Leaving Bondi

by Robert G. Barrett

  Les ran across to the altar and picked up the knife from where the high priest had dropped it. He brandished it at the coven and kept yelling at them.

  ‘Go on. Get back you rotten, evil fuckin things,’ he shouted. ‘Get back. Or I’ll cut your fuckin heads off. I’ll kill the lot of you. I’ll rip your guts out.’

  The coven drew back with shock as Les slashed the cords tying the woman’s arms and legs, and took her round the waist. She was a completely dead weight and it was like trying to pick up a wobbling sack of jelly. Still shouting his head off, Les managed to get the girl over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry while he waved the knife at the coven.

  ‘Go on. Keep away, you motherless bastards,’ he howled. ‘Fuck off.’

  The coven withdrew from Les. A couple started to taunt him and hiss obscenities. Les didn’t see one old woman sneak up behind him with the heavy brass candelabra. She raised it and swung it at his head just as Les bent a little to shrug the girl from round his neck. The candelabra missed his head but thumped down hard on Norton’s shoulder, making him drop the knife.

  ‘Ow shit,’ yelped Les, the pain almost paralysing his arm.

  He spun around just as the old woman brought the candelabra up to hit him again. She was fat and ugly with grey hair and great, droopy breasts and looked eighty-five if she was a day, and was probably somebody’s dear old grandmother. Les smashed her with a straight left that split the old woman’s mouth open, cracked her top plate and dumped her on her flabby, wrinkled backside. Les reshuffled the young woman on his shoulder as the man in the bird mask picked up the knife.

  ‘Come on. Get the unbeliever,’ he called to the others.

  The coven advanced on Les. Some started picking up rocks, another had hold of the brass candelabra as they grouped behind the one holding the knife. On his own Les would have left them for dead, but juggling a dead weight on his shoulders slowed him almost to a walk. Under a hail of rocks, Les got through the gap in the wall and made it to the tree where he’d left the shotgun. He dropped the woman on the ground, took the shotgun and aimed it at the parked cars.

  ‘Blam! Blam! Blam!’

  Les shot out the three nearest windscreens, sending wiper blades and pieces of glass flying everywhere.

  ‘Look out,’ shouted the old man with the knife. ‘He’s got Martin’s gun.’

  Blam! Les sent another blast into one of the outdoor heaters, spewing gas and sparks across the backyard.

  ‘My bloody oath I have’, shouted Les. ‘Now piss off, before I blow the lot of you to hell. Where you fuckin well all belong.’

  The coven stopped in their tracks. Les fired another shot into the galvanised-iron roof, then picked up the girl and jogged back to the car. He opened the door and dumped the girl in the front seat, quickly doing up her seat belt. Before he got in alongside her, Les emptied the shotgun into the trees near the farmhouse, then threw the gun into the scrub. As soon as he was behind the wheel, Les shoved the Hyundai into drive and spun it around in a tight circle, sending rocks and clods of mud everywhere. He straightened up, belted back down the dirt road, did a screeching left turn at the end, then further on fishtailed a smoking right onto the main road back to Adelaide. A few kilometres along the road Les slowed down a little, took a deep breath and tried to stop his heart from pounding its way out of his chest and through the seat belt.

  Bloody hell! What about that. Those ratbags were just about to cut that poor girl’s throat. Thank Christ I came along. Or thank Christ that navigator’s on the blink, or whatever. I don’t know about those other directions it was giving me. Half the time I was looking at the map. But that was just sheer coincidence. Les looked at the night sky and shook his head. Or an act of God. The girl had slid around inside the seat belt. Les adjusted it and straightened her up so she didn’t bang her head on the door. I don’t know who you are, sweetheart, but you’ve got a guardian angel, that’s for bloody sure. Les started checking her out.

  She looked to be in her early twenties with a pretty face, nice lips and corn-blonde hair, which looked quite beautiful with the flowers in it. She had big breasts and could have been a little overweight, but a bit of exercise and she’d be a stunner. I wonder who she is? thought Les. And I wonder where she comes from? Then another thought struck Les. What am I going to do with her? Shit! I can’t take her to the police, or I’ll go with her. And I can’t just dump her somewhere. She’s out like a light and anything could happen to her the way she is. Les caught his reflection in the rear-view mirror. Good old Dudley Do Right. I’m going to have to take her back to the hotel. Let her sleep there and if she doesn’t wake up by the morning, call a doctor before I split for Sydney. I wonder what they hit her with? That old tart looked like she might have been a nurse at one time, the way she prepared her arm before she shoved the pick in. Probably valium or something like that. Christ! I wonder what she’ll think when she wakes up? I hope she doesn’t start screaming blue murder. Les looked at the girl, her head down, moving with the motion of the car behind the seat belt. Poor bastard. After what she’s just been through, you wouldn’t blame her if she did.

  Les cruised on into the night and started to relax. Even though his trip to Adelaide had turned out a complete disaster, it did have one redeeming feature: he’d saved some poor girl from a terrible fate. Les laughed mirthlessly. I wonder if the beak’ll take that into account when he throws me in the slammer? Whether or not, Norton’s good deed did make him feel better. A bit further along he switched on the radio and got some FM station playing mouldy oldies. Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs were singing ‘Little Red Riding Hood’. Les looked at the unconscious girl and started singing a bodgie version of the lyrics.

  ‘Hey there little Miss May Queen baby, watcha doin’ out in that South Australian bush alone.’

  He topped a hill and suddenly beneath the night sky the lights of Adelaide burst across the horizon like a ribbon of beautiful flowers. Les turned to his unknown passenger again and smiled at the uncanny resemblance in her hair. How about I nickname you the May Queen, sweetheart. It suits you in that outfit. The next song on the radio was ‘Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds’. Les was singing away as he swung onto the Southern Expressway. He’d reached the traffic lights at the end when he heard a familiar voice.

  ‘Right turn, five hundred metres.’

  ‘Yeah, that’d be right, you dope,’ said Les, turning left to follow the traffic into Adelaide. ‘I’ll finish up in Port Lincoln.’

  ‘In two hundred metres, take the next turn on your right.’

  ‘Sure. Straight into the oncoming traffic you moron. Right. That’s it for you, you low-life slut,’ said Les. ‘You’re sacked. You’d think Muhammad Ali was a street in Cairo.’ Les jabbed at whatever buttons on the navigator he could find. ‘Piss off. I never want to see you again.’

  ‘Softer. Softer.’

  ‘Ohh shut up. You’re nothing but a slaggy moll.’

  Some more old pop songs played, Les saw a familiar street sign, then another and another. He hung a right and finally pulled up in front of the Adelaide Grande. The concierge came over and opened the passenger door first. He gave a double blink when he saw the girl lolling behind the seat belt wearing a long puffy gown, a maroon bodice, flowers in her hair, no shoes and no knickers. Les picked up his backpack, came round and got the girl out of the car and put her left arm around his neck.

  ‘Can you manage all right, Mr Ullrich?’ asked the concierge.

  ‘Yes. My fiancée’s just had a few too many magic mushrooms, that’s all,’ replied Les, and dragged the girl into the foyer.

  As luck would have it, there was a ball downstairs in the hotel, so plenty of half-plastered girls wearing long gowns were getting shouldered all round the foyer by plenty of half-plastered men in tuxedos. None, however, were completely out on their feet with their boobs flopping everywhere like the girl with Les, and they were wearing a lot more under their evening gowns as well. The more sober patrons gave Les a double blink as he
dragged the May Queen over to the lifts, as did the three young Japanese tourists waiting for a lift and two young girls with their shoes off behind them. A lift pinged and Les bundled the May Queen inside. From there it was an embarrassing silence all the way to the twenty-third floor.

  Les dragged the May Queen back to his room, pulled the sheets back and lowered her onto the right side of the bed, lying her on her left side. He got a towel from the bathroom and placed it under her head, then put a small rubbish bin by the side of the bed in case she woke up sick. He checked the girl’s pulse again then watched her for a moment and wondered what else he could do. Nothing. But at least she was safe. What Les felt like now was a drink and a debriefing. He splashed some water over his face, then got a lift down to the foyer.

  The Torrens Bar was packed with revellers from the ball along with the normal Saturday night punters. A duo in black, comprising a skinny brunette and a skinny dark-haired bloke, were warbling ‘My Guy’ in front of a half-full dancefloor. Like the night before, the place was full of cigarette smoke and the cigar cabinet was doing a roaring trade. Les blinked at the smoke and had half a mind to give it a miss. He got a JD and ice with a bottle of VB and fluked a stool next to a pillar facing the dancefloor. The duo cut into ‘Blame It On The Boogie’ and the dancefloor filled up with shuffling couples. Les took a belt of JD and washed it down with beer. Yeah, he thought grimly, don’t blame it on the sunshine, don’t blame it on the moonlight, don’t blame it on the good times, blame it on the devil. Bloody hell! What a fuckin freak-out. Imagine if that old sheila had clobbered me with the candelabra. I’d have finished tied up on the altar with the May Queen as an offering to Zamzak or whoever it was those lunatics were praying to. He swallowed some more booze. Gary sure was right. This is a spooky fuckin joint. I haven’t got much to look forward to when I get home, but I’ll be glad when I’m back in Sydney. Les sipped his drinks and let his eyes drift around the bar at the punters in basic black with sequined bolero jackets, silver belt buckles or whatever as the duo struck up ‘Celebration Time’. Les finished his drinks. Celebrate without me, folks. It’s all yours. He left the revellers to it and got the lift back to his room.

  The beer settled Les down and on the way back to his room he began to feel weary. Plus he was aching where the old woman had hit him with the candelabra. When he opened the door, the May Queen still hadn’t moved. Les checked to see if she was all right, then stripped off and got under the shower.

  He had a nice bruise coming up on his left shoulder and another near his kidneys where someone had got him with a rock. Les stayed under the shower for a while letting the hot water soothe his aches and pains, then dried off and got into a clean white T-shirt and jox. He took a bottle of mineral water from the mini-bar, stared out the window while he drank it, yawned a couple of times, then switched off the lights and got into bed with his back to the girl.

  It was odd being in bed with someone after sleeping on his own, and Norton’s share of the pillows weren’t comfortable the way he was. He was forced to roll over. He tried to close his eyes, but he kept staring at the May Queen. The rise and fall of her shapely body looked truly delicious bathed in the soft light coming through the hotel window. Christ, this is going to be nice, thought Les. Trying to sleep with that lying in front of me. The girl still hadn’t moved and it didn’t even look like she was breathing. Les thought he’d better check her pulse again to make sure she hadn’t expired. No. Her skin was warm and there was a steady pulse in her neck. Les slipped his hand under the May Queen’s arm. She also had a good heartbeat. She also had a great pair of tits. Les knew he shouldn’t do it and there was guilt written all over his face, but he started giving them a little squeeze. They felt sensational. Mr Wobbly started to thinking the same thing too. As Les squeezed the May Queen’s boobs, Mr Wobbly forced Les to rub his evil little head against her shapely backside. Within minutes Les had a horn that hard you could have shattered roof tiles on it, and he was in a pitched battle between himself, his conscience and Mr Wobbly.

  By rights the girl shouldn’t even be there. She should be dead. Another half a minute and she would have been. Les had risked his neck to save her from the devil. So, literally, she owed him her life. Okay, it was wrong. Very wrong. It was statutory rape. But on Monday he was going to gaol anyway. What did he have to lose? And what could they do if they found out? Give him another ten years on the life sentence he was already going to get? Besides, the May Queen was that out of it she wouldn’t know anyway. Les squeezed her lovely big boobs. Christ! I’d kill for a root right now. And she definitely owes me one. What the fuck, I’m going to give her one. Better the devil you don’t know, my child, thought Les, slipping off his jox, than the devil you almost did. Mr Wobbly wholeheartedly agreed. Les lifted up the May Queen’s gown, placed his hands on her hips and slipped Mr Wobbly in from behind.

  Right wrong or indifferent, the May Queen’s ted felt fabulous; warm and tight and juicy. Plus it was the taste of forbidden fruit. Les also didn’t have to worry whether he was going too hard, too fast or too slow. Just do your own thing in your own time. It still wasn’t as good as going off with someone. But hey, it was on the house. And who’s complaining? The May Queen certainly wasn’t. She didn’t bat an eyelid. Didn’t say a word. Les felt the vinegar strokes coming on so he started going for it. A minute or two later he squeezed his eyes shut, groaned with ecstasy and emptied out.

  ‘Whoah ho! Shit! Bloody hell! Oh yeah, ohhhhh yeah.’

  Les finally shuddered to a halt and pulled out a very happy Mr Wobbly. After he got his breath back, Les smiled to himself, put his jox back on and got a towel from the bathroom. He gave the May Queen a wipe, wiped around the bed then dropped the towel on the floor and rolled over. That, Les chuckled to himself, I say that, should solve any problems I’ve got about sleeping. Les reached behind him and gave the May Queen a pat on the behind. Goodnight, sweetie, he smiled in the darkness. Les closed his eyes and crashed out.

  Les was in a field somewhere. He was naked. Covered in flowers. He started running. All these strange people in weird masks were chasing him. They had shotguns. A flock of seagulls flew over his head. They started shooting the seagulls. Dead seagulls started to fall around him. The field turned into a tunnel. At the end of the tunnel was a pack of snarling dogs. Rottweilers. Albert Knox had them on a lead. He dropped the lead. Les woke up and blinked at the clock radio. It was four in the morning. The girl was still lying just as he’d left her. Les checked to see if she was all right. She was. Next thing, Mr Wobbly wanted to know if the girl was all right too. Still half asleep, Les started giving the May Queen another one. It felt just as good as the first. Maybe better and it took a little longer. Les emptied out and wiped up again. Well, he thought as he closed his eyes, that should keep me going for the next thirty years or so. Les crashed out. He didn’t have any more bad dreams.

  Les woke up about nine. The girl had rolled over onto her back during the night and now she was gently snoring. Although the flowers in her hair had wilted, she still looked beautiful in the morning light. Les got out of bed and had a shower. He dried off, got back into his tracksuit and a clean T-shirt and stared out the window. There were patches of blue in the sky, but the trees below were moving steadily with the wind and it still looked cold. Les was starving hungry and would have loved to have gone down and eaten another bucket of Bircher Muesli. Only he didn’t fancy leaving the May Queen on her own in case she woke up totally freaked out and started running round the hotel screaming her head off. He made a cup of tea and chewed a hotel biscuit. Les was staring out the window and thinking of ringing room service for some food when he heard movement behind him. He turned around and saw the girl was starting to sit up. Les put his tea down, got a bottle of soda water from the mini-bar, opened it and sat on the end of the bed like a family doctor on a house call. The girl rolled her head around as if it weighed a tonne, then blinked her eyes open. They were a soft hazel. She looked up and saw Les at the end of the bed
and a puzzled look came over her face. Then she noticed what she was wearing and saw the flower petals on the bed and her face went white. She shrank back, wide-eyed with terror and looked as if she was going to scream. Les placed his hand gently over her mouth.

  ‘It’s all right. It’s all right,’ he said softly. ‘You’re okay. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you. Don’t scream. Don’t scream.’ He took his hand away and offered the girl the bottle of soda water. ‘Here. Drink this. It’s only soda water and it’ll make you feel better. Come on. Take a sip. It’ll do you good,’ Les assured her.

  The girl’s hands were shaking as she took the bottle. She had a few mouthfuls but never took her eyes off Les. Les eased back to the end of the bed as the girl drank some more soda water, then belched lightly into her hand. She took a quick, nervous look around the room and stared at Les again.

  ‘Where am I? Please tell me where I am,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m all confused. Who are you? What’s …?’

  ‘Take it easy. Everything’s all right,’ said Les. ‘You’re in a hotel in Adelaide.’ Les opened his wallet and showed the girl his driver’s licence. ‘That’s me. My name’s Les Norton.’

  The girl looked at the driver’s licence. ‘You’re from Sydney?’

  ‘That’s right,’ nodded Les. ‘This is my hotel room.’

  ‘How …? How did I get here?’

  ‘I’m going to tell you. But would you like a cup of tea first? Or a coffee?’ The girl shook her head. ‘All right. Well, I’d better warn you, it’s not a very pretty story. What’s your name, anyway?’

  ‘Roxy. Roxy Boswell.’

  ‘Okay Roxy. This is what happened.’

  Les picked up on driving back from Victor Harbor and taking the wrong turn because of his Avis Navigator. How he heard her screams. Knocking out the guard. What he saw. Everything. Roxy stared at Les wide-eyed as she gulped down the rest of the soda water. Les told her how he got her in the car then wasn’t sure what to do. He was a bit shook up himself. So he brought her back to the hotel and put her to bed. If she hadn’t woken up before long, he added, he was going to call the hotel doctor.