Mystery Bay Blues

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘Ooohh! What’s that you say, Shintaro?’ exclaimed Les.

  Smart bastards on a yacht? With a rubber ducky? That know the area? Les’s eyes narrowed. Did I see someone answering that description only just the other day? I sure did. Fuckin Serina. Orange hair and all. Les shut the cabinet door and sat down at the kitchen table.

  Bloody Serina, thought Les. She’d got nicked over a shipment of coke in WA. She comes from Narooma. She’d know about that cave and everything else. She walked last time. Why not have another go? What’s to stop her from driving down here, picking up that yacht in Bermagui, then helping to unload the coke after the race on Sunday night or something? There’s yachts going everywhere. They just cruise into Narooma the next day, then move the coke out when it suits them. Les felt the hairs on his neck tingle. One shouldn’t cast aspersions. But I reckon you could lay odds Serina’s in that pile of coke up to her tits. Les folded his arms and frowned towards the hallway. Okay. I know it’s personal between me and her. But I’ve always had my doubts about that low moll. Especially after what happened to Edwin. So has Eddie. Les shook his head glumly. Weird isn’t it? One day I’m walking along Bondi and there’s poor bloody Edwin dead on the sand. Next thing I’m watching teary-eyed Serina, down the beach with all Edwin’s friends seeing him off. A few days after that, there she is. Coming up the channel in Narooma all over some other bloke. And sailing past Montague Island in a yacht race the day before. Les reflected on seeing the wisp of orange hair under her hood before the yacht tacked. Funny how I thought it was her too. Next thing, the light bulb started blinking above Norton’s head again and he rose up from the table.

  ‘The day Edwin ate the pie,’ said Les, staring around the kitchen. ‘What was my smart arse remark? Two drownings for the price of one?’

  Les strode out of the house without closing the door, and hurried straight up to the Wagonga Dive Shop. Ian was behind the counter reading Underwater magazine. He looked up when Norton walked in and smiled.

  ‘G’day Les,’ he said cheerfully. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m good Ian,’ replied Les. ‘How’s yourself?’

  ‘All right. Bad luck about the other day, mate. The weather turned sour.’

  ‘Yeah. It wasn’t the best,’ agreed Les.

  Ian half-smiled. ‘Neville said you weren’t in the water long.’

  ‘No. I never quite got to see the seals. Ian. Have you got a magnifying glass?’

  ‘Yeah. There’s one under the counter. I use it to go over maps.’ Ian reached around under the counter and came up with an oblong-shaped magnifying glass with a little circle in the corner for closer scrutiny. ‘Here you are.’ Just a little curious, Ian handed the magnifying glass to Les.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Les. ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘Go for your life,’ shrugged Ian.

  Les walked across to Ray Bissett’s photo and ran the magnifying glass over it. Big and all as the photo was, the extra magnification really brought it up; and if Les thought he saw anguish and despair on the divers’ faces before, now he could almost read their minds. He moved the magnifying glass to the woman diver being sick. She had twin tanks on her back and was holding her mask and flippers in one hand. But the woman diver wasn’t bent over being sick. She had her head down, walking away from the other divers towards the stairs leading up to the parking area on the point. And through the little circle in the magnifying glass, the lock of hair poking out from under the hood of her wetsuit wasn’t light brown. It was orange. Les had another look to make sure, then walked over to the counter and handed Ian back his magnifying glass.

  ‘Find what you were looking for?’ asked Ian.

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Les. ‘Yeah. I did. Thanks Ian.’ Les turned and left Ian to his magazine.

  Les started thoughtfully back towards the house. The two beers had made him a little hungry. There was a cake shop just back from the hotel. Les walked down to buy a couple of depth charges.

  The front window of the Seaview Bakery was stacked with wedding cakes, ham and cheese buns and other goodies. A bell rang over the flyscreen door as Les walked inside. Under the counter were racks of delightful-looking cakes, and the Seaview special — their famous banana muffins. A tall brunette in a white dress smiled at Les from behind the counter.

  ‘Yes. What would you like?’ she asked, politely.

  Les pointed to the blackboard menu above the pie warmer behind the counter. ‘Two steak and onion pies, please.’

  ‘Rightoh.’

  The woman put the two pies in two white paper bags, Les paid her and walked back to the house. He made a cup of tea, squirted some tomato sauce into the two pies and took everything out onto the verandah. The pies were very good. Les washed one bite down with a mouthful of tea, had another, and started thinking poignantly about Serina.

  The low, rotten moll. That was her in Ray’s photo. I reckon she’s necked Edwin. And you don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes with a magnifying glass to work out how.

  She’s swum across from Ben Buckler while Edwin was out surfing, timed it right, then just swum up and grabbed him. She’d know Edwin’s distinctive surfboard. She’d know his movements on the day. She probably kissed him goodbye before she went and put her Scuba gear on. And a superfit woman like Serina wearing twin tanks would get across Bondi Bay and back easy. Impossible? Me and Eddie did the same thing in Port Stephens. It took us a minute. Yes, concluded Les. I reckon that’s how she did it. She might have even known that dive school would be there in the morning and used them for cover. But if that’s how, why? Les started on his second pie, and chewed thoughtfully.

  Knowing Edwin, I’d say he was the weakest link. Apart from smoking pot and maybe having a toot now and again, Edwin wasn’t a dealer. But somehow he’s got involved in the shipment. Being so close to Serina, he’d have to know what was going on. Maybe the team put pressure on him because he had an import business? Help wash the money or something? But the thought of risking twenty years in the puzzle hasn’t appealed to a party boy like Edwin. So he’s politely said include me out. Except coke dealers, as well as being mad raving paranoid, are completely ruthless. So rather than have a loose cannon running around, they’ve decided to off him. I don’t care what anyone says, there’s no way Edwin committed suicide. He was too popular and had too much going for him. No. Bottom line, Edwin’s shit himself so the team’s said he had to go. And Serina was the girl who knew the best way to do it. So she did. Exeunt Edwin.

  Les finished his second pie and washed it down with the last of his tea, pleased with the way he’d worked things out. And he was pretty sure he was right. However, there was a downside to this. The thought of Serina killing Edwin and getting away with a multi-million dollar drug shipment began to burn Norton’s arse something awful. So what should I do now, he asked himself? Les absently tapped his empty mug on the table. Well, I figure I’ve got three options.

  One. I can be a concerned citizen and ring the police. Les shook his head vehemently. No. No fuckin way. There’s a chance they’ll tape my voice or something. And friendly or not, I’ve just had a visit from the wallopers. They know I’ve been down here. If the team get nicked, and I’ve been seen in the vicinity, I’m going to get involved somehow. And I’ve been seen in Serina’s company a heap of times. Christ! We all had our photos in the local rag once sitting outside the Toriyoshi. Guilt by association? Conspiracy? What if the team finds out it was me that tipped off the cops? They might. What if the cops say no, I wasn’t involved, but I’m called in to give evidence. No. No matter what, if I ring the cops, it’s going to come back on me. I just know it. So that’s out.

  Two. I could burn it? Yeah. Swim out with a big pile of wood, some newspaper and box of matches. Or take some petrol. I’d need gallons. Plus all the flames and fumes in the cave. If I didn’t get burnt to death, I’d suffocate. No. Too dangerous. Plus all the flames and smoke coming out of the cave. By the time I got back to my car, some concerned citizen would see me driving away and
take my number plate. So that’s out. Three. I could swim out with my trusty little clasp knife and cut open all the bags? That’d only take me a week, while I’m covered in coke from head to foot. I’d end up with a huge noseful or a lung full. And that definitely ain’t no good for one’s health. Not to mention the team coming back and finding me in there. Les shook his head dejectedly. Apart from dynamiting the cave, there was nothing he could do. No. If it is you Serina, you’ve won. You’ve pulled off a big one. I only hope you choke on it. You orange-headed dropkick.

  Les stood up and walked across to the railing. He leant against it, put everything out of his mind and stared out at the ocean and up the coast. This bloody Narooma certainly is a good spot, he thought. You could buy a weekender or a house down here for the right price too. A bit cold in the winter. But summer’d be fantastic. Only a few hours from Sydney and Aunty Grace just up the road. It’s a thought. Les watched another fishing boat coming up the channel then peered down into the backyards of the houses below. One had a small fountain in it; in the form of a cherub, with little wings and bow and arrow, continuously piddling. That reminds me, thought Les. I’ve still got to clean the fountain out in my backyard. My back was too crook before. I’ll do it as soon as soon as I get home. Fuck! The last time I did it, I nearly burnt the bloody house down. And everything else. Shit! Wasn’t that a lot of fun?

  Just like now, the solar pump had stopped working. And through Norton’s negligence, the little pool round the fountain had got full of slime and turned into a breeding ground for mozzies. So Les had gone to a pool shop and bought a five litre container of Ozone Accelerator; enough to clean out an Olympic pool. He tipped a bit in the little pool round the fountain and put the container on the grass just as the phone rang. Les didn’t bother to put the cap back on, and as he went to pick up the phone, knocked the container over without noticing. It was his mother on the phone ringing up from Dirranbandi to see how he was getting on in the big smoke. Les settled down for a cosy chat and before long he and the old girl got a bit of a roll on. Les was wandering around with the remote when he noticed clouds of steam and smoke coming from the backyard. He hung up on his dear, sweet mother and raced out to see what was going on. Half the container had poured into the soil and a crater had formed, billowing out smoke and steam like a small volcano. The acrid fumes and the heat being generated were unbelievable. To make matters worse, the whole, burning, seething mess was heading towards the shed and the pile of wood under which Les had buried all his ill gotten gains.

  Les had grabbed a hose and started pouring water into the crater. But that only seemed to make it worse. So he grabbed a shovel and started digging like a madman. Les almost dug up half the backyard before he finally got it under control. Even then, the crater kept steaming and giving off heat for hours. But it was a close thing. If the heat had got to the shed, full of paint, thinners and other inflammable items, it could have been a disaster. After that, Les just used a little chlorine in the fountain. The Ozone Accelerator that was left, along with the container, got tossed into a dump bin on a building site.

  Les reflected as he gazed down at the cherub piddling away in the backyard below, and glanced at his watch. He took his mug to the kitchen then got his money and credit cards and walked up the road again. On the other side of the traffic lights, past the Wagonga Dive Shop, was a large hardware store and pool shop. It wasn’t quite closing time. But the fair-haired bloke wearing a white shirt and standing behind the counter, looked as if he wished it was. He gave Les a tired smile as Les walked in.

  ‘Yeah mate? How can I help you?’ asked the bloke.

  ‘Have you got ten litres of Ozone Accelerator?’ asked Les.

  ‘Should have. Wait’ll I have a look out the back.’

  Les waited patiently and looked at a couple of drills while the bloke in the white shirt went to a room at the rear of the store. He came back carrying two large, white containers with blue labels and placed them on the counter. It was the same brand Les had used when he almost burnt down Chez Norton.

  ‘There you go mate,’ said the bloke. ‘Last two left. Otherwise you’d’ve had to’ve gone to Ulladulla.’

  ‘Unreal, me old,’ smiled Les. ‘What’s the damage?’

  The bloke looked the price up in the book. Les paid with his credit card then took the two containers back to the house and left them in the bathtub.

  Norton spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up the house and packing his things while he mulled over his game plan. He’d be leaving early in the morning, so unfortunately he wouldn’t be having lunch with Grace and her daughter. He’d call in with her winnings and maybe have a quick cup of coffee. But that would be all. However, there would be another time, Les assured himself. You could back it in. Les also decided against having dinner at the hotel. Olney had promised to cook him a good meal. But after the fight there on Thursday night and one thing and another, Les felt the less time spent in the hotel the better. Pick up his winnings, have a beer and come home. Then await the arrival of Edward, with his spiritual, irritable bowel syndrome. If things got out of hand, he’d drive down the road and sleep in his car. By the time Les had everything packed and cleaned up, it was dark and he was hungry again. There was enough eggs, ham, tomato, cheese and other things to make an omelette. Les cooked a monster over two beers and washed it all down with tea and toast. After cleaning up and packing the rest of the food into cartons, he dumped anything over in the bin then locked the front door and walked up to the phone box to ring Grace. He dropped the coins in the slot and got straight through.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Grace. It’s Les. How are you.’

  ‘Les. What’s happening dude? How’s things?’

  ‘Terrific. You sound like you’re in a good mood. Did Ellie arrive okay?’

  ‘She sure did. Not long after you left.’

  ‘That’s good,’ smiled Les. ‘So what are you doing now?’

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Grace. ‘Sitting in the kitchen reading a magazine. Why?’

  ‘All right,’ said Les. ‘I’ll get straight to the point. Grace. Did you have a flashback today?’

  ‘Ohh shit yeah,’ answered Grace. ‘Lucky Ellie was down the road on her bike, with Morticia.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘What happened? Let’s just say Les, the hills were alive … with the sound of UFOs landing.’

  Les laughed out loud. ‘Grace. You’re not going to believe this,’ he said. ‘But I got taken back in time.’

  ‘You what?’

  Les told Grace what he saw and about digging the hand up in the cave. He didn’t mention the cocaine. But told Grace a big sea must have washed the rocks away under the wall of the cave and he didn’t have to dig far. There was an audible silence at the other end of the line when he finished.

  ‘So, what do you think of that Grace?’ asked Les.

  ‘Les … that is the most fantastic thing I’ve ever heard,’ answered Grace. ‘You’re psychic.’

  ‘I don’t know what I am. But the hand’s sitting in my bedroom wrapped in a T-shirt with the ring on the third finger. And that’s what was inscribed on the ring. I’ll admit, I was touched when I read it.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you be?’ said Grace. ‘That’s beautiful.’

  ‘Yeah, it is,’ agreed Les.

  ‘So what are you going to do with the hand? And the ring?’

  Les thought for a moment. ‘I’ll let you know tomorrow.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Grace.

  ‘And Grace,’ said Les, ‘I got a bit of bad news.’

  ‘Bad news?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll be heading back early tomorrow. I just rang home and something’s come up at the club. So I won’t be able to have lunch with you and Ellie.’

  ‘Oh. That’s a shame,’ said Grace. ‘I was looking forward to it.’

  ‘Yeah. So was I,’ said Les. ‘But you know how it is when you’re a gangster. These things happen.’

  ‘Well, I don’t
know how it is Les, to be honest,’ said Grace. ‘I’m not a gangster. Am I a gangster’s moll?’

  ‘How about a gangster’s friend,’ said Les. ‘I didn’t move into a motel either.’

  ‘Are you still in the house?’

  ‘Yeah,’ laughed Les. ‘It could be a fun night.’

  ‘Shit! Be careful,’ advised Grace.

  ‘I’ll be okay,’ said Les. ‘So what time will you be up tomorrow?’

  ‘Around seven. A bit earlier maybe.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll be out then. And Grace, do me a favour will you.’

  ‘Sure. What is it?’

  ‘Keep what I just told you between the two of us for the time being.’

  ‘All right. No problems. I think that might be best anyway.’

  ‘Good on you, Grace,’ said Les. ‘Okay. I got to go up the pub and get our money. Wish me luck with Edward tonight.’

  ‘I will. And Les. If Edward does turn out to be a raving poof …’