Guns 'n' Rose (23 page)

Jimmy looked at Les for a second, then smiled up at the girl. ‘Bloody good idea. I might have one, too. But I think I'll be having more than one.'

While he waited for the drinks to arrive, Les strolled down to the water's edge and took some more photos. Another seaplane arrived with four people on board, a cruiser pulled up, a couple of boats went past towing some kids on surfboards and in the distance Les was sure he could make out the markings of another police launch. So, Jimmy, he mused, the wallopers have stuffed things up a bit at this end. Bad luck. But I knew he was up to something. Should I ask him? No, I think I'll just act the dumb heavy for the time being. If he wants to tell me, I imagine he will. Not that I really give a stuff to be quite honest. Les looked around the
hills in the distance and the magnificent green bay shimmering in the sunshine. I'm having too much fun playing lifestyles of the rich and useless. He took a photo of the ducks, then strolled back to their table.

The Bloody Marys arrived, complete with a big, crunchy stick of celery, and there weren't enough Ps in perfect to describe them. Les took a healthy sip and his eyes watered, his throat burned and his taste buds started doing a Maori Haka on his tongue. Les was hungry when he got on the plane. Another sip of his Bloody Mary and he was ready to grab a wooden stool and start bashing away at the nearest rock with any oysters growing on it. There was no need. The girl arrived with the day's menu and said not to worry about ordering any entrees, she'd bring the lot over on a plate. Just order the mains. Les went for the Rack of Lamb with celeriac puree and sweet potato chips. Jimmy opted for the Quail Stuffed with Grapes, served on a bed of couscous with a citrus sauce. Minutes later the entrees arrived. A platter of king prawns caught the day before and a plate of oysters picked and washed that morning. Marinated calamari, croute emmantaloise, salad of smoked chicken fillet and roasted red pepper in a seeded mustard mayonnaise, smoked salmon fettuccine with creamy vermouth and dill sauce and Thai fish cakes. Norton thought he was going to die from overenjoyment.

While they were ripping into the entrees, the pianist walked over to the pergola, followed by the Doberman, and started plunking out ‘How Much is That Doggie in the Window' and the stupid bloody dog started singing along with him. He did another song and the dog
joined in again, even dropping its howl a key. It was a complete hoot.

‘Thank you very much, ladies and gentleman,' said the pianist. ‘Could we have a round of applause for the dog.'

Everybody clapped wildly, then the pianist slipped into all the songs he did at the resort only without the dirty ditties. Before long the mains arrived along with a bowl of perfectly cooked vegetables. They were absolutely delicious. Les washed his down with mineral water and for some reason Jimmy stayed on Bloody Marys though he didn't appear to be getting drunk. The pianist played more songs, the dog did another bracket, then a blonde-haired woman who was the owner's wife got up and belted out a few tunes in a good, strong voice and wowed them. After that, everybody got into the singing and dancing, boozing away and having a wonderful time. It was more like a big, old party among friends than an afternoon in a restaurant. Les and Jimmy got to meet some nice people and danced with a couple of blokes' wives. One couple even invited them onto their cruiser for a look and it was more like a luxury, floating home unit than a boat. After that it was back for sweets and coffee; Mississippi mud cake with tamarillo coulis and cream, and sticky date pudding with butterscotch sauce.

As an afternoon it was as good or better than any Norton had spent anywhere in the world. The only thing missing was a nice girl, because with the sun going down over the still, green waters of the bay, it wasn't only beautiful, it was truly romantic.

Les looked at George's nephew over his coffee. ‘I'll
tell you what, Jimmy,' he said sincerely, ‘this place is sensational. I only wish you were a sheila.'

Jimmy gave Norton a quick once-up-and-down. ‘Christ, I'm glad you're not.'

Sadly, before Les knew it, it was time to go. The plane taxied in to collect them. Les settled the bill and then the owner, the pianist, the staff and just about everybody else in the place saw them off. It was like saying goodbye to old friends. Before they climbed on board, Les stopped.

‘Jimmy,' he said, ‘I'm stone, cold sober, but that's one of the best days I've ever had. Thanks, mate.'

Jimmy flashed his infectious smile. ‘Like I keep telling you, Les—any time at all, mate. Any time at all.'

They were the only ones on the plane this time and the pilots had obviously been flat out all day, so they didn't go on with a great deal of banter this time. But the flight back into the setting sun was a breeze and the view as they left the Hawkesbury and flew into Brisbane Water was truly magnificent. Les popped off another couple of photos, the co-pilot took his camera and popped one of Jimmy and Les sitting in the back, and by the time Les finished the roll they were swishing gracefully onto Brisbane Water. As they taxied back to the jetty the sun was just saying adios for the day. Jimmy must have settled with the pilots earlier as they thanked them for a safe journey, said goodbye, then walked back to the car.

‘There's no need to go back to Terrigal,' said Jimmy, as he did up his seat belt. ‘Just go straight back along The Entrance Road and I'll tell you when to turn off.'

‘I'll have to stop for some petrol first.'

‘Good. While you're doing that, I'll get a torch and a road map.'

Les pulled up at a garage on the other side of the punt bridge, filled the tank and got a packet of Jaffas, while Jimmy got what he needed. Then they got back in the car. Les had only brought one tape with him when they left earlier and, with ‘Tube Snake Boogie' by ZZ Top bopping lightly through the car stereo, he set off into the night not having the foggiest idea where Jimmy was taking him.

They drove past Erina and Wamberal then Jimmy told Les to turn left at some roundabout. As they did, Les got a quick glimpse of a sign saying Tumbi Road. It was a long skinny road that curved a bit here and there. Les couldn't make out much in the darkness except trees and houses and other cars going past. They got onto some other road and Les glimpsed a sign saying Berkeley Vale, another one saying Tuggerah, and signs pointing to Newcastle. Then it was all monster roundabouts, more roundabouts, a huge shopping centre, Westfield or something, more roundabouts, more signs pointing to Newcastle, then another one next to another monster roundabout.

‘Christ! What the fuck do you call this joint?' said Les, slowing down again as he watched a small truck in the rear-view mirror with its lights on high beam almost run up his arse. ‘Land of a thousand fuckin' roundabouts.'

‘Not that much further,' replied Jimmy, ‘and we should come to the freeway.'

‘Terrific,' said Les, as the truck went around him.

They went on further through more roundabouts and
signs pointing to Newcastle when Les saw the traffic slowing down ahead.

‘Ohh no. I don't believe it,' he said happily. ‘A set of lights for a change. You fuckin' beaut.' Les stopped for the red light and pointed out the window. ‘Hey, look over there, Jimmy. A McDonald's. You want to stop for some fries or a chocolate sundae? What about a McFeast?'

‘Just keep in this lane, Les,' said Jimmy. ‘You got to turn right onto the freeway up ahead.'

‘Whoopee. I can't wait.'

When the lights turned green, Les drove on, then took a hairpin kind of turn right and came down onto a long, straight freeway. He kept in the inside lane and stayed right on the speed limit while Jimmy switched his torch on and began shining it over the map. Les still didn't let his curiosity get the better of him. Whatever happened would happen and he had a feeling whatever Jimmy was up to it was only something petty. Though someone had mentioned Newcastle to Les recently, but he couldn't think for the moment where or when. All Les did notice was that they crossed the Wyong River and another sign loomed up on the left saying Morisset.

‘Left here,' said Jimmy.

Les drove off the freeway, then pulled up at a set of lights a bit further on. ‘Morisset. Isn't that where the rathouse is?'

Jimmy nodded. ‘Yeah.'

‘You got any relations in there?' Les asked, half jokingly.

Jimmy shook his head and half jokingly replied, ‘Not in there.'

When they got into Morisset, Les noticed a sign saying Welcome to Lake Macquarie—Australia's Largest Coastal Lake. Then after that it was a complete balls up. Jimmy twisted and turned the map around under the torch and looked at it like it was a Chinese newspaper. Left here. No right here. No, go back there. Left there. Wait on, go right. Les glimpsed a sign saying Sandy Creek, then they got onto some long, straight road and Jimmy said this was it. Les put his foot down, then about four kilometres further on hit the brakes in front of a prime-mover parked across the road with a sign on it saying
STOP, ROAD UP FOR REPAIRS
. Jimmy cursed, and stared at the map, then it was back the way they came and go right. Or left. They crossed Dora Creek and went through Dora Creek Station, Les kept going as instructed and they finished up at Eraring Power Station. After more cursing and running the light over the map, it was back to Dora Creek Station where they drove round in circles while Jimmy tried to figure out how to get to the other side of the railway lines. As a navigator Jimmy made a good steamroller driver and Les could have come up with some great lines to throw at him and choice amounts of shit to put on him. But it was just as much fun listening to the stereo, eating Jaffas and watching Jimmy flounder around trying to read the map. Finally Jimmy found a way out of the puzzle, they got onto some other straight road and it was now a definite straight ahead. This is it. Les drove on past an old, empty shop and some houses and another sign, this one saying
STOP, BRIDGE UP
. Then another sign
STOP, BRIDGE UP
. Then another. On just about every corner they came to was a black-on-yellow
sign—
STOP, BRIDGE UP
. After about the sixth sign Les pointed out the window.

‘Jimmy, is it me? Am I seeing things? Or have we just entered the twilight zone?'

‘Fuck the signs,' said Jimmy, sweating over the map. ‘Keep going. It's just up ahead.'

‘Righto.'

They went about another kilometre past one more sign saying
STOP, BRIDGE UP
. And sure enough. The bridge was up. Les hit the brakes again in front of a huge mound of dirt, stacks of old timber and more prime-movers. There was nothing around but bush, darkness and floating dust caught in the beams from the headlights.

‘Well,' said Les, slipping the T-bar into neutral, ‘it's not as if there weren't any signs telling us. Would you agree, Jimmy?'

‘Fuck! Shit!' Jimmy looked at the map and jerked a thumb behind him. ‘Back that way.'

‘Back that way, massah. Yes, massah. Ah's doin' mah best, massah.' Les hooked his finger into the wheel and spun the Berlina round. ‘Please don't whip these tired old bones no mo', massah. Ah begs yo', massah.'

‘For Christ's sake, just drive the car, will you, Les,' said Jimmy, shining the torch on his watch.

‘Yes, suh, massah. That's what ah's tryin' to do, massah. Ah swear, massah.'

A sign appeared saying Avondale and somehow Jimmy finally got his shit together; yet Les was sorry in a way. Even though he'd been wasting his time, driving round and round in circles out in the middle of nowhere in the dark, he was getting a funny kick out of
watching Jimmy squirm for a change. Jimmy told him to go left and Les came to a V-shaped brick wall with a gate in the middle and a sign saying Avondale Seventh Day Adventists College. Jimmy told him to go left at the gate and another sign saying Cooranbong Aerodrome. Les followed a wide, dusty driveway with a clump of trees in the middle. In the dark he could make out a house on the left, a row of trees further to the right with the college on the other side and in the middle a low, white wooden railing. Behind the railing about half-a-dozen or so light planes were parked in a paddock. Jimmy said to go a bit further to where one railing was missing, open the boot and leave the parking lights on. Les did as he was told and as he flipped the boot catch from inside the glove box Jimmy got out so Les thought he might do the same and stretch his legs. It was quite dark with no one around and at the back of the car Les could make Jimmy out in the tail lights squinting at his watch. Behind him the mainly white planes took on a ghostly sheen in the moonlight.

Les was about to do his jacket up and ask Jimmy just what it was they were waiting for when a low rumbling came from behind the planes. The rumbling got closer, then turned into a muffled, revving roar and two motorbikes with blue tape over the headlights came out of the aerodrome and stopped behind the car. One was a Harley-Davidson, the other an old Indian with a side-car. The Harley stayed back a bit and Les managed to make out a tall man with a Pancho Villa moustache in all black leather with a snug black helmet. Sitting behind the handlebars on the Indian was a barrel-chested man with a blue bandana round his
head, wearing a white T-shirt, jeans, biker boots and a thick, black leather vest. Sitting in the side-car wearing the same tracksuit was Louise, the girl Les met at the flat where Jimmy picked up his bag. Resting on her lap was a wooden crate that came to just under her chin. The driver got off, walked round and took the crate by two rope handles at the end, then came over. It was a metre long by about half a metre wide and about the same depth. As the bloke got closer, Les could see he had a couple of teeth missing on the bottom and his Tshirt read Mighty Thunderbirds across the front.

‘Christ, Jimmy. Where the fuck have you been?' he said in a deep, rasping kind of voice.

‘The bridge was up,' said Jimmy.