The Day of the Gecko

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘Yeah, righto,’ said Les, sounding more than a little mystified. He gave it a moment or two, then did exactly as he was told and went back in the lounge room.

  Well, isn’t that a nice turn-up for the books, thought Les as he continued with his taping. According to him, ASIO’s watching the place. And I suppose he ought to know. I don’t know about those other two being in the KGB. I think that’s making the cup of tea a bit too strong. But if he’s right about the other, what the hell are they doing watching this block of flats for? Surely it’s not Susie and all her CDs. She’s not smuggling microfilm or CD-Roms or something? Maybe that was her contact at the airport. I only got a glimpse, but he looked middle-eastern. Side Valve, a spy? Les shook his head. Hardly. A bit shifty maybe, but that’s about all. Maybe it’s Ackerley? The mysterious disappearing boarder, with his Star Trek posters and his books about the fourth dimension. He’s a mad scientist. A time traveller. That cheap wardrobe in his room is really the Tardis and that’s where he’s hiding. Despite the levity, Les suddenly felt a little uneasy for a moment. What if ASIO are watching the major? No. Les shook his head again. If they were, he’d have told me. Or on the other hand he wouldn’t have said anything at all. For a few more moments the gravity of what Les and The Gecko were up to flashed through Norton’s mind. There was a chance things could go wrong. Very bloody wrong.

  Les found another track he liked and taped it. ‘Down Home’ by Marty Stuart. While it was playing he tried, if not to see the funny side of things, at least the cynical side. Who did I say the major thought he was? Frederick Forsyth? No, it’s John Le Carre. First we’ve got ASIO and the KGB. Next’ll be the CIA and MI5. How about the Mafia? No, a Columbian drug cartel. What about the Russian Mafia? That’s what those two fishermen are. Russian Mafia dons. They look more like Laurel and bloody Hardy. Boris and Igor. Les smiled thinly. That’s what I’ll nickname them. I’ll call the big bloke Boris and the young one Igor. They’re a couple of good Russian names, aren’t they? Les finished the Marty Stuart track and still wasn’t sure whether to start laughing or crying when he felt another tap on his shoulder. Les saw it was the major again and went to take the headphones off.

  ‘You hungry?’

  ‘What was that again, Garrick?’

  ‘You feel like something to eat, Les?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ Norton switched the stereo off and stood up. ‘What do you feel like?’

  ‘Just a bit of schnitzel and salad or something. But not down the beachfront. A pub lunch amongst the punters’ll do.’

  ‘I know just the place,’ said Les.

  Norton suggested the No Names at the old Bondi Rex. The food was good, you could blend in with the crowd and it was only about ten minutes’ lazy walk from the flat; or a three-minute forced march if you wanted to do it Gecko-style. The major put on a light blue cotton hang-out shirt and they headed out the door towards Glenayr Avenue, then Beach Road.

  ‘So did you see anything else out the front, Garrick?’ asked Les.

  The major shook his head slowly. ‘No, nothing much. A couple of blokes who came out of that block of flats looked a bit suss. But . . .’ The major shook his head again. ‘No, nothing much.’

  The major seemed to be thinking about something on the way down, so Les left him to it. If he wanted to tell Les anything he probably would. Les was trying not to think about the whole thing, but couldn’t help it. All he kept saying to himself was ‘Shit! I hope nothing goes wrong’.

  One thing was for sure, there was nothing wrong with the food. There weren’t many people left when they walked in the glass doors of the No Names, Bondi. They found a table between the kitchen and the back wall and had a chicken schnitzel and salad each, plus Les had a spaghetti and got two bottles of mineral water. The Gecko got into his schnitzel, had a taste of Norton’s spaghetti and ordered one also; which he couldn’t finish, so Les finished it for him.

  ‘Well, how was that, Garrick?’ asked Les, swallowing the last of his mineral water.

  ‘Very good, Les,’ replied the major. ‘You’ve done it again. In fact, I wouldn’t mind coming back here for another one of those chicken schnitzels.’

  ‘Any time you want, Major Lewis, sir. I’m here to look after you.’

  The Gecko smiled. ‘I know that, Les. In the meantime, I’d like to do a bit of snorkelling this afternoon.’

  ‘Snorkelling — as in skindiving?’

  ‘Yes, but no wetsuits and weights and shit.’

  ‘You want me to come with you?’

  The Gecko shook his head. ‘No, I’ll go alone. Besides, after all that spaghetti, you’re likely to sink.’

  ‘Yeah,’ laughed Les, ‘you could be right.’ Good, that means I don’t have to go home to get my gear and look at Warren and his moll.

  ‘I just want to have a bit of a look round the front of the baths. Check out a couple of things.’

  ‘You got enough gear?’

  The Gecko nodded. ‘Yes, I brought it all with me.’

  ‘All right. When did you want to go? Now?’

  ‘Why not,’ agreed the major. ‘By the time we walk back to the flat, then down the beach, the meal will have gone down admirably.’

  Les paid the bill and they walked back to Susie’s unit almost in silence; with the major again doing what appeared to be some heavy thinking. Inside the unit, the major said he wanted to make a couple of phone calls. Les said to go for it. He’d fix all that up with Susie when she got back from Melbourne. The major rang what sounded like his wife first, then somebody else. Les fiddled around in the bedroom while the major was on the phone, putting a few things in an overnight bag for the beach; towel, zinc cream, book, etc. Bad luck, no banana chair. Les slipped into a pair of thongs, then waited for the major in the kitchen. Not long after, The Gecko had his cap on, his overnight bag packed and over his shoulder, and a pair of thongs on also. Les punched in the security buttons and they wheeled out the main entrance. Who should be sitting out the front in his usual position, wearing his usual gear, but Macabee. Norton knew he should have kept his mouth shut. But the bloke was such a lemon he couldn’t help himself.

  ‘G’day, mate,’ he said, with false good humour. ‘Not goin’ fishin’ with your two friends today?’

  Macabee spat on the footpath again. ‘KGB bastards.’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ agreed Norton. ‘They’re all dropkicks.’

  They got a few paces past the units when The Gecko turned to Les. ‘I thought that was what the old bloke said.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Norton again, only this time a little apprehensively. ‘You could be right.’

  They crossed Six Ways, went down Hall Street as far as the St Vincents at Jacques Avenue and then turned right and down to Lamrock Avenue. Les was content to let the major lead the way. They didn’t talk much. Les mentioned a little about Hawaii and how he happened to be in Susie’s flat. The major seemed to be listening, but he seemed to be thinking as much as he was listening, so Norton let it go at that. They crossed Campbell Parade and walked down the park, stopping in front of the railing at the end of the promenade while the major checked things out. A southerly was blowing with a few clouds around, so even though there were plenty of people on the beach, it was nowhere near packed. The tide seemed to be coming in with not much of a surf up but quite a strong rip running in the south comer from the rocks all the way to the baths; the baths looked to be deserted.

  Garrick suggested they go over near the rocks in front of the steps before the stormwater drain, a little away from everyone, so Les followed him down the ramp and across the sand. Despite the breeze and the clouds there were still sufficient tits and bums to perv on as they trudged across the sand; and plenty of blokes’ ones too, if you were that way inclined. The Gecko chose a spot near a couple of rocks and Les scooped some sand out, placed his towel over one of the rocks, then sat down making himself as comfortable as possible without his faithful banana chair. The Gecko dropped his bag on the sand, too, and was soon down
to his Speedos and a pair of ear-plugs. He wasn’t super muscly, but had a wiry, hard frame with very little fat. Les also noticed he had pretty much the same snorkelling gear Les used in Florida; mini-fins, silicone mask and leak-proof snorkel and webs.

  The major pointed to his watch. ‘I should be back in an hour, but wait two hours. If something happens and I’m not back by then, ring Eddie. Okay?’

  ‘Yeah, righto,’ replied Les, a little concerned. ‘Hey, everything’s all right, isn’t it? You want me to follow you round the rocks?’

  ‘No, it’s all right, Les. I’ll see you in an hour.’

  ‘Okay, then.’

  The major walked down to the water’s edge, stood inconspicuously amongst the other bathers for a few moments, then got into his diving gear and, keeping away from the surfers and boogie-board riders, drifted out in the rip running alongside the rocks. Les watched him floating out easily, till he got to the flat rock ledge where the baths start and began diving. It wasn’t long before Norton lost him in the chop and the backwash coming from the ledge next to the baths. Oh well, thought Les, not much to do now. He shifted his back-side into the sand, got his book from the overnight bag and began reading more Paul Mann. Every now and again he’d gaze out towards the baths in case he might spot the major. But no. So it was back to the book. And, in a way, Les couldn’t think of a better way to spend an hour than sitting on the beach with a good novel.

  It didn’t take long for an hour of more murder and corruption in India to pass and Les started looking at his watch. An hour and ten minutes went by, then twenty minutes. After an hour and a half, Les put his book back in the bag and was concentrating on the ocean where the rip ran alongside the rocks and the baths. There was no sign of the major. Les had taken off his sunglasses and was standing on a rock looking out to sea, when he heard a voice behind him.

  ‘I enjoyed that, Les.’

  ‘What . . .?’ Les got down from the rock and looked at the major who appeared to be covered in tiny goose bumps.

  ‘I would have come in earlier, but there was a bit of a wave on one of the sandbanks. So I had a surf with my snorkelling gear on, then had a quick shower up near the railing. It was fun.’

  ‘Fair enough. It’s just that after ninety minutes . . .’

  The Gecko definitely smiled. ‘Good to see you’re alert, Les. It’s very gratifying to know I’m involved with someone I can trust.’

  ‘Thanks, Garrick. But I am here to keep an eye on you, you know. If anything should happen, Eddie and Price’ll kick my arse.’

  ‘Sure,’ smiled the major, getting his towel from his bag. ‘Now, what say we start heading back to the flat. After an hour and a half out there, my quoit feels like it’s frozen shut.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Les, putting his towel in his bag. ‘I’ll make a big pot of hot coffee when we get there.’

  ‘Good idea, Les. You do make a mean cup of coffee.’

  ‘Thanks, Garrick.’

  The major dried off and got changed, put his diving gear back in his bag, and they walked over to the ramp, then over to the steps and back across the park towards Campbell Parade.

  ‘So, what did you see out there, major?’ enquired Les. ‘Anything worth . . .?’

  ‘No, not really,’ answered the major. ‘I was just checking out the rocks along the foreshore and different things. That wall facing the ocean is in worse shape than I thought. But nothing to get overexcited about.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  They walked a bit further, when the major turned to Norton. ‘Les, there’s something I’d like to ask you.’

  ‘Sure,’ answered Norton, ‘what is it?’

  ‘If you were going fishing. You’d definitely use bait, wouldn’t you, Les?’

  Norton had to think for a moment. ‘Well, that’s the main idea of fishing, ain’t it? A hook, on the end of a line, with bait on it, to catch fish?’

  ‘Exactly what I thought, Les. So if you were going fishing. You’d use more than just a couple of big sinkers on the end of your line, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Well, of bloody course you would.’ Norton looked at The Gecko. ‘What is this, Major, sir? Some kind of riddle?’

  The Gecko started to laugh. ‘No, Les, not a riddle. I was just asking you something, that’s all.’ The Gecko continued to chuckle as if he was laughing at some private joke. ‘You know those two Russian fishermen? The ones I saw Macabee swearing at earlier.’

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Les, as they approached Campbell Parade.

  ‘Well, in case we see them around again, I’ve thought of a couple of good nicknames we can give them.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Yeah. We’ll call the big one Boris, and the other one Igor.’

  Norton gave The Gecko a double, triple blink. ‘What was that again, Major?’

  ‘We’ll call the big one Boris. And his skinny mate Igor. They’re a couple of good old Russian names.’

  Norton stared at the smiling Gecko and nodded dumbly. ‘Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I thought, Les.’

  Norton didn’t know what to think as they crossed Campbell Parade and beaded up Lamrock. What did I say earlier? Frederick Forsyth. John Le Carre. Now I’m in the bloody Twilight Zone. Surely the bastard can’t read minds. Norton shook his head. This is starting to get a bit weird.

  Not a great deal was said during the walk up Lamrock Avenue. Les was too busy thinking and, it seemed, so was The Gecko. Back at the flat, the major got under the shower and Les got another plunger of coffee together. Les was waiting for the electric kettle to boil and kind of pondering what the major meant about going fishing without bait and also still wondering whether he had some sort of strange ESP, along with everything else that was different about him, when the phone rang. The kettle had an automatic cutout; Les left it, went to the lounge and picked up the receiver.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello, Les. It’s Susie.’

  ‘Susie! Hey, how are you, mate? How’s things down there in Melbourne?’

  ‘Terrific. Overcast, raining, cold — ideal weather for a funeral.’

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s Melbourne, Susie, ain’t it?’

  ‘Yeah. So how’s things up there? Everything okay? You haven’t wrecked my flat yet?’

  ‘We had a bit of a party last night and someone threw up over your CDs and piddled on your lounge, but apart from that — it’s been pretty quiet.’

  ‘Thanks, Les. You know, sometimes I don’t know whether to believe you or not.’

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ chuckled Les. ‘All I’ve been doing is sitting around taping your CDs and drinking all your coffee. I even met Macabee and those two Russian blokes.’

  ‘That New Guinea Blue coffee’s nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, tops. Better than that lime tea.’

  ‘So, everything’s okay, Les? No phone calls?’

  Norton shook his head. ‘No, no phone calls. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of your boarder either.’

  ‘He’ll get in touch sooner or later, I suppose. Listen, Les, what I’m mainly ringing you for is —’

  ‘You’re homy and you want me to come down,’ cut in Les. ‘Okay, I’ll be on the next plane.’

  ‘No, not that. Christ, Les! That’s all you ever think of.’

  ‘I can’t help it, Susie. I’m sorry. You just bring out the animal in me.’

  ‘Listen, seriously, Les. I forgot to tell you to pick up my mail. I’m expecting a couple of cheques.’

  ‘Okay. Hang on and I’ll go and have a look now if you like.’

  ‘No, that’s all right. Just leave them on my dressing-room table.’

  ‘Okey doke, or, no worries, as they say in Melbourne.’

  They nattered on for another minute or so about nothing much in particular before Susie said goodbye and that she’d probably see Les on Sunday. She didn’t know what flight she was on yet. Les said to let him know and he’d pick her up at the airport. Norton put the
phone down just as the major came out of the shower with a towel round him. Les looked up.

  ‘That was Susie, the girl who owns the place.’

  ‘She doesn’t know I’m here, does she?’

  Les shook his head. ‘No. She just reminded me to pick up her mail, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The major went into his bedroom and shut the door. Les went into the kitchen and filled the plunger with boiling water. While it was brewing, Les thought he might as well go out and check Susie’s letterbox for her. He left the flat unlocked, but took the keys to the main door.

  There were three letters for Susie. An electricity bill, another one from Telecom, and what looked like a bank statement. Definitely no cheques though. Les had another look to make sure, when who should loom into view coming up Hall Street, but the two Russians. Same grey tracksuits, same overnight bags, only the big man, Boris, was carrying the one fishing rod. Les caught the big man’s eye and was almost about to say, ‘Hello, Boris’ when the bigger man spoke.

  ‘Hello, my friend,’ he said jovially. ‘How are you today?’

  ‘Pretty good thanks, mate,’ replied Les. ‘How’s the fishin’ goin’?’

  ‘The fishing. Hah! Not so good the fishing.’ Then the older Russian’s face broke into a leathery, jowly grin and he made an expansive gesture with his hands. ‘But you should have seen the vun that got avay.’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Les, with a wink and a smile. ‘That’s the old story, ain’t it, mate.’

  The big Russian walked off hah-hahing and hoh-hohing at his own joke with the younger man following behind. Oh well, thought Les, KGB or not, the old bloke doesn’t mind a laugh now and again. Yeah, he’s got a really vild and vacky, vunderful sense of humour. Boris opened the front door and Les glanced up from Susie’s letters just in time to see the younger man staring at him. Unlike the older man, it was an expressionless look and completely lacking in humour. If anything, it bordered almost on rancour. Don’t know about you though, Igor, thought Norton. I think if you ever laughed you’d probably shit yourself. The door closed behind them and they were gone. Les closed Susie’s letterbox and strolled back into the kitchen. The major was standing there, showered and shaved, wearing his tracksuit pants and a plain blue T-shirt.