Mystery Bay Blues
Page 21
‘Yeah. No worries.’ Norm pulled out two fifties and handed them to Les.
‘Thanks mate.’ Les pocketed the hundred then whipped off his blood spattered T-shirt and put it in his bag. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow night.’ Norton turned and double-timed it back to the house.
Les let himself in the door and dropped his bag in the hallway then stripped off and got under the shower. Bloody hell, he chuckled, as he watched all the fake blood swirling down the plughole. This is like the shower scene from Psycho. He washed all the fake blood out of his hair and everywhere else, then towelled off and checked himself out in the bathroom mirror. There were bruises on his arms and a couple on his forehead, plus a small mouse near his left eye. He’d skinned his knuckles on Morgan’s teeth and there were minor grass burns on his elbows and knees. Too easy, smiled Les. Much better than Morgan. Getting belted’d be bad enough. But losing five grand as well. Shit! that would hurt. Les wrapped the towel around him and poured some bourbon over his knuckles in the kitchen sink, then changed into a clean pair of cargos and a dark blue, Cooktown Resort T-shirt. A beer would have gone down well. But Les thought he’d wait and ring Grace first with the news. He put his cap and sunglasses back on and walked down to the hotel.
McBride’s was fairly crowded with people having a drink and a post-mortem after the fight. There was no one in the bottle shop and Les didn’t expect anyone would recognise him. They’d all be expecting someone who looked like he’d just crawled out of a car wreck. There was a phone just inside the door. Les dropped some coins in and dialled Grace’s number. It was engaged. He tried twice more and gave up. Then he stepped over to a blonde girl in a black uniform behind the counter and bought a bottle of Turkey Flat Butcher’s Block Mataro Shiraz and a bottle of Rosevear’s Tasmania Riesling. He paid cash, then took the wine back to the house and put both bottles in the fridge. He had a glass of water then walked up to the butcher shop and bought a dozen, beautiful lamb cutlets, bacon and a few brisket bones. There was a phone box just up from the butcher’s; Les dropped some coins in and this time Grace answered.
‘Hello?’
‘Grace. It’s Les. How are you?’
There was a pause for moment. ‘How am I? How are you?’
‘Good as gold,’ replied Les.
‘What? You’re all right?’
‘Yeah. Never felt better in my life.’
‘But … I. Julie was at the fight. She said you won. But you took a terrible beating. There was blood everywhere. An ambulance came and everything. God, I was just on my way over.’
Les laughed. ‘Are you sure she was at the same fight?’
‘Les, don’t fool around. Are you all right or not?’
‘Yes Grace. I’m all right. Truly.’
‘Okay,’ answered Grace. ‘If you say so.’
‘So what time do you want me to call over?’
‘Well. You may as well come over at six. And I’ll finish what I was doing.’
‘Righto.’
‘Les, you’re such a bastard. I don’t know what to believe.’
‘Ohh, that’s nice isn’t it,’ said Les. ‘You’ve just won a heap of money. I busted my poor arse to make sure you did. And you call me a bastard. Fair dinkum Grace, are all the women down here your age as horrible as you?’
‘Les …’
‘Don’t bother saying it Grace. I’ll see you at six.’ Les blew Grace a quick kiss over the phone and hung up. I wonder what I am going to tell Grace when I see her, he chuckled, as he headed home. The truth I suppose. It would make a nice change.
Back at the house, Les put the meat in the fridge and opened a bottle of beer. He took it out on the verandah, sat down and after a couple of mouthfuls, belched, looked around and shook his head. For a bloke that gets around a bit, he told himself, Christ, you’re dumb at times.
That first night in the house: the piano playing in the middle of the night and things all over the kitchen the next morning, and I convince myself it’s a rat. And the wiring’s rooted in the bear. Everybody I meet, as soon as I mention the Merrigan house, they look at me like I got a face full of boils. Even the two old girls in the op-shop. I thought they were just a couple of old biddies the way they were going on. Then Grace and Clover. No wonder they wouldn’t come inside after midnight. Everybody was in on the act bar me. And when I finally see Edward’s ghost, I think it’s a burglar and tell him to piss off. Les shook his head. I wonder what he’s got the shits about though? Probably the bloody cold. Les raised his bottle to the house. Anyway Edward, you can shove the place up your freezing cold arse after tonight. I won’t be here.
Les switched his thinking to more pleasant things. Like the fight. I wonder if Norm videoed it? I hope he did, he chuckled. I’ll definitely get a copy to show Billy and the rest of them. They’ll crack up. Les started thinking about Grace and her magic mineral water and the astonishing effect it had on him. It was liquid gold. He might ask her for a little more to take home with him. Les finished his beer and watched a couple of kids paddling a kayak across the clear, blue water in the lagoon. He had plenty of time before driving out to Grace’s. Time for a little snorkelling.
Les was tossing up whether to have another beer first, when there was a brisk knock on the door. Hello, thought Les. I wonder who this is? He’d left the front door open and when he walked down the hallway an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Norton’s stomach. Standing on the steps were two tall men with grainy faces and brown hair, wearing white shirts, ties and dark trousers. One had his hair parted and wore a moustache. The other had a buzz cut. They weren’t wearing guns. But Les knew they hadn’t knocked on the door to sell him an insurance policy. As he approached, the two men looked at him suspiciously.
‘G’day fellahs,’ said Les, as pleasantly as he could. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Les Norton?’ said the one with the moustache.
‘Yes. That’s me,’ replied Les.
‘I’m Detective Bischof. And this is Detective Stenlake.’
Les shook his head and resigned himself once more to the inevitable. ‘Okay. What have I done?’
‘You haven’t done anything,’ said Detective Bischof.
‘I haven’t?’ said Les.
‘Well, you have done something,’ said Detective Stenlake.
‘Yeah. You did us a favour,’ said his partner.
Les was a little puzzled. ‘A favour?’
‘Giving it to that prick Morgan Scully.’
‘Oh.’ Les brightened up. ‘Well in that case … Do you want to come inside? There’s a cold one in the fridge.’
‘No. That’s okay,’ said Detective Bischof. ‘Actually, Daddy sent us round to see if you were okay. He was worried.’
‘No, I’m okay,’ said Les. ‘Couldn’t be creamier.’ He looked at both detectives. ‘So I gather you’re not all that rapt in Morgan either.’
‘Mate. We’ve been trying to nail that big lump of shit for years,’ said Detective Bischof. ‘And to see him get stitched up like that. It was music to our eyes.’
‘And his mate Mick Ross,’ added Detective Stenlake.
‘So we just called in to see you’re okay, and to shake your hand,’ said Detective Bischof.
‘My pleasure,’ said Les, shaking both detectives’ hands.
‘We backed you too,’ said Detective Stenlake.
‘You did?’
‘Yeah. We thought we’d done our dough too,’ said Detective Bischof. ‘Christ! You were taking an awful battering there at one stage.’
‘Then I came good,’ said Les.
‘You sure bloody did,’ agreed Detective Stenlake. He looked at Norton for a moment. ‘Les. I have to be honest. A while ago, you looked like you’d been dragged under a train. Now you haven’t got a mark on you? What …?’
Les smiled at the two detectives. ‘Let’s just say I’m a quick healer.’
The two detectives shook their heads. ‘All right. We’ll leave it at that,’ said Detective Bischof.
‘Anything he can get his big, hairy hands into,’ said Detective Bischof. ‘But mainly cars.’
‘Cars?’ said Les. ‘As in, driving them without the owner’s permission?’
‘Well put, Les,’ smiled Detective Stenlake. ‘Scully and his mates drive up to Sydney, or down to Melbourne, nick a couple of cars on the way and flog them at the other end.’
‘They know exactly what they’re doing,’ said Detective Bischof. ‘And they know we can’t follow them around all the time.’
‘Can’t you put a bit of pressure on some of his team?’ asked Les. ‘There must be witnesses or someone dirty on him.’
Detective Stenlake shook his head. ‘No one’s game to say a word. Everyone’s shit scared of him.’
‘In the meantime,’ smiled Detective Stenlake, ‘at least we got something to laugh about when we see him.’
‘He’ll love that,’ said Les.
‘So when are you going back to Sydney, Les?’ asked Detective Bischof.
‘Wednesday,’ answered Les. ‘Probably early.’
‘Well if you get a chance before you leave, call in and have a coffee or something.’ Detective Bischof pointed. ‘The cop shop’s just over there.’
‘Okay,’ said Les. ‘But I’ll be down here again. I like Narooma. Next time I’m in town you can shout me a beer.’
‘You’re on,’ said Detective Stenlake.
Les said goodbye to the two detectives and watched them get inside a white Holden Commodore. He gave them a wave as they drove off then went back to his seat on the verandah
Shit! What about that, thought Les. A visit from the wallopers. At least it was a friendly one for a change. Les gazed out over the water and tried to relax. But being a fringe dweller when it came to the law and dealing with the police, an uneasy feeling still lingered in the pit of Norton’s stomach. He was about to have another beer and changed his mind. No, he told himself. I’m going snorkel sucking. That’s the best way for a dude to chill out. He changed into his old shorts and rubber vest, got his gear together and walked down to the jetty.
The water was just as clear as Saturday and there were even more fish around. Les chased four, fat leather jackets around the piers with his camera and out in the channel he saw another two big stingrays. The blackfish were back munching on the weed and Les joined them for lunch. One came right up to his face mask and he actually pushed it aside with his hand. Les snorkelled around, having fun using up what film was left in the disposable camera, then got out and walked back to the house.
Les had a shave and a shower, rinsed his gear and, figuring it could be a bit brisk sleeping out at Grace’s, changed into his dark blue tracksuit which could double as pyjamas. The sun was just starting to go down, but there was still plenty of time, so he got another beer and took it out on the verandah.
It was a beautiful, late afternoon and Les was in a good mood as he sat and enjoyed the view. Getting out of the house for the night and having dinner at Grace’s was perfect. She’d probably turn the TV on after, or they might even watch a video. Les hadn’t watched TV since he left Sydney and he wasn’t missing it all that much.
But sitting back after a meal and watching a video, with maybe a little hanky panky thrown in, would be absolutely delightful. He’d even offer to give Grace a back rub if she wanted.
Les was contentedly sipping his beer when he noticed that a yacht had come through The Bar with its sails furled and was motoring slowly up the channel towing a rubber ducky. The water in the channel was like glass and the sun setting behind the surrounding hills gave the surface a golden sheen, making it all a lovely picture as the yacht moved effortlessly through the water. The yacht had turned side-on to the house where the channel curved round in front of the jetty and Les was thinking of taking a photo, when he thought the yacht looked familiar. Instead of getting his camera from inside, Les got his binoculars and checked it out. It was the Kerouac. One of the yachts he’d seen going past Montague Island the day before.
‘Hello. It’s the Kerouac,’ he smiled. ‘Anyone seen Jack? He’s probably on the road.’
Les continued to watch the yacht moving up the channel. There were two dark-haired men on deck wearing black tracksuits and trainers. Les could pick out their watches and moustaches, even the expressions on their faces. They weren’t talking and appeared serious. But they were fit and looked as if they spent a lot of time in the sun. Les was gazing away when the same woman he’d seen before came up from the galley wearing a dark blue tracksuit; the hood was down and this time she wasn’t wearing sunglasses. Les watched her step out onto the deck, stared into the binoculars, and gave a double blink. He fine-tuned the viewers and pressed the stabiliser button. There was no mistaking the haughty features and the swirl of bright, orange hair. It was Serina: the late Edwin’s grieving ex-girlfriend. Well I’ll be buggered, Les said to himself. You know it’s funny, but just for a moment, I thought that was her yesterday. I wonder what she’s doing down here? The bloody yacht race of course. She’s obviously getting her thrill-seeking rocks off again. Pity she didn’t fall overboard on top of that big shark I saw.
Les watched Serina walk over to one of the men near the stern, wrap her arms round his neck and kiss him on the lips. Nice to see her broken heart’s starting to mend too, he mused. Les zeroed in on Serina just as she turned towards the house and for a few moments it was like looking right into her cool, green eyes. The yacht motored towards the bridge and Les put the binoculars down. Well, that’s enough to turn you off your day, seeing her down here, he frowned. I just hope I don’t bump into the moll. Because if she has another go at me now that Edwin’s not around, I’ll tell her to get well and truly fucked. Les looked at his watch. Anyway. I got better things to do than worry about that hump. He finished his beer and went inside.
Les put the meat, the wine and a few other things in his overnight bag, along with the white T-shirt covered in false blood bundled inside a plastic bag. He picked up the key and had a last look around the house.
‘Okay Edward,’ said Les. ‘The place is all yours. Try not to wreck too much if you can help it.’
Les locked the front door then got in his car and drove off. He was smiling about something as he drove past the turn-off to Mystery Bay, and still thinking as he drove through the deserted streets of Central Tilba. In no time at all he was parked outside Grace’s and walking up the front steps. Right on cue, Morticia came skidding around the corner barking and howling like an Andrewsarchus out of the ABC show Walking with Beasts.
‘All right. Don’t shit yourself, Morticia,’ said Les. ‘It’s only me.’ The dog settled down a little as it picked up Norton’s familiar voice. But it still watched Les carefully as he took something out of his bag. ‘There you go, you little shit.’
Les handed Morticia a juicy piece of brisket bone. The dog took it neatly and, with its tail stuck straight up in the air, trotted back round to its kennel. Les was about to knock on the door when Grace opened it wearing a pair of cut down Wranglers that clung to her backside like a coat of paint and a grey T-shirt with two cute little sugar gliders on the front. Her hair was shining and parted to one side and she wasn’t wearing makeup. She stared at Les.
‘Good evening, young lady,’ said Les. ‘Is your mother in?’
Grace continued to stare at Les. ‘Come in,’ she said.
Grace closed the door and Les followed her down to the kitchen. He placed his overnight bag on the kitchen table and smiled at Grace as she turned around.
‘All right. What’s going on?’ said Grace.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Les.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I’m not sure if I do,’ said Les. ‘But while I’m here Grace, have you got a washing machine?’
‘Of course. Out in the laundry.’
‘Good.’ Les took the white T-shirt out of the plastic bag and
threw it to Grace. ‘Wash that for me will you.’
‘Oh my God!’ Grace recoiled, and let the blood spattered T-shirt fall to the floor. ‘Take it away. Please.’
Les picked up the T-shirt and held it up in front of Grace. ‘It’s only vampire blood,’ he laughed.
‘It’s what?’
‘I’ll tell you in a minute.’ Les put the T-shirt back in the plastic bag and took out the two bottles of wine. ‘Does that look any better?’
Grace seemed to recuperate. ‘Oh yes. Very nice.’
‘Good,’ said Les. ‘But first. Do I get a kiss? I mean. No slipping the tongue in or anything. Just one of those kisses … women sort of give blokes when they’re happy to see them.’
‘Who says I’m happy to see you?’
‘Yeah, fair enough. But could you pretend? Cause I’m happy to see you.’
Grace put her hands on Norton’s hips and gave him the sweetest little kiss on the lips imaginable. Les opened his eyes and smiled.
‘See that wasn’t hard, was it.’
‘Don’t bet on it.’ Grace let go of Les. ‘I’ll open the wine.’
‘I brought some other goodies too.’ Les took the meat from his bag and put it on the kitchen table.
‘Goodness,’ said Grace. ‘You even brought bones for Morticia.’
‘Grace. When Les Norton eats, everybody eats.’
Grace opened the Riesling, poured two glasses and handed one to Les. ‘Cheers Big Ears,’ she said.
‘Yeah. Here’s looking up your old address.’
The wine was very good: dry, delicate, with a tiny taste of citrus.
‘Not too bad,’ said Les.
‘It’s lovely.’ Grace took another sip of wine and gave Les a once up and down. ‘Okay George. I give up. Julie said you were an absolute mess. But apart from a little bruise near your eye, you haven’t got a mark on you. And did you punch up a guy called Mick Ross too?’
Les nodded. ‘Yeah. That’d be Rossy. The bloke that hit Warren.’
‘God. He’s almost as bad as Morgan Scully.’
‘He sure wasn’t looking too good, last time I saw him.’