Mystery Bay Blues

by Robert G. Barrett

  Shit! What the fuck’s going on, wondered Les? A movement behind him made Les turn around. Two wiry aboriginal men dressed in loincloths and carrying spears and small wooden shields appeared at the edge of the rainforest. Both had beards and tribal markings across their chests, and their hair was pushed back and bound tightly on top of their heads. Each man’s teeth were sparkling white and their skin was as black and shiny as onyx. One pushed his spear in the ground and rested his right foot against his left knee, while the other pointed to something on the beach. He said something to the other man in their tribal dialect, then they turned around and disappeared back into the rainforest.

  Les watched the two men leave and noticed movement in the branches of some nearby gum trees. They were crawling with koala bears. He turned back to the beautiful, blue ocean and the pristine landscape. Behind the ridge at the end of the beach was the cave. Now I know what’s going on, Les told himself. Somehow those mushrooms have sent me back in time.

  Everything was crystal clear and razor sharp, and Les gazed around in wonder, taking in the unique setting of beauty and tranquillity. It was nature at is gentlest and loveliest and Les hoped he was going to be there for hours. Suddenly, a sinister movement in the water over to his right made him sit up. From out of nowhere, six massive killer whales came charging into the bay. They were as big as locomotives and with their fearsome teeth and sleek, black bodies reflecting the sun, they made an awesome display of beauty and power as they slashed ominously through the water. And the pod knew exactly what it was doing. To cut off any escape, two whales swam towards the ridge jutting out from the sand, two moved behind the islands while the last two charged straight into the terrified seals. The herd immediately went into a barking, yelping panic. Some seals managed to clamber up onto the islands, others made it to the beach with their pups. Those that didn’t, got ripped to pieces or were simply gulped straight down as the killer whales went into a feeding frenzy, turning the water into a churning, red boil of blood, guts and lumps of seal meat.

  The killer whales gorged themselves on any seals they could find, except for one. It was too big and fat to clamber up onto the rocks and its escape to the beach was blocked by the killer whales. All it could do was bark and flounder around in the gore. The pod watched the terrified seal, before the biggest one swam up alongside it, and with one mighty flick of its tail, sent the seal spinning up in the air like a football. It tumbled around, end over end then splashed down in front of the other killer whales. The seal bobbed to the surface and another killer whale swam over, flicked its tail and belted the seal back across to the first killer whale. The seal splashed down again and the first killer whale flicked it back to the others. Singing to each other, the killer whales spread out, formed a circle, and started belting the hapless seal back and forth between them in a macabre game of shuttlecock. This was a side of nature Les had seen on TV, but forgotten about. Nature at its most savage. Les watched the callous display in fascinated horror when another movement made him spin around to the left.

  Coming from the cliffs behind the inlet, a boat suddenly appeared on the scene. It was a wide-beamed, wooden clinker, with two men rowing in the middle, another seated in the bow with his back turned taking notes, and another man standing at the tiller. The three men in the front were all wearing plain calico shirts and pants, and straw hats with turned up brims and black bows dangling at the back. The man at the tiller had a beard and funny little glasses, and was wearing the same kind of straw hat over a grey frock coat with matching trousers. The two men in the middle kept rowing unawares towards the killer whales, while the man in the bow concentrated on his notes. The man at the stern noticed all the blood in the water, then saw the killer whales and started yelling and pointing. The man in front stood up and turned around and the two men in the middle stopped rowing. The boat’s momentum, however, took it into the pod just as the biggest killer whale gave a powerful kick of its tail and sent the seal sailing high into the air. The huge, fat seal spun lazily above the water, then came down right in the middle of the boat like a bomb landing.

  The wooden boat rocked crazily as the seal smashed straight through the bottom staves, sending the man in front head first over the bow and the two men rowing straight into the blood-stained water, along with their oars. The man with the beard gripped the tiller, but was somersaulted backwards over the stern. Wondering where their plaything had gone, the killer whales looked up and saw the men struggling in the water around their crippled boat. Les had read about killer whales in Eden helping whalers herd whales, even saving the men from drowning at times. However, this pod must have been the bad boys on the block. They simply looked at the four men in the water as fresh food items and charged straight in.

  The first to get eaten were the men in calico. They hardly had time to scream before they were either torn to bits or swallowed whole. For his size, the man on the tiller could swim a little and was stroking furiously across the inlet towards the cave. He was going all right when the biggest killer whale loomed up behind him and took him all in one bite. All except for his left hand which was left floating on the surface. The killer whale turned around, still swallowing the man with the beard, and with a lazy flick of its tail inadvertently sent the hand sailing across the inlet towards the cave. There was a ring on one of the fingers and Les watched it glinting in the sun as the hand turned lazily through the air before landing in the right side of the cave. A few seconds later, the battered and bloodied seal floated to the surface behind the boat. Another killer whale saw it and charged in giving the seal a flick with its tail to get the game going again. The killer whale’s aim was a bit out and this time the seal crashed into the cliff face above the cave, dislodging several rocks and some of the ceiling, before it tumbled lifeless onto the rocks at the entrance. The biggest killer whale, the leader of the pod, was tired of playing; it swam over and threw itself onto the dead seal, dragging it back into the water in its huge jaws, where it gobbled it down like a cat swallowing a goldfish. The leader then swam back to the others, clicked and sang something while leisurely blowing clouds of vapour into the air; the rest then all followed the biggest killer whale towards Montague Island to see who they could terrorise out there. Behind them, the mother seals that had survived the slaughter were barking across the bay trying to find their pups, while the sea birds and school fish swarmed at any scraps in the blood-stained water. The clinker, its staves smashed outwards and the men’s belongings still inside, was left drifting near the islands with its gunwales poking out above the water.

  Les watched the empty boat moving slowly with the current, when the rushing vortex appeared out of nowhere and started spiralling above the horizon again, and everything around him began to evaporate. The rainforest and all the wildlife disappeared, to be replaced by materialising roads, car parks and houses. The whales out to sea vanished as the camping area reappeared behind him, along with the boat ramp and the old log on the beach. Before Les knew it, everything was back the way it was. He blinked at the sunlight as a family in a station wagon pulled into the parking area, then he wriggled across the sand and sat with his back against the log again.

  Although it had all been no more than a shocking, psychedelic illusion in his mind, Norton’s sense of shock was tinged with sadness. It was awful to see the seals and the men getting torn apart so brutally. But it was sad to think what had happened to the rainforest and all the wonderful wildlife. For just a short time, Les felt he’d caught a glimpse of paradise. Well I’ll be buggered, thought Les. I didn’t think the flashback would be like that. Shit that was real — too real, if you ask me. Several thoughts flashed through Norton’s mind and his face turned quite serious. Something strange is going on here, he told himself. I’m picking up this weird vibe. Fuck it. There’s something I have to do.

  Les got up and walked down near the old boat ramp. It was a fair swim around the ledge to the inlet. But the tide was out, and an exposed shelf of rock on the other side of the ridge
jutting out from the beach ran beneath the cliffs and finished above the water not far from the cave. Les went back to the log and changed into a pair of old shorts and a T-shirt. He slipped on his rubber booties, and with a small clasp knife in his pocket set off along the beach.

  The shelf running round to the cave turned out to be jagged folds of slippery rock, poking up between pools of tangled seaweed and it was difficult to get a foothold. Somehow Les managed to clamber unsteadily over the rocks without twisting his ankle, to where the ledge ended. There he found another smaller cave, filled with smooth boulders and pebbles washed around by the waves, and on this side of the big one. Between the two, they formed a lovely, blue grotto and a boat would have fitted in there easily, especially at high tide. Pity the boat crew couldn’t have rowed in here and got in the cave, he mused. They would have been as safe as a bank. Les jumped off the rock shelf into waist deep water and waded across to the big cave, then scrambled up onto a ledge at the mouth and stepped inside.

  The cave was big and gloomy with a small entrance at the other end and Les could make out the coloured, volcanic strata around the walls and ceiling; it looked like marble cake. The floor was rough under his feet and strewn with jagged rocks, and on the left side of the cave a wide rock ledge covered in pebbles and stones stuck out from the wall. Les stepped over to the right side of the cave and smiled. Apparently there’d been a big sea recently and most of the pebbles and stones had been washed away, leaving a trench running along the bottom of the wall. How lucky’s that, thought Les. Even if it does turn out I’m wasting my time, I don’t have to dig that far to waste it. Les got down on his knees and started scooping away the pebbles from the bottom of the trench.

  It wasn’t easy going with his bare hands and the pebbles kept rolling back into the trench. What Les really needed was a garden spade. But at least the stones were smooth and he didn’t get any nicks or cuts. Les got down into the trench and kept digging away to the gentle sound of pebbles clicking against each other and waves lapping against the rocks outside. He scooped and dug until his legs got cramps, finding nothing but more and more pebbles. Les stopped to wipe a little sweat from his brow. So much for my psychedelic archeological dig, he smiled to himself. I should have known it’d be a waste of time. Oh well. Doesn’t matter.

  The tide was turning, and a wave hit the rocks out front with a noisy slap that echoed round the cave. Les was thinking of throwing in the towel when his fingers touched something under the pebbles. It felt like small pieces of driftwood. Carefully Les scooped away the pebbles and his eyes lit up. It was the skeleton of a hand, the bones discoloured with age. Not a big hand. But definitely a hand and still very much intact. Les picked it up and got out of the trench.

  ‘Holy shit! I don’t believe it.’

  Les looked at the bony hand, feeling like he’d just won Lotto. I got to put it down somewhere and have a good look. He looked around the cave, thought maybe over on that ledge near the wall … Bubbling inside, Les started pulling his T-shirt off and walked over to the ledge. He laid his T-shirt across the rocks on top and placed the hand on it, then stared at the hand in amazement. Still sitting on the third finger was a ring. Well raise my rent, thought Les. I knew I picked up some weird vibe after that flashback. Wait till I tell Grace.

  Les went to rest his foot on the ledge and it slipped off. He put his foot back and it slipped off again. Norton’s brow creased. The sole of his booty was wet. But for solid rock, the ledge was awfully soft. Les left the hand and brushed away some rocks and pebbles. It wasn’t a ledge. Underneath all the stones was a black tarpaulin that had been been daubed with brown, white, ochre and yellow to match the walls of the cave.

  The tarpaulin was covering a mound roughly six metres by three and waist high. Les stepped over to the right side of the mound, kicked away the rocks and pebbles at the bottom then squatted down and lifted up the edge of the tarpaulin. Underneath were rows of neatly piled green sacks. Les took out his clasp knife and cut one open. Inside the sack were ten, clear, thick, plastic bags full of white powder. Les didn’t know that much about powder drugs. But it was too white to be heroin and too fine to be speed. He let the tarpaulin down, stood up and shook his head in astonishment.

  ‘Fuckin cocaine. I don’t believe it.’

  Les looked along the tarpaulin. How many sacks there were was hard to estimate. But each plastic bag would have been a kilogram, and at ten bags to a sack there would have to be at least a thousand bags under the tarpaulin. Probably two. Another chill ran up Norton’s spine; and it wasn’t from the mushies. For that amount of coke and the money involved, if the people behind the shipment found out you knew about it, they’d murder you as quick as look at you. Les replaced the rocks he’d kicked away, carefully wrapped the hand in his T-shirt, then walked across to the front of the cave and stepped back into the water. Holding the hand above his head, he waded over to the shelf, and with the help of an incoming swell hoisted himself up and made his way back along the rocks to the beach.

  As calmly as he could, Les ambled back to the log, collected his gear and walked across to his car. He took his wet shorts off and with a few butterflies kicking around in his stomach, placed his things inside and started the engine. As he reversed slowly around and started to drive off, Les had a good look over the camping area and up the dirt road into the trees, then proceeded steadily along the road leading to the highway.

  Minutes later he was speeding back to Narooma. Les didn’t notice any cars following him so he slowed down. Before long he’d reached town safely and was pulling up in the driveway of the house. He picked up the T-shirt, got his bag from the back seat and went inside, closing the door behind him. He placed the hand on his dressing table, then got a beer from the fridge: half went down in one huge gulp. Les took the rest out onto the verandah and sat down.

  Well that was certainly a day with a difference, he told himself. Thanks to Clover’s mushrooms, it looks like I’ve solved the mystery of Mystery Bay. But what about all that fuckin cocaine. Shit! Where did that come from? Thank Christ no one saw me, or I doubt if I’d be sitting here now. Les took a grateful sip of beer and winked up at the sky. Anyway, forget about the okey. They can shove it up their arse for all I care. Finding that hand’s all I’m interested in. That was absolutely unbelievable. Extremely pleased with himself, Les finished his beer and had a quick shower.

  After changing into a clean T-shirt and his blue cargos, Les placed the T-shirt with the hand on the bed and carefully unwrapped it. He looked at the hand from all angles before slipping the ring from the third finger. The ring was covered in grime after lying in the cave for all those years. But Les could see it was gold with jewels inlaid around the band and an inscription inside. Les took the ring into the bathroom, ran some hot water and washed it with soap. He dried it off then brushed it several times with toothpaste. After a while the ring came up almost like new. Les dried it off, got another bottle of beer and took the ring out to where he’d been sitting on the verandah.

  It was stamped twenty four carat gold and inlaid with six tiny hearts made from black opal. The inscription inside read: To Gwendolyn. All my love. Now and Forever. Edward. As well as hardly being able to believe what he’d found, Les was also moved. Shit! That’s really lovely, he smiled. And it’s such a beautiful ring. Thoughtfully sipping his beer, Les turned the ring over in his fingers letting it catch the sun. You know, I’ve been bagging poor Edward, because, according to that photo, his fiance was a dog. But they say love is blind. And Edward must have really loved her. Les raised his beer to the house and took a sip. Good on him. Bad luck they never got to walk down the aisle together. Les slipped the ring onto the top of his little finger and shook his head in admiration as he watched the fire in the opals. An antique like this, he mused — solid gold and inlaid with black opal — it’d be worth a motza too. Smiling happily, Les finished his beer, then took the ring inside and placed it back on the finger he’d got it off. He wrapped the hand up in a white
T-shirt that had been lying on the floor and put it back on the dressing table. Les left the mess in his room and walked out to the mess in the kitchen. Now all I have to do is clean up Edward’s shit after him. Les couldn’t help himself and called out to his bedroom.

  ‘Hey Edward! Any chance of a hand?’

  Les started with the cutlery. While he was putting it away, he decided against moving into a motel. It was too much trouble just for one night and he’d stay in the house. As for Edward? He’d just have to sort it out when he arrived. Les mulled over a couple of other things. But before long he started thinking about the huge pile of cocaine.

  It had more than likely been brought in on a yacht, then transferred to the cave in a rubber ducky, he surmised. And whoever the team were they were pretty bloody smart and knew the area. That cave was ideal. Easy to get into by boat. But quite difficult otherwise. And if anybody did put their head in the cave, it was that dark, and the dope that well concealed, you wouldn’t know it was there. It probably wouldn’t be there long anyway. Les dropped some more spoons into a drawer. It’s funny, he laughed to himself. But the team did me a favour. If they hadn’t dug up all those rocks and pebbles to cover the tarpaulin, I probably wouldn’t have found the hand. So I got that to thank them for. Les dropped the last fork into the drawer. And I thought the trench was caused by a big sea. Hey. Why woudn’t I? Les stared at the floor for a moment and started on the cups and saucers. Their timing was spot on too. The Blues Festival in town. The yacht race. You can bet they used those for cover. The camping area closed. He’d had a good look around as he was leaving. You could get a truck in there and lower a rope with a pulley over the cave easy. You’d have all the toot out and loaded up in no time. Not a soul around and the nearest house up the hill on the other side of the beach. Yes, conceded Les. Whoever they are, they’re smart bastards all right. They covered their arse from just about every angle imaginable. If coke dealers weren’t my particular cup of tea, and they would have shot me if they saw me, I’d almost say good luck to them. Almost. Les put the last plate in the top of the cabinet and caught his reflection in the small glass door. Suddenly the Wile E. Coyote light bulb above his head blinked on.