The Real Thing

by Robert G. Barrett

  He lay the sheet out in the clearing and pinned the edges down with several stones. Satisfied it was secure, he tipped all the dope out of the garbage bag and spread it out in the sunshine all over the sheet. Then he got the wire cutters out of his pocket and began the painstaking task of snipping away all the larger stalks from the marijuana plants. All that remained then was what looked like a huge pile of little heads, something like Reg’s, spread out all over the sheet. He evened it out a little more, stood up and looked at it then sang a couple more ‘Doo-dah. Doo-dahs’ while he stretched his legs.

  Satisfied everything looked all right, he ripped open the cardboard carton near his feet, took out a can of warm Coca-Cola and started shaking it vigorously.

  ‘Okay. Ah say, okay boy,’ he said, still mimmicking Foghorn Leghorn. ‘You want sticky, resiny heads? Well how’s this for fuckin’ resin boy?’ With a great ‘swooshhh’ he tore the ring-pull from the can of warm Coca-Cola and sprayed the sugary, brown foam all over the marijuana. ‘Swooshhh,’ he ripped open another can and did the same again. ‘Yuk-yuk-yuk. That’s, ah say, that’s the stickiest mara-ge-wahna ah ever did see boy,’ he chortled. He tore open another warm can of Coke and repeated the performance.

  Before long he’d used up the first dozen cans. He got down on his knees and stirred up all the dope turning it over and over with his hands; Coke-saturated leaves and small pieces of stalk stuck to his arms right up to his elbows. ‘Bloody sticky shit,’ he cursed as he got back up. He sprayed the dope thoroughly with the remaining dozen cans.

  Well Tony, he thought as he surveyed the Coca-Cola-drenched pot glistening in the sun, I sure hope that’s sticky enough for you and your mate L.A. Dave. He looked up at the cloudless blue sky and grinned. It will be by about four o’clock this afternoon, that’s for sure. Then a thought occured to him as he watched a few flies starting to swarm around: ants. He got down on his hands and knees and started sniffing the edges of the sheet. Yes: fortunately at some time there’d been petrol in the boot and some had spilt on to the sheet leaving enough odour to keep them away. Beauty! He got back to his feet, picked up all the empty cans and put them in the carton, folding the empty garbage bag up at the same time and placing a rock on it. Content that everything was how it should be he gave a grunt of satisfaction, tucked the carton up under his arm and, with one last look, turned and walked back towards the house.

  ‘Oh. The Campdown racetrack five miles long.’ One step forward. One step back. ‘Doo-dah. Doo-dah.’

  It was getting on for eleven and Reg was still in bed when Norton got back to the house. He put the carton of empties in the boot of the car, then gathered up a pile of dried grass, twigs and scrub which he put in another garbage bag and burnt in the incinerator, with the help of a little turpentine from Reg’s studio. If Reg should happen to ask what happened to the bag of dope, Norton could point to the ashes in the incinerator.

  While Norton was getting this little bit of chicanery together, in a motel room in Coffs Harbour, not far from the jetty, Tony Levin was just getting out of the shower. His head was still a little woozy from the previous night in which, after Norton had left him stoned off his head, he’d stumbled and boogied around Pinkie’s and somehow or other — possibly because of the good style of a bloke he is — finished with a young girl who worked in a local bank. He’d put her in a taxi twenty minutes previously and was now breaking his neck to get on the phone to his shifty mate L.A. Dave in Grafton and tell him all about the unbelievable dope deal he’d come across. As the phone rang in Dave’s clothes shop he idly fingered the pot Les had given him in the piece of silver paper.

  ‘Hello Dave?’

  ‘Yeah. Is that you Tony?’

  ‘Yeah. How are you?’

  ‘All right. So what’s happening in Coffs man? That surfie prick still in Angourie?’

  ‘Yeah. But forget about him Dave. Wait till I tell you what happened to me last night.’

  Scarcely able to contain his excitement, Tony told Dave about his chance meeting with Norton, the fight, the story Les had told him and how devastating the pot was. At the other end of the line Dave could hardly believe his ears either.

  ‘And that’s fair dinkum Dave. It’s a dead set stroke of luck. Norton hasn’t got a clue how good it is — done up we could get anything for it.’

  ‘And he only wants fifteen grand?’

  ‘Yeah. Galese just wants his money back, that’s all. It’s unbelieveable.’

  ‘Then we’d better grab it off the big goose.’ Dave breathed hard into the phone. ‘The only bloody thing is the brakes went in my car yesterday. You’ll have to come up here and get the money.’

  ‘Jesus, you’re not gonna believe this. I’ve left my lights and ignition on all night and I think I’ve done the generator in mine. It could take these hillbillies up here all day to fix it. Maybe even till tomorrow.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘No it’s sweet. What I’ll do, I’ll get him to bring it up to you.’

  ‘You reckon he’d be in that?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s running around in one of Galese’s new cars so I reckon he’d like a quick drive in the country.’

  ‘When. Today?’

  ‘No, better make it tomorrow.’

  Tony explained that Les was taking some girl out and he’d probably want to take her out that afternoon and Saturday night, so it might be best to leave him to do that and do the swap tomorrow then Norton could go straight back to Sydney. Dave agreed and arranged to be home all day Sunday but to get Les to be there any time between two and four. With any luck Tony’s car might be ready and he could be there, too. Tony hung up saying he’d ring Norton and make the arrangements.

  Back at the farm Les had finished what he had to do in the backyard. He was sitting in the kitchen having a cup of tea and a toasted cheese sandwich when the phone rang in the lounge-room: still not wishing to wake Reg he moved quickly and quietly to answer it.

  ‘Hello Les? It’s Tony.’

  ‘Hello Tony. How’s things?’

  ‘Pretty good. I saw you leaving with your girl last night. She’s not a bad sort. Where’d you find her?’

  ‘Sawtell. She’s up here on holidays.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Got a top body.’

  ‘Yeah. She’s a swimmer.’

  ‘Oh. Anyway ah — what do you want to do about that Bob Hope? Everything’s sweet this end. That fifteen’s there whenever you want it.’

  Norton paused for a moment and smiled to himself. ‘Yeah right Tony. Good as gold. Just keep it tight on the Al Capone. Okay?’

  ‘Yeah sure Les. I’m with you. There’s just one thing though.’

  ‘Yeah. What’s that?’

  Tony explained briefly his conversation with L.A. Dave, about their cars being out of action and Les running the stuff up to Grafton. Norton thought about it for a second or two. Grafton was barely a two hours drive there and back. Cruise along in the new BMW, listen to a few tapes. It’d probably give him something to do.

  ‘Yeah righto Tony,’ he replied. ‘That’s sweet.’ Then he lowered his voice. ‘But I don’t want to be rootin’ around there all afternoon. Straight in and out okay. You know who’s money it is.’

  ‘Do I what.’

  ‘All right. Well give me the address and I’ll be there around three.’

  Tony gave Les Dave’s address in Grafton as well as directions — he also gave Les the room number at the motel he was staying at. Norton wrote it down on the back of an envelope sitting next to the phone.

  ‘You got all that Les?’

  ‘Yeah no worries. If you want to come up with me I can drive you up there.’

  ‘No that’s all right.’ It was pointless him going up with Les then being stuck in Grafton without a car. His car should be ready by tomorrow, surely. ‘I’ll probably see you up there anyway.’

  ‘All right. Well I’ll see you up there about three.’

  ‘Okay. See you then Les.’

  ‘See you Tony.’

/>   Norton sat grinning at the phone for a few moments. Well, the boys are well and truly in, he thought. There’s one little thing I’d better do. He went to the kitchen, got a gladbag out of one of the cupboards, went into his bedroom and took half of Reg’s pot out of his shirt. He put it in the bag and placed it in the drawer among his clothes. He took the remainder out into the kitchen and put it on top of the fridge then finished his cup of tea. He was there a few minutes when he heard Reg’s door open. Reg staggered groggily into the kitchen wearing a pair of faded jockettes. His hair was plastered all over his head and there was hardly any colour in his face. He leant unsteadily against the kitchen door looking as though he’d just crawled out of a tomb.

  ‘Hello Reggie boy,’ said Norton happily, having a bit of a snigger at the little artist’s obvious hangover. ‘How are you this morning old son?’

  ‘Oh. Pretty ordinary,’ yawned Reg, holding his head and rubbing his hands across his eyes.

  ‘You look pretty ordinary, too,’ laughed Norton. ‘In fact I saw the body of a ninety-year-old man washed up on Bondi after it’d been in the water a week and his face looked better than yours now.’

  ‘Wouldn’t surprise me,’ croaked Reg.

  ‘You got home all right.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He yawned again. ‘Jesus we finished up nice and pissed though.’

  ‘Not used to the late nights, eh?’

  ‘You can say that again.’ Reg went to the sink and got a glass of water. ‘Was that the phone I just heard?’

  ‘Yeah. It was that mate of mine from last night wanting to know if I felt like having a drink this arvo. That pot of yours is on top of the fridge, too. I gave him a bit last night when I was pissed. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘No that’s all right,’ replied Reg sleepily. ‘I’m gonna have a shower.’

  ‘Good idea. I’ll make a fresh pot of tea.’ Reg headed for the bathroom. As he was sitting waiting for the kettle to boil the phone rang again — probably someone for Reg, he thought as he walked to the lounge-room.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello, is that you Les? It’s Betty.’

  ‘Betty!’ Norton was more than a little surprised: he was also quite elated. ‘Hell. How are you?’

  ‘I’m. . . fine. How are you?’

  ‘Good. Terrific. Gee I’m glad you rang. I wasn’t quite sure whether you would.’

  ‘Well.’ Betty hesitated for a moment. ‘I thought about last night and I shouldn’t really have said what I did. You were only doing what you thought was best. It was a little childish of me.’

  ‘Ah that’s all right.’

  ‘But I did get a hell of a fright though.’

  ‘Fair enough. I realise that. It’s just that where I come from I see that all the time and it doesn’t worry me. But I should know better. I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ Betty laughed deliciously. ‘I missed you once I got inside and went to bed.’

  Les chuckled into the phone. ‘You’re not Robinson Crusoe.’

  ‘I do like you Mr Norton you know. I hope you realise that.’

  ‘I don’t mind you either Miss Cox, just quietly. For a cranky old country schoolteacher you’re not half bad.’

  ‘What do you mean, cranky old country schoolteacher?’

  Les asked Betty if she still wanted to go out for dinner that night. She said yes, although she couldn’t see him that afternoon as aunt and uncle were calling around to take her for a drive.’

  ‘Anywhere in particular you’d like to go?’ asked Norton.

  ‘No. I don’t care Les. What ever suits you.’

  ‘Well I’m going for a run into Coffs Harbour this afternoon, I’ll pick something out.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘And I promise you. Even if the food’s terrible and the wine tastes like a lady wrestler’s bathwater, I won’t bash the head waiter; or anyone for that matter.’

  ‘No. Save your strength for me afterwards.’

  The seductive way Betty said it nearly made Norton bite the end off the phone. ‘Hey!’ he said excitedly. ‘I just thought of something. You’re going back to Grafton tomorrow, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well how about letting me drive you home. I’d like that.’

  ‘Well. . . if it’s not too much trouble.’

  ‘No. I’d be rapt. Give me something to do anyway,’ lied Les.

  ‘All right, that’s marvellous. Anyway I’ll see you tonight. Around eight.’

  ‘Eight o’clock on the dot. I’ll see you then.’

  ‘Bye Les.’

  ‘See you tonight Betty.’

  Well I’ll be buggered, thought Norton happily as he hung up. What about that? He shook his head and laughed. I’ll sure never understand women. Then again — maybe you’re not supposed to. The electric kettle was just starting to sing when he walked back into the kitchen, and so was the big Queenslander’s heart.

  The teapot was on the kitchen table drawing next to a few fresh slices of Vogel’s toast when Reg walked in wearing a T-shirt and shorts. He went over to the cupboard, threw some Eno salts into a glass of water, then gulped the whole bubbling, fizzing brew down in one go and let out a rancid belch that stung his nose, made his eyes water and nearly shook the panes out of the kitchen windows. ‘Ah! That’s better,’ he said, sitting down and pouring himself a cup of tea.

  ‘So how are you feeling now Reg? You’re starting to look a little better. Almost alive.’

  ‘I feel it, too,’ replied Reg, slurping on his tea while he liberally spread a piece of toast with banana-and-pawpaw jam.

  ‘And what’s happening tonight Reginald?’ smiled Norton. ‘You look like you’re pretty sweet with young Diane.’

  ‘As a matter of fact Les — I was going to mention something about that to you. Do you reckon you could do me a bit of a favour?’

  ‘Sure, what is it. Fuckin’ George isn’t back on the scene is he?’

  ‘No. Nothing like that. George is history. But there’s just one small thing I’d like you to do for me.’

  ‘Sure Reg. Just name it.’

  ‘Don’t be here tonight.’

  Norton looked at Reg, nodded his head and smiled mirthlessly. ‘Oh. So it’s like that is it. You’ve got some tart coming round so I get turfed out into the street like a mangy tom cat.’

  ‘Well’ said Reg delicately wiping a crumb from the side of his mouth with his little finger, ‘if that’s how you want to put it Les, yes.’

  ‘Thanks. And just what have you got planned.’

  ‘Well. Diane’s coming over with a couple of bottles of Great Western.’

  ‘Great Western? Jesus.’ Norton threw his hands up in the air. ‘Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor eat your hearts out.’

  ‘And I’m going to borrow some of those grouse cassettes your mate from Peach Music made up for you, drink champagne have a smoke and listen to them. How’s that grab you?’

  ‘And play chasings and a bit of hide the sausage.’

  Reg nodded his head and smiled. ‘There’s a big chance of that happening, too.’

  ‘All right if I come back some time tomorrow and change my clothes? Like I don’t want to interrupt this bacchanalian orgy you’ve got planned.’

  ‘Oh no, that’s all right. By all means Les. Have a cup of tea, read a magazine. Just make yourself at home.’

  ‘But just don’t be here tonight.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Norton threw back his head and laughed. ‘You cheeky little prick. Well it just so happens that I’m taking Betty out to dinner tonight. So stick your pot and your Great Western up your arse.’

  ‘Yeah. Where are you goin’?’

  ‘Dunno. You know a good restaurant in Coffs? I don’t give a fuck what it costs.’

  ‘You like Thai food?’

  ‘Bloody oath. Kung tod with ta-krai and katian. Pet yarng with heaps of mee phat and ma-khua? You’re kiddin Reg.’

  ‘Well, there’s a Thai restaur
ant down near the jetty called the Sawadee. The bloke that runs it’s Australian, he’s an exmeatworker, too. Hates people coming in there to eat because it makes more work for him. But he’s got a Thai wife who’s the best cook you’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Dead set?’

  ‘Oh fair dinkum Les. Some of the dishes she serves up’ll make you want to start batting yourself off up against the table.’

  ‘That good eh?’

  ‘I’m tellin’ you. In fact what are you doing this afternoon?’

  Norton shrugged his shoulders. ‘Nothin’.’

  ‘Well why don’t we take a run into Coffs? We can have a beer and a counter lunch and I’ll show you where it is.’

  ‘Righto. That sounds like a good idea.’ Norton poured them both another cup of tea. ‘Anyway, there’s no mad hurry. Why don’t we finish this nice tea and toast then we’ll drift in?’

  They sat for a while, listening to the radio, sipping tea and chatting away like a couple of old biddies. Outside the native birds sang softly to each other in the rustling trees and the sun climbed high into the clear blue sky shortening the surrounding shadows. It became high noon. They cleaned up what little mess there was in the kitchen, fed Sally — plus a couple of huge Major Mitchell cockatoos. Reg gave Diane a quick call to tell her everything was sweet for tonight, got his sunglasses and they bundled into the BMW. Norton dropped a cassette into the stereo and, with Jimmy Barnes rasping his way through ‘Khe Sanh’, headed for Coffs Harbour.

  ‘I didn’t tell you what Diane said about Ken and George over the phone, did I?’ said Reg, as they turned off Telegraph Point Road on to the Pacific Highway.

  ‘No, what?’

  ‘They’ve told the doctors and the police a gang of bikies got into them with baseball bats. The owner’s saying the same thing.’

  ‘Probably trying to save a bit of face,’ shrugged Norton

  ‘Not much face left to save,’ replied Reg. ‘George has got forty stitches in his and Ken’s about five behind him. They’ve both got broken jaws as well.’

  Norton smiled across at Reg. ‘Could’ve been a lot worse.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘They were lucky I was in a good mood.’

  They were still laughing when they turned off the highway into High Street, the wide boulevard that divides the main shopping centre in Coffs Harbour.