The Godson

by Robert G. Barrett

‘Officer, I think there’s some sort of misunderstanding here,’ cut in Peregrine.

  ‘You shut up,’ answered the speed cop, moving the gun towards the Englishman. ‘And put your hands on top of the car. That goes for both of you.’

  The cop’s gun still on him, Peregrine placed his hands on the roof of the station wagon. Norton moved his hands towards the roof of the car also, but as he did he lunged to his right and, quick as a cat, brought his hand down across the speed cop’s wrist. The gun flew from his hand and clattered onto the bonnet of the car. The cop made a clumsy attempt to retrieve it but Norton sent him sprawling onto the ground with a solid shove and picked up the gun himself.

  ‘Now,’ snarled the big red-headed Queenslander, levelling the pistol at the speed cop. ‘Let’s see how tough you are without your gun, you prick of a thing.’ The cop looked up at the barrel of his own revolver; he swallowed hard but didn’t say anything. ‘Come on. On your feet, arsehole,’ ordered Norton.

  The cop got to his feet his hands held out at his side. Peregrine watched him with bulging eyes, not quite believing what he was seeing. ‘Les …’ he said tentatively.

  ‘Shut up, Peregrine,’ snapped Norton. ‘Okay, you rotten copper cunt,’ he snarled, thumbing back the hammer of the .38. ‘Now I’m gonna blow your head right off your stinkin’ copper shoulders.’

  The cop swallowed hard again. Through his sunglasses and under his helmet Peregrine could still see the fear on his face. ‘Les,’ he almost stammered. ‘You can’t do this.’ The Englishman was now just as scared as the speed cop.

  ‘Pigs arse I can’t,’ replied Norton, his voice dripping malice. ‘We’ll shoot the bastard here and bury him in the bush along with his bike. No one’ll ever find him. The perfect murder, Peregrine; and one less copper in the world.’

  ‘No, Les. No,’ begged Peregrine.

  ‘Shut up.’ Norton brought the gun up an inch. ‘Okay, copper. Say your prayers.’

  ‘Les, for God’s sake, man,’ pleaded Peregrine.

  ‘All right,’ cut in the speed cop. ‘Shoot me, you cunt. I don’t give a fuck. But at least let me die like a man.’ He removed his helmet to reveal a crop of spiky red hair not unlike Norton’s. Like a British spy asking for a last cigarette before facing the firing squad, he looked evenly at Peregrine then turned to Norton. ‘You got any Fourex in the car?’

  The look of bitter hatred on Les’s face turned to one of understanding. Still holding the gun on the speed cop he went to the back of the station wagon, opened it and took a can of Fourex from a small esky behind the back seat. He returned to his original position and tossed it to the speed cop. ‘Fair enough,’ he nodded.

  The ginger-haired cop ripped the ring pull off, flung it over his shoulder and held the can of Fourex proudly towards the surrounding bush. ‘At least now I can die like an Australian.’ He poured about half the can of beer down his throat in one go and looked defiantly at Norton. ‘Okay, you bastard,’ he belched. ‘Do your best.’

  ‘Eat lead, copper.’ Norton brought the gun up and his finger tightened on the trigger.

  Peregrine couldn’t believe what was happening. It was the nightmare in Belfast all over again. ‘No, Les, no!’ he shrieked. ‘You can’t do it.’

  Showing amazing courage and agility Peregrine leapt across the bonnet of the station wagon and grabbed Norton’s arm. Norton appeared stunned at Peregrine’s actions and somehow the Englishman was able to wrestle the gun from his hand. It fell to the ground just in front of the speed cop.

  ‘Quick, get the gun,’ yelled Peregrine, still wrestling with Norton. The highway-patrol cop ignored the Englishman and slowly took another swig of beer. ‘I said get the gun!’ yelled Peregrine again.

  ‘I will,’ said the cop impassively, giving his mouth a wipe at the same time. ‘Just as soon as I finish me can of Fourex.’ Peregrine eased up in his struggle with Les, who for a big man and a so-called heavy seemed to be putting up very little resistance. He stared at the speed cop in disbelief. ‘Are you mad or something?’ The cop ignored Peregrine and continued to nonchalantly sip his beer. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, what sort of a man are you?’ Peregrine let go of Norton’s arm and picked up the gun. Still shaking and with one eye on Les he thrust it towards the cop. ‘Here, quick. Take it.’

  The cop nodded at Peregrine who was holding the gun like it was a burning stick of dynamite. ‘Thanks, mate,’ he said casually. ‘Just stick it on the bonnet of the car. I’ll get it in a minute.’

  Peregrine stared at the cop slack-jawed. ‘What the …?’

  Without bothering to answer the red-headed cop took the gun from Peregrine and put it in his holster. ‘Good thing it’s got no bullets in it,’ he said smiling at Norton. ‘How are you, Les?’

  ‘Pretty good, Carrots,’ replied Norton. ‘How’s that beer?’

  ‘Beautiful.’

  ‘S’pose I’d better have one myself then.’ Ignoring the dumb founded Peregrine, Les took another can of Fourex from the esky. He ripped off the ring-pull and shook hands with the young cop. ‘Good to see you again, George.’

  ‘You too, Les. Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers, mate.’

  They both took a healthy pull on their cans then Les turned to Peregrine. ‘Peregrine, this is a mate of mine, George. George, this is Peregrine.’

  The cop offered Peregrine his hand. Peregrine looked at it for a moment then shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No. Ohh no. No! No!’ Abruptly Peregrine spun on his heel and stormed off, stopping with his back turned and his fists clenched a few metres from the car. He turned around and pointed an accusing finger at Norton. ‘That wasn’t funny,’ he fumed.

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ Norton turned to his speed cop mate. ‘Did you think that was funny, Carrots?’

  ‘Funny? No, I didn’t think it was funny,’ said Carrots, his smile fast turning into a grin. ‘I thought it was hilarious.’ Then both he and Les started to crack up.

  There was nothing Peregrine could do but stand there glaring at what to him, were two Australians with a very warped sense of humour rolling around and spilling beer all over the front of the car. He watched them in disgust for a while, then went and got in the front seat and continued glaring out of the windscreen in silence.

  Les and Carrots regained most of their composure and finished their first can of beer. Norton made a move towards the esky in the back of the station wagon but Carrots shook his head.

  ‘Remember I was telling you over the phone I couldn’t stay long,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Norton, a little disappointed. ‘What’s the strength of that? I was hoping to have a good mag to you.’

  ‘There’s been a bad murder,’ said Carrots. ‘Two young pricks from Maitland in a stolen car picked up a local girl hitchhiking. They raped her then decided to have some fun with her.’ Norton winced at the look on his mate’s face and the tone in his voice. ‘I won’t go into details of what they did. But they ended up cutting her throat then dumped her on the side of the road.’ Norton shook his head in disgust. ‘You should have seen the body, Les. Poor little sheila. She was fifteen and about six stone dripping wet.’

  ‘Fuckin’ animals,’ spat Norton.

  ‘No. Not animals, Les. Animals wouldn’t do what these two did.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right, George.’

  ‘Anyway, their car broke down the other side of Gloucester. We got a fair idea where they are. We’ll go in and get them now.’ Carrots gave Les a thin smile. ‘Take them into custody. Do all the correct paperwork. Then see that they get a fair trial.’

  ‘You never know,’ said Les, returning Carrots thin smile. ‘With a bit of luck they might try and shoot it out.’

  ‘Hah! You’re kidding, Les. Pricks like these are only good for killing sheilas and people that can’t fight back. As soon as they see us they’ll shit themselves.’

  Norton shook his head. ‘Maybe in cases like this,’ he suggested, ‘the parents should be allowed to visit them in their cells for a few minu
tes — alone.’

  Carrots pointed his finger at Les. ‘Now that’s what I do call a deterrent.’ He finished his can of beer and handed the empty to Les. ‘Get rid of this for me, will you, mate? I got to get going.’

  ‘Sure.’ Norton took the empty can and gave Carrots a quick handshake at the same time. ‘I’ll call in and see you on the way back — same as last time.’

  ‘See you then, Les.’

  ‘See you, mate.’

  As Carrots walked past the station wagon he waved and gave Peregrine a scurrilous grin. ‘See you later Peregrine, old fellah. Nice to have met you.’

  The Englishman turned towards him, caught his eye briefly then turned away without saying anything. Norton climbed into the car about the same time as Carrots roared off on his motorbike.

  ‘So,’ enquired Les, as he buckled up, ‘how are you feeling, Peregrine?’

  There was a frosty pause for a moment or two before Peregrine answered. ‘How am I feeling?’ he said tightly. ‘How do you think I feel? You damn fool.’

  ‘Now come on, Pezz, don’t be like that, mate. It was only a joke.’

  ‘Don’t be like that. Oh good God. And I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t refer to me as Pezz. My name happens to be Peregrine.’ Tight-lipped, he fumed at Norton. ‘And that stupid lark was your idea of a joke was it? Brilliant. What can I expect next? Exploding cigars? Flowers in your lapel which squirt water? Rubber snakes in my bed?’

  ‘No, nothing as corny as that.’ Norton was slightly admonished, though underneath he was doing everything he could to stop from cracking up again. ‘But fair dinkum, Peregrine, it costs you nothing to laugh. And the look on your face after you performed that superhuman effort to wrestle the gun away from me, and Carrots told you to put it on the bonnet of the car. Mate, I hate to say this, but it was priceless.’

  ‘Yes. Well that’s… marvellous, Les. And I’m so pleased your friend and yourself got a good laugh.’ Peregrine folded his arms and nodded towards the highway. ‘Now just drive me to wherever it is we’re going, would you?’

  Norton started the car. ‘Righto mate,’ he smiled. ‘Next stop Kempsey. You’ll feel better after a bit to eat and a couple of beers.’ As Les slipped the station wagon into drive he gave the Englishman a wink. ‘Pezz.’

  By the time they got to Kempsey and with a bit of gentle coaxing from Les, Peregrine was noticeably feeling a lot better. He was almost smiling. Norton was pleased to find the same two apple-cheeked old birds in the same old country hotel as last time still serving up huge, steaming plates of the same old country style food. There was no corn beef and parsley sauce on the menu this time, but instead a rich, creamy calves’ liver and bacon casserole full of fresh onions and capsicums that had them both licking the plates. And the bread and butter custard was on again too. So by the time Norton had pumped Peregrine full of this, plus four sparkling middies of Tooheys New, the Englishman was feeling decidedly better indeed and agreeing with Norton that it wasn’t such a bad joke after all that the big Queenslander had pulled on him, just somewhat unexpected and a bit of a shock to the system after what had recently happened in Belfast, that was all. Norton had to agree with Peregrine’s point of view there. In fact by the time they got to Macksville and Les had played his Divynls tape again Peregrine was openly laughing about the whole silly incident and starting to think that Norton wasn’t such a bad bloke after all and this two weeks in the Australian countryside might not be as unbearable as he had expected, although in no way comparable to flitting around Europe in a Bentley drinking Bollinger with a young lady from the nobility.

  Norton, on the other hand, was pleased he had somehow managed to break the ice with Peregrine, even if it had been in such an outrageous fashion. It seemed that the Englishman had copped it sweet, although a couple of times Les could detect from the tone of his voice there might be a bit of a square up coming. One thing did go straight over Norton’s head, though, when Peregrine said Les had done as much for his self-esteem as Charles Bukowski had done for the Californian Women’s Liberation Movement. They took their time and were in Coffs Harbour well before three.

  ‘Where were you thinking of staying, Les?’ asked Peregrine as they stopped at a set of lights in Grafton Street.

  ‘Dunno,’ shrugged Les. ‘I might just see if I can find us a decent motel.’

  ‘What about this place?’ Peregrine handed Norton a brochure from inside his jacket. ‘I picked it up at that hotel in Kempsey.’

  Norton studied the small, glossy pamphlet while he waited for the lights to change. ‘Penguin Beach Resort?’

  ‘Yes. According to that brochure it’s on this main highway just on the other side of town.’

  ‘Sure looks all right,’ conceded Les. ‘Yeah, righto,’ he shrugged, as the lights changed to green. ‘Why not?’

  Five minutes later they came to a huge white sign on blue poles, next to an Italian seafood restaurant overlooking the ocean.

  ‘Here it is,’ said Les, and hit the blinker. ‘Let’s have a look.’

  They turned off the highway down a neatly-tiled driveway dotted with palm trees, tropical fruit trees and native plants set in exquisitely landscaped gardens. The driveway circled a parking area; Les slowed up for a speed-hump as a green BMW pulled out and pulled in next to a maroon, Jaguar Sovereign.

  ‘Christ!’ exclaimed Norton. ‘What about this joint? Very how’s your father.’ Peregrine said nothing but had to nod in agreement.

  They took their bags from the car and walked across to a spacious, palm-dotted foyer where the door swished open automatically, leading them to a front desk with a statuette of a penguin sitting at one end.

  The whole place reeked of spacious, opulent comfort. Indirect lighting bathed the walls and sunlight streamed down from the skylights high in the ceiling above onto the dozens of lush indoor plants. The decor was mainly soft blue and grey with touches of pink, except for the colourful patterns on the cane lounges placed around the walls, and the pastel tones of the murals and paintings hung above them. From the metal poles supporting the skylights hung swarms of beautifully painted balsawood parrots which scarcely moved in the air conditioned stillness. Les and Peregrine hardly had time to exchange approving glances before they were almost swamped by politely efficient staff in blue uniforms, the men in sweatshirts, the women in neat skirts and tops, all with a blue and gold penguin motif on the front.

  Naturally enough Peregrine wanted the best rooms the resort had to offer. Unfortunately the ultra swish had been taken by a German industrialist and his entourage and a team of Texan zillionaires. Then Les remembered why he was there and who he was with and insisted on adjoining rooms. The management was expecting a convention in the following day and the only two adjoining rooms were two standard ones on the sixth floor; one floor above the front desk.

  ‘That will do admirably,’ said Les.

  They signed the register then the staff picked up their bags and just about bore them into the lift and up to rooms 219 and 220 which were on an open hallway almost overlooking the front desk.

  ‘Why don’t we throw our stuff inside and check the place out?’ said Les. ‘Get changed later?’

  ‘Jolly good idea,’ replied Peregrine. ‘My room’s closest to the lift. Give me a tap in five minutes.’

  Christ! thought Norton, after he’d thrown his bag on the Sealy posturepedic double bed. If this is a standard room, I wonder what those other ones were like? The room was large, bright and spotlessly clean, mainly blue and grey again with indoor plants and pastel-shaded murals around the beige walls. There was a colour TV, stereo, fridge and bar and behind the blue lounge the curtains swished back to where a sliding glass door opened onto a balcony giving a magnificent view of the beach and the small islands not far from the shore. Christ! thought Norton again, smiling to himself and pleased that Peregrine had found the place. I reckon we ought to spend the two weeks here. Then again he remembered why they were there. No, he sighed, one bloody night’s gonna hav
e to do. Five minutes later he and Peregrine were in the lift heading for the third floor.

  They strolled along a wide corridor to another lift with a glass back which took them to the first floor and what seemed to be a solarium. The huge room was thick with lush plants and spaced with more comfortable cane lounges and chairs. Flocks of parrots hung suspended in the air and the whole area was bathed in the sunlight coming through an almost completely glass ceiling. A small indoor pool meandered around the blue-grey carpet and mauve walls to the sepia-toned tiles which led to the bistro and main dining room. After a quick check of the menu and wine list, Les and Peregrine strolled out to the pool area.

  Neither man had to say anything as they followed the white scalloped pathway to the pool; the surroundings did it for them. An explosion of coloured flowers and tropical trees burst from more meticulous landscaping. A tiny stream bubbled through the rockeries and beneath wooden bridges to momentarily stop in a pool full of lilies and brightly-coloured carp. An attendant who was feeding the fish smiled and said hello as they walked past. Les opened a gate and they stepped through to where the sun was sparkling on a massive, irregular, man-made lagoon edged in parts with volcanic rock. Pink umbrellas and white banana-chairs surrounded the pool, the outdoor jacuzzi and the childrens’ pool and playing area. Through the glass fence behind the pool they could see the blue waves crashing and hissing across the sand and they spotted the islands they had seen from their balconies. They strolled around the pool to the glassed-in spa-bath which joined the gymnasium. There didn’t appear to be many people around — a dozen or so on the banana-chairs and one or two couples enjoying the heated pool. The only others were the blue uniformed staff who seemed to be forever sweeping, wiping or cleaning something.

  ‘Well, what do you reckon, Pezz?’ smiled Norton. ‘Looks like something out of a James Bond movie, don’t it?’

  Peregrine the aristocrat couldn’t help but agree. ‘Simply marvellous. I also noticed the prices when we booked in; it’s not at all expensive. Anything comparable to this in Europe, if you could find it, would cost you a fortune. Not that that would worry me at all, Les,’ he added with a grin. ‘I happen to have several.’