Guns 'n' Rose (29 page)

‘Hey, I think that's Ian,' he said.

With his drink in one hand and his bag over his shoulder, Jimmy started towards the front of the hotel. Curious as to what Jimmy's contact—the mysterious Ian—looked like, Les thought he might tag along and have a look. When he got there Jimmy was standing in the driveway looking around him and obviously whoever he was looking for was nowhere to be seen. The only people around were a few in the bigger carpark on the left and some people standing around an old motorbike parked next to the driveway at the very end of the smaller carpark on their right.

‘That's funny,' said Jimmy, ‘I'm sure that was him. I wonder where he got to?'

‘Maybe he's disappeared into the X-Files,' said Les. ‘Maybe he went mad and the police shot him.'

‘What?'

Les half laughed at his own joke and looked at his watch. Jimmy's contact didn't look like showing up, the band had finished and Les felt like leaving because that last beer was nice and cold and he was starting to get the taste. ‘Anyway,' he said, ‘it's all over here. Why don't we finish these and piss off.'

Jimmy looked at Les as if he was about to say
something. Before he got a chance to open his mouth a thundering, throbbing roar seemed to come from out of nowhere. It got louder, then suddenly howled round the corner from the direction of McDonald's. It was about twenty or so Harley-Davidsons followed by a Ford towing a box-trailer. As they went past and slowed down, Les got a glimpse of the colours on one bikie's back. A redback spider and Red Backs Motorcycle Club. It was one of the gangs Jimmy had been talking about. They were all wearing various bikie paraphernalia; wraparound sunglasses, metalstudded wristbands, bandanas, heavy boots with chains around them. Some had beards; others had their hair in plaits; one or two wore helmets. The noise as they revved their Harleys and parked them, back wheels to the bush, opposite the hotel was deafening; leaves and branches fell from the trees, dust flew in the air, any birds or other animals around went for their lives. The last time Les had seen anything like this was in Hawaii. But this didn't look like some charity, fluffy-doll ride. They switched off their engines and the road captain ran round, got the sergeant-at-arms and they started to unlock the boxtrailer. Les looked at Jimmy, who had this strange smile on his face as if he was enjoying the show. The other few people standing by looked apprehensive. Les was about to ask Jimmy if he knew what was going on when more angry, rolling thunder hung in the air for a second, got closer, then another bikie gang roared around the opposite corner, saw the other gang and gunned their Harleys straight into the bigger carpark. They were all dressed much the same as the
others and again the noise was like all hell let loose. Bottles fell from the shelves in the bottle shop, the walls shook and car alarms started going off all over the carpark. As the second gang of bikies revved their huge machines to a halt Les noticed something on the side of the trailer. A skull with eyes and an axe in it and Mongeroloids M.C. Like the others, they switched off their motors and started milling around the trailer.

Les smelled trouble now. He was about to tell Jimmy it was time to make tracks and if Jimmy wanted to hang around he was on his own when several shots rang out from across the road and a volley of shotgun pellets blasted the windows and tail lights from some of the cars parked near the bottle shop. There were loud curses and screams of pain as several Mongeroloids went down, then more shots. The people standing round the old motorbike stopped what they were doing and ran for their lives into the hotel courtyard, along with anybody else who happened to be there. Being almost in the middle of the crossfire, Les thought it might be a good idea, too. He tossed his bottle of beer away and was about to leg it when Jimmy grabbed him from behind and somehow managed to trip him backwards down between the old motorbike and the car parked next to it.

‘What the fuck are you doing?' cursed Les, rolling over onto his stomach, his eyes about two inches away from Jimmy's.

‘What are you talking about?' said Jimmy, the silly smile still on his face. ‘I just saved your life.'

‘Saved my life, be fucked,' howled Les, as another volley of shotgun blasts rang out; one shattering the
windscreen on the car they were lying next to. ‘Now we're fuckin' stuck here.'

‘Shut up, you whingeing big sheila and watch this. You won't see anything like this again for a while.'

‘Jesus, I don't fuckin' believe it,' howled Les again.

Having a small element of surprise by firing first, the Red Backs began advancing across the street. Some were firing sawn-off shotguns and pistols, others were armed with baseball bats, chains, iron bars, machettes; anything that could smash bones, bust heads or mutilate somebody in general. The Mongeroloids were all armed now, taking cover behind the cars or the walls in front of the bottle shop and firing into the Red Backs. Several Red Backs went down, their faces and chests blown apart from shotgun pellets. A couple of Mongeroloids fell amongst the parked cars, oozing blood, as more shotgun pellets shattered windscreens and tail lights, raked door panels, ricocheted and tore posters off the wall in front of the bottle shop. Next thing it was like one murderous mosh pit of howling, screaming men as they converged on each other, shooting, cursing, hacking, stabbing and bashing in a wild free-for-all.

Les looked up and couldn't believe it; they seemed to be all around him, either in groups or on their own. Men were going down with their heads bashed in, throats cut, their faces shot off, limbs broken or blown away. Norton watched as one bikie came up behind another, swung a blood-stained baseball bat across the side of his face, smashing his jaw and shattering his teeth. He hit the ground just as another bikie brought a machette down across his assailant's head, splitting it
open like a rockmelon. He went down next to the other one and two other bikies started bashing them on the ground till one got shot in the ribs and the other got a chain wrapped round his face. The screams and curses and the sounds of gunshots and the steady whack and thump of baseball bats smashing heads and breaking bones was horrendous.

Jimmy nudged Norton in the ribs. ‘Unreal or what, Les?' he said, the stupid smile still on his face.

‘Unreal?' yelled Les. ‘You fuckin' idiot. I just hope we get out of this alive.'

If Les hadn't have been trying to climb underneath the carpark and pull the tar surface over the top of him, he would have belted Jimmy one right there on the spot. In the meantime, all he could do was watch the frenzy going on around him, hope a stray bullet or shotgun blast didn't hit him or a bunch of nutters with knives and baseball bats didn't come across him, and try to stay alive. Just as Les was praying things wouldn't get any worse, another wall of rumbling, reverberating thunder approached, somehow sounding louder and more sinister than before. Les looked up as another bikie gang came storming up the short street from across the other side of the main road. They didn't bother about the other traffic or anything else, but roared straight over the roundabout and back onto the road, a huge shower of sparks flying in their wake coming from the soles of their boots. From where Norton was it looked like twenty or more fiery chariots from hell. Les didn't have to be told it was the Tarheels. They didn't have a trailer; just axes hanging from chains round their necks and shotguns in scabbards across the
handlebars of their Harleys. In what looked like one rehearsed movement, they parked their motorbikes, switched off the engines and, like a mob of wild animals, charged straight into the Mongeroloids and the Red Backs, shooting and hacking.

If it was bad before, now, with the arrival of a third gang even more vicious than the others if that was possible, it was pure, insane bloody carnage and made the Milperra bikie massacre look like a Buddhist picnic.

Les turned round to find Jimmy smiling at him. ‘Right on time,' said Jimmy, ‘and so nice to see them, too.'

Les stared back at Jimmy, both in disbelief and horror. ‘You knew this was going to be on, didn't you? That's why you came over.'

‘I had half an idea,' shrugged Jimmy. ‘But I still had to bring Ian his whip.'

More shots rang out and more bikies went down screaming and covered in blood as the battle intensified around them. Ignoring Les, Jimmy calmly got up on his knees, unzipped his overnight bag and took out a small, bundled-up black towel. Carefully he placed it on the ground and opened it to reveal a chunky pistol with a squared-over barrel and a fat-looking handle and three clips of bullets. Les had seen one at Eddie's. It was a Glock 9 mm.

Norton's eyes widened like soup bowls. ‘Jimmy, what the fuck…?'

Jimmy slapped a clip of bullets into the Glock, working a round into the chamber, placed the other two clips in the front pocket of his jacket, then stood up and smiled at Norton. ‘They had some fun with my mother,
Les. Now it's my turn to have some fun with them.'

Norton shook his head. ‘Jimmy, you're …'

Les watched dumbfounded at first, then absolutely amazed, as Jimmy stepped across to the grass behind the old motorbike, got into a combat stance and took out four Tarheels with five shots. Two got it square in the chest, the other two got it in the head. The fifth shot tore through the throat of a Red Back who didn't get out of the way quickly enough. Like Jimmy said on the beach, he couldn't fight, but give him a weapon of some sort and he was pretty sweet. He certainly knew how to use a gun. Jimmy crouched a little lower and took out another two Tarheels with two bullets to the chest. A Tarheel raised a sawn-off shotgun at Jimmy, fired and missed. Jimmy shot him in the face from about four metres away, then shot a Mongeroloid standing behind him through the heart.

Suddenly, instead of anger, Les felt a sense of jubilation for Jimmy and, temporarily unaware of the danger around him, sat up. Yeah, go, Jimmy, go, he thought. Have a get-square with these cunts. And he began mentally cheering Jimmy on. Maybe Jimmy tuned into Norton's thoughts or maybe he was trying to show off a little, but he turned round and flashed Norton one of his magical smiles. Les smiled back, nodded, winked and gave Jimmy a thumbs-up. Jimmy turned back to the battle, emptied the last of the clip into a Tarheel, almost blowing his chest apart, jammed another clip into the Glock then shot another Tarheel through the eye and a Red Back holding a chain with two bullets in the stomach. Whether he was speeding, brave or plain impervious to the melee around him,
Jimmy was dropping baddies like Clint Eastwood in
The Outlaw Josey Wales
and, at the rate he was going, looked like taking out every Tarheel left standing. Les watched him empty another clip into them and their Harleys. Then, as Jimmy reloaded, Les saw a movement near the front of the bottle shop. A Mongeroloid with blood streaming down his face and dripping from his beard raised a shotgun and aimed it at Jimmy.

Despite the danger, Les leapt to his feet. ‘Jimmy, behind you,' he yelled out.

Jimmy didn't hear Les. He had his arms out in front of him holding the Glock and the blast took him under his left armpit. He shuddered with pain and shock, raised his arms over his head, still holding the gun, as the Mongeroloid reloaded and fired again. The next one half missed, but a few pellets hit Jimmy in the side of the face, sending his sunglasses flying. He spun slightly to his right and Les saw another movement in front of him as a Red Back raised his shotgun and shot Jimmy in his young, handsome face, blowing most of it away. Jimmy slowly sank to his backside, the Glock fell on the ground and the Red Back reloaded and shot him once more in the chest. What was left of Jimmy Rosewater's lifeless body slumped to the driveway, oozing blood everywhere, literally shot to pieces.

‘Jimmy. No! Ohh, fuckin' no!' Les stared down at Jimmy and punched one hand into another with grief and frustration. Whatever Jimmy was, he didn't deserve that.

Even though Jimmy had thinned the ranks of fighters, the battle was still raging around Les. He looked away from Jimmy and saw the two bikies who had just
shot Jimmy aim their guns at him. Les hit the deck as they both fired at once. One blast hit the wall of the hotel, the other blew the back windows out of the car next to him. Les looked up and saw the two bikies advancing towards where he was lying, waiting to get a good shot at him. For some reason they'd got a fixation on killing him instead of each other; for the time being anyway. Les felt his mouth go dry and it was like the last seconds of his life were ticking away and there wasn't much he could do. If he stayed there he'd get shot, if he stood up he'd get shot, if he got up and made a run for it he'd still get shot. He looked across at Jimmy's body, crumpled and bleeding on the driveway, and thought, it won't be long before I'll be joining you in the Dreamtime.

Then Les noticed Jimmy's bag still open where he'd left it. In one movement he grabbed the handle of the stockwhip and flipped the bag up in the air. The Red Back saw it, fired and missed. The Mongeroloid pulled the trigger on his shotgun and blew Jimmy's bag to pieces. This gave Norton just enough time to jump up, whirl the whip round his head and crack it across the Mongeroloid's already bleeding face, slicing his lips open through his beard, making him drop the gun and yelp with pain. Les spun the whip round again and in a backhand movement lashed the Red Back across the eyes. He screamed, clutched at his face and dropped his shotgun also.

The stockwhip was beautifully crafted and balanced and just about anyone could make it work. But in Norton's powerful hands it was a cruel and deadly weapon. He turned back to the Mongeroloid, still
clutching at his face, and lashed him across the neck. He went down on his knees and Les lashed him again and again, ripping his jacket and his colours to pieces. He rolled up in a ball and Les lashed him in the groin from behind; even above the noise going on around them the Mongeroloid's scream hung in the air as Les almost castrated him. Then Norton turned to the Red Back and started to mercilessly flog him, ripping bloodied strips of flesh from his hands and scalp and tearing off one of his ears. The Red Back screamed with pain and tried to roll up in a ball also as Les kept lashing him. After what they did to Jimmy, Les could quite happily have flogged both bikies to death. Then it all left him. Norton's rage and adrenalin settled down and reason mixed with self-preservation took over. Shit, he thought, his chest still heaving, this is madness. I've got to get out of here.
Now
. But bloody how?