‘Hello,’ said Murray, ‘I’ve got you this time. There’s definitely sweet sherry in the bloody trifle.’
Tjalkalieri tilted his head and held up his hands apologetically. ‘Sorry about that, Muzz. But you know how it is. Old habits die hard.’
‘That’s all right mate. I understand.’
After they’d finished eating, the girls cleared the table and Numidi brought out four freshly made mugs of Vienna coffee. The men sat there sipping and talking for a while till Murray glanced at his watch and eased his chair back from the table.
‘Well, it’s getting on for half past seven,’ he said, getting to his feet and licking some whipped cream off his top lip.
‘I might ring Les and tell him what’s going on.’
‘You know where the phone is,’ said Mumbi.
‘Yeah. I might give Elaine a ring too.’
Murray clomped down the corridor and did just that, talking to the kids as well and telling them he should be home some time tomorrow. Then he rang his brother in Sydney.
‘That you Murray?’ said Les when he heard the STD pips.
‘Yeah. I’m out at Binjiwunyawunya now. How’s things?’
‘Good. So you got there. How was the trip?’
‘Piece of piss.’
‘That’s good. Anyway, what’d the boys say? Are they interested?’
‘Yeah, they’re keen.’
‘Ahh. Bloody ripper.’
‘But they want fifty grand. They reckon your boss can afford it.’
‘Fifty! Shit. Oh well, don’t matter. Tell them that’s sweet.’
‘Okay. So what do you want to do?’
‘When are you heading back to Dirranbandi? Are you in any hurry to leave?’
Murray glanced towards the kitchen where he knew the huge fridge was jammed with Fourex and four beautiful young girls were cleaning up and probably not doing anything in particular after that. ‘Well... you know I don’t like to be away from the family for too long. But I suppose I can hang around here a bit longer for you. Why, what’s up?’
‘Well, I’ve got to sort out a few things down here tomorrow morning. Can you ring me from there say... two-thirty tomorrow?’
‘Sure. No worries. Do you want to speak to the boys yourself?’
‘No. I’ll more than likely see them out at Boulia on Thursday. And you said they’re keen to do it.’
‘Yeah. Chafing at the bit.’
‘Good. Well I’ll let you go Muzz, and I’ll hear from you tomorrow.’
‘Okay. See you then Les.’
‘See you, Muzz. Say hello to the boys for me. Hey! Have they got any sheilas staying there with them?’
‘Yeah reckon. Four top little sorts... I mean three.’
‘Ahh you lying prick. There’s four there. No wonder you don’t mind staying there — you cunt.’
‘I’ll ring you tomorrow Les. See you then mate.’
‘Yeah, you bastard. And don’t you forget.’
Murray was still laughing when he clomped back into the lounge room where the others were sipping Drambuies.
‘And how was your brother?’ asked Tjalkalieri after Murray had sat down and picked up the liqueur glass full of Drambuie one of the girls had left for him.
‘He’s good, Chalky. Said to say hello and all that. He was going to have a yarn to you but he reckons he’ll be up here himself on Thursday. I’ve got to ring him at half past two tomorrow to make sure.’
‘Anything else?’
Murray glanced towards the four girls cleaning up in the kitchen and chuckled to himself. ‘No. That was about it.’
They sat there comfortably, the four of them, sipping their liqueurs and chatting about the coming events. Suddenly Murray got to his feet saying he’d better go out and feed Grungle, but Nantjinin called that they’d alredy given him a forequarter of lamb from the fridge and a litre of milk. Murray finished his Drambuie, got another Fourex, then sat back down in the lounge while the boys tried to figure out what they were going to do that evening. Get stoned and listen to some music, watch TV or throw a video on. Murray said it didn’t worry him what they did as he’d been up since four, and after the long drive, the drinks and all that grouse food he was just about buggered. The boys, not really used to drinking and eating so much early in the week themselves, said that if he was going to have an early night they couldn’t see themselves being too far behind him.
The girls had joined them by now, drinking Bacardis and Coke. Someone dropped a movie in the VCR and they all sat there talking and half watching the film. It was a real lemon. Some Australian show called Bullamakanka. The only thing remotely amusing in it was some boofheaded-looking bloke running around in a beret chasing after a pig called Matilda.
‘Fair dinkum,’ said Tajlkalieri, disgust all over his face. ‘There ought to be law in this country to stop them from making movies like that. It’s lower than the Pakistani basic wage.’
The girls had paired themselves off with the owners of the homestead by now, with Koodja sitting on a cushion on the floor near Murray’s feet and looking him up and down every now and again with what seemed a bit more on her mind than whether he’d enjoyed tonight’s meal and how his car went on the trip out. Eventually Murray stretched his arms out and let go with a cavernous yawn.
‘Well,’ he said, rubbing his hands across his face. ‘You can stick this movie in your arse. I think I might hit the sack. I’m buggered.’
‘Yeah, I don’t blame you,’ said Yarrawulla. ‘This movie’d turn you off a baked dinner.’
‘I put your overnight bag in the guest room,’ said Numidi. ‘Do you want to have a shower or anything first?’
‘Yeah. I wouldn’t mind to tell you the truth. I’ve got red bulldust in my hair, my ears, up my bum. And my armpits smell like grandpa’s socks.’
‘I’ll show you how to work the shower,’ smiled Koodja.
‘Thanks.’
She led him down the corridor to the well-appointed guest room, with its neatly made double bed, brown Aboriginal motif decor and large curtained window overlooking the gardens. She waited while he got a clean T-shirt and a pair of Stubbies out of his overnight bag, then led him back down the corridor to the spacious, tiled bathroom.
‘Do you want to have a bath or a shower?’ she asked.
‘I’ll settle for a shower thanks Koodja,’ replied Murray. And I wouldn’t mind you running the loofah over my back, he thought as he watched her in her almost non-existent shorts reach through the sliding smoked-glass windows of the cubicle and turn the taps on.
‘There you go,’ she said, running her hands through the steaming jets of water. ‘If you need anything — just give me a call,’ she added with a sly smile.
‘I think I’ll be all right thanks,’ replied Murray, returning her smile. He watched her as she closed the bathroom door quietly behind her, then dropped his clothes and got under the shower.
There was something about showering in hot mineral water that Murray couldn’t quite explain. Even though the water was a little hard it seemed to bubble as it left the nozzle and caress his body like velvet, vitalising his skin and soothing away any aches or bruises from the long, dusty drive. Maybe this is why the boys always look so young, he mused, remembering his wife telling him something about women in the city paying a fortune for tiny atomizers of perfumed spawater to spray on their faces. He dried off with one of the fluffy white towels folded in a rack, wrapped another one around him and had a shave in the large vanity mirror built around the marble basin. There were several bottles of skin conditioner, deodorant and after-shave sitting neatly to the side. He sprayed some Mennen under his arms and settled for a bit of Monsieur Rochas to splash over his face.
‘Well, I certainly feel a lot better after that.’ He smiled at the others as he stood in the entranceway to the lounge in his T-shirt and stubbies.
‘You look a lot better, too,’ laughed Mumbi.
‘You don’t smell half bad either,’ giggled Numidi.
‘I can smell you from over here.’
Murray smiled back a little self-consciously. ‘Anyway gang, I’m gonna hit the sack. Thanks for the grouse meal girls — and you too fellas. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Goodnight Murray. Sleep tight,’ came the chorus from the loungeroom.
Back in the guestroom, Murray felt tired but he also felt a strange kind of freshness from the shower. He switched off the main light and turned on the small fluorescent one behind the bed. There were several copies of Hooves and Horns on a small table so he decided to read for a little while before he went to sleep.
He was standing there flicking through a couple with his back to the door when he heard it click open then close again. He turned around slowly to see Koodja standing there in the soft light wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy, pink knickers and a brief, white nightie held up by two tiny bows across her shoulders. The nightie barely covered her bum and appeared to be so delicate that if you looked at it hard it would disintegrate.
‘Koodja?’ said Murray, blinking up from the magazine. ‘What’s... what’d you want?’
‘Oh nothing,’ she replied coyly. ‘Tjalkalieri told me to look in and make sure our special guest was all right.’
‘Oh he did, did he?’ Murray had to smile at her little white lie.
‘Yes.’
‘And did Tjalkalieri tell you I was a happily married man?’
‘Yeah. He mentioned something about it.’ She shrugged, making the two little bows dance. ‘But that’s okay. I only came to make sure you were all right.’
‘Mmhh.’
Koodja moved to the other side of the bed and climbed in under the covers.
‘I thought you said you were tired?’ she smiled up at him, patting the space next to her.
Murray put the magazine down and looked at the exquisitely beautiful young girl for a moment. In twelve years of marriage to Elaine, Murray had very rarely strayed from the straight and narrow. He loved his wife and two sons fiercely and would kill anyone who happened to so much as lay a finger on any of them. But here he was, quite weary, a long long way from home, and his senses clouded somewhat from all the wine, beer and liqueur. And after all, he was only human.
Koodja smiled up at him devilishly and ran her tongue slowly across her top lip. Murray drew back the covers and climbed into bed next to her. She immediately slid across to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Murray ran his hand up over her ribcage and cupped her almost unbelievably firm breast in his hand. He squeezed it gently and the delicate, pink nipple straight away firmed up under the soft massage of his thumb. The next thing he was kissing her and her hot, sweet tongue was darting hungrily, enticingly into his mouth.
‘Koodja,’ he whispered quietly. ‘You’re right. I am tired. Real tired.’ He kissed her again. ‘But I’m not that tired. I don’t think I could ever get that bloody tired.’
The following Wednesday morning in Sydney, Les was up at six a.m. He had a run on Bondi, got cleaned up, had breakfast and was in the lounge room on the phone to Price when Warren got out of bed about eight. Price was having breakfast next to his swimming pool when Les told him it was on and he’d be needing that $100,000. Price replied that Sheldon Drewe would need a little bit of time to organise things, but to meet him at Bondi Junction at twelve-thirty. Price sounded a little sceptical over the phone, but he was no doubt still interested to see what Norton’s strange plan was all about. They chatted on for a few more minutes with Les hanging up saying he’d fill him in a bit more as things started to progress. The next call was to Eddie Salita, with Norton jotting down a name and address on a pad next to the phone before he hung up.
‘You’re up and about early this morning,’ said Warren, sipping coffee and noticing Norton in a clean pair of jeans and a freshly ironed, button-down collar blue shirt.
‘Yeah,’ replied Les, stroking his chin as he looked up from the piece of paper in his hand. ‘I’ve got a fair bit on today... and the next few days. I might even be away for a few days.’
‘Yeah. Where you going?’
‘Not far. I just mightn’t be here for a few days, that’s all.’
Warren stared at Les for a moment while he sipped his coffee. ‘Something to do with work?’
‘Something like that. But don’t worry, I’ll be here to cook tea for you tonight.’
Norton winked Warren a goodbye, grabbed his wallet and headed out the front door. As he started the car he checked once more the name and address Eddie had given him over the phone. His first stop would be Kingsford Smith airport.
He had no trouble finding a parking space when he pulled up opposite the flight facilities area twenty-five minutes later. He crossed the road and walked across to the small parking area outside the main terminal that services Lord Howe and Norfolk Islands. However, instead of going in there he headed for a small doorway a few metres in front and to the left. He stepped through it into a huge hangar with a number of small aircraft parked there, most of them getting some sort of maintenance. Several mechanics in overalls were walking around, others had there heads stuck in the cowlings of the machines they were working on. Through the open end of the hangar Les could see more private aircraft taxiing along the tarmac while dozens of others were parked neatly around the perimeters of that part of the airfield. Rows of office doorways with the names of the various air charter companies faced the end of the hangar, and above them was another row of offices flanked by a narrow walkway with a ricketty-looking wire mesh guardrail. A set of steep wooden stairs led up to these offices and Norton took two at a time. He found what he was looking for at the end of the walkway. A chipped white door with Boomerang Aviation written in faded red letters on the front. Underneath, in smaller letters but just as faded, read Kingsley Sheehan, Proprietor. Norton gave the door a rap with his knuckles and a cheery voice called him in.
Les stepped into a small, bright, if a little untidy office. Manuals, logbooks and various other aviation magazines and books were stacked on shelves around the walls, above which were hung maps of Australia and a few dog-eared posters. A tiny kitchen with a coffee machine ran off to Norton’s left and at the far end of the room was a large, glass-topped table next to a tan corduroy lounge and a couple of lounge chairs. Sitting on the lounge, underneath a curtained window with his legs crossed and reading the paper was a round, almost boyish faced man with a neat brown moustache that curled slightly at the end. He was wearing a short, black leather jacket and scarf and perched jauntily on his head was, of all things, a World War Two pilot’s peaked leather cap. For a moment Norton thought he was watching a rerun of Gregory Peck in Twelve O’Clock High.
‘Are you Kingsley Sheehan?’
‘That’s me boss,’ grinned the pilot, getting up from his seat.
Even without the grin Norton could see the pilot was one of those waggish people with a permanent twinkle in their eye. The type that rarely get the shits and love a practical joke. Norton also knew he was a mate of Eddie’s from Vietnam, so he had to be close to forty, yet Kingsley Sheehan didn’t look much over twenty. Norton returned the pilot’s warm handshake and introduced himself as George.
‘So what can I do for you, George?’ asked Kingsley, offering him a seat. ‘You want a coffee?’
Norton shook his head. ‘Eddie Salita told me to see you. I need to charter you and your plane for a couple of trips. He recommended you.’
‘Eddie sent you, did he?’ At the mention of the name Sheehan’s grin intensified and his eyes lit up noticeably. ‘How is he these days?’
‘Good. He said to say g’day to you.’
Kingsley paused for a moment and looked Les up and down. It was obvious from Norton’s appearance, and his being sent to him by Eddie Salita, that the job he had in mind wasn’t going to be an ice-cream run or a joy trip over the Blue Mountains.
‘So. What did you... have in mind George?’
From the even way the pilot spoke Norton surmised that he didn’t give a stuff much what he
did; just as long as the price was right.
‘All I want you to do, is fly me out to a place near Mt Isa, pick three blokes up and fly them back to Sydney. Then fly them back about four or five days later.’
Sheehan blinked for couple of seconds. ‘Is that all?’
‘Yeah,’ shrugged Norton. ‘What’d you expect.’
‘Well. Being a mate of Eddie’s, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d have wanted me to napalm a couple of suburbs of Brisbane or something.’
Norton shook his head. ‘No, that’s all it is. Just pick up three blokes and bring them back to Sydney.’
‘Have these blokes broken out of gaol or something. Not that I give a fuck.’
‘Turn it up. They’re just three old blokes living on a property out there — that’s all.’
‘Okay.’ The pilot still sounded a little surprised and possibly a little sceptical. ‘Anyway, where exactly are we going?’
‘You know where Boulia is?’
‘Yeah. Know it well. Got a big bitumen airstrip there. Piece of piss.’
‘Good. Well we’re not going there. We’re going about a hundred kilometres west of there, where the Yanks built an airstrip during the war, between Lucknow and Chiltern Hills. You know it?’
The pilot nodded his head. ‘I’ve flown over it a few times.’
‘Can you land a plane on it?’
‘If it’s not too rooted I can.’
‘It’s all right. A mate of mine was out there a few months ago. Said it’s okay.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll take your word for it.’
‘All right then, Kingsley.’ Norton folded his arms and looked at the boyish pilot for a second. ‘How much do you want?’
‘Two trips. Four blokes the first time. Three the second.’ Sheehan drummed his fingers on the table for a moment as he looked at Norton with one eye closed. ‘Nine thousand dollars, all up.’
‘Righto,’ replied Les without so much as a blink.
It was Kingsley’s turn to blink. He’d obviously asked Norton top dollar, but the emotionless way Les accepted the fee made the pilot wish he’d asked for more.
The Boys from Binjiwunyawunya Page 5