This time Les thought he might try another tack; throw in a little bit of the truth. He and a mate owned a bar in Sydney, the Kelly Club, named after Ned Kelly the bushranger. He and his partner used to play football, which was how they got the money to buy the bar. He’d met Hank in the bar and that was how he came to be in Siestasota. He was only staying with Hank two or three days then he was getting a place on his own. After that Les was holidaying in America, checking out bars and nightclubs, and if he saw any good ideas he’d take them back to good old Oz with him. It was all tax-deductible anyway; a business trip. Norton threw down another margarita and said he just loved taking care of business.
The girls didn’t mind a drink and Les wouldn’t let them pay for any. In no time Nadine had downed three solid Jack Daniel’s and Coke, Lori easily gargled her way through three margaritas, Norton lost track of how many he had. Lori said the only reason she drank so many margaritas was because of the salt; coming from up north she wasn’t used to the heat and they helped to retain the body salts. Although she added a bit of a wink with this story, Les agreed with her wholeheartedly. He wasn’t used to such a hot, sweaty climate either, which is why he was drinking them two at a time. Plus in the crowd it was a big hard to juggle four. As well as a drink, the two brunettes from Chicago didn’t mind a laugh either. Norton told them a few anecdotes from Australia, but he got the most laughs just telling them about poor silly Hank.
‘Yeah, for a while there,’ said Les, ‘I thought all bloody yanks were as silly as him. I was ready to ring Qantas and get the next plane home.’
‘Oh no,’ said Lori, seeming to eye Norton very intently over the top of her drink. ‘You’ll find most Americans are okay.’
Norton eyed her very intently back. ‘I’m sure, given time, I will, Lori,’ he smiled. ‘I know I’d like to find out.’
Norton had a couple of dances with Lori, who had a funny style on the floor. It was all energy and arms and shoulder moves, something like a boxer working out on a speed ball. Les just boogied around as best he could to the unknown disco schlock, but Lori could see that the red-headed boy from Down Under was a pretty fit dude as well. He grabbed Nadine and speared her onto the dancefloor too. She was a little more conservative. But when the DJ threw on Madonna’s ‘Hank Panky’ and Les started jitterbugging with her, she was stoked and went for it like a Mohawk Indian after a big win over the Cavalry.
Les got on absolutely splendidly with the girls and didn’t want to leave; not while he had a pocketful of all those silly little bits of green paper to spend. But Nadine had to make a move soon, the babysitter couldn’t stay all night. Les said it was probably about time he got back to Boofhead as well. Would Lori like to come out with Les, visit a few bars and restaurants and help him with a bit of work-related research while he was in Siestasota? Maybe. But she’d only just got here herself and she had rehearsals and other things to attend to at the moment. However, they were coming back here on Sunday night to see a band. How about meeting her up here? A few more drinks, a bit more dancing. See what happens. That sounded alright to Norton. So rather than hang around, burning out his welcome, Les thanked the girls for a good time and for putting up with him, gave them both a bit of a quick cuddle, then said goodbye and headed back to where he’d left Laurel, stopping at the bar upstairs on the way for another margarita.
Hank was in the same spot Les had left him, only he was talking to a friend. Norton didn’t walk straight up, he hung back for a few moments and was able to catch the last bit of Hank and his mate’s conversation. His friend was a tall, dark-haired bloke in a mustard-coloured shirt and brown trousers. Hank didn’t appear to be saying a great deal. His eyes were spinning around worse than ever and he looked to be too busy sweating to talk.
‘Hey, I’ll be back to see you alright. It’s been over three months now. Three fuckin’ months.’
‘Just another two weeks, for chrissake.’
‘You said that a fuckin’ month ago. What the fuck do you take me for? Santa Claus?’ Hank mumbled something under his breath. The ‘mate’ gave him an extremely severe once up and down. ‘Okay. You got another two weeks, and I’m gonna come see you. You know what I’m sayin’?’ Hank nodded his head slightly. ‘Hey, look at me when I’m talkin’ to you. You got two fuckin’ weeks, then I come see you. You got that?’
‘Yeah, I got it.’
‘Two fuckin’ weeks. You dumbass prick.’ The ‘mate’ glared at Hank for a second. ‘And you better fuckin’ believe it too.’ Brown trousers left to join another man and two good-looking women.
Hank still hadn’t noticed Les standing amongst the other drinkers. He still had that caged rat looked about him, but as soon as brown trousers left he started to get that half, smug smile on his face again. Even though he was pretty pissed, it didn’t take Norton long to put two and two together. Laurel had come across a ghost, and not a very happy one at that. But the ghost was still a jerk as far as Laurel was concerned and he could still go shit in his hat.
‘So how’s it going, Hank old mate?’ leered Norton, appearing out of the crowd. ‘You ready for another drink?’ Les had a fairly good idea what the answer would be.
‘Let’s get out of here. This place is a dump. It’s full of jerks.’
‘You know, Hank, I was just thinking the same thing.’
Hank finished his shot of tequila, dropped the glass on the bar and as usual abruptly turned around and walked off without waiting for Les. Norton sculled the rest of his drink and fell in behind. In a way it suited him — although the place was still jumping and there were still plenty of girls around, he’d drunk enough margaritas to salt a bullock hide and his face looked like David Jones’s city window at Xmas time. Hank had to slow down for the crowd between the bar and the railing round the dancefloor, and as Les caught up an evil smile crept over his shining face. Well, what do I spy with my little eye? Just sticking out from the back pocket of Hank’s grubby blue jeans was the folded up fifty dollar bill Norton had given him. Norton recollected him stuffing it in there as he was driving the car. Norton looked to the left, looked to the right, and in about a microsecond had it extracted between his index and middle finger, rolled in a ball and shoved down the side pocket of his black trousers. Well aren’t you just a good bloke, Hank? he sniggered to himself. Or is it a ‘good ol’ boy’?
At the top of the stairs Norton caught the eye of some frumpy-looking blonde in a black Tampa Bay Buccaneers T-shirt. ‘G’day, Lori,’ he grinned. ‘How are you goin’?’
The blonde gave Les a double blink. ‘Where do I know you from?’
‘College,’ answered Norton.
‘Fort Lauderdale?’
‘No. Wagga Wagga. Look after yourself, Lori. See you next time I’m up here.’
One of the blonde’s even frumpier girlfriends tapped her on the shoulder. ‘What did that guy want, Lori?’
The blonde shook her head. ‘He said he knew me from college.’
‘Yeah?’ The girlfriend’s eyes followed Les going down the stairs. ‘Hey, whoever he was, he was kinda cute.’
Norton was laughing and shaking his head at the same time. Onya, Lori. What do they say? ‘Only in America’?
‘Hey, mah man! What’s happenin’? You leaving already?’ Harris was all smiles as Les came through the foyer.
‘Yeah.’ Les nodded to Captain Rats storming out the door. ‘I don’t want to, but I got to. That bloke’s giving me a lift home. I don’t even know him all that well. I only met him tonight.’
‘I can soon get you a taxi if you want to stay. That guy looks like a panhandler,’ offered Harris.
‘No, that’s alright, mate.’ Les gave Harris a wink and a smile. ‘But I might come down on Sunday night and have a look at the band. You gonna be here?’
‘I surely am, brother. And you just come straight on in, have a drink on me. I owe you one, mah man.’
‘Righto, you’re on. You want another T-shirt?’
The huge grin returned to Harris�
�s face and he stroked his chin. ‘Wouldn’t mind one for my little brother.’
‘Okey-doke,’ said Les. ‘I’ll bring you down a Penrith Panthers one Sunday night. Now gimme five, baby.’
‘Heh-heh! You got it, man.’
Harris gave Les five and the Queenslander’s arm was still quivering from the shock when he caught up with Hank in the carpark.
The drive home didn’t even get off the ground as far as conversation went. Hank seemed to be in deep thought as he hunched over the wheel, morosely dragging on another cigarette. Norton was doing a bit of thinking too; after a while he spoke.
‘Jesus, Hank, I had a grouse time tonight. Especially that last place, it was fuckin’ unreal. I’m glad you got us in there.’ Hank just kept driving and smoking. ‘The funny part about it, it cost me fuck all. I’d be lucky if I spent three hundred bucks. It costs you nothing to have a good time over here.’ Hank turned to Norton for a moment and blinked. ‘Tomorrow, though, I might have to cash some more traveller’s cheques. Can you give me lift up the bank?’
They pulled up for a set of lights and Hank looked at Les for a moment like he was Bugs Bunny suddenly stumbled across a carrot patch.
‘Sure,’ Hank nodded casually. ‘I have to go up to the office in the morning. You can come up there with me first.’
Gee. Thanks for the invitation, thought Les. ‘Okay. What time are you going up there?’
‘Nine. Sharp.’
‘Righto.’ That would probably be about ten-thirty I’d say, mused Norton. You want to have me hanging around in that stinken hot room, half asleep with a hangover, for a couple of hours first. But I’ll have a shower and a nice breakfast instead.
They finally pulled up in the driveway. Les thanked Hank profusely for a wonderful night; Boofhead muttered something about he’d see Les in the morning, and trudged off to his house. Les was unfolding the fifty dollar bill and laughing quietly when he saw Hank stop near his door for a piss. Not a bad idea, thought Les, and did the same thing.
Around him the Spanish Moss hung gracefully from the trees like shreds of fine lace, painted silver by moonlight, which was softer than the night breeze itself. Above him countless millions of stars resembling tiny diamonds twinkled daintily from a cobalt sky, occasionally to be hidden by the gentle clouds drifting slowly across the heavens, quieter than a dream.
However, Norton wasn’t particularly into romance or poetry that night. All he knew was that it was hot, he was drunk, and it was somewhere to have a piss.
Les cleaned his teeth, stripped to his jox and was lying on his bed in the humid darkness, thinking. Thinking whether it was worth thinking or not. It sure had been a nutty day, and not a bad night either. Has anyone seen Lori? he chuckled. Yeah. Take your bloody pick. Now that’s something worth thinking about. Especially the daring young brunette on the flying trapeze. Norton let go a cavernous yawn. But not tonight. Not in this stinken heat. Besides, I’m too bloody drunk anyway. Despite the heat, the humidity and the noisy fan, Les drifted off quite easily.
Les blinked his eyes open around nine. In spite of all the booze he’d literally poured down his throat the night before he didn’t feel too bad; nevertheless, after a cold shower, just to be on the safe side, he took a couple of tablets called Tylenols that he’d found in a red bottle in the bathroom. Norton hadn’t been thinking about a great deal while he was under the shower, only that he was still lost in the middle of nowhere and he had another exciting day in the Florida heat with Einstein. He threw on a Red Back T-shirt and shorts and was in the kitchen with his head stuck in the fridge when he heard a familiar woman’s voice.
‘Oh, hello, Les. How are you this morning?’
Norton slammed the fridge door shut and turned around, feeling like a burglar caught robbing a safe. ‘Oh. G’day, Mrs Laurel.’ He noticed she was still wearing a blue silk dressing gown. ‘I didn’t wake you up, did I?’
‘No. I’ve been up some time. I was just about to have something to eat. I imagine you’re hungry too?’
‘Well, yeah. I am a bit.’
‘Then why don’t you let me make you some breakfast?’ ‘No. There’s no need for you to go to all that trouble, Mrs Laurel,’ protested Norton. ‘I can grab a bit of toast and coffee.’
Mrs Laurel waved a motherly finger. ‘You’re a guest. So you sit down and let me make you breakfast. I have to anyway.’
Norton smiled and put up a very weak defence. ‘Okay, Mrs Laurel. It’s your house. You’re the boss. I’ll set the table.’
Norton knew what Mrs Laurel wanted besides food. An ear. Two would be even better. So while Les was setting the dining room table he let her go and got the guts on the family — what a dropkick Hank was, her husband dying, the break-in, Hank’s ex-girlfriend Laverne and more. But it was well worth it. In no time Mrs Laurel had whipped up chilled sliced fruit, orange juice, scrambled eggs with pepperoni sausage, hash browns, unbelievable coffee, plus toast, and other odds and ends. Les ripped in. While he was stuffing himself Les said how they went diving at the Keys the day before and how they’d got out on the drinks last night and they were going to Hank’s office that morning. While they were gossiping away, the phone rang. Mrs Laurel answered it, spoke for a short while then resumed her seat.
‘That was Laverne. She wanted to talk to Hank but his phone wasn’t answering.’
‘Maybe he’s still asleep?’ suggested Les.
‘Only from the ears up, Les.’ Mrs Laurel slapped some blueberry jam on a piece of toast and downed it with a cup of coffee. For a frail woman in a hot climate she wasn’t bad on the tooth.
Les helped her with the dishes and found he was warming up to Mrs Laurel; after Hank she was a class act. Norton said he wanted to buy some orange juice and things himself and found out there was a supermarket complex up the road. He didn’t quite understand the look on Mrs Laurel’s face when he said he didn’t need a car, he’d just bought that bike out the front. Mrs Laurel said she had a map of Siestasota somewhere, she’d find it and leave it on his bed. They’d almost finished the washing up when who should come storming into the kitchen, same dirty jeans, different T-shirt, but Hank, looking anything but happy. There was a kind of weird silence. No ‘Good morning’ or ‘Lovely day outside, how is everybody this morning?’ It was like a pall of gloom had descended on the kitchen. I can’t imagine why he’s even more miserable than normal, mused Norton. He’s had plenty of sleep.
Les wiped his hands with the teatowel and looked at his watch. ‘Nine o’clock already. Doesn’t the time slip away? Must be that daylight saving.’
Hank’s eyes spun round to Les for a brief moment. ‘Well, what are you doing?’
‘Helping your mother wash up,’ answered Les rather nonchalantly. ‘We just finished breakfast. It was nice too. We had fresh orange juice, scrambled eggs, spicy little sausages…’
‘Laverne rang, Hank,’ interjected Mrs Laurel.
Hank glared at his mother. ‘What did that bitch want?’
‘She’d been trying to ring you. She wants to see you about something. I told her you’d be at the office.’
‘You what!!? Oh, for chrissake. Why did you tell her that?’
Mrs Laurel gave the sink a last wipe and straightened her dressing gown. ‘I don’t really know, to be honest, Hank. I guess it just seemed like a good idea at the time. Goodbye, Les. I’ll leave that map on your bed.’
‘Thanks, Mrs laurel. And thanks for a lovely breakfast. It was absolutely delicious.’
‘Any time, Les. You’re more than welcome.’
Mrs Laurel disappeared again, leaving Les and a fuming Hank shaking his head. ‘I don’t goddamn believe it. How can anybody be so stupid?’
Norton opened the fridge to get another glass of orange juice. He half looked at Hank. ‘She probably thought the same thing when she had you, Hank.’
‘What was that?’
‘She said, it wasn’t far from here to the bank. You still going to give me a lift up? Money, Hank. Cassshhhh. I nee
d some.’
The mention of the word ‘money’ wounded Hank. He’d searched all through his house and nearly torn the car apart for the last hour looking for that fifty. But it got him mobilised. ‘Yeah, we’ll go there on the way to the office. I’ll be out the front.’
Hank disappeared also. Les sipped his orange juice and tried to keep a straight face. After a while he gave up and took the rest of his drink into his room.
The bank was called Sun, sitting on some intersection about a mile across in a carpark that would have fitted Uluru. Getting another $500 was no great drama. Les flashed his driver’s licence, got a laugh out of the plump woman teller, then went back out to the pick-up sitting in the heat. They took off again, heading away from the house and town. Norton still didn’t have a clue where he was as everything was still dead flat and spread out with nothing to take a bearing on.
They took a left at some road and Les turned to Hank.
‘Y’know, I was thinking, mate. Fifty dollars ain’t much for all the trouble you’ve gone to for me. What say I make it an even hundred?’ Norton took out his wedge and peeled off the same fifty dollar bill he’d given Hank the night before. ‘There you are, mate.’
Hank took the fifty, nodded, and put it in his pocket. Les looked at him for a moment then stared out his window, blinking. What am I gonna do? He’s put it in the same bloody pocket.
Hank’s office was a white stucco building in a low-rise warehouse complex built alongside a swampy-looking lagoon, landscaped with a few pine trees. A short walk round the corner from the parking lot, Hank opened up a mirrored door next to two mirrored windows, bent down to pick up some mail and they stepped into a pall of hot, stale, dusty air. Hank closed the door and Les looked around; Double Bay it wasn’t. The front room had a false ceiling, scruffy grey carpet and doubled as the office. There were a few shelves round the wall on your left with bugger all on them and a couple of items of cheap cane furniture. To the right was a desk, a chair and a few chipped grey filing cabinets. There was a fax and coffee machine that didn’t work, a phone and answering service that did and a golfball typewriter that looked like Jack Nicklaus had belted it through Meadowbank and the US Open. Hank dropped the letters on the desk, sat down and switched on the answering machine. One short, garbled message came through that Les couldn’t understand. He also couldn’t understand why Hank brought him up there. Probably just to annoy him. It wouldn’t be to impress him; it was a dump and all that was on the shelves was a few Mexican-looking dolls and a dozen or so stuffed alligators about two feet long, only instead of green they were white and when you turned them over they had a Confederate flag on their stomachs. Maybe Hank’s in the Klan, thought Les. No, that wouldn’t be right. Einstein wouldn’t be able to spell KKK.
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