Guns 'n' Rose (9 page)

‘Is that what they told you?'

‘That's it, mate. Do I need to know any more?'

Jimmy shook his head. ‘No. That'll do for the time being. I'll fill you in on a few other things as we go along.'

‘Fair enough. And did they say anything to you about me?'

‘Enough.'

‘Well, there you go, Jimmy. I guess enough is enough.'

‘Yes, Les. I guess you're right.'

They crossed the old Punt Bridge and approached the Avoca turn-off.

‘Hey, turn right here, will you, Les.'

‘Okey doke,' replied Norton. The lights were green, so Les hit the blinkers and turned right at a garage and a boatyard into Avoca Drive.

The road curved its way through gently rolling hills thick with trees and past houses dotted along the side of the road mostly hidden from view by more trees. Norton got a glimpse of Brisbane Water on his right, then they went through Green Point shopping centre. A bit further on the traffic slowed up for some roadworks, so Les tried for a bit of light conversation with Jimmy. But George's nephew seemed preoccupied with something else. All he would mention was his family came from around Empire Bay and he went to school at Terrigal. Didn't Les see them all waiting for him outside the gaol along with all his mates? Les left Jimmy's sarcastic remarks hanging in the air and, apart from the stereo playing softly through the speakers, they drove on in silence. The road continued on through more heavily timbered hills and valleys; the air was fresh, the sun was out and Norton was enjoying the drive. They went past the Davistown/Saratoga turn-off when Jimmy pointed ahead.

‘Pull up over here, will you, Les.'

Norton stopped the car outside a flower stall built onto an old sandstone house. Buckets of flowers and pots of seedlings and indoor plants were stacked under a wooden, lattice-work front next to a sign saying
KINCUMBER FLOWER HUT. SHOW YOUR LOVE WITH FLOWERS
.

‘I won't be a sec.' Jimmy jumped out of the car, then got back in a minute or two later with a bunch of flowers.

‘Carnations,' said Norton, taking a couple of sniffs. ‘They sure smell nice.'

‘Like I said, Les,' replied Jimmy, doing up his seat belt, ‘there's a lot of things you don't know about me. This is one of them.'

‘Fair enough. So where to now?'

‘Keep going straight ahead. I'll tell you when to turn.'

‘You're the boss.'

Les slipped the Berlina into drive and they were off again. Before long there were more houses, then Les got another glimpse of water and Kincumber shopping centre was on the left and opposite was a McDonald's and a KFC. Behind them Les thought he glimpsed a hotel just back from the water. They went through another roundabout near a retirement village and Jimmy pointed again.

‘Chuck a donut at the next roundabout and come back this way.'

‘One donut coming up.'

Left of the roundabout the road continued on to Avoca and Terrigal; right was Empire Bay Drive. Just back from the corner Les circled right past a tiny church with a graveyard surrounded by a low, white picket fence and small trees. He drove back a short distance when Jimmy pointed again.

‘Pull in here.' Les eased the Berlina off the road and cut the motor. ‘You can wait here if you want,' said Jimmy, undoing his seat belt. But the way he spoke, it sounded more like an invitation to join him.

‘No, I might stretch my legs.' Les undid his seat belt and got out too.

Beneath a gnarled old tree, an iron gate with a chain and hook was set into the picket fence. Jimmy opened it and Les closed it behind them. Up close the little, vine-covered sandstone church looked even smaller. Two trees almost side by side sheltered it on the right and on the other side a church bell was set in the fork of a grey, sunbleached log. The grounds and graves were all well kept and a gentle zephyr rippling the trees in the midday sun gave the tiny church and its surrounds a distinct, natural beauty tinged with peace and serenity.

Les followed Jimmy through the tombstones to where the churchyard sloped down to a corner on the right, next to the road and a house next door. He stopped in front of a granite slab set into the grass beneath an overhanging tree with branches that low they almost touched the ground. The granite tombstone was hewn roughly at the top but highly polished with neat, gold lettering across the front. Les edged forward as Jimmy bent down and placed the carnations in front of it. The gold lettering said ‘Rosemarie Rosewater', when she was born and when she died and beneath that:

 

Farewell dear mother, thy days are past
.

You did your best while life did last
.

God called you home, it was his will
.

But in my heart you're living still
.

God shall wipe away all tears
.

ISAIAH XXV

‘Your mother, Jimmy?' Les asked softly. Jimmy nodded. ‘She was only young, mate. What happened? If—'

‘She had a heart attack.'

Les nodded. He got the picture, or as much of the picture as he needed for the time being. ‘I'll see you back at the car, Jimmy.'

‘Yeah, I won't be long.'

‘You take all the time you want, mate.' Les turned away quietly and left Jimmy Rosewater alone with his thoughts.

Instead of waiting in the car, Les leaned against the passenger-side door and gazed back at the little church and its surrounding graveyard. He'd barely met Jimmy. But in the brief time since he had, Les tried to form a rough opinion of George Brennan's nephew. He was heartbreakingly goodlooking, but there was no mention of a girlfriend. Whether the cops had loaded him up or not, Jimmy was still a bit shifty. That's why he was in the nick? His face was too clean to be a fighter and he didn't have the attitude of a young thug. But he stood up to Les earlier, so he had spirit and definitely wasn't weak. He didn't have or seem to want many friends, so he was a bit of a loner. Nor did he have any time for his relatives. But he was obviously very close to his mother. It didn't say anything on the tombstone about her being the beloved wife of whoever, so Les guessed Jimmy was probably illegitimate; he mightn't even know his father. And going by the dates on the grave, and if Jimmy was around twenty, Rosemarie was about fifteen or sixteen when Jimmy was born and only somewhere in her early thirties when she died. It was rather sad and Les was a little sorry he'd revved him up like he did earlier, considering the poor bludger had just walked out of the nick and still probably didn't know where he was.

Still, he managed to bounce back pretty smartly. One thing was for certain about Jimmy, though—with those looks he'd be unbelievable burley to take out chasing women. They'd be hurling themselves at him like javelins. No, Jimmy was all right. But summing up what Les knew about him so far. Jimmy's favourite saying would probably be one of Norton's. Know everyone. Trust nobody. And paddle your own canoe.

Les watched him as he came through the gate and closed it behind him.

‘So how are feeling now, Jimmy? All right?'

Jimmy nodded. ‘Yeah, I feel good.' He gave Les a wrinkled sort of smile. ‘In fact, Les, I couldn't feel better.'

‘Good on you, mate.' Les stepped back and opened the door for him. ‘So where to now?'

‘Terrigal.'

‘Terrigal it is.' Les closed the door after Jimmy, then walked round and got behind the wheel.

Les didn't bother driving back down to the roundabout. There were no cars around so he tromped the Berlina and scorched straight across the double white lines. The sign said Terrigal/Avoca and they were following more winding road set amongst more hills thick with trees and John Anderson was crooning ‘Hillbilly with a Heartache' through the car stereo when Jimmy finally spoke.

‘I have to pick up a bag at a friend's place. It's not far from Uncle Price's.'

‘You know Price's joint?'

‘Yeah, I've stayed there with George a few times.'

‘Ohh, right,' nodded Les absently.

‘When we get there, come inside and I'll show you something.'

‘Yeah?'

Jimmy nodded. ‘Remember in the papers about a year ago? A bloke called Baxter went off his head with a shotgun and shot four people in a house. Three young girls and a bloke. Then he drove off and shot two other people?'

Norton nodded slowly. There'd been that many shootings and killings in the last twelve months, not counting the ones he'd been involved in, he'd lost track. ‘Yeah, I think so.'

‘Well, this is the place.' Jimmy's face went grim. ‘I knew one of the girls, too. I used to buy chocolates where she worked. She was eighteen and pregnant. Just about to get married.'

‘And he shot her with a shotgun? Sounds like a nice bloke.'

‘Yeah, real nice,' said Jimmy. ‘The cunt.'

They went past the Avoca Beach turn-off. The road curved up, then straightened out with the ocean on the right and farms on the left. Dams shone in the gullies, the hills were thick with trees and Les could hardly believe he was only an hour or so from Sydney. It was like being right up the North Coast. They came onto the road that took them past Price's street. Jimmy told Les to go left and he drove down the same way he walked the night before when Jimmy said to stop near the steep hill Les had dragged Carol up. Norton pulled up in the driveway of a two-storey, yellow brick house with trees out the front, a double garage below and stairs on the left that angled up to a patio and a
residence above. Les got out of the car and followed Jimmy up the stairs. The brown door was open and inside a young girl with dark hair wearing a black tracksuit was smoking a cigarette and watching TV. Jimmy knocked a couple of times, she looked up, smiled and walked over.

‘Jimmy. How are you? We got your message.'

Jimmy nodded. ‘Yeah, I got five days off for being a good bloke.'

The girl laughed. ‘Yeah, that'd be right. Come in.'

‘Louise, this is a friend of mine—Les.'

‘Hello, Les.'

‘Hello, Louise. Nice to meet you.'

The upstairs unit was spotlessly clean with light brown carpet, comfy furniture and white walls. An open archway off the lounge led to the kitchen and on the left when you walked in was a wooden cabinet with the TV and stereo. Laminated prints of Harley-Davidsons and American Indians hung on the walls and next to the kitchen was a full-length, laminated print from
Reservoir Dogs
. A two-litre swing bottle of Jim Beam sat on the TV cabinet with more motorbike and American Indian bric-a-brac. The laundry was in a corridor left of the kitchen, then the bathroom and bedrooms.

‘So, where's the boys?' asked Jimmy.

The girl gestured with the cigarette. ‘On the toe. The fuckin' Tarheels have got a shoot-to-kill order on them. So they pissed off till they sort it out.'

‘Christ! What the fuck happened?'

‘Ohh, it's just a big fuck-up. Two Tarheels got their legs broken and it wasn't even Wade and Peirce. They were in Sydney.'

Jimmy's face darkened and he shook his head. ‘Jesus, they're a bunch of pricks.'

‘Don't we all know it.'

‘So, where are they?' Louise gave Jimmy a blank look. Jimmy nodded. ‘Yeah, righto. So is my bag here?'

‘Yeah. It's in the garage. I'll just find the key.'

As Louise went to the bedroom, Jimmy turned to Norton. ‘Have a look at this, Les.' He took Les into the kitchen and pulled back the window curtain. Across the bottom of the glass was a crooked row of small fracture holes.

‘Shotgun pellets?' said Les.

Jimmy nodded. ‘Come here.' He led Norton to the corridor and pointed up to the ceiling. There were more holes. ‘See this.' Jimmy pointed to one of the bedroom doors. There was a long scrape mark near the keyhole and the doorknob was all uneven as if it had been hit with a hammer. ‘One of the girls tried to lock herself in here and that's where he bashed the door open with the butt of the gun.'

Norton ran his hand over the doorknob. ‘Lovely.'

‘Now have a look at this.' Next to the front door, faint marks were still visible running down the wall. ‘He got one here. And—'

Louise returned, holding some keys. ‘We'll go down through the laundry, Jimmy.'

‘All right. Have a look around, Les. I'll be back in a minute.'

‘Yeah, righto.'

While Jimmy and Louise were gone, Norton perused the unit. The marks were against nearly all the
walls with four in one room where the gunman must have shot two people twice. Although the marks had been scrubbed and painted over, the force of the blast must have sent blood deep into the concrete because, despite several coats, it still kept seeping through. Beneath the white it looked as if someone had splattered about a dozen tomatoes against the walls and it had all run down to the carpet. It was macabre and Norton tried to picture what it must have been like in there when the killer burst in and opened up with the shotgun. Three terrified girls and one bloke all trying to hide. Almost unimaginable. Les was shaking his head and looking at some more pellet holes he'd found in the ceiling when Jimmy struggled into the loungeroom with a blue, canvas carry-all almost as big as himself.

‘Christ, what have you got in there, Jimmy?' asked Les. ‘A baby elephant?'

‘Just a few odds and ends,' he puffed, dropping it on the floor. He turned to Louise. ‘Well, I'll give you a ring or whatever. But I definitely have to see Peirce. So—'

‘Don't worry, Jimmy. That'll all be sweet. But ring me when you get to the house and give me the number.'

‘Okay, Lou. I'll see you then.'

Jimmy went to pick up his bag and Les took it. ‘Here, let me. You'll end up with a hernia.'

‘Oh, thanks, Les.'

‘I'll see you again, Louise.'

‘Yeah, you too, Les.'

The bag was certainly heavy. But Les managed to
get it down the stairs and onto the back seat of the car a lot easier than Jimmy would have.