Mystery Bay Blues

by Robert G. Barrett

  Warren raised his JD and soda. ‘What she said, dude.’

  Les shook his head. ‘Jesus Christ. What are you pair into?’

  ‘Just a few cools ones,’ said Clover. ‘And the odd hot one. You want some.’

  ‘Maybe after I have a shower,’ said Les.

  ‘Actually,’ said Clover, ‘I’ve got something special for us besides pot. I’m saving it for tomorrow.’

  ‘Clover,’ replied Les, sagely. ‘If you think I’m going to drop a disco biscuit, and start dancing and talking at a hundred miles an hour and tell Warren I love him, you’re playing with yourself.’

  Clover shook her head. ‘No. Better.’

  ‘Yeah, righto.’

  ‘So how was your day with Grace?’ asked Warren. ‘Bit of nudge, nudge, wink wink, there Ugly?’

  ‘No,’ replied Les. ‘We went for a walk in the hills. I had an absolutely fantastic meal. Heard an absolutely fantastic CD. And had a … terrific massage. It was great day all round.’

  ‘What’s her house like?’ asked Clover. ‘She invited me out tomorrow.’

  ‘Nice. But watch out for the dog.’

  Les left Warren and Clover to it and got under the shower. He had a shave, dabbed on a little CK then got into his jeans and a blue, Margaritasville T-shirt he’d bought in Florida; he put a hang out denim shirt over the top. He gave himself a detail and walked back to the kitchen. Warren and Clover were drinking away steadily and going over the Blues Festival program.

  ‘Hey. You seen who’s on tonight?’ said Warren.

  ‘No. Bjork? Celine Dion? Surprise me, Woz.’ Les got a tall glass and made himself a super, monster delicious.

  ‘Dave Hole. Holy Dave. And that other band you saw in Cairns, that you’re always on about. Rock Solid Steve and the Scorchers.’

  ‘You’re kidding,’ said Les. ‘Rock Solid and the boys. I might even have a hot one.’

  ‘Are they any good?’ asked Clover.

  ‘Only if you like rock and a roll,’ smiled Les.

  ‘Well, I like rock and a roll, Les,’ mimmicked Clover. ‘In fact you and I might get up for a dance big guy.’

  ‘Okay. But only if the masseur says so.’

  ‘So what did Grace do to you?’ asked Warren.

  Les told them how Grace massaged him with her knee on the fitness ball. He said nothing about the porking and polishing. And he kept quiet about Grace’s secret spring. But he told them about the other one and what was in it and how Grace was hoping to make some money through the soft drink company.

  ‘So that was my day kiddies,’ said Les, making himself another delicious. ‘But Grace should be here soon. She’ll tell you anything else you wish to know. I imagine.’

  ‘If she’s forty two,’ said Warren. ‘I’m going to buy a forty-four gallon drum of that Eureka Water. She is absolutely amazing.’

  ‘Evidently that’s what they call her,’ said Les. ‘A …’ There was a soft rap on the door. ‘Hello. I’d say this is the person in question now.’

  Les put his drink on the table then walked across and opened the door. It was Grace, looking very foxy in a brown, suede Mao jacket, beige jeans and a light green T-shirt, with a goanna on the front. She had her hair down and two mother-of-pearl seahorses dangled from her ears. A brown leather bag that matched her boots hung loosely over one shoulder. Les stood at the door, staring down at her.

  ‘Well. Are you going to let me in?’ smiled Grace.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Les, moving aside. ‘But I was just thinking. They have to bring in a law against women like you looking so beautiful.’

  ‘And there should be a law against men like you being such dropkicks.’ Grace stepped inside and gave Les a kiss as he closed the door. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Terrific,’ said Les. ‘My back feels that good, I’m thinking of getting up later and showing the locals some new dance steps.’

  ‘I’d advise against it after the massage,’ said Grace. ‘Give your back time to settle down.’

  ‘Okay. You’re the doctor,’ said Les.

  Grace entered the kitchen to warm greetings from Clover and Warren. Clover gushed a little over Grace’s clothes. Warren just stared at her. Les made her a Bacardi and orange. Grace took a sip and noticed Norton’s T-shirt.

  ‘Margaritasville,’ she said, pointing with her drink. ‘You’re not a parrot head, are you Les?’

  ‘Warren and I have been known to have a few Jimmy Buffett CDs amongst our collection,’ admitted Les.

  ‘So have I,’ said Grace. ‘My favourite’s “Fruit Cakes”.’

  ‘Mine too,’ said Clover, quickly. ‘Hey Grace. You know anybody in Miami can gimme a passssssport real quick?’

  Grace sat down and they all got into a tipsy, light conversation. Grace had been to Florida and saw Jimmy Buffett in Miami. Les had also been to Florida and they’d all been to Hawaii. Clover arranged to give Grace a lift home again and as they were talking Clover rolled a couple of joints. She put them aside and turned to Grace.

  ‘Have you ever tried mushrooms, Grace?’ she said.

  ‘You mean Tiger Stripes? Not for a while.’

  ‘Tiger stripes?’ said Les.

  ‘They’re the local variety,’ said Grace. ‘Somewhere between Victorian Blue Meanies and Queensland Gold Tops.’

  ‘I bumped into a friend from school,’ said Clover. ‘She gave me some.’

  Clover walked over to the fridge and came back with a brown paper bag. She opened it and inside were half-a-dozen mushrooms with brown and orange stripes on top.

  ‘That’s them,’ said Grace.

  ‘I’m going to make some coffee tomorrow night,’ said Clover. ‘Care to join in?’

  ‘Sure. Why not,’ shrugged Grace. ‘It’ll certainly put some colour into the last blast of the festival.’ She smiled at Norton. ‘You ever tried these, Les?’

  Les shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘What about you, Warren?’

  Warren shook his head also. ‘No.’

  ‘They’re fairly mild,’ said Grace. ‘They only last about six hours.’

  ‘And you get a flashback, a couple of days later,’ said Clover.

  ‘A flashback?’ said Les.

  ‘Yes,’ smiled Grace. ‘But only for a little while.’

  Clover turned to Warren. ‘You still keen, Warren?’

  ‘Yeah, why not.’

  ‘What about you, Les?’

  ‘Yeah I suppose so. Though I hate bowing to peer pressure.’

  ‘Hey unreal,’ said Clover. ‘Sunday night at the Blues Festival, off our trolleys.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ said Les.

  Grace looked at the two joints sitting on the table and the bag of dacca. She opened the bag and squeezed one of the heads. ‘These look all right,’ she said. ‘Where’s this from?’

  Les pointed to Warren. ‘The boarder’s. He grows it in the backyard.’

  ‘Really?’ said Grace. ‘I put a few plants on the property next door, now and again.’

  ‘Do you get helicopters and sniffer dogs down here?’ asked Warren.

  ‘Yes. The pains in the arse,’ said Grace.

  ‘It’s a pain in the arse all right,’ said Warren. ‘Fair dinkum. If they carried on about people importing heroin and cocaine as much as they carried on about people smoking pot, there wouldn’t be a drug problem.’

  ‘Yes. But you have to understand,’ said Clover. ‘The government gets votes out of busting people for having a bit of pot. And it makes the cops look like they’re doing something about the drug problem.’

  ‘Yeah. While they’re selling heroin and cocaine,’ said Warren. ‘It gives me the shits. You have a smoke after work, and they jump all over you. Shoot up after robbing an old lady and they give you a safe house.’

  Les gave the others a frosty look. ‘I don’t know how you can say that about the NSW government and the police,’ he said seriously. ‘I happen to have friends in the police force.’

  ‘Ohh wonderful,’ scof
fed Warren. ‘And your boss wouldn’t have ever bribed any of them either. Would he?’

  ‘Price? Never.’

  ‘Never stopped, you mean.’

  Les pointed a finger at Warren. ‘Warren. I will not have you bad mouthing the integrity of Mr Galese and the Kelly Club. We run a very respectable business up there. Next thing, you’ll being accusing us of money laundering and organising murders.’

  ‘Sorry Les. I forgot. Eddie only does the cleaning.’

  ‘And very efficiently too.’ Suddenly Norton’s eyes narrowed. ‘Hang on a minute. What’s this?’ Les reached over and undid a couple of buttons on Warren’s shirt. He patted him down, then pulled Warren’s hip flask out of his leather jacket and shook it. ‘You rotten little bastard, Warren. You’re wearing a wire. It’s you that’s been ratting us out. Jesus Christ! When Eddie finds out about this. You’ll have more holes in you than a gas ring.’

  ‘You really are a gangster. Aren’t you, Les,’ said Grace.

  Warren laughed derisively and snatched his hip flask back from Norton. ‘No. But some of his best friends are.’

  ‘Hey, talking about holes,’ said Clover. ‘We’d better make a move if we’re going to see Dave Hole and Rock Solid.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ said Les. ‘Bloody women. You’d talk all night.’ Clover and Grace looked at Les like he was a dud TV commercial they were watching for the two hundredth time. ‘Sorry about that ladies,’ smiled Les. ‘Just making sure I hadn’t lost my touch.’

  ‘Hey. What about de ganja, mon,’ said Warren. ‘Are we goin’ to smoke de spleefs?’

  ‘I think so,’ answered Clover. She put the mushrooms back in the fridge, fired up a fat joint and it started going the rounds. ‘Hey, I just thought of something,’ she said. ‘What if Morgan Scully and his gang are down there?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s a worry,’ agreed Warren.

  Les shook his head and blew out a great cloud of smoke. ‘I can’t see any problem if he shows up.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ said Grace. ‘But I’d keep away from him. He is a bit mad you know.’ She took a toke and handed the joint to Warren.

  ‘I hope you’re right, too,’ said Warren, disappearing behind a cloud of smoke. ‘Because if anything starts, I’m saving the women.’

  They finished the joint and Les felt it definitely put a spin on the night. Even the old music coming from the loungeroom sounded better. They decided not to bother about the other joint. Les turned the ghetto blaster off in the loungeroom, then they picked up their bags, cameras, hip flasks and whatever and headed for the door.

  ‘Hey just a minute,’ said Les. He went to his room and came back with the GUEST pass Norm had given him round his neck. ‘What do you reckon gang?’

  ‘Where did you get that?’ said Warren.

  ‘Daddy gave it to me,’ replied Les breezily. ‘In case I want to go backstage and mingle with the other stars. I might even get up and do a gig man.’

  The others looked at each other. ‘You don’t have to be seen with us, if you don’t want to,’ said Grace.

  ‘Yeah. And don’t worry about doing a gig, Les,’ said Warren. ‘You are a gig. Now open the door, you big goose.’

  Les shook his head. ‘The good old tall poppy syndrome. You couldn’t wait to cut my legs off. Could you.’

  The walk down seemed to take longer this time. But it was a lot more fun. They got to the jetty and the music coming from the festival seemed to be everywhere. Grace had hold of Norton’s arm as they threaded their way through the people and Clover had hold of Warren. They arrived at the entrance to find Norm standing there checking some receipts. He saw them and smiled.

  ‘Hello Grace,’ he boomed. ‘Les. How is everybody?’

  ‘Good thanks, Daddy.’

  ‘Morgan’s in there.’

  ‘Really?’ said Les. ‘I must make sure I say hello before the night’s over.’

  Norm pulled Les aside. ‘I put him in the picture. He won’t start anything tonight. But shit, he’s mad keen for Monday.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ nodded Les.

  ‘Listen. He’s put his five grand up. And I can get three to one about you. How’s your back?’

  ‘A little better,’ said Les. ‘Don’t say anything though. We might get fives.’

  ‘Sweet.’

  Les rejoined the others; the security gave their bags a quick flick, and they went through.

  ‘Oh my God!’ said Clover. ‘Did you hear that. Morgan Scully’s inside.’

  ‘Shit! I don’t like it,’ said Warren.

  ‘Ohh for Christ’s sake,’ asserted Les. ‘You’re just being paranoid. Nothing’s going to happen. Trust me.’

  ‘I’m not paranoid, Les,’ said Grace, taking hold of Norton’s arm. ‘But don’t go away. There’s a lot of people here that are. And they’re all out to get me.’

  ‘Why don’t we buy some drinks. Then find a seat,’ suggested Les. ‘Do you think you can make it to the bar and back with me, Woz?’

  Warren looked around. ‘Christ! I hope so,’ he replied.

  The queue wasn’t too long and Les and Warren came back with a tray of drinks. They walked over to the middle tent and managed to get four seats together about a dozen rows from the front, then settled down amongst the crowd. Warren and Grace pulled out their hip flasks and topped up all their drinks then after a quick ‘cheers’ they had a mouthful each. The band hadn’t come on stage yet and some good music was coming quietly through the speakers. Les was nicely out of it and would have been content to sit there all night and listen to what was playing.

  ‘Hey, how good’s this?’ said Clover. ‘We’re right in the middle of the speakers.’

  ‘I don’t know what this music is,’ said Warren. ‘But it’s unreal.’

  Les sipped his drink and checked out the other punters. They were a happy-looking crowd, a few heads were bopping around here and there and Les surmised he and the others weren’t the only ones who had been partaking in illegal drug activities that night. His eyes wandered back towards the stage, then Les gave a double blink. Sitting five rows in front of them was a huge, unmistakable man’s head wearing a black cowboy hat over a black T-shirt. The man in the cowboy hat was with two ordinary-looking blondes in denim and leather and another big man in a check shirt and a black baseball cap.

  Les turned to the others. ‘Hey. Look who’s sitting right in front of us.’

  The others stared then Clover gasped and put a hand over her mouth.

  ‘Oh my God! It’s him.’

  ‘Oh shit! It is too,’ said Warren.

  The others held their drinks and sank back in their seats. Les sipped his bourbon and stared at Morgan’s tree stump neck sitting beneath his hat. That was the only thing Les didn’t like about smoking pot. It brought out the Bugs Bunny in him. He sipped some more bourbon and looked around the grass near his feet. Lying under the seat in front of him was a thick, juicy apple core, that someone had left from the previous concert.

  ‘Grace,’ said Les. ‘Would you hold my drink for a second please?’

  ‘Sure,’ replied Grace, taking Norton’s bourbon.

  Les picked up the apple core and got to his feet. He aimed carefully then flung the apple core at Morgan as hard as he could, splattering it all over the big man’s neck and his mate sitting next to him.

  ‘Hey Boofhead! Yeah, you in the hat,’ Les yelled out. ‘Take the bloody thing off. You’re blocking our view.’

  Grace’s jaw dropped, Warren went grey and Clover buried her face in her hands. The people around them thought it must be some kind of joke. Morgan lumbered to his feet and spun around hyperventilating with rage. He saw Les standing there with a silly look on his face and started to shake.

  ‘Well. You heard me possum eyes,’ said Les. ‘What, are you deaf as well as stupid … Get the bloody thing off. Or do you want me to come down there, rip it off your head and shove it up your blurter. You inbred moron.’

  Morgan’s mate stood up alongsid
e him; it was the bloke with the thick moustache who had punched Warren. Before they got a chance to do anything, a tall bloke in a Blues Festival T-shirt appeared on stage and took hold of the mike.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen. Will you please give a big welcome on stage. To … Rock Solid Steve and the Scorcherrrssss.’

  The audience erupted into wild applause as Morgan stared daggers at Les. Les gave him a friendly little wave and sat down. Still shaking with rage and his face absolutely purple with anger, Morgan turned and sat down too. So did his mate. The band got behind their instruments and did a quick sound check.

  Warren stared at Les, his eyes like dinner plates. ‘Are you fucking insane?’

  Clover stared into her drink. ‘We’re dead. I know it.’

  ‘Les,’ said Grace, urgently. ‘If you’re like this after one joint, I would seriously reconsider the mushrooms tomorrow.’

  Les had been keeping his eyes on Morgan. He turned to the others. ‘I told you nothing would happen.’ Les smiled and pointed towards Morgan. ‘Look.’

  The others followed Norton’s finger. Morgan had removed his hat and placed it on his knees.

  ‘My God,’ said Clover. ‘He’s taken his hat off.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Grace.

  ‘Well why wouldn’t he?’ replied Les. ‘Shit! I asked him politely enough.’

  The band was just like Les remembered them in Cairns. The happy-faced bloke with the goatee beard and the Hawaiian shirt on bass, the lead singer in the horn-rimmed glasses with the rigger’s belt full of harmonicas and the guitarist with the Elvis hairstyle hunched over his Fender. Behind them, their long haired drummer was poised ready to start hammering the tubs. The lead singer said something Les didn’t quite catch, then the band ripped into ‘Love So Much’ and the tent erupted.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Grace.

  ‘Rock and a roll,’ squealed Clover, banging her head from side to side and almost losing her glasses.

  ‘I told you they were good,’ smiled Les.

  People started dancing in front of the stage and by the time the band had scorched through ‘Burn Rubber Burn’ and ‘Queensland Moon’, Grace and the others were down the front as well; Clover and Grace were dancing and taking photos at the same time. Les couldn’t join in the dancing. But he went down and took photos. He noticed Morgan and his friends giving him filthy looks, so he smiled back at them and took their photo as well.