Garrett & Sunny: Sometimes Love is Funny

by Peter Butler

  Truf looked surprised. Tim, not surprisingly, only looked half surprised.

  'That's pretty unusual, isn't it Truf, that a company MD would be supervising the actual mining operation?' I asked.

  'If it was a small private company, then sure, it would be normal. But, unheard of in a Stock Exchange listed company. The big bosses sometimes pay a visit to see how the money is actually being spent, that might be what's happening here.'

  'I don't think so,' I said, 'George told us he'd rented the room to Felix for six months.'

  After a delicious breakfast of bacon, eggs and a few other heart stopping ingredients we headed off through town on our way back to the aboriginal campsite. I noticed a sign on a battered old shop that said, "B. Smith - Solicitor" and I quickly asked Truf to pull over and park in front.

  I opened the car door and said, 'Give me a minute, fellas. I need to check something with this guy.' I slammed the door shut before either could complain about the wait. They had no reason to, they were the ones in the air conditioning.

  The entrance to B. Smith's office was a wooden door with flaky paint and a loose, rickety old doorknob that would have been unsuitable even for an outdoor toilet. I assumed from this low to no security approach, that crime in Culgawinya was not rampant and we needn't have panicked about someone stealing our car. I turned the knob, pushed the door open and entered the single room to find B. sitting behind his desk with a look of mild intrigue on his face.

  'G'day mate. I'm Bryan Smith. What can I do for you?'

  I introduced myself and explained what I needed. Bryan turned out to be a very nice fellow, even more so, when he explained his fee for the services I wanted performed. Unlike Gerald's million for every six minutes, Bryan's fee was well within my budget. We parted company having arranged a loosely timed appointment for later that day.

  I climbed into the car and into the middle of a conversation. I was the subject apparently, as Truf was saying, 'Nah.. Definitely a will. He's scared of everything out here and Nine's untimely departure, yesterday, has done him in.'

  I had missed Tim's opinion but guessed it would be way off the mark, too. I decided to cut them out of the loop for their rude behavior. I said, in my most superior voice, 'All done - Take me to the wilderness. Drive on, my good man.'

  As we moved away, Tim asked, 'Well... What was that all about?'

  'I'll tell you later,' I said. I wasn't ready to get back to buddy status with him, just yet. 'It might have been a waste of time.'

  We entered the campsite and there seemed to be a lot more people here this time. Many had painted lines and dots on their bodies in various colors and a large fire was raging in the middle of the compound.

  'I hope they aren't pissed at us for something,' Tim said, half-jokingly.

  Apparently not, as about five kids immediately launched themselves at the car and climbed up to wherever a seat could be found. One sat right in front of Truf and rested against the windscreen, making driving next to impossible.

  Truf pushed the button on the end of the wiper lever, which caused a jet of water to spray all over the window and the little guy, who immediately screamed and jumped off the bonnet in a fit of laughter.

  We pulled up under a shade tree and made our way to where Warra, Bully and a group of men sat. All the men except Warra had paint on their upper bodies and faces.

  'Morning boys,' Warra said as we approached.

  'Morning,' the three of us chanted in unison. We smiled and nodded to the other men.

  'What's with the painted bodies?' Tim asked.

  'Chief's burial for the boy's dog,' Bully answered. 'It's a big deal, all the cousins and nephews come from all over. The bloody dog's a hero.'

  'He certainly is,' Truf agreed. 'Where's Joey?'

  'He resting, over there,' Bully said as he pointed to a tree with a small body curled up beside its trunk in the shade. 'Pretty torn up about the dog.'

  We stayed with the group for a few minutes and then I asked Warra if we could talk to him about what we needed to do today.

  'Sure boys,' he said, as he slowly got up from his seat on the tree-trunk. I could tell from his knobby-knees and the knuckles on his fingers that he had arthritis. Not a good outcome for one whose talent is painting.

  We walked over to his hut where his works were stored. 'I have some bad news, Warra,' I told him. 'But first, I want you to look at this, and tell me if you know this man.' I held my phone in front of him. It had a picture of Oscar Barrymore that I had transferred over from the man's website.

  'Hey. That's Aussie. He looks pretty neat in that picture,' he joked. 'When he come here he got his big-ass shorts on and a big hat.'

  'His name is Oscar Barrymore, Warra, and he's stealing from you.'

  'No way, mate. He's a good bloke,' Warra said with total conviction.

  I hadn't told Truf and Tim about Sophie's discoveries and they were looking at me questioningly.

  'He's selling your paintings all around the world, except Australia. And the markets not quite as shit as he told you, Warra. Your works are being sold for between $10,000 and $50,000 each. You are somewhat of a celebrity in the art world.'

  'What you sayin? $10,000.. $50,000 for my paintings?' Warra exploded, his face contorted in anger. 'The bastard! He give me $100. Shit! $50,000! You sure?'

  'I'm positive.'

  Warra was too stunned to talk for a moment and I could tell all three men were keen to find out more, so I told them what I knew about Oscar's setup. When I was finished all three were shaking their heads in amazement.

  'The bloody audacity of the man,' Truf said. 'Knowing full well that Warra would never travel overseas and find out what he was up to. And not selling them here in Australia makes it almost impossible for any other art dealers to poach Warra away from him. I bet his sales people tell buyers that Warra lives in remote Western Australia or somewhere far, far from here.'

  'Wow!' Tim said. 'That's one hell of a scam.'

  'It certainly is. The rest of his business seems legitimate,' I added with an ironic smirk. 'He deals in high priced works from reputable artists all over the world. Warra is the icing on his artistic cake, so to speak. People trust their art dealer to tell them if works are good investments and Oscar has managed to build a market for Warra's paintings over the years. A market, that he alone controls.'

  'The bugger's gunna get a spear up his ass next time he comes here,' Warra said, and I knew from his determined expression that he wasn't joking.

  'That's one way to deal with him, Warra,' I said, not wanting to sound like I was lecturing him. 'But I think I have a better way.'

  I explained how I thought we should handle it and all three agreed it would most likely provide a better outcome for Warra. Plus, it would avoid the need for Warra to do jail time. A win-win. Hopefully.

  With that agreed on, Tim, Truf and I drove off to our gold zone - the mother-lode, hopefully. We could smell real money in the air as we approached. Not the Central Bank crap, this money was going to need extracting and was of a finite supply. The small escarpment that held our fortune seemed to sparkle to our eyes. It didn't. It was just our collective imaginations filling in some details. I helped unload the equipment for Truf and Tim and watched as Truf began instructing Tim about what he needed to do. They were only going to get a very rough idea from this work, but we were all keen to see what extra information we could uncover. My work done at the escarpment I drove back, on my own, to the aboriginal campsite.

  Nine's Chief's funeral had apparently just concluded as I saw most of the visitors were leaving. They had cars that were similar to the two belonging to this campsite. They were even the same color. Rust. I watched as they drove off in the opposite direction to the one we had driven in by.

  My plan to deal with Oscar involved "B. Smith - Solicitor" and Warra, getting together. Warra was happy to make the trip with me. In fact, I think he would have made his bare feet and arthritic legs do the journey, if that was what was required. Such w
as his desire to punish Oscar Barrymore.

  Warra seemed very proud to be seen driving off in a shiny, only six year-old, car. Even if it was a weird white color. His head was held high and he waved like royalty to his people as we drove by.

  'Why don't you blokes use the road?' he asked, as I turned on to my familiar track.

  'I thought this was the road.'

  'No bloody way, mate,' he said with a grin. 'Turn around and I'll show you.'

  We headed back and I found myself driving in the same direction the visitors had. It was a proper track and was free from rabbit holes and termite nests. Very civilized, all it lacked was a white line down the middle. The track was about half a mile long and then we turned on to a real road. It was still made out of dirt, but had been made by the local council, I gather, rather than a few local cars and trucks forcing a passage. Before long we were on the now familiar road back to Culgawinya. Ironically, the three of us had only missed seeing the real side road by about a quarter of a mile on our first day out here. It seems luck is a finite thing. Mind you, I wasn't complaining about my luck, so far, on this trip.

  I discussed my plans in more detail with Warra on the drive to Bryan's office. I thought he might have some reservations about one of my requirements, which was the necessity for Warra to open a bank account, but he was so pissed at Oscar he was putty in my hands.

  Bryan was very professional in the way he dealt with Warra. He understood that Warra was his client and wasn't educated about what he was actually doing, and he went to great lengths to explain it all. Part of the paperwork for my plan involved giving me "Power of Attorney" over his works. And Bryan pointedly asked Warra if he trusted me as this paper gave me the right to spend his money as I saw fit. I was both offended and impressed at the same time. He managed to dumb it down in a nice way, so Warra understood completely, and gave him every opportunity to withdraw if I was, in some way, forcing him into this arrangement.

  Warra said, 'No bloody worries, mate. He a good bloke. His grandma a good lady, too.'

  I worried that Warra wouldn't have a signature. Then I remembered he was an artist and artists always signed their works. It was a security thing. Bryan had marked with an X where Warra needed to make his mark. His way too big artist's signature dominated the page, and the nice lady from the cake shop next door witnessed everything. Then, the three of us walked down the road to the local bank and opened an account for Warra. He didn't have any money with him so I offered up $10 to start the account. We opted for a savings account as ATM's were a little thin on the ground where Warra lives.

  The Bank Manager accepted a copy of my Power of Attorney and set up Warra's account to be operated through my computer. Warra's address was listed as Bryan's office address. Street numbers were hard to find on Warra's front fence and letter-box. Go figure.

  I transfered Bryan's fee, a total of $350, directly into his account. He had my details for any last minute extra charges that might occur. And with that, Warra and I were done with our business in Culgawinya. Well almost, I popped into the cake shop and bought a dozen of Judith's cream buns to thank her for her trouble.

  I wondered how much of Gerald's lawyer time $350 Aussie dollars would have purchased. Hello Gerald... I'm sorry, Garrett. Your time is up.

  A we dove off Warra attacked the buns. He was thoroughly impressed with the air-conditioned comfort that was much more effective at cooling than the cranked open side window of his own vehicle.

  I dropped Warra back at his camp amongst his people and he grabbed the bag of eight cream buns off the seat to share with his family and waved me goodbye.

  Truf and Tim were working at opposite sides of the gold zone as I pulled up. I walked to where Truf was working and Tim strolled over to join us. Truf explained what he'd discovered so far.

  'The main seam of gold that I'm following is still quite strong all the way back here,' he said, indicating and area where he had scrapped some sandy, topsoil away to reveal the beautiful quartz with its specks of gold. I noticed that he had back-filled any earlier digging to, hopefully, conceal it from accidental discovery. 'There is absolutely no way I can check the depth without involving what is called a trenching study. For that, I need a backhoe and approval from the Authorities to dig a series of trenches that follow the gold seams. They usually give approval to dig about a meter down and and across and take samples along the way to get an idea of the inferred resource and the ore grade in the area.'

  'I'm still getting gold showing where I'm working,' Tim added, giving us more reason to be happy and we all grinned like kids in a candy shop.

  'Given that Tim and I have just picked one gold vein each and followed it to where we are at the moment, I think it's safe to say this is a big find. There are numerous other gold veins snaking off in different directions, but it wouldn't give me anymore actual information at this stage to investigate them as well.' He wiped his brow with his sleeve and smiled. 'My professional guess, Gary, is that there will be enough gold here to cover the cost of any takeover. Your downside is around zero. Your upside is unlimited.'

  Tim looked at me with his working eyebrow raised. 'Takeover?'

  'Trust me, Tim. If it works out, it will be good for Megan and you.'

  We spent the next half an hour walking around the area. Each of us carried a section of bush in one hand and a clump of grass in the other. We systematically brushed the area clear of any evidence of digging. Back at the original site where we had first picked up the special rocks, we made a point of removing any rocks we could find that showed obvious gold. We carted them to the crevice where Joey had fought with the brown snake and tossed them into the darkness.

  The dead snake had disappeared from what was meant to be its final resting place. Food is food in this part of town. I wondered if dingoes or some other small carnivores had dispatched it to their respective intestinal tracts. Maybe a tree had eaten it? But, surely the pointy end with the venom was still dangerous? I'd read that in my research: It's a tough land where even dead animals can still kill.

  As a final gesture of covertness Truf and Tim walked backwards behind the Land Cruiser which I drove at walking pace, and they brushed away any footprints and tire marks.

  Our job here was done. I drove back to Warra's camp and explained to him that we were going back to the city to work out our next step in our quest to help him and his people. As a parting gesture we unloaded most of the items we had purchased for the journey and hadn't used. The three tents were particularly popular as were the torches and spades.

  'When do you think you fellas will be back?' Warra asked quietly. I got the impression he was a little saddened by our departure.

  'I can't say, Warra,' I gave him a smile and a shrug of my shoulders. 'This is where it gets complicated.'

  As we left Warra, Tim said to Truf and me, 'I still have to teach Joey how to kick his football.'

  'You can use the time to learn how to kick one yourself, Tim,' I added with a chuckle.

  ***

  Sunny had arrived a little late for the day's shoot. Simon didn't comment, in fact he barely spoke to her all day. She caught glimpses of him looking at her when he thought she wasn't noticing. It was as if he was assessing how well his "clueless victim" rape business was going. If things go to plan, he's going to find out just how clueless this victim is.

  During her lunch break Sunny had driven off and returned just in time to help Brian, the director, set up his next shot. Sunny had been at pains to appear as normal as she could. It was difficult and uncomfortable talking to Simon and she kept the few conversations she had with him short, light and reasonably cheerful. At one stage of the day she was talking to David Delaney, the host of their show, Impressive People, and she caught sight of Simon in a mirror; he was staring at her with a fixed expression from the side, totally unaware that she could see him. It freaked her out, witnessing the intensity of his gaze. She was definitely an object to him. To test her theory, she laughed at something David said and
put her hand on his shoulder in a warm, inviting gesture. The frown that appeared on Simon's face confirmed her theory; in his mind she was his object.

  As they were packing up at the end of the shoot Simon came over to her. 'Do you have any work to finish up at the office tonight, Sunny?'

  'Unfortunately, I do. What about you?'

  'Yes. I have some calls to make.'

  'Good. I was hoping to have a chance to talk to you in private about that subject you raised the other day.' She looked at him but he seemed unsure what she was talking about. 'The career opportunity you mentioned,' she added.

  'Yeah, okay,' he agreed, with an unreadable smile.

  It was important for Sunny's plan that Simon should not get back to the office before her. If he did there was a chance he would go to his filing cabinet and find something was missing in the "R" file and would instantly know she was onto him. For this reason she left immediately, even though she was meant to stay around and help with the packing up.

  She was sitting at her desk when Simon turned up fifteen minutes after her. All the other office staff had been packing up to go, just as Sunny had arrived back at the office. They were grateful as that meant they didn't need to lock-up for the night.

  'Brian's a little pissed at you for leaving so early,' he said, as he walked towards her. 'What was that all about? I didn't hear any fire-alarms go off.'

  'I'm sorry about that. I'll apologize to him tomorrow,' she said as she manufactured a smile. 'I remembered that I needed to call Barry Jenkins, that standby camera guy we need for a shoot next Tuesday and his number was on his card back here in the office. He was catching a plane and I had to get him before 5:00. Anyway, it all worked out.'

  Simon nodded.

  Sunny swiveled in her chair towards him. She was holding a bottle of wine. 'I need the advice of a man who knows his way around a good bottle of red, Simon. Are you up for it?' She already had two wine glasses on her desk in anticipation of his answer. She knew him well enough to know he'd be unlikely to reject the offer, especially when he saw the wine. She had spent 55 pounds on the bottle and knew it was good - well, at least the guy at the store said it was.