Mystery Bay Blues

by Robert G. Barrett

  There was a great roar then the musicians came out on stage. Over the heads of the crowd Jo Jo Zep and The Falcons looked like the cast of Cirque du Soleil and Munchkins on steroids. Then they blasted off with ‘Honey Dripper’ and the Toonies all went mad.

  Les was rocking and laughing along with the others when he looked away and noticed a skyscraper had broken off from Toon Town and was walking towards them. The skyscraper stopped in front of Norton, a big gap opened near the top floors and a voice boomed out.

  ‘Hey Les! Can you do me a favour?’

  Les squinted up at the skyscraper and it partly took on human form. ‘Ohh yeah,’ he answered. ‘What is it, Norm?’

  Norm handed Les a video recorder. ‘You know how to work one of these?’

  ‘Sure,’ replied Les. Billy had one and he’d lent it to Les for a week. Les was thinking of buying one.

  ‘I’m flat out. The Handbrake’s hurt her ankle. Can you come backstage and video Jo Jo and Wilbur Wilde for me?’

  ‘Righto,’ said Les.

  Norm turned to the others staring blankly up at him. ‘I’ll send someone over with some seats for you. Okay Les. This way mate.’

  Les followed the skyscraper through the backstage entry, past several tents and offices and a guests’ tent full of chairs and tables. There were staff standing around doing whatever it was they were doing, looking like shiny, black robots with mirrors for eyes and old FJ Holden radiator grills for mouths. Pounding music was thumping from above Norton’s head. He followed Norm up a set of steps onto the back of the stage and stopped dead in his tracks.

  On the left, surrounded by more robots in black, were all the mixing panels, glowing and blinking like the control room on a space ship. On the right Cirque du Soleil was blasting away loud enough to raise the dead, and in the middle was the crowd, swarms of frantic Toonies, twisting and turning and bouncing into and tumbling over each other. Then half the Toonies dissolved into snapping, carnivorous plants, wrapping themselves around the poles and spiralling up the sides of the tent. The plants in front of the stage changed back to Toonies with gorilla heads, wearing straw boaters and blazers. They all looked up at Les and started yammering, and hopping from one foot to the other beating their chests. Next thing, Les picked up the energy emanating from the crowd. It came at him in convections of shimmering light, almost knocking him off his feet. The skyscraper smiled over at Les.

  ‘Okay Les,’ it boomed over the crowd. ‘Away you go. Start filming.’

  Les looked at the video camera and it had changed into a Stinger surface to air missile launcher. ‘Righto.’ Les raised the camera to his eye, and pressed the button. A rocket fired out and exploded in a burst of flowers above the band as they slipped into ‘The Shape I’m In’. After that, Les just winged it.

  The band thumped out one song after another and the crowd kept changing into one shape after another; meanwhile, anti-aircraft fire exploded above their heads showering them with fruit salad shrapnel, as lights and rockets flew over the band and whirled round the tent. Through the viewfinder, Wilbur Wilde looked five metres tall and Joe Camilleri looked five metres wide. The rest of the band had turned into penguins wearing top hats, waddling around with their instruments on a skating rink made of rainbow-coloured ice edged with luminous coconut trees and gingerbread guard towers. A technician hit the smoke machine, the stage fogged up and the band all turned into a bunch of Jack the Rippers, wearing long capes, tartan top hats, mini-dresses and fishnet stockings. Les wandered around filming and doing his best to keep out of the band’s way. He looked over and the skyscraper gave him the thumbs up. Les panned the camera over the crowd and seated near the side of the tent he could see Barbarella, Mickey and Minnie. They saw Les and waved and Les waved back.

  What songs the band played Les wasn’t sure. It was just loud, hot and smoky on stage and Les roamed around thinking he’d beamed down onto an alien planet. The band played ‘Chained To The Wheel’ and walked off past him. The skyscraper ambled over to the microphone, strangled it to death and told the Toonies to put their hands together for Jo Jo Zep and The Falcons. The Toonies did what they were told and Circus Soleil came back and did ‘Rock Me Baby All Night Long’ for an encore, and that was it. Everything seemed to be all over before it even started. Les filmed the band leaving the stage then walked across and handed the skyscraper back his video camera.

  ‘Thanks for that, Les,’ said Norm. ‘How did you like it backstage?’

  ‘It was great,’ replied Les. ‘Unreal.’

  The skyscraper edged in a little closer. ‘How’s your back now?’

  ‘My back?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Oh my back. It’s good. It’s still there behind me I think.’

  Norm stared at Norton. ‘Are you all right, Les?’

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Les. ‘As a bean. We had a smoke earlier. That’s all.’

  Norm winked. ‘Don’t turn up stoned tomorrow.’

  ‘No. I’ll be cool. Anyway, I’d better get back to Barbarella, Mickey and Minnie.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Toonies I came with. I’ll see you tomorrow, Norm,’ smiled Les.

  ‘Yeah … right.’

  Les left Norm and worked his way back through the crowd to the others. They were still sitting at the side of the tent staring into space.

  ‘Hey. How’s things?’ Les asked them.

  They looked up at Les and Grace spoke. ‘How did you finish up on stage?’ she asked.

  ‘Norm asked me to video the band,’ replied Les. ‘It was a madhouse. Were they any good?’

  ‘They were great,’ said Warren. ‘And it was mad down here too.’

  ‘How are you feeling now, Les?’ asked Clover.

  ‘All right,’ replied Les. ‘I’m starting to straighten out a bit.’ He looked at his watch and shook his head. ‘Shit! I can’t believe how fast the night’s gone.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Grace. ‘Time certainly flies when it’s all over the place. And you’re in another dimension having fun.’

  ‘Does it what,’ agreed Les. ‘And you’re right about time. It seems to bend.’

  ‘What are we doing now?’ asked Warren.

  ‘We’d best head for home,’ said Clover. ‘Mum will be along soon.’

  ‘Righto,’ agreed Les. ‘Let’s make tracks.’ He helped Grace to her feet and they all started to make their way to the entrance.

  No one said much on the way home. They were all starting to come down and everyone was in their own little world. Arm in arm they made it to the front of the house and stood around looking at each other.

  ‘So what’s doing tomorrow?’ asked Les.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Warren. ‘What’s tomorrow?’

  ‘Monday,’ said Clover. ‘We’re going home. Remember?’

  ‘Ohh yeah, that’s right,’ nodded Warren.

  ‘Why don’t we all have breakfast together before you leave?’ suggested Grace.

  ‘Yes. I’d like that,’ said Clover.

  ‘Good idea,’ agreed Les. ‘There’s something I want to talk to you about too.’

  ‘We’ll talk over breakfast.’ Grace snuggled up to Les and put her arms around him.

  ‘Hey. Here’s mum now,’ said Clover.

  The station wagon arrived out the front in a blaze of light with Clover’s mother behind the wheel in her dressing gown. Clover said goodbye to Les, then kissed Warren goodnight and walked over to the car. Les smiled down at Grace.

  ‘Well. I don’t think I’ll forget tonight in a hurry, Grace,’ he said.

  ‘No. Me either,’ replied Grace.

  ‘What time do you want to have breakfast?’

  ‘About nine or so?’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ said Les. ‘I’ll see you then.’

  ‘Goodnight Les.’

  Les gave Grace a tender kiss goodnight, then she walked across to join Clover. As she got to the car she called out, ‘Don’t forget to drink your water.’

  ‘I
won’t,’ Les assured her.

  The boys waved them off, Les opened the door, then they walked inside to the kitchen and Warren turned on the light.

  ‘Fuck! What a night,’ blinked Les. ‘I’m still seeing things.’

  Warren looked a little drawn and pale. ‘I don’t think I’m in any hurry to do that again. It was all right. But at times there, I was just seeing too much weird shit.’

  ‘You should have seen it up on that stage,’ said Les. ‘It was insane.’

  Warren yawned and rubbed a hand across his neck. ‘Mate. I’m going to have a snakes and hit the sack. I’m rooted.’

  ‘I won’t be far behind you, Woz.’

  Norton went to his room and sat on the bed, still seeing coloured lights and stars similar to when you get a knock on the head or let out a violent sneeze. He changed into his tracksuit and heard Warren shuffling down the hallway.

  ‘What time are we having breakfast?’ Warren called out.

  ‘Grace said around nine,’ Les called back.

  ‘See you then, Les.’

  ‘Righto.’

  Les went to the bathroom, then got the last bottle of mineral water, took it out to the kitchen and opened it. He didn’t feel all that thirsty and it wasn’t easy drinking a large bottle of mineral water in the middle of the night. But Les kept glugging and yawning away till it was all gone. Suddenly the temperature in the kitchen dropped down to below freezing. Shit, cursed Les, rubbing his arms as his breath immediately turned to steam. Here we go again. Back to bloody Siberia. This joint’s fucked. Les was about to get up and go to bed when he glanced across the kitchen. A peculiar green glow was coming from under the front door and reflecting along the hallway. Les watched the strange light and shook his head. Fuckin hell, when do these bloody mushrooms wear off? he asked himself. Next thing, he heard a noise coming from around the cars. Feeling suspicious, he got up and opened the front door.

  Les stared into the yard and all he could see at first was the same green glow. Then he noticed a slightly built, not very tall man standing near Warren’s Celica. He was wearing a straw hat with a black ribbon around it, a crumpled, grey frock coat, matching trousers and lace-up boots. An untidy beard covered his face and perched on his nose were a pair of John Lennon glasses. Les wasn’t sure in the light, but he looked to have blood on the sleeve of his coat and his left hand appeared to be missing. Whoever it was, he didn’t say anything. He just stared silently at Les with an expression of sad anger in his eyes.

  ‘Yeah, what do you want mate?’ said Les.

  The man with the beard continued to stare at Les without answering.

  ‘What’s up?’ said Les. ‘Do you want something? What are you hanging around the cars for? What do you want?’

  Without saying anything, the man with the beard slowly raised his right arm and pointed away from the house towards the ocean.

  Les screwed his face up. ‘What …?’

  The man still kept his silence and simply stood in the green glow pointing south. Les figured he must be drunk and had been in a fight or something.

  ‘Listen mate,’ said Les bluntly. ‘If you don’t want anything, piss off. And get away from the cars. Go on. Fuck off.’

  The man kept staring at Les then lowered his arm and started to walk away, still staring at Les over his shoulder. Finally, he disappeared into the darkness taking the green glow with him. Les waited for a moment, then shut the door, turned the light off in the kitchen and went to his bedroom.

  Bloody hell! That’s all I need, thought Les, after he switched off the bedlamp and climbed under the blankets — some drunken yobbo trying to steal one of the cars. Anyway, he’d better not come back. Unless he wants that empty bottle right between the eyes. Les gathered the blankets round his neck and shivered. Shit, it’s fuckin cold in here. Les stayed still and started to warm up. Norton watched the last coloured lights exploding in his mind’s eye and before long he had put the intruder behind him and was snoring peacefully.

  Les blinked his eyes open before seven the next morning absolutely bursting for a piss. He rolled out of bed, hurried to the bathroom and hosed away like a draught horse. God! I didn’t think that was ever going to finish, he thought, as he flushed the toilet. There must have been a gallon. Les splashed some water over his face and stared at himself in the mirror. Anyway, I’m up now. He cleaned his teeth then changed into his training gear and walked into the kitchen. While the kettle was boiling and the toast was browning, he stared at the floor and mulled over the previous night. His mind was still a bit gluggy. But slowly the cogs and wheels started turning and Les smiled round the kitchen. It had certainly been a night with a difference. He made a mug of tea, buttered his toast and walked down the hallway into the loungeroom. Everything looked normal and steady snoring was coming from Warren’s bedroom. Les stepped out onto the verandah and took up his usual position, leaning against the railing.

  The weather had cleared up. It was fairly warm, the southerly had turned light nor’-east and apart from a few clouds the sky was bright blue. A lovely day to be fishing off the jetty, walking around or having a surf. Not much of a day to be fighting some gorilla in a park, mused Les. He placed his mug of tea on the railing and touched his toes. He touched them again, swung his arms from side to side, and his brow furrowed. Something was wrong. Les did some squats then stretched his legs on the railing. He laced his hands behind his head, twisted his torso and did some side bends. Something was wrong all right. The pain and stiffness had completely vanished from his back.

  ‘The bloody mineral water,’ Les said, out loud. ‘Grace. You doll.’

  Les got down on his behind and did some crunches then rolled over and snapped off thirty press-ups, before jumping to his feet and running up and down on the spot. Not only had the pain in his back gone, all the other kinks in his body had disappeared too. From football, fighting, getting shot: even the sinus in his broken nose had cleared up.

  ‘Shit! I can’t remember ever feeling this good,’ said Les. Ecstatically, he grinned up at the sky. ‘Boss. What can I say? Thanks mate. And give that girl a medal.’ Les quickly finished his tea and toast, put his cap and sunglasses on and tore off out the front door towards the golf links.

  Les walked down Browning Street, stopped at the bottom and looked at the hill going up to the golf course. He took a breath then sprinted to the top like Sylvester Stallone taking the steps in Rocky. When he got there, he was barely puffing. Les felt he could run all day. He was about to take off again, then stopped. No. I’ll put the run on hold for the time being. I’ve got a big day in front of me. And you never know who’s around. Norton straightened his cap and set off across the golf links at a fast walk.

  Les was moving that freely he felt his feet were hardly touching the ground and, before he knew it, he was overlooking Narooma Beach. He stopped to watch the people fishing near the rocks for a second, then started crisscrossing the golf links, stopping to do sets of push-ups and crunches or shadow box around the low-hanging branches under the trees. After a while Les checked his watch and decided to head back home. On the way, he found a metre of fence paling laying near a tree. He jammed one end in the ground, pushed the other against the tree then, taking a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, smashed a short right into the length of paling, snapping it in half. Les propped one of the shorter pieces of paling against the tree and whacked it with a short left. It only cracked. But there was plenty of power in his fist. Norton looked at the two pieces of wood for a moment then continued thoughtfully on his way.

  The way Les felt, he knew he could kick Morgan Scully’s arse to the Queensland border. And he couldn’t wait to do it. But there was betting involved now, and most of the money would be on Morgan. If Les did too quick a demolition job on him, the punters might think he’d pulled a scam. Daddy was holding the prize money and running the show. But Les was still one out in a country town. If the locals got the shits at the result, anything could happen. This meant he’d ha
ve to carry Morgan for a while and make it look convincing without getting hurt. Which wouldn’t be easy with an angry, big mug like Morgan. By the time Les got back to Browning Street, however, he had an idea.

  Les still couldn’t believe how good he felt as he walked in the driveway, when he stopped abruptly and took off his sunglasses. The rear window of Warren’s car was smashed. Pieces of broken glass were scattered over the bonnet and sitting amongst the pieces on the back seat was a horseshoe. When he bolted out of the house earlier Les hadn’t noticed. Les checked to make sure his car was all right, then walked over to the trees. He had a look around before taking another look at a Warren’s car, then went inside and had a shower.

  Les washed his training gear, hung it out on the verandah, changed into his blue cargos and a grey Hahn T-shirt then walked up to the newsagency. The idea he had earlier was just inside the door; a metal stand stacked with packets of cheap toys for kids. Amongst the Floating Eyeball, the Fly in an Ice Cube and Fart Powder, were packets labelled Vampire Blood Capsules: Scare Your Friends. Each packet contained four capsules of fake blood. Les bought two packets and the paper then walked back to the house. Warren was still in bed. Les poured himself a glass of water then went and banged on Warren’s door.

  ‘Hey Warren! Get out of bed.’ Les banged on the door again. ‘Warren. Are you awake?’

  ‘Mmmrrgghhburrnngh,’ came a horrible, strangled reply. ‘Fuck! I am now.’

  ‘Good. Get your arse out here. I want you to see something.’

  There was more grumbling before Warren opened the door wearing his tracksuit and blinking at the light. ‘What the fuck’s up? What time is it?’

  ‘Go and have a look at your car, Woz,’ said Les.

  ‘What?’

  Warren shuffled off down the hallway and Les went out onto the verandah with his glass of water. He’d barely had two mouthfuls when a string of expletives echoed round the side of the house. Next thing, Warren came cursing up the hall way and out onto the verandah.