The Godson

by Robert G. Barrett

  Peregrine glanced at his watch. ‘Well, we’ve plenty of time. It’s not yet five o’clock.’

  ‘Yeah. I might make some coffee.’

  The bazaar had well and truly finished and Yurriki was as quiet as a cemetery when Les pulled up outside the town’s one phone-box. He rattled the coins into the slot: this time Eddie was home.

  ‘Les,’ he said brightly. ‘How’s it going, mate?’

  ‘Good, Eddie. Life in the country’s not too bad at all.’

  ‘How’s His Royal Highness?’

  ‘Safe as a bank. I think he’s getting used to it, too. Any news from England?’

  ‘No. Nothing yet,’ lied Eddie. He figured what Les didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And there was no real point in upsetting Peregrine. With any luck this could still be over by the end of the week. He’d tell Les then no matter what. ‘But I’ll let you know as soon as there is.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘So what are you both doing?’

  ‘Actually we’re on our way out to a couple of sheilas’ house.’

  Les gave Eddie a bit of a rundown about Peregrine buying the clothes at the bazaar. He didn’t mention the fight. They chatted for a while and then Les hung up, saying he’d ring again on Wednesday.

  ‘Still no news from England, Peregrine,’ he said, getting back into the car.

  ‘That’s understandable. There probably won’t be any until Lewis gets it all sorted out.’

  ‘Probably. Anyway, next stop Stokers Siding. We’ll get that rattle sorted out then get back home. I wouldn’t mind getting pissed tonight.’

  They didn’t have to drive as far as Stokers Siding; the instructions Coco had given Peregrine were to drive about fifteen kilometres out of Yurriki, cross two little bridges next to each other and two kilometres past them, opposite the sawmill, there was a red house on the right. Les couldn’t miss their house, not even at night: it was a brilliant, boiling red with a red roof. Built high up off the road, it was like one of those old wooden, Federation houses you still see in parts of Sydney, but with a lot more character. A vine and pot plant covered verandah surrounded the old house, there was a white picket fence at the front and what appeared to be cow sheds at the side. Les went up a steep driveway and parked behind an old green Kombi covered in mainly environmental stickers. A small set of steps ran up to the front door, which was open with the fly-screen shut. Peregrine gave it a quick ‘shave and a haircut, two bits’.

  Coco came to the door wearing a smile and a dark blue tracksuit. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘You found the place all right?’

  ‘No trouble at all.’

  ‘Come on in.’

  She creaked open the fly-screen and they followed her down a threadbare, brown-carpeted hallway. Inside it was a typical old country house: wood panelling, high ceilings, brass light switches and floorboards that creaked under your feet. Marita was in a nicely appointed kitchen wearing a mustard coloured tracksuit like Coco’s.

  ‘Hello,’ she said pleasantly.

  There were more greetings and smiles all round. Peregrine handed Marita two bottles of Great Western which she put in the fridge. They exchanged pleasantries while the girls made them coffee. Then Coco asked Peregrine if he’d like to come out to the cutting room and see what he’d purchased.

  The old cow sheds Norton had seen from the road turned out to be their work room. Marita hit a switch near the door and about half a dozen fluorescent lights suspended over two long cutting tables lit up the room. Sitting on the table, neatly folded next to two large packing cases was what Peregrine was getting for his four thousand dollars.

  ‘Well, there it all is,’ said Marita. ‘You want to have another look at it?’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ replied Peregrine. He had a bit of a browse through the weird array of dresses, tops and tights. ‘Excellent,’ he smiled. ‘Excellent. Now here’s what I’d like you to do.’

  Peregrine took a piece of cardboard and a texta colour and wrote down the address of Stephanie’s boutique in The Kings Road. He gave Marita the remaining two thousand dollars plus another thousand which would be more than enough to ship the clothing to England. He said not to worry about a receipt. He gave the girls his business card and told them they could rob him if they wished, but if they did the right thing and the dresses sold they could both be on a nice little earner for years to come. From the surprised, slightly hurt looks on the girls faces when Peregrine spoke about robbing him Les didn’t think there was much chance of that.

  ‘So, that’s about it, ladies,’ smiled Peregrine. ‘I think you’ll agree that’s a reasonably fair way to do business?’

  ‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ replied Marita, blinking at the wad of money in her hand.

  ‘Now what do you say to a glass of champers to cement the deal? Then my associate and myself will be on our way.’

  ‘Okay, fine.’

  Marita switched off the lights and they followed the girls back into the lounge room. While Coco was getting the champagne Les settled back on an old blue Chesterfield and had a bit of a look around. There was the usual women’s brica-brac on the walls and sideboards plus a Picasso and a couple of Monet prints. A TV and a fairly modern stereo sat against one wall and in a corner an old lampstand threw muted light over a poster of Mae West. Coco returned with the champagne and four glasses, poured them all a drink and there was a quick ‘cheers’ all round.

  It turned out the girls had lived in the Tweed Valley for seven years and owned the house which was once an old dairy. They originally came from Narooma on the South Coast, but had worked in Sydney for a while before moving north. At the mention of the words ‘work in Sydney’ Coco and Marita seemed to exchange fleeting smiles of amusement. They each had five-year-old daughters who were presently with their fathers and grandparents in Byron Bay. But that was another story. They hated city life and found the Yurriki area one of the last places left with a village atmosphere that the politicians and the Alan Bonds of the world hadn’t yet managed to stuff up. Mata Hari’s Waterbed was ticking over slowly, especially now thanks to Peregrine, and here they would remain until they were old and grey.

  ‘I can’t say I blame you,’ said Peregrine. ‘It’s certainly a delightful area around here.’

  ‘It sure is,’ nodded Marita.

  ‘Gee, this champagne’s nice, Peregrine,’ said Coco, draining the last of her glass. ‘Okay if I open that other bottle?’

  ‘Of course. That’s what I brought it for.’

  While Coco was in the kitchen, Marita reached towards a small, carved wooden box sitting on an old coffee table in front of her.

  ‘You guys fancy a smoke?’ she asked.

  ‘What… pot?’ said Norton.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Sure. What about you Peregrine? You have a smoke, do you?’

  ‘Well… I’ve had a bit of hash in London now and again,’

  ‘Wait till you try this,’ said Marita. ‘This is our own Yurriki yippee grass. This’ll really clear your woofers and your tweeters.’

  Les and Peregrine watched intently as Marita pulled some very dark, very sticky looking marijuana from a plastic bag, mulled it with a little tobacco and began rolling a couple of joints.

  ‘Could you sell us some of that?’ asked Les. Drinking Fourex back at the farm was pretty good, but a little number at the same time would make it heaps better.

  ‘I’ll give you some.’

  ‘No, I’ll pay you. In fact, can we buy a bag somewhere? We’re gonna be here for another week.’

  ‘Puff’s pretty hard to get now, Les.’

  ‘Up here? You’re kidding.’

  ‘I wish I was. They used to grow a bit up here once. But it’s too hard now. They’ve got helicopters going over every day. Pricks riding ’round on trail bikes. You’ve only got to have a Save The Rainforests sticker on your window and they pull you over and search your car.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘Are we talking about our heroes in
the drug offensive, are we?’ asked Coco, walking back into the lounge room.

  ‘Yeah,’ laughed Marita. ‘I was just telling Les what it’s like up here.’

  Coco refilled their glasses. ‘You guys have got to see it to believe it. There’s squads of these idiots running around in full combat gear. Fatigues, boots, flak jackets, peaked caps. Armed with machine guns, shotguns, pistols, Christ only knows what, trying to bust a few hippies with a bit of pot. They must spend half their lives watching Sylvester Stallone movies on TV.’

  ‘What about that day out at Raewyn’s, Coco? This friend of ours has got an eight-year-old daughter and a fifteen-yearold mentally retarded son. Fifteen cops in combat gear hit her house one day. Kicked her door in, poked loaded guns in their faces. Nearly frightened poor Matthew to death. Halfwrecked her house, and got nothing. Fifteen would-be Rambos.’

  ‘They’re idiots running around with guns,’ said Coco. ‘They raided some people’s farm we know near Nimbin. Couldn’t find anything so they shot up the house and machine-gunned their water tank. This is after some other idiot’s gone about two feet over the house in a helicopter and killed all their Angora goats. But these people were a bit smart. They sued the police department and finished up with half a million dollars. It took a while, but they got it.’

  Even Peregrine had to laugh at this. ‘What about that cop that gets on TV?’ said Norton. ‘He looks like a director of some bush RSL. I think he’s a superintendent. He reckons they’re growing pot up here to finance heroin deals.’

  The girls both shook their heads in disbelief. ‘If you want to see some millionaire heroin dealers,’ said Marita, ‘come to the dance this Saturday night. You won’t find a car there worth more than five hundred dollars. If a pickpocket went through the place all he’d get would be exercise. Heroin dealers! I don’t believe it.’

  ‘There used to be a heroin dealer in Yurriki,’ said Coco seriously. ‘They burnt his car twice. Then told him to piss off or the next time they’d burn him in it.’

  ‘It’s all politics and corruption, Les,’ said Marita. ‘Come down hard on anyone with a bit of pot so they look like they’re doing something while there’s tons of rotten heroin and cocaine out on the streets.’

  ‘Yeah. Haven’t you seen the T-shirts?’ said Coco. ‘Support your local MP — Buy a gram of heroin today. That’s one you should take back to England with you, Peregrine.’

  ‘Yes I’ll get one for Uncle Henry. He could wear it into the House of Lords. I’m sure they’d be impressed.’

  ‘So we figure if they’re going to give free Methadone and syringes to smack freaks, we can grow a couple of plants down by the saw-mill. Anyway,’ Marita gave the boys a wink, ‘these are ready.’

  Marita lit one of the joints and handed it to Les who nodded for Coco to go first. She took a toke, so did Les then it went on to Peregrine. Sure tastes all right, thought Norton, almost sweet. Not at all hard to smoke. It had been a while since Les had had a smoke and by the time the first joint was finished he’d begun to mellow out a bit. Peregrine eased back in his chair, a little glassy-eyed and blinked. Marita lit joint number two. It finished about the same time as half of the second bottle of Great Western and by now Norton was beginning to feel very mellow indeed. He too eased back further in his chair and a big, cheesy grin spread over his face. Marita and Coco were smiling back at him from the lounge. Peregrine was beginning to chuckle to himself.

  ‘Get a buzz out of that, did you, Les?’ asked Marita.

  ‘Reckon,’ replied Norton.

  ‘What about you, Peregrine?’

  ‘My word. It’s quite exceptional.’

  ‘Quite exceptional,’ laughed Coco. ‘I like that.’

  Coco turned the stereo on very softly. It sounded like a local radio station; some country and western song. Whatever it was it certainly sounded all right.

  ‘So, this is life out in the Australian countryside, eh, Coco?’ said Peregrine.

  ‘Yep. Out with the flowers and the animals. It’s slow and it’s corny, but it beats the hell out of a home unit in the city.’

  ‘I could imagine.’

  ‘What do you do in England besides sell clothes?’ asked Marita.

  ‘I… own property. I get an income from that. Which is why I’m out here. I… may invest in some more.’

  ‘Oh. What about you, Les? What do you do?’

  ‘I work up the Cross.’

  ‘The Cross!’ chorused the girls. They looked at each other then burst into laughter.

  ‘Yeah. At a casino. I work on the door.’

  Coco and Marita’s laughter subsided and they sat smiling at the boys. It was starting to come together what they were. Peregrine, articulate and sophisticated with scads of money to throw around, the big bloke who kept in the background, polite but menacing. He was obviously taking care of the Englishman while he was out here buying land or whatever else it was he was up to. It was for sure they weren’t dealers or anything to do with the police.

  ‘We used to work up the Cross,’ giggled Coco.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yes. When we first came to Sydney. We were flat motherless broke. We worked at a place called The Golden Delicious.’

  ‘The Golden Delicious?’ Norton thought for a moment then grinned. ‘Hey, I’ve heard of that.’

  ‘Yes,’ laughed Marita. ‘The House of Domination and Bondage. Just off William Street.’

  ‘House of Domination and Bondage.’ Peregrine blinked slowly. ‘Good Lord, Marita. What ever did you do there?’

  ‘Get dressed up in school uniforms, then tie up old judges and barristers and rich stockbrokers and whip the shit out of the stupid old bastards.’

  Coco and Marita went into a fit of the giggles which cracked Les and Peregrine up as well, causing Peregrine to spill champagne all down the front of his trousers.

  ‘My God,’ he spluttered. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘That’s what some of these stupid old pricks used to say too, when we’d finished with them,’ laughed Marita.

  Norton was starting to blink a little himself now. ‘How long did you work there?’ he asked.

  ‘About six months.’

  ‘What? Did you just get sick of it?’

  ‘Sort of,’ replied Coco.

  ‘Yeah. Not being addicts we made a fair bit of money,’ said Marita, ‘which is how we bought this place.’ She and Coco exchanged a quick laugh. ‘But it was being too good at our job that brought us undone. Me anyway.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, Les. You see … our specialty was blow jobs.’

  ‘That sounds all right,’ said Norton.

  ‘Ohh, don’t worry,’ said Coco. ‘We were the best in the business. Those old dills, and plenty of young ones too, used to come from miles around to get us to knock the top off it.’

  ‘We gave the best polishes in Sydney,’ winked Marita.

  ‘Would these hot lips lie?’ Coco winked and pursed her lips at Peregrine.

  ‘So what happened?’ asked Les.

  ‘Well,’ said Marita. ‘I did a little job on the outside. I met this politician at a hotel near The Quay. It turned out he wasn’t a bad old bloke. So I really gave him his two hundred and fifty dollars worth. I worked him over; I drained him, man. I gave the old bugger head like he’d never had before. Anyway, it must have been too much for him. ’Cause just as the old bastard was about to get his rocks off, he had a heart attack and turned his toes up. I bloody near shit myself.’

  Norton and Peregrine both roared laughing again. Then something dawned on Les. ‘I remember seeing something about that in the papers. That wasn’t…?’

  ‘Yeah, bloody oath. That’s who it was.’

  ‘His dick wasn’t the only thing you left stiff in the room, was it love?’ laughed Coco.

  ‘Too right. They reckon it took them an hour to pull the bed sheets out of his arse. Anyway, I just left him there and split. But being a bigwig the papers got hold of it. Then t
he cops started investigating. We were both getting sick of the whole bloody scene, so we got out of town before they figured out who it was and I either had an accident or they found something to charge me with.’

  ‘Could they charge you with murder by blow job?’ queried Peregrine.

  ‘Dunno.’ Marita shook her head. ‘But they’d probably try.’

  ‘How about wilful desuction,’ giggled Coco.

  ‘They definitely would have got you for being an accessory after the fat,’ roared Norton.

  ‘I disagree,’ chortled Peregrine. ‘The evidence would never have stood up in court.’

  Stoned and with a couple of champagnes under their belts Les and Peregrine started rolling around on their chairs, roaring like tigers. Norton couldn’t ever remember laughing so much — there was no doubt it was a bloody good smoke the girls had. Marita and Coco weren’t far behind them. It was a ripper of a story and one the girls obviously didn’t tell too many people, not around Stokers Siding anyway. They probably liked to get it off their chests. But even without the pot or the champagne it was still turning out to be a very funny evening.

  Norton regained his composure and through the mellow, peaceful haze of the marijuana noticed the girls grinning at them as if they had something on their minds. Or maybe they had thought of something else that was amusing.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Coco. ‘Seeing as you’re not bad blokes, how would you like one for the road yourselves?’

  ‘What…?’ blinked Norton, still stoned off his head.

  ‘A blow job,’ smiled Marita. ‘How would you like one on the house? No screwing. Just a nice polish.’

  ‘Well… okay. Why not?’

  ‘What about you Peregrine?’ grinned Coco. ‘It’s the least we can do. You shouted us champagne. Bought all our clothes. Paid us cash. You want one too?’

  Peregrine blinked as if he didn’t quite believe it. ‘I… I mean, well, yes. Why … not?’

  ‘Okay. Come on.’

  Coco took Peregrine and led him to a bedroom down the hallway. Marita motioned to Les. When he climbed to his feet and rocked a little, he again realised just how good the girls’ pot was.