Leaving Bondi

by Robert G. Barrett

  The trip back to Victor Harbor seemed to take no time at all with Roxy in the car and Les found himself getting quite attached to the May Queen. He was going to be very sorry when it was time to say goodbye. He sensed Roxy was feeling much the same way, too. She started to go quiet just before they reached the turn-off to Goolwa.

  ‘You okay, Roxy?’ asked Les. ‘You’re very quiet there.’

  ‘Yes. I was just thinking of something,’ deliberated Roxy. She turned to Les. ‘You know how you were saying you came to Victor Harbor looking for a boat, but it turned out there was no Harbor?’

  ‘Do I what,’ replied Les.

  ‘Well there used to be a boat in Victor Harbor. But it wasn’t in the water.’

  ‘Wasn’t in the water?’ Les stared at Roxy. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It used to be in a park. I’ll show you.’

  Wondering what Roxy was on about, Les followed the road into Victor Harbor. The long wide bay curved round in front of the car and in the distance Les could see the island with the jetty running out to it. They went past the houses and shops then, before they reached the shopping centre, Roxy told Les to turn left. They crossed a railway line and she told him to pull up next to a big green park with a long row of tall pine trees alongside the footpath. Les turned off the engine and had a quick look around. A row of two-storey holiday homes stood across from the park and on the corner was a red-brick and sandstone restaurant with a lattice-work balcony around the top floor. An old cannon sat in the park, facing out to sea, and near where the park met the ocean was a row of young pine trees protected with hessian.

  ‘It used to be over there,’ said Roxy, pointing out her window. ‘Come on. I’ll show you what I mean.’

  Les got out of the car and followed Roxy across the park to the rocks at the water’s edge. The wind had eased and the sea was calm and grey under a leaden sky. The thin strip of beach was covered with seaweed up to the rocks. Roxy looked at the rocks for a moment then walked back into the park a little and turned to Les.

  ‘It used to be here,’ she said, pointing to her feet.

  ‘What used to be here?’ said Les. ‘I’m not sure I follow you.’

  ‘An old wooden boat,’ said Roxy. ‘It had something to do with the bad old days of whaling. People were always getting their photos taken next to it.’

  ‘Photos,’ said Les.

  ‘Yes. The tourists. And there used to be a wooden sign saying Victor Harbor.’

  ‘A sign?’

  ‘Yes. Next to the old boat. But some vandals set fire to the boat one night. They burnt the sign too. The council never replaced it.’

  Les stared at Roxy for a moment. ‘Roxy. Just wait here for a second, will you?’

  Les jogged back to the car and got his backpack with everything still in it from the night before. He jogged back, pulled out the photo he stole in Medlow Bath and showed it to Roxy.

  ‘Is this the boat?’ Les asked her.

  ‘Yes. That’s it,’ replied Roxy. ‘It wasn’t called the Trough Queen, though. It never had a name.’ She looked up at Les. ‘Are the men in the photo friends of yours?’

  Les shook his head dumbly. ‘No, Roxy. They’re not friends of mine. The one on the left is the bloke that got blown up on the movie set. Albert Knox.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Les stared at the photo then lined it up with the ocean. From the way it was taken and if you didn’t know better, you’d think the old boat was sitting in the water. The name Trough Queen on the bow also started to take on a different perspective, and you could bet if you examined the photo under a magnifying glass or a loupe, you’d see it was held on with tacks or something.

  ‘How long ago did they set the boat on fire?’ he asked.

  Roxy shrugged. ‘About five years. Something like that.’

  ‘Five years. Thanks, Roxy.’ Les stared at the photo, had a look round the park and felt like his arse had just caved in.

  ‘Are you all right, Les?’ asked Roxy.

  Les looked at her for a moment and an ironic half smile crept over his face. ‘Am I all right? Yeah, Roxy, I’m all right. For a complete Dubbo I’m real good.’ He put the photo back in his bag and took out his camera. ‘Anyway, let me get a photo of you with the ocean in the background.’

  ‘Okay,’ smiled Roxy. ‘And I’ll take one of you.’

  They clicked off the photos then Les placed the camera back in his bag. ‘Come on, Roxy,’ he said, putting his arm around her. ‘I’ll get you home. It’s too cold to be standing round here in your bare feet.’

  Roxy lived back towards where they drove in. She told Les to take a left next to a park and a garage, then he followed a hill up past a wedding reception building that looked like an old medieval castle. Roxy’s street was on the right a bit further along. The house was a single-storey brick house with a garage underneath and a verandah with a skinny iron railing round the front. There were trees on either side and a well-kept garden out the front. Parked in the driveway were two Ford Lasers, a blue one and a white one. Les surmised these would both be from her uncle’s dealership. Les pulled up in the driveway behind the white one.

  ‘So this is your place, Roxy,’ he said, switching off the engine.

  ‘Yes. It looks like Mum’s home,’ she replied. ‘Would you like to come inside and meet her? I don’t like your chances of getting my Speedos off again, though.’

  ‘No. I think I’d better make a move,’ replied Les. ‘By the time I get back and all that.’

  ‘Okay,’ replied Roxy softly.

  There was a silence between them for a few moments as they looked at each other. Les tried to smile, but all it did was make Roxy’s eyes well up and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  ‘Hey, Roxy,’ soothed Les. ‘What’s all this, mate?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ answered Roxy.

  ‘Well, don’t start. Because I feel pretty ordinary as it is.’

  ‘Oh Les.’ Roxy buried her head in Norton’s chest and put her arms around his neck. ‘It’s not fair.’

  Les held Roxy and stroked her hair. ‘What’s not fair?’

  ‘Everything. You going to gaol. Me down here. And I’ll never see you again.’

  ‘Hey. You’ll see me again. Even if I have to tunnel my way out. I’ll smuggle a spoon in with me. Or a hacksaw blade.’ Les was putting on a brave face, but inside he felt as empty as an old mailbag. In a very short space of time the May Queen had managed to bore her way right into the big Queenslander’s heart.

  ‘Yeah. You’ll see me,’ said Roxy. ‘How?’

  Les got his hanky out and wiped away her tears. ‘You never know what might happen, Roxy. Your guardian angel could fly up to Sydney and keep an eye on me for a while.’

  ‘Les, promise me you’ll keep in touch,’ said Roxy. ‘You saved my life. Besides, I like you. A lot.’

  ‘I know. And I like you too, Roxy. A lot. And I will keep in touch.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘I give you my word. Hey, I got to come down and give evidence when the police round up those ratbags. I’ll probably see you then.’

  ‘Yeah. From across a courtroom.’

  Les put a finger under Roxy’s chin, lifted her face up and kissed her. The kiss was long and hard and he could taste the salty warmth of Roxy’s tears as they trickled down her face onto his lips. After a while Les had to finish.

  ‘Roxy, I have to go,’ he told her.

  ‘All right,’ sniffed Roxy. She placed her hand softly on Norton’s cheek. ‘I’ll never forget you, Les.’

  ‘And I won’t forget you either, Roxy.’ Les kissed her again. ‘Goodbye, Roxy.’

  ‘Goodbye, Les.’ Roxy got out of the car and looked at Les for the last time. ‘It’s still not fair.’ She closed the door and ran up the driveway. Les watched her disappear into the house, then started the car and drove off.

  Norton’s jaw ached and his mind was full of sadness as he went past the Goolwa turn-off. He got a bottle of mineral water fr
om his backpack and swallowed almost half of it. Yeah, you’re not wrong, Roxy, mused Les. It’s more than not fair. It’s completely fuckin shithouse, if you ask me. Les swallowed some more mineral water and stared at the road ahead. Just when I meet a girl I truly like and I might be able to share some good times with, I get the rug pulled straight out from under me. She wasn’t only a good sort, she had something going for her. She’s trying to be a writer. Well, I hope she cracks it and makes a bundle. She deserves it, after what she’s just been through. Les swallowed some more mineral water. Christ! I’d have loved to have shouted her a trip to Sydney. Then taken her away somewhere, like a top resort and just given us both a spoil. But, I guess it just ain’t to be. The only holiday I’ll be getting is a long one care of the government. Les drained the bottle and dropped it on the floor of the car. Still, I’ve had a bloody good run. I guess my karma had to catch up with me sooner or later.

  Les put his foot down, put Roxy out of his mind and brooded on something else. Shit! All that fuckin trouble for nothing. There was no dope smuggling. The boat was just an old relic sitting in a park for people to take photos of. And that’s all the photo was. Knox and his three mates having some sort of a joke when he lived in Adelaide. And me and my Sherlock Holmes, super-deduction brain went spare. I need rooting. The witchcraft thing in the house? That’d be just part of Knox’s weird and wonderful lifestyle. Like putting dog shit in lamingtons. Me stumbling across those other ratbags down here was just a coincidence.

  Then despite himself, Les started to laugh. No wonder those three blokes in the pub called me a poof and started poking shit at me. Why wouldn’t they? Some big goose comes in with a photo of a boat that used to be in the park down the road. There’s four grown men standing in front of it wearing sea scout uniforms or whatever. And the big goose says, I’m looking for the crew of this boat, have you seen them? And I got the shits because they took the piss out of me. They were entitled to boot me fair up the arse. But I’ll learn not to make an idiot of myself one of these days. I don’t know which day it’ll be. But I will learn. Even if it takes Tjalkalieri and the boys to come down from Binjiwunywunya with the first lesson written on a message stick and jam it fair up my silly big arse.

  Still, if I hadn’t come down here, Roxy would be lying in a shallow grave somewhere with her throat cut. Yeah. Bottom line, I saved a lovely girl’s life. My oath I did. And they can never take it away from me. Feeling a little better, Les switched the radio on and listened to some pop music till he pulled up in the driveway of the Adelaide Grande.

  ‘Will you be needing the car again today, Mr Ullrich?’ asked the concierge.

  ‘No. I’m finished with it,’ replied Les. ‘In fact you can tell Avis to come and pick it up if you like.’

  ‘No problem, Mr Ullrich.’

  Les picked up his backpack and got the lift to his room. He didn’t have much to pack and there was plenty of time, so he ordered a club sandwich and coffee. When it arrived, he ate it watching TV while he waited for the driver. It was strange. Instead of waiting for a driver, Les felt like he was waiting for the hangman. It had that feel about it. Somehow the afternoon seemed to fly and soon it was time to check out.

  Les caught the lift down to the lobby, handed in his key and signed for the extras on the bill. He paid cash, put his wallet away and turned around to find Vincent walking towards him carrying a small attaché case in one hand and a manila envelope in the other.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Ullrich,’ said Vincent. ‘Ready to leave, sir?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Vincent. I am.’

  Vincent handed Les the attaché case and the envelope and picked up Norton’s overnight bag. ‘There’s the briefcase you’ve been expecting, Mr Ullrich. The key is in the envelope.’

  ‘Thank you, Vincent,’ replied Les.

  They walked out to the LTD. Vincent opened the back door, Les got inside and they proceeded to the airport.

  Vincent caught Norton’s eye in the rear-vision mirror. ‘Did you enjoy your stay in Adelaide, Mr Ullrich?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Yes thank you, Vincent,’ replied Les. ‘It was good.’

  ‘Everything went smoothly?’

  ‘Absolutely. Couldn’t have been better.’

  ‘Excellent, Mr Ullrich.’

  ‘The Hyundai Grandeur went well too.’

  ‘They’re a very nice car, sir.’

  They drove to the airport in silence. Les played it cool and aloof. Softly, he drummed his fingers on the attaché case. I wonder what the fuck this is all about? Probably Ullrich’s strategy for a corporate takeover. Some insider trading? I’ll make sure Gerry gets it. Could be something to her advantage. Maybe mine too. Yeah. Fat lot of good it’ll do me. The houses and shops went by, and in what seemed like no time, Vincent pulled up outside the Ansett terminal. He opened Norton’s door then carried his bag into the terminal.

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Ullrich,’ said Vincent. ‘Have a pleasant trip back to Sydney.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you, Vincent,’ replied Les. ‘I’m sure I will.’

  Vincent drove off. Les walked over to a row of seats across from the check-in counter and sat down. He placed his overnight bag and backpack at his feet and rested the shiny black leather attaché case on his knee. It had gold-plated locks and looked expensive. Stamped in gold near the handle it said CONDOTTI. Les slit the envelope with his finger, took the key out then opened the letter.

  Dear C.

  As you can understand I must be brief. Sorry for the way things turned out. As feared I have had to leave two days earlier than planned. Best we don’t make contact for at least a year. Longer would be even better. As agreed, I have looked after J. Be cautious of N. I believe he is untrustworthy.

  Take care.

  K.

  Well there you go, thought Les. J’s cool. N’s a dropkick. Now let’s see what we’ve got here. Les clicked the key in the two locks and opened the attaché case. On top was a layer of white paper. Les peeled it back and underneath were rows and rows of hundred-dollar bills, all tied with rubber bands in neat stacks of ten. Les counted one hundred and fifty. He took out one bundle of notes and tucked it in his jacket pocket, then put the letter in the case, locked it and packed the case in the bottom of his overnight bag. There were a number of people waiting to check in. Mr Ullrich went through as smooth as butter and was told he was leaving from gate ten. Les thanked the girl, skirted round the other punters and took the escalator to Golden Wing. He flashed his card, got a smile and joined the other people inside. Five minutes later Les had a nice table facing the tarmac and was sitting down sipping tea and munching cheese and crackers while he waited for the fruit bats flapping around in his stomach to settle down before they kicked his ribs out.

  Holy mother of God, whooped Les. A hundred and fifty fuckin grand. And it’s all bloody mine. Ullrich’s dead. And the other bloke — K — has hit the toe somewhere. Don’t contact him for a couple of years. I’m bloody sure I won’t. I haven’t got a clue what it’s all about. But thank you very much K and C and the Sunshine fuckin Band. Or whoever. Les stared out at the darkened tarmac in amazement. I can’t believe my luck. Then a thought hit him and he silently laughed that ironic laugh again. Yeah. Luck. What am I going to do with it? Les turned his eyes to the night sky. You sure giveth, but you sure taketh away, don’t you, boss. But thanks anyway. One thing it will get me is a truckload of good lawyers and barristers. I might even be able to get to the judge. Les tapped the thousand in his pocket. So I’ve got back the fifty I lost on the movie. Plus another hundred for good luck. Not bad for a quick trip to South Aussie. Christ! If only I didn’t have that other shit hanging over my head, life’d be gravy. Les was sipping his tea when he felt some one sit down on the lounge next to him.

  ‘Hello Les me old. What’s happening?’

  Les turned slowly to his left. It was a dark-haired man with a trimmed beard and a dark complexion, losing his hair. He was wearing jeans, a denim shirt, a black leather jacket and black Wa
llabees. ‘Pieman,’ said Les. ‘What are you doing in Adelaide? Or need I ask?’

  ‘I suppose I could ask you the same thing, Les,’ replied Pieman.

  ‘Yes, I suppose you could, Pie.’

  Pieman, or Pie, was Spiro Pythagoras. A Bondi boy from a Greek family. Pie rode a surfboard and lived up the north coast with his wife and kids where he had a fishing boat and used to supplement his fishing income with a little bit of pot dealing here and there. He was a good mate of the Gull’s and all the team that hung out the front of the Toriyoshi, and despite his occasional dabbling in prohibited substances, Pie was a good bloke with a good sense of humour. However, he was also keen on a dollar, and all you had to remember when dealing with the Pieman was caveat emptor.

  ‘That wasn’t a bad photo of you in the paper the other day, Les,’ said Pie.

  ‘Thanks. I hope you cut it out and hung it up in your boat,’ replied Les.

  ‘I did, to tell you the truth.’

  ‘Good. Anyway,’ gestured Les, ‘feel free to join me, Pie. I’m on the run from the law. All I need is to be seen hanging around with a notorious drug dealer.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ chuckled Pie. ‘So what are you doing in Adelaide? You’re a long way from Bondi.’

  ‘To be honest, Pie, I came down here looking for some blokes I thought might be able to help me with all that Elliott I’m in back home. But I fell on my arse. Now I’m on my way back to stick my head in the noose.’