs. It’s only her word against yours. And Paula’s. Paula didn’t see you hit her. I didn’t see you hit her. You did hit her, didn’t you, Jimmy?’

  Jimmy looked shocked. ‘Me? No way, man. If anything I was trying to help her up when she fell down drunk.’

  ‘Exactly. You try to do the right thing and some old bitch wants to shaft you.’

  ‘Right on, baby.’ Jimmy started laughing then settled down and took another sip of coffee while Les continued to scan the paper. ‘Hey, Les, you’re cool, you know that.’

  Les tossed Jimmy a wink and a nod. ‘Let’s just say, there’s worse blokes round than me, Jimmy.’

  ‘Is there what.’

  ‘So what time do you want to head down to this restaurant?’

  ‘Say, about twelve or so. I wouldn’t mind having a swim first.’

  ‘Righto. I’ll finish reading the papers, then I’ll see you—’ Les pointed an index finger towards the kitchen, ‘—back in the office.’

  Jimmy finished his coffee, then took his cup out and rinsed it in the sink. Before he went down to his room he stopped at the top of the stairs. ‘Hey, Les, how did you go with Paula last night? Did you get into her pants?’

  Norton smiled and shook his head. ‘Nearly. I was almost there when your girlfriend started banging on the door and stuffed things up. The drunken, rotten moll.’

  Jimmy nodded knowingly. ‘Right. So that’s why you had the shits last night.’

  ‘Well, wouldn’t you?’

  Jimmy looked at Norton for a moment. ‘Over Paula? No.’

  Jimmy disappeared down the stairs. Les finished reading the papers, watched him in the pool for a moment or two, then went to his room and started packing his clothes.

  There wasn’t that much so Les took his time, putting it away neatly so he wouldn’t have to iron it again when he got home. He made his bed and gave the room a tidy, then when he was satisfied everything was okay, changed into a pair of jeans and an old white Eumundi Lager T-shirt to wear down to the restaurant. He left his Jamaican T-shirt on the bed to wear over to the hotel along with a light denim shirt to throw over the top. What would he tell Jimmy as he was leaving? How about ‘goodbye’? And maybe a toe right up the arse for involving Les in his rotten little scam and a blistering earful of what he could do with his rotten fuckin’ machine guns. Les placed his bags by the end of the bed and walked out to the kitchen. Jimmy came in a few minutes later wearing his white tracksuit and Fila trainers.

  ‘You right, Les?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Les, rubbing his hands together. ‘Let’s go.’

  There was the usual Sunday traffic cruising around, but the walk down was pleasant enough. Jimmy wasn’t saying much. He seemed to be thinking about something and taking everything in around him while he skipped along with this cocksure attitude like Brer Rabbit in the briar patch again. Norton left him to himself and let him lead the way. They went past the Silver Conche on the opposite side of the road; Jimmy made some remark about how even though Megan finished with a black eye she still had a better time than being stuck with the two suits from Adelaide. Les laughed like it was one of the funniest things he’d ever heard. See how funny you think it is, you little smarty, when they give you another year, he laughed to himself. They ran out of footpath just past the North Avoca turn-off and crossed the road. On the left was a bowlshaped valley full of houses and on the right a scrubby rise running along the cliff tops shielded the road from the ocean and the rocks below. They passed a huge house with gables and turrets that looked like it belonged to the Addams Family, then crossed over a bit further on at the turn-off into the Haven.

  Les had only glimpsed the Haven going past and didn’t realise how big an area it was. A football oval sat in the middle, surrounded by rolling parkland and bush that ran up to the cliffs. On the left was a beach and bay full of boats, pelicans and catamarans, to the right a steep, green rise that Jimmy said was The Skillion towered up over the ocean and further on more scrubby, rugged headlands led round to North Avoca. Cars came and went towing fishing boats or jet-skis, people were kicking balls around the oval, others were either walking about or seated at the picnic tables where a Mr Whippy van was doing brisk business. The Galleon and its surrounding wooden balcony was built over the beach with a dive shop and catamaran club beneath. Les followed Jimmy down some stairs to a carpark and inside the glass doors of the restaurant. At the top of a short set of steps was a wooden counter with a jar of shells sitting on it.

  The restaurant was quite spacious and being Sunday lunchtime it was almost full. There was one dining room as you walked in, then another with a line of chairs and tables placed alon
g the balcony overlooking the ocean. The place had a warm, timbered feel about it that welcomed you as you entered. There were indoor plants hanging from the beams and ceiling, paintings and prints mounted on the walls and a number of rope pulleys, old ship pump handles and tiny wooden keels here and there which gave the restaurant a distinctive, nautical ambience. A fair-haired, boyish-faced man in glasses wearing a blue shirt smiled at them from behind the jar of sea shells as they walked in.

  ‘Hello, Jimmy,’ he said. ‘How’s things?’

  ‘Pretty good, Len,’ answered Jimmy. ‘What about yourself?’

  ‘Busy, but I got a nice one for you,’ he added with a wink.

  The man led them over to a table on the balcony right above the water. There was a beautiful view across the ocean, a light breeze whispered across the tables and below them Les could hear the gentle, soothing swish of tiny waves lapping against the sand.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ said Jimmy.

  ‘What can I say, Jimmy?’ replied Les. ‘You’ve done it again—I’m impressed. If the food’s half as good as the view, we’re laughing.’

  ‘Have I let you down yet?’

  ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘It’s BYO, but I don’t feel like drinking much at the moment. And it shouldn’t worry you.’

  Norton shook his head. ‘In fact I’m not having much this afternoon either. I might wait till we get back and have a few watching TV.’ You wouldn’t like to see me get pinched for drink-driving on my way back to Sydney, would you, Jimmy? thought Les.

  ‘Please yourself.’

  A waitress in a blue dress and a white Galleon polo shirt left them with a menu. When she came back, Les had decided to go for the oysters grilled with Thai coconut curry and a Tilo Steak with green peppercorns and garlic gratin potatoes. Jimmy decided on Veal Sweetbreads sauteed in bacon, mushrooms, onion and garlic, and Crispy Skin Honey Sesame Duck with orange and mango compote. For dessert they both chose baked peach cheesecake with chantilly cream all washed down with mineral water, ice and slice, followed by two flat whites. Again the food, the service and the atmosphere were sensational and again Norton didn’t leave a great deal on any of the plates. Bad luck this was going to be the last supper because there were probably more restaurants around Terrigal worth sampling. Maybe next time.