‘So are my fists, Brillo Head. So don’t get too fuckin smart. All right. I’ll take the double bed.’
Norton’s room had a closet in the corner and a set of drawers against the wall on the right. A window opened onto the parking area and the checked duvet matched the light blue walls. The only problem was the bed. It was on rollers and when Les tried it out, it took off towards the window. When he stood up and tossed his overnight bag on it, the bed rolled towards the wall. Bloody hell, thought Les. If I toss around in my sleep tonight, I’ll finish up on the balcony. He took his shaving kit out and put it in the bathroom, then placed his ghetto blaster on top of the drawers and switched it on, finding a local FM station playing Fleetwood Mac ‘You Make Loving Fun’. It was a cruisy old tune with a laid back beat and echoed smoothly around the flat.
‘All right, Tony,’ said Les, peering into Tony’s room. ‘We going round to get some piss?’
Tony looked up from what he was doing. ‘Yeah righto. I’ll just go to the bathroom.’
Les found a large glass in the kitchen, poured himself a drink of water and settled down on the lounge to wait for Tony. Tony eventually got his act and his credit cards together and stepped into the loungeroom.
‘Righto, Shitbags,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Yes. Why don’t we.’ Les took his glass out to the kitchen, turned off the ghetto blaster and they walked down to the car.
The large bottle shop had an extensive variety of imported beers and spirits. There was a crushed-ice box and at one end was a servery full of pickles and snacks. Les bought a six-pack of Becks, a six-pack of Carlton long necks, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka. Plus a bag of ice, sparkling mineral water and a tub of grilled eggplant. Tony got two six-packs of Jack Daniel’s and Coke, two six-packs of Bacardi Cruisers and two large packets of corn chips. Les settled his share of the rent with Tony, then back at the flat, they crammed everything into the fridge and stared at each other.
‘Christ,’ said Tony. ‘Are you sure we bought enough piss?’
‘Yeah. I don’t think we’re going to run short,’ agreed Les. ‘So what’s your John Dory now, Steelo?’
‘My story? Fuck round on my laptop and try and finish what I started in the car.’
‘Okay.’ Les looked at his watch. ‘Well, the day’s about rooted. I’m going for a run on the beach before it gets dark.’
‘Fair enough,’ smiled Tony, taking a can of Jackie’s and Coke from the fridge. ‘Enjoy.’
‘Thanks. I will.’ Les changed into his training gear, wrapped an old sweat rag around his head then slipped into a pair of thongs and walked down to Blueys Beach.
The breeze was a gentle off-shore when he got there and a smattering of amethyst-tinged clouds were drifting across the sky towards the horizon, while a lone sea eagle floated above the northern headland. A cluster of seagulls sat patiently at the water’s edge facing into the wind and the two surfers left at the south end were enjoying the late session. Yes, smiled Norton, taking it all in. This will do me admirably. Leaving his towel and thongs by the water’s edge, Les happily jogged off.
Thinking about this, that and the other, Les did eight laps and it was pure enjoyment not having to dodge around people or worry about what might be sticking up out of the sand. He finished with a series of crunches then had a quick dip in the clear blue ocean followed by a freshwater shower at the top of the steps. Back at the flat, Tony was seated on a bar stool in the kitchen abusing his laptop. He looked up when Les walked in with his towel around his shoulders.
‘How was the run?’
‘Grouse. The water was all right too.’ Les had two glasses of tap water, then half a bottle of sparkling mineral water. ‘So how are you going, Tony?’ Les belched. ‘You get everything finished?’
‘Yeah. Just about,’ replied Tony. ‘Except this motherless cunt of a thing has nearly driven me mad.’
‘Don’t stress out, Steelo,’ smiled Norton. ‘You’ll be sweet.’ He took off his sweatband. ‘Okay. I’m going to have a Dad ’n Dave and an Eiffel Tower.’
‘Terrific,’ said Tony, glaring daggers at his laptop.
Les showered and shaved and hung his wet training gear on the back verandah. After changing into his blue cargoes and a grey North Bondi Life Savers T-shirt, he ran a bug rake through his hair then walked out to the kitchen and took an icy cold long neck from the fridge.
‘You want a beer or something, Tony?’ he asked.
Tony looked up from his laptop. ‘Yeah, why not,’ he answered. ‘Give us a can of JD and Coke. I’m finished here. Fuck it.’
Les hooked the ring-pull off a can of JD and handed it to Tony, then sat down on a bar stool and watched as Tony closed his laptop and took a drink. ‘Now, what’s the story again tonight, Steelo?’ asked Les.
‘We’ll have dinner at the club. Say hello to Deadline and the boys. Then you and I shall sneak off and await the arrival of Ruby and Janet.’
‘So it’s definitely on?’
‘Yep. I rang the Redhead earlier. And we’re looking good.’
‘How far is it to the club?’ asked Les.
‘About five clicks. I can get Deadline to arrange for the courtesy bus if you want,’ suggested Tony. ‘Save you driving.’
Les shook his head. ‘No. I’ll take it easy on the piss. Then give it a giant nudge when we get back. I’m in no hurry to get up in the morning.’
‘Fair enough.’ Tony took another pull at his can of JD, almost draining it. ‘All right,’ he belched. ‘I’m going to have a scrub.’
Les pointed his bottle towards the bathroom. ‘The shower’s good. There’s heaps of hot water.’
‘Good.’
Les switched on the TV and waited for Tony. He watched the news, current affairs, finished his long neck, and was half getting interested in a real-life cops show when Tony stepped out of his bedroom wearing a pair of black shorts and a yellow polo shirt. He walked across to the fridge and got another can of JD, then sat down in the lounge near Les, smelling of good aftershave.
‘Anything worth watching on TV?’ asked Tony, taking a healthy swig from his can.
‘Not really.’ Les looked evenly at Tony. ‘You want to get going, Steelo? I’m fuckin starving.’
‘Yeah, me too. I’ll finish this in the car.’
Les switched off the TV, Tony locked the flat and they walked down to the Berlina.
The Sailing Club was a short, winding drive back towards Forster with the lake on the left. Sitting across from a cluster of houses built into the surrounding hills, the single storey club was obscured at the front by latticework and trees and the entrance was at the rear. Les parked the car, Tony dumped his empty can into a garbage bin, then they walked over to a short flight of steps leading into a blue-carpeted foyer. After Les signed his temporary membership form, he noticed on the walls of the corridor running down to an auditorium, framed, autographed posters of groups that had played the club: the Whitlams, the John Butler Trio, Machine Gun Fellatio and others. Taking pride of place above a doorway was the legendary Billy Thorpe.
Les followed Tony through a glass door on the left into a spacious dining room with a bank of TV screens beaming down on several rows of long grey tables near the windows on the left. The tables faced the bistro and another glass door on the right, next to a sweets machine, led to the bar and gambling area. Seated haphazardly along the tables below the TV sets were Steve Deverell and his waxhead mates, mostly wearing jeans, shorts and T-shirts. Some had their wives and girlfriends with them and several kids were giggling and running around the tables. There was a great hoo-ha of greetings, abuse and laughter when Tony walked in with Les, indicating everybody was glad to see their photographer mate.
‘Hello. It’s Thelma and Louise,’ said Steve, sitting a little away from the others, wearing a white T-shirt with TAHITI on the front.
‘How are you, Steelo, you miserable cunt? You got here.’
‘Yeah. Just to fuckin annoy y
ou, Deadline. You great goose,’ replied Tony.
‘G’day, Les,’ Steve smiled up at Norton.
‘Hello, Deadline.’ Les returned Steve’s smile and stepped over to shake his hand. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thanks, mate. And thanks for coming.’
‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Steve.’
‘You want a drink, Les?’ asked Tony.
‘Yeah. That’d be good. Get us a schooner of lite, will you, mate.’
Tony disappeared towards the bar and Les sat down alongside Steve. ‘So how’s it going, Deadline?’ asked Les.
Steve shook his head. ‘Ohh, I don’t know, mate. It’s my last night as a free man.’
‘It’s not too late, you know. I can put you in the boot of the car and have you over the Queensland border by morning.’
‘I was thinking of stealing a kayak, paddling across the lake and hiding out in the bush. But the in-laws’d hunt me down like a mangy dog.’
‘What about a helicopter snatch at the last minute, Steve?’ suggested Les. ‘Eddie could organise that.’
‘Shit! Now that’s an idea,’ said Steve. ‘In the meantime, Les, meet some of my mad mates.’
‘Righto.’
Steve stood up, Les did the same and Steve introduced Les around. Steve’s mates were a fit, tanned, happy-go-lucky bunch of larrikins with warm handshakes and smiles to match. Some were a little wary of Norton’s gangster reputation, but they soon made him feel right at home. They all had names like Roy Boy, Ray, Mitch, Oaksy, Fletch etc. The standout was a tall wiry bloke with a happy face under a shock of unruly blond hair, who Steve introduced as Cunzdrug. Cunzdrug roamed around the tables joking and horsing about and every time someone called out his name, it sounded like they were calling him Cunt Struck. Tony arrived back with Norton’s schooner and a middy for himself. Les thanked him and, still a little dry from the run, had no trouble putting almost half of it away in one swallow.
‘You ready to eat, Les?’ asked Tony.
‘Am I what,’ belched Les. He put his beer down and followed Tony over to the bistro.
An appetising aroma of grilled meat drifted out from the kitchen into the servery. Sitting on the glass counter was a bowl of lemons; Les pocketed two for the Jack Daniel’s and mineral water when he got home. Standing behind the servery was a stocky girl in her late twenties with a mane of copper-coloured hair tucked up under a white cap. She had full red lips and cheeky onyx eyes, oozed oomph and was stacked in all the right places beneath her black uniform. As soon as she spotted Tony her eyes lit up and a wide grin spread across her face.
‘Tony,’ she squealed. ‘How are you, you sweet gorgeous thing?’
‘Unreal, Ruby darling,’ smiled Tony. ‘How are you?’
Ruby closed her eyes and placed her hands over her heart. ‘How do you think I am, Tony. I see you and my heart skips a beat.’
‘I see you, Ruby,’ grinned Tony, ‘and something I got snaps to attention.’
‘Oooh, Tony,’ breathed Ruby, ‘you are awful.’
‘Ruby. This is my mate Les I was telling you about.’
Ruby gave Les a quick and approving once-up-and-down. ‘Hello, Les,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
‘Good thanks, Ruby,’ smiled Les. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘So what time are you coming round tonight? Is everything sweet?’ asked Tony.
‘Yes. Janet’s in the kitchen and we both finish at ten. By the time we clean up and have a quick staffie, ten-thirty.’
‘Can you get home all right afterwards? I fancy having a few drinks.’
‘No worries. We’ll get a taxi over and Janet’s cousin does night security. He’ll drive us home.’
‘Beauty,’ said Tony. ‘Okay. I’m going to have a T-bone steak. What about you, Les?’
‘You got me, Steelo,’ replied Les. ‘A T-bone sounds good.’
‘All right, Ruby, hustle us up the two biggest T-bones you got. With chips and salad and pepper sauce. Pepper sauce do you, Les?’
‘Perfect,’ smiled Les. ‘I’ll shout. What do we owe you, Ruby?’
Les paid the bill, Tony picked up the buzzer then they rejoined Steve while they waited for their food.
Rather than join in any conversation, Les was happy to sit back and listen to Steve’s mates and found himself pleasantly surprised. There was no inane waxhead talk like the grommets down on Bondi Beach. Steve’s friends were photographers and journalists. Some worked in computers. Two had written books. One had a furniture business. A tall, dark-haired bloke named Errol was a pilot and had just spent six months travelling and surfing around the Pacific. Errol had some great anecdotes to relate about people living on tiny islands most of the world never knew existed. Eventually the buzzer went off and Les and Tony walked over and picked up their meals.
Ruby certainly looked after them with the steaks—they were huge and flame-grilled to perfection. The chips were golden brown, there was plenty of crisp fresh salad with a tangy dressing, and she’d shouted them garlic bread. Les and Tony ripped in till there was nothing left except the bones and the alfoil the garlic bread came in. When they’d finished, Les didn’t feel like another beer and neither did Tony. Around them Steve and his mates were starting to rev up with most of the banter directed at Deadline and Cunzdrug, who managed to return serve with reprehensible panache. Les was chuckling away at their antics when Tony pulled him aside and tapped his watch.
‘We’d better make a move,’ he said. ‘It’s not getting any earlier.’
‘Fair enough,’ agreed Les.
Tony turned to Steve. ‘We have to get going,’ said Tony. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow at the wedding.’
‘You’re leaving us?’ said Steve.
Cunzdrug picked up on this. ‘Hey, Thelma and Louise,’ he called out. ‘You’re not going already, are you?’
‘We have to, Cunt Struck,’ said Les. ‘Tony wants to iron his dress for tomorrow. And I’ve got to sew a strap on my evening gown.’
‘Beautiful,’ smiled Cunzdrug.
‘That’s exactly how we intend to look,’ Les smiled back.
Les shook hands with Steve and a couple of his mates, then to a round of catcalls and good-natured banter, Les and Tony made their exit. Back in the car, Les started the engine and turned to Tony.
‘Well, what a friendly bunch of blokes,’ he said. ‘Deadline’s sure got some good buddies.’
‘Ohh, mate,’ replied Tony. ‘You want to try working with the cunts. Or take a trip to Indo with them. You’re in stitches the whole time.’
Les reversed out then nosed the car towards the exit. As he did, a police car pulled in behind them and drove into the parking area.
‘Holy fuck!’ said Les. ‘Look at that. I knew I was better off taking it easy on the piss.’
‘Ahh, you’d have been right,’ said Tony. ‘They weren’t interested in you.’
Les shook his head. ‘That’s not how it works if you’re driving over the limit, Steelo,’ he said, turning right onto the road back home. ‘You can be the safest driver in the world, but if some dill runs into you, you’re ratshit.’
Tony thought for a moment. ‘You know, you’re right,’ he agreed. ‘My mate Pete was driving home one night, just a little bit over the limit. And some sheila on a mobile phone ran up his arse. The cops came and Pete finished up doing his licence for three months. Plus a fine and the insurance company told him to get fucked.’
‘See, Tony,’ said Norton. ‘Listen to your uncle Les and you can’t go wrong.’
Back at the flat, Les beat Tony to the toilet then made himself a massive Jackie’s and soda with a slice of lemon. He placed the ghetto blaster on top of the TV and while he sipped his Jack Daniel’s in the loungeroom and listened to Richard Clapton crooning ‘Girls on the Avenue’ on FM, contemplated his blind date. Tony appeared out of the bathroom, took a Jackie’s and Coke from the fridge, opened a packet of corn chips and sat down in the lounge across from Les.
‘Fair di
nkum, Steelo,’ said Les. ‘This Janet the Gannet from the Forbidden Planet better not be too ugly. Or the next photos you take will be from a hospital bed.’
‘Mate. Don’t shit yourself,’ Tony replied easily. ‘I know her. She’s not a bad sort. Anyway. You’re not Orlando Bloom. So get fucked.’
‘Thanks. So where do you know the two lovelies from?’ asked Les.
‘Sydney. They used to work at the pub up from Off Shore.’ Tony wiggled his eyebrows. ‘Me and the redhead have been friends for ages. And here. Take these.’ Tony fished into his pocket and tossed Les two condoms.
‘Frenchies,’ said Les.
‘Yeah. You never know your luck, Orlando,’ smiled Tony.
‘Fair enough,’ said Les, putting them in his pocket.
More Jackie’s went down and more music played. Les was getting a glow on and starting to think something might have gone wrong when lights flashed in the parking area below. Tony walked across to the open door and had a look.
‘They’re here,’ he grinned, and went back to his seat.
‘Be still my beating heart,’ said Les.
The car drove off, followed by laughter and voices coming up the stairs, then Ruby walked in followed by a tall, whippy brunette with a mop of frizzy brown hair.
She had a lean, happy face, not short of a freckle or two, cheeky green eyes and a soft mouth stretched across slightly bucked teeth. Slung across her shoulder was a black leather handbag and tucked into a pair of baggy blue shorts hugging her wasp waist was a white V-necked angora jumper. Ruby was carrying a denim handbag and had changed into a black Rolling Stones T-shirt over a pair of jeans. The sleeves of a grey hooded jacket hung loosely round her neck and Tony wasn’t joking about Ruby’s hair. It shone like polished brass and tumbled all the way down to her shapely backside. As soon as she spotted Tony, she jiggled happily across the room and planted a big kiss on his lips.
‘Hello, darling,’ she grinned. ‘How are you, my dearest treasure?’
‘Unreal, Red,’ Tony grinned back. ‘Unreal.’ He left Ruby then stepped over, grabbed Janet and planted a big kiss on her mouth. ‘Hello, Janet, you big spunk,’ he smiled wolfishly. ‘How long’s it been?’
High Noon in Nimbin Page 4