The teflon bullets had done their work well and Norton’s task wasn’t enjoyable in the least. Some bodies had limbs almost severed or hands blown off. Others had bony lumps of red meat sitting on their shoulders where their heads had been and others were oozing blood and entrails from beneath their torn clothing. Les recognised one bloke he’d shot in the face by his Bon Jovi T-shirt, and what the teflon-tipped bullets had left of his teeth and jaw bone made the bloke look like something from a movie about the undead. Working fast, Les piled everything into the back of the two cars leaving only the body of the unfortunate young bloke Lonnie finished off. Les was about to toss him in the front of the black Ford when Lonnie walked through the gate.
‘Hey. Looks like you’ve finished already,’ he said. ‘You don’t muck around, mate.’
‘No. It’s not something you’d take your time over.’ Les pointed to the young bloke lying next to the sedan. ‘There’s one left. You want to give me a hand to toss him in the front?’
‘Fuck putting him in the front and have him flop all over you when you’re driving.’ Lonnie nodded to the roof of the car. ‘He’s not very big. Throw him up on the luggage rack?’
‘Good idea.’ Les took the young bloke’s arms, Lonnie took his legs, then they swung him back before landing him face down in the luggage rack. ‘Okay,’ said Les. ‘What now?’
‘I’ll get in the station wagon. You take the other heap and follow me up the driveway and round the back of the house into the tin mine. It goes back about half a click.’
‘Righto.’ Les checked himself out. He was smeared with blood from head to foot. ‘Shit. I’m glad you had those overalls and gloves. Have a look at me. You’d think I just slaughtered a goat.’
‘Yes. You’re a mess all right,’ agreed Lonnie. ‘But I got to tell you something, Les. I was watching you from up on the hill. You were fuckin unreal. Rolling and shooting at the same time. Unbelievable.’ He reached across and shook Norton’s hand. ‘You sure you weren’t ever in the armed forces?’
‘Yeah,’ nodded Les. ‘B Battalion. Be here when they go. Be here when they get back.’
‘Come on,’ chuckled Lonnie. ‘Let’s get this shit out the road. Then we can get cleaned up.’
‘Let’s,’ nodded Les.
Lonnie got into the station wagon and Les climbed behind the wheel of the sedan. The keys were in the ignition and the old car started instantly then purred like a kitten. Les gave it a couple of revs before he slipped it into drive and started following Lonnie up the driveway. Shit, this isn’t a bad old bus, thought Les, checking out the stereo and the interior. Goes all right. Got a good luggage rack on the roof too. Seems a pity to bury it. They reached the house then Lonnie went left around it, before entering the old track between the trees Les had seen earlier.
Les followed Lonnie along the track and they started bumping over the old rail lines which caused the wet bodies in the back of the car to start sliding around all over the place. The young bloke in the luggage rack moved forward and a bloodied hand appeared on top of the windscreen. After about five hundred metres the rail lines came out at a wide clearing in front of the mountain behind the house, scattered with corroded oil drums, sheets of rusty metal, wire, sleepers and other detritus you would expect to find around two old mines. The shaft leading into the tin mine on the left was about the same size as a double garage, the shaft into the gold mine was smaller with no rail lines. Les followed Lonnie into the tin mine and after a few metres of bumping over wooden beams, Lonnie switched on his headlights. So did Les. A few hundred metres further, the shaft ended at a wall of solid rock. Lonnie pulled up, cut the engine and got out of the station wagon, leaving the headlights on, and Les did the same. Lonnie closed the door and clicked on a torch and the light picked up tiny flecks of colour along the sides of the shaft. Standing in the cool silence, Les could hear the euphonious plop of water dripping from the ceiling into puddles amongst the old rail lines.
‘No need for the torch, Lonnie,’ said Les, pointing behind him. ‘I can see light at the end of the tunnel.’
‘So can I,’ replied Lonnie. ‘But I want to check these out.’ Lonnie shone the torch on a sausage-shaped length of greasy brown paper with a diode jammed in it, attached to one of the beams.
‘What is it?’ asked Les. ‘Semtex? Or some other exotic explosive you’ve had smuggled in from the subcontinent?’
‘No. Just plain old garden variety dynamite,’ replied Lonnie. ‘Actually, I found it under the house. My brother got me the semiconductors.’
‘That was handy,’ commented Les.
‘Yeah.’ With Les following, Lonnie started walking towards the entrance, stopping to shine the torch on all the dynamite he’d attached to different beams. ‘Well. Everything looks A-okay,’ he finally said. ‘Let’s go outside and watch the fireworks.’
‘Righty oh.’
They walked outside into the sunlight and Les followed Lonnie over to the trail. They got behind a tree and Lonnie took a remote the same size as a mini-cassette from the side pocket of his cargoes. He pulled out a short aerial, flicked a switch and a red light came on.
‘Okay, Les,’ he smiled. ‘On my mark. Three-two-one.’
Lonnie pushed a black button and an explosion rumbled through the mine shaft, the mountain shook and a great cloud of dust and debris came flying out of the entrance to the mine shaft spreading dust and rocks all around the clearing. Rocks pinged into some of the rusty oil drums and more debris flew past the tree where Les and Lonnie were sheltered.
‘Beautiful,’ beamed Lonnie. ‘Couldn’t be…’
He’d no sooner spoken than another explosion rocked the mine shaft. The mountain above shuddered, several boulders came tumbling down into the clearing along with a few dead branches and more dust came swirling out of the mine shaft. On the right, another cloud of dust rolled slowly out of the entrance to the gold mine.
‘Great green gravy, Batman,’ said Les. ‘How much bloody dynamite did you use?’
Still gripping the remote, Lonnie stared wide-eyed at Les. ‘That fuckin well wasn’t me,’ he cursed. ‘It was them. The dirty low cunts. They had the same fuckin idea.’
‘What? Bury you in the mine shaft?’ said Les.
‘Yeah. The bastards. I didn’t even think to check the boot of that old bomb Ford. It was full of explosives.’ Lonnie stared across at the dust still rising from the entrance to the second shaft. ‘Oh no,’ he wailed. ‘Not the fuckin gold mine.’
Lonnie pocketed the remote and sprinted over to the second shaft. Les followed him across the clearing while Lonnie ran inside the entrance. He returned a minute or two later, long-faced and covered in dust.
‘Trouble?’ Les asked quietly.
‘Yes,’ Lonnie nodded bleakly. ‘You could say that.’
‘You can’t get the gold?’
‘Oh no. I can still get the gold out. But it’s going to take a lot longer than I anticipated. And I’m going to have to hire a team of fuckin morons to dig through the rubble.’
‘Oh bugger.’
‘Yeah,’ replied Lonnie. ‘Bugger.’
‘So my quarter of a million dollars in holiday pay,’ suggested Les, ‘has now turned into—more of a superannuation fund?’
‘I’m afraid so, Les,’ admitted Lonnie. ‘I’m afraid fuckin so.’
Despite everything turning pear shaped Les couldn’t help a chuckle. ‘Don’t worry, Lonnie. I knew it was too good to be true. I just knew it.’
‘Sorry, Les. But you will get your dough.’
‘I know.’ Les placed his arm around Lonnie’s shoulder. ‘Come on, mate,’ he said. ‘Put it behind you for the time being. Let’s go and get cleaned up. And have a cuppa.’
‘Yeah, why not,’ muttered Lonnie. He drew away from Les, stood in the clearing with his fists clenched by his side and railed up at the sky. ‘Why do you hate me so much?’ he howled. ‘Why?’
‘While you’re there, Lonnie,’ said Les. ‘Mention my name as well.’
They walked back to the house. Les climbed out of his blood-soaked clothes and gave them to Lonnie to burn. Les had a welcome shower, then got changed into his jeans and denim shirt and joined Lonnie in the kitchen where the bar owner had made a fresh plunger of coffee. Les sat down, poured himself a mug, added milk and sugar and stared across the table at Lonnie.
‘Well, Lonnie,’ said Les, taking a sip. ‘What can I say? All’s well that ends well. At least you got rid of those idiots. And we’re still alive.’
‘Yeah. I guess that’s one way of looking at it.’ The hint of a smile flickered across Lonnie’s face. ‘You know, Les,’ he said. ‘I got a bottle of Jack Daniel’s single barrel there. And some good dope. I don’t smoke it much. But it’s almost noon. Why don’t we get a bit high?’
‘Sort of—high noon in Nimbin?’ replied Les.
‘Yeah,’ replied Lonnie. ‘That’s one way of looking at it.’ The bar owner reached behind him and took a small tin container from a drawer. He placed it on the table and took out two spliffs and a Bic lighter. ‘There you are, Les,’ he said. ‘Help yourself.’
Les stared at the two joints and disdainfully shook his head. ‘No thanks,’ he replied. ‘I’ve had enough dope and shit to last me for the next ten years. In fact, if you don’t mind, Lonnie, I’d like to fuck off.’
Lonnie looked at the joints for a second, then put them back in the container. ‘Yeah, fair enough. Hey look, Les,’ he said. ‘I’m really sorry about what happened. But like I told you. You will get your money. I promise.’
‘Hey, Lonnie,’ smiled Les. ‘I trust you. You’re not the best bloke I ever met. But I do trust you.’
‘Thanks, Les. That’s very nice of you.’
Les stared at Lonnie over the top of his mug. ‘But while I’ve got you here, there’s a couple of things I’d like to know.’
‘Sure, Les,’ Lonnie shrugged. ‘What’s that?’
‘Why would you want to bring me all this way to spend two nights recording music? It doesn’t make sense. You could get a monkey out of Taronga Park to do what I just did.’
‘Yes. And if I’d have got someone from round here to do it that’s exactly what I would have got. A monkey out of a zoo. I just wanted eight hours of good rock ’n roll music I can play at the bar. And play for myself at home. And I didn’t want it fucked up.’
‘Be pretty hard to fuck it up,’ said Les.
‘Maybe,’ shrugged Lonnie. ‘But I also wanted someone I could rely on if Mason and Buddy got into any trouble. I know how good you are. And Eddie said you owed him a favour. So here you are, mate.’
‘Yes,’ nodded Les. ‘Reliability is one of my worst faults.’
‘And if you’re wondering why I got you to book into the hotel instead of letting you stay here, me and Eddie didn’t want you to get involved. Only two people were supposed to know about this little action. Me and Eddie. If you’d have been staying here, like last night for instance, you could have got caught up in everything.’
‘I did anyway,’ said Les.
‘Yeah. But you know what I mean,’ countered Lonnie.
‘Fair enough. But the other thing. The one that’s really burning my arse. Why play all that rockin get-down music and not let anyone dance to it? You even put signs up. I mean, that’s plain fuckin crazy.’
Lonnie tossed back his head and laughed. ‘I did that for the licensing cops.’
‘For the licensing police?’ queried Les. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Remember the two cops that came in last night?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, the one in the grey suit, Detective Landstra, thanks to all the dope in Nimbin, he gave me all this grief because he was convinced I was starting up a disco where I could move ecstasy and pills to ravers. He wasn’t worried the place was a shithouse. But he jumped up and down and said if he caught anyone in there with so much as an aspirin, if he even caught one raver dancing in the joint, he’d be all over me like flies on shit.
‘I said fair enough. I won’t let anyone dance in the place. I won’t even let them clap their hands, tap their feet or click their fingers.
‘He told me not to be a fuckin smartarse and just keep my nose clean. Or else.’
‘Or else,’ echoed Les.
‘Yeah. So I put those signs up and stopped people from dancing. And when Landstra and his mate gave me a visit on Saturday night, to prove I was his faithful servant and intended obeying his every word to the very letter of the law, I showed him the No Dancing signs as instructed. Now he doesn’t know whether I’m a complete idiot. Or a good bloke. But it worked,’ smiled Lonnie. ‘Because from here on he’ll leave me alone. And the punters can smoke pot and dance on the ceiling for all I give a fuck.’
‘Unbelievable,’ said Les. ‘I learn something new every day.’
‘You sure do, mate.’
Les took a sip of coffee. ‘While I was in the shower, something else did occur to me.’
‘What was that?’ asked Lonnie.
‘What happens when those ten blokes are reported missing?’
‘I don’t know,’ shrugged Lonnie. ‘What will happen? My brother found out what they had planned. But I doubt if they would have advertised the fact they were coming round here to kill me. And if I do get a visit from the wallopers—which wouldn’t be for weeks or months anyway—I won’t know what they’re talking about. And what are they going to find? They’re not going to dig up the old tin mine. They’d need a corps of engineers to do that. And they’re not going to go to all that trouble for those dills anyway. They’ll probably be glad to see the arse end of them. Taken by a UFO. I’ll go down and pick up all those shell casings. And by then the rain will have washed all the blood away. Those pricks from Stanthorpe would have been in more trouble explaining what happened when I went missing.’
‘Yeah. I guess you’re right,’ agreed Les.
‘So like you say, Les, all’s well that ends well.’ Lonnie put his mug of coffee down and rose from the table. ‘Wait here a minute. I got something for you.’ Lonnie rose from the table and returned with an envelope and a small leather bag which he placed on the table in front of Les. ‘There you go, mate. Your thousand dollars. And a small bonus.’
Les gave the money a cursory glance then opened the leather pouch and removed the contents. ‘Hey. Gold nuggets,’ he said, watching them gleam in the sunlight coming through the kitchen window. ‘Fuckin unreal.’
‘There’s a couple of ounces there. Which proves the gold’s in the mine and you just gotta hang in for a while.’ Lonnie took a sip of coffee. ‘So are we square for the time being, mate?’
Les nudged the gold nuggets with his finger and looked directly at Lonnie. ‘No. Not really,’ he said.
‘Oh?’ Lonnie was a little surprised.
‘There is one more thing you could do for me.’
‘Sure, Les. What’s that?’
‘Can you burn me a copy of all that grouse music I played on the weekend? When it comes to rock ’n roll, Lonnie Baby, you’re a man after my own heart.’
‘No worries, Les,’ beamed Lonnie. ‘I’ll burn them at the bar. And you’ll get them in the mail by the end of the week. Along with the photos. I promise.’
Les raised his mug of coffee. ‘Thanks, Lonnie,’ he smiled. ‘Maybe you’re not such a bad bloke after all.’
THE END
About The Author
Robert G. Barrett was raised in Sydney’s Bondi where he worked mainly as a butcher. After thirty years he moved to Terrigal on the Central Coast of New South Wales. Robert has appeared in a number of films and TV commercials but prefers to concentrate on a career as a writer. He is the author of twenty-four books, including Goodoo Goodoo, Leaving Bondi, The Ultimate Aphrodisiac, Mystery Bay Blues, Rosa-Marie’s Baby, Crime Scene Cessnock, The Tesla Legacy and Les Norton and the Case of the Talking Pie Crust.
To find out more about Bob and his books
visit:
www.robertgbarrett.com.au
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Also by Robert G. Barrett and
published by HarperCollins:
So What Do You Reckon?
Mud Crab Boogie
Goodoo Goodoo
The Wind and the Monkey
Leaving Bondi
The Ultimate Aphrodisiac
Mystery Bay Blues
Rosa-Marie’s Baby
Crime Scene Cessnock
The Tesla Legacy
Les Norton and the Case of the Talking Pie Crust
Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in Australia in 2009
This edition published in 2010 by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
Copyright © Psycho Possum Productions Pty Ltd 2009
The right of Robert G. Barrett to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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High Noon in Nimbin Page 18