Fat, Fifty & F<li><li><li>ed!

by Geoffrey McGeachin

  Arthur Leonard Barton shrugged. ‘He needs my newspapers and TV stations and he knows it. Wake him up.’

  *

  The beds had been remade with fresh linen in both rooms. A bottle of chilled Piper-Heidsieck champagne rested in an ice bucket in Faith’s room, near the connecting door. Faith took off her jacket and wandered into the bathroom, returning with a glass of water. She sat on the bed next to Martin.

  ‘Well, that certainly was an evening to remember,’ she said.

  Martin put his head in his hands. ‘I didn’t drink all that much but my head is spinning.’

  She kissed him gently. ‘Three ninety-five, eh?’ she said. ‘Manners and etiquette. Nothing turns a librarian on more than a man who knows his way around the Dewey decimal system.’

  ‘I used to work in the library in high school to get out of sport,’ he explained.

  ‘Hidden depths, eh?’ she said, laughing. ‘And I think you’re right about getting an early start, Martin. We should probably go to bed.’

  He looked at her.

  ‘Separately,’ she said. ‘There’s a very bad vibe here. I keep getting the feeling we’re being watched.’

  ‘I know what you mean, this place is pretty weird,’ Martin said. ‘But at least you scored a free dress out of it.’

  ‘I don’t want it,’ Faith said, and she shivered. ‘What a thoroughly ugsome man.’

  Martin kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘Cheer up,’ he said, ‘I’ve still got close to a million dollars, you know. Next Kmart we come to you can knock yourself out.’

  ‘I might hold you to that,’ she laughed, and gave him a long, lingering kiss. ‘Goodnight, Martin.’

  He walked reluctantly to the connecting door.

  ‘Martin,’ she called, ‘I’ve decided to keep the underwear. It’s La Perla.’

  He turned. She was wearing a black bustier, stockings and suspenders. He felt his heart jump. ‘Struth,’ he whispered.

  She smiled, a wicked gleam in her eyes. ‘Hold that thought. See you in the morning.’

  He grinned and blew her a kiss.

  ‘If you’re taking a shower,’ she said, ‘the cold tap’s on the right.’

  twenty-three

  Driving in two-hour shifts, and with regular stops for food, fuel and fornication, they had made excellent time in the four days since leaving the Gold Coast. Faith now claimed to be able to judge the quality of a motel by the number of adjectives used in its roadside signs.

  They were rapidly closing in on their destination and the countryside was tropical, with weather to match. Clumps of palm trees and sugar cane and banana plantations whizzed by the windows, and every roadside stop offered the chance to purchase exotic fruits and vegetables. Inside the van, airconditioning kept the heat and humidity at bay.

  ‘You didn’t finish telling me why you never had kids,’ said Martin.

  ‘We were interrupted yet again by your quest for the Holy Grill, as I recall,’ Faith laughed. Her bare feet rested on the dashboard as she expertly sliced into the purple skin of a mangosteen.

  ‘Scoff if you must, but I know the great highway breakfast is out there.’

  ‘One to top the Minerva?’ She peeled away the skin of the fruit to reveal its creamy segments.

  ‘I admit it was very, very good, but I’m afraid I can still only give it nine out of ten.’

  ‘And so we continue to seek out that subtle and ineffable difference that will carry us to breakfast nirvana?’ she asked, slipping a segment of mangosteen into his mouth.

  ‘Mmm,’ Martin pondered, as he savoured the fruit. ‘I think perfection may rest with just the right relish.’

  ‘With a big greasy banger wallowing in it, no doubt,’ she shuddered.

  ‘Mmmmm, big greasy banger with relish,’ Martin said with a wicked smile, imagining exactly that.

  ‘Okay, Homer!’ Faith grinned. ‘Now, where were we? Me and kids, or lack thereof. Never really wanted them, I guess is the short answer. Suited my ex too. He had very definite plans for our retirement, right from the age of twenty-five. It was actually a bit creepy when I think about it now.’

  ‘Doesn’t really sound like the kind of person you’d marry, Faith.’

  ‘Well, to be fair, he did have a lot of good qualities. It’s just that his later behaviour made me forget most of them. One day I looked at him and suddenly realised I was married to an old man of thirty. And he was wearing a cardigan.’ She popped the last segment of mangosteen into her mouth and wiped her hands on a tissue. ‘Not really sure why I stayed after that. Inertia? Fear? Pity? None of them particularly good reasons.’

  ‘I’ve worn the odd cardigan in my time, Faith,’ Martin said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

  ‘I don’t mean literally, Martin, I mean on the inside. Under his skin, he was wearing a sensible cardigan and comfortable slippers.’

  ‘Now, that is a seriously creepy concept, Faith.’ Martin shivered.

  ‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘Nothing surprised me more than when he left me for Gillian.’

  ‘The girl with the two tits?’

  She nodded. ‘I was actually impressed on some level. I didn’t know he had it in him. Seriously crook timing, though.’ She opened a bottle of water and took a sip. ‘And what about you and kids, Martin?’ she asked, offering him the bottle.

  He took a drink and handed the bottle back without taking his eyes off the road. ‘Dunno,’ he said, ‘just never happened. I don’t think I mind not having kids, but then again I suppose I wouldn’t really know. I wasn’t much chop with the step-kids, that’s for certain.’

  She patted his knee. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. You were behind the eightball right from the start on that one. With the right woman, I think you’d have been a fantastic dad.’

  They drove in silence for a few minutes.

  ‘Okay, anything else you want to talk about then?’ Martin piped up. ‘Sex, maybe?’

  Faith laughed her wonderful throaty laugh. ‘Keep your mind on the road, Mr Carter.’

  ‘And my eyes peeled for the next motel?’ he asked with a cheeky grin.

  She turned to look at him, enjoying the playfulness in his expression. ‘This whole boob thing doesn’t worry you at all, Martin, does it?’

  ‘I’m very sorry that it happened, for your sake,’ he said, ‘and that you had to go through it, and what it did to your relationship, but no.’

  ‘Very good answer, Martin.’ Faith leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You should have seen them when I was twenty – very perky. I couldn’t walk past a building site without being vocally encouraged to display them in their natural state for the entertainment and edification of members of the hardworking fraternity of high-rise construction engineers.’

  ‘I never understood the rationale of yelling “Show us ya tits” to complete strangers myself.’

  ‘It was an invitation I always found quite easy to resist. Obviously more so these days.’

  Martin found her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Hey, you’re here and you’re alive and I’m having the best time I’ve had in my life. Let’s make the most of what we’ve got for as long as we’ve got. Breasts are nice, but you’ve also got a very horny brain.’

  ‘Stop the van!’

  Martin’s head snapped round, his foot covering the brake pedal.

  ‘I have to call the New England Journal of Medicine to report the world’s first successful bankmanagerectomy. You’re cured. The first sign was that urge to give money away, then you started making jokes, and now real romance, free and unafraid.’

  ‘Are my chops being busted here?’ Martin asked, relaxing back into his seat.

  ‘Ever so delicately and from a place of love,’ she answered, smiling.

  ‘You want to drive, don’t you?’ Martin said knowingly.

  ‘You see right through me, stud-muffin.’

  Martin shook his head. ‘We’re trying to keep a low profile, and you have the definitive lead foot, Faith.’r />
  She waved a brochure. ‘My trusty motel directory says there’s a Country Charm just over a hundred kilometres ahead,’ she said. ‘If you drive it’s sixty minutes. If I drive it’s forty-five. A lead foot does sometimes have its advantages.’

  ‘And what if the cops pull us over for speeding?’

  Faith considered this. ‘The odd thing is we haven’t seen a police car for days. Not that I’m complaining, mind, after that last scare. But anyway, if they did pull us over they’d understand the situation.’

  ‘You reckon?’ Martin asked.

  Faith smiled and batted her eyelids. ‘They’ll just take one look at gorgeous me and then at the front of your trousers.’

  Martin looked down. ‘Oh! Right,’ he said. He pulled the van over to the side of the road and opened his door.

  ‘Just scramble over, it’s quicker,’ Faith said, unbuckling her seatbelt.

  ‘I’ll walk around. It’s safer.’

  ‘You could just pole-vault across,’ Faith smiled innocently.

  *

  A faded sign read: MAX’S GENERAL STORE. The building was a ramshackle weatherboard shack with a single battered petrol pump out front. It had a lush, tropical backyard garden and a gravel path leading to an equally ramshackle wooden jetty jutting out into the bay. A twenty-foot cabin cruiser was moored to the pilings at the far end. As the van pulled up, a barefoot, weatherbeaten man in a blue singlet and stubbies wandered out onto the verandah. Martin and Faith stretched after getting out.

  ‘Morning,’ said Martin.

  The man leaned on a verandah post and nodded.

  ‘We drove all night,’ Faith said.

  ‘Waste of good sleeping time then,’ said the man. ‘Nothin’ round here worth driving all night for.’

  ‘What are the chances of some breakfast?’ Faith asked.

  The man on the verandah considered the question. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if your name’s Max and you’ve run this place for thirty years and been married to my wife for twenty-five of ’em, then probably pretty bloody good. Otherwise I think you’d find you’d be shit out of luck.’

  ‘We need petrol, can you help us with that?’ Martin asked.

  ‘It’s self-service,’ Max said, indicating the bowser. ‘You start pumping petrol and people expect you to wipe their windscreens and check their oil. And then they want to use the dunny.’

  Martin started to fill the tank. ‘We’re looking for the major,’ he said. ‘Is this the right road?’

  ‘Road ends here, mate,’ Max answered. ‘We got a major bay out there and a major mangrove swamp where you can pick up some major muddies. Apart from that, I think you’ll find this place is a major disappointment.’ He scratched his chin. ‘I might just have to move one day soon.’

  Martin replaced the nozzle in the bowser. ‘They said back at the roadhouse twenty-five clicks past the Dolan Bridge. We’ve done ten so far.’

  Max shrugged. ‘They’ll tell you at the roadhouse their burgers are a hundred per cent real beef, but you don’t want to believe everything you hear.’

  ‘Isn’t that a road?’ Faith asked, pointing to a red dirt trail continuing past the store.

  ‘Nope, that’s a bush track. The shire council grades it once a year, if they remember. A good rain turns it to mud three feet deep, and we get a lot of rain around here. People sometimes go up that track and never come back.’

  ‘What do you reckon we’d find if we drove another fifteen k’s up that way, then?’ asked Martin.

  ‘Dunno,’ shrugged Max, ‘never done it myself. Head-hunters maybe? Amelia Earhart? The wreck of the Hesperus?’

  ‘You mean, in thirty years you’ve never gone up there?’ asked Faith.

  Max shrugged again. ‘Guess I’m not the inquisitive type,’ he said. ‘Don’t go poking around in places that don’t concern me. You keep healthier that way.’

  Martin paid for the fuel. Max counted the money carefully and gave him some change from his pocket. They climbed back into the van.

  ‘If we find anything interesting we’ll send you a postcard,’ Martin called back to Max as he started the engine. ‘Broaden your horizons.’

  Max pulled a pipe and tobacco pouch from his shorts. ‘ “I am not ashamed to confess that I am ignorant of what I do not know,” ’ he said, and then he smiled. ‘You watch where you walk up there, Sonny Jim.’

  Martin waved and pulled onto the red dirt track. He glanced in his side mirror at Max, still on the verandah. ‘Well, old Max is certainly one of a kind.’

  ‘Sure is,’ Faith agreed. ‘A bushie quoting Cicero, no less.’

  ‘What?’ Martin asked. ‘ “You watch where you walk up there, Sonny Jim”? Was that Cicero? I was sure it was Samuel Johnson.’

  Faith hit him with the rolled-up motel directory.

  Back at the store, Max watched the track until the red dust had settled. He scratched at the stubble on his chin and pulled a mobile phone from his pocket.

  *

  The dirt track ended at a wire gate. Numerous signs and placards were attached to the posts and the gate. Martin turned off the engine as Faith started reading the signs out loud.

  KEEP OUT! NO VISITORS! ATTACK DOGS ON PATROL!

  ARMED GUARDS WITH ORDERS TO SHOOT ON DUTY 4 NIGHTS A WEEK. YOU GUESS WHICH NIGHTS!

  IS THERE LIFE AFTER DEATH? TRESPASS HERE AND FIND OUT!

  Martin climbed out of the van.

  ANYONE FOUND HERE AT NIGHT WILL

  BE FOUND HERE IN THE MORNING!

  THERE IS NOTHING PAST THIS GATE WORTH YOUR LIFE!

  Faith joined him. ‘This school chum of yours isn’t displaying that old-fashioned country hospitality we’ve come to know and love.’

  ‘Maybe it was Vietnam,’ Martin suggested. ‘Post-traumatic stress syndrome.’

  ‘Grumpy-old-bugger-living-alone-in-the-scrub-too-long syndrome, more likely,’ Faith said.

  The dense green vegetation continued up the hill. There was a narrow track just visible past the gate. Martin walked around to the passenger side of the van and opened the door for Faith.

  ‘Keep the doors locked and wait for me,’ he said. ‘If there’s any sign of trouble, honk the horn.’

  Faith climbed into the van. ‘You sure about this?’

  ‘No,’ he answered, ‘but we’ve run out of road.’

  ‘Know anything about landmines and booby traps?’

  ‘Nope, and I hope to keep it that way.’

  She blew him a kiss. ‘Remember what Cicero said – Watch where you walk up there, Sonny Jim!’

  There was a large white styrofoam box by the gatepost. Martin carefully lifted the lid, glanced inside and quickly replaced the cover. Faith wound down her window.

  ‘Live mud crabs,’ he yelled. ‘Big buggers. So someone’s come up this track recently, despite what Max says.’

  He climbed over the gate and then stopped. The path or the jungle? He decided it would make sense to mine a path, so keeping to the jungle should be a safer bet. He walked slowly, putting his feet down carefully and looking for trip-wires. That seemed to be the technique that worked for Chuck Norris, he recalled. The Burrinjuruk video shop carried a lot of Chuck Norris movies.

  Progress was slow, and eventually he glanced at his watch. He now knew three things: it was twenty minutes since he’d left the van, he was very thirsty, and he was completely lost. He turned to retrace his steps and heard a metallic click somewhere to his left. He froze.

  A voice came out of the bush. ‘Do not move a muscle, and keep that foot off the ground.’

  Martin slowly put his hands up.

  ‘’kay, now just walk out of there slowly,’ the voice said. ‘Step exactly in the footprints you made going in.’

  Martin did as he was told. After about ten paces, the voice said, ‘Hold it right there.’

  Martin could make out a shadowy figure in the thick undergrowth. The man stepped into the light. He was wearing combat boots, jungle camouflage battledress, and a soft bush hat.
<
br />   ‘Well, bugger me dead,’ the man said, ‘it’s Martin Carter.’

  Martin slowly put down his arms. ‘Hello, Jack.’

  The two men sized each other up.

  ‘You’ve packed on a few pounds since I last saw you, Martin. Nice shirt, though.’

  Martin jumped at the sound of another metallic click. ‘You look a bit thirsty, mate,’ Jack said, handing him an opened can of Foster’s.

  ‘It’s a bit early for me, Jack, but I’ll make an exception because it’s you,’ he said, taking a long drink.

  Jack held up his beer in a toast. ‘This is the tropics, mate,’ he said. ‘It’s not drinking, it’s rehydrating. Medical necessity.’

  ‘You know, you’re a hard man to find,’ Martin said.

  Jack winked. ‘Which is why I’m still breathing.’ He threw an arm around Martin’s shoulder. ‘You really don’t want to be blundering around in the bush by yourself, sport,’ he said, glancing towards the thicket Martin had just exited. ‘That was a wee bit too close for comfort. Stopped you just in time.’

  Martin’s throat constricted. ‘Landmine?’ he asked.

  Jack shook his head. ‘Herb garden,’ he said. ‘You almost trampled all over my fuckin’ coriander, you dick.’

  twenty-four

  Faith watched the two men walk down towards the gate. When Martin waved she unlocked her door and climbed out. The man in the camouflage outfit was about Martin’s height, tanned and very fit-looking. He used the tip of his machete to lift the lid on the styrofoam box.

  ‘Bewdy, old Maxie never lets me down,’ he said. ‘You can stay for dinner, Martin. We’ve got heaps.’

  Faith walked up to the two men and put out her hand. Martin did the introductions.

  Faith smiled warmly as she shook hands with Jack. ‘The mad major,’ she said.

  Jack returned her smile. ‘The sex-crazed librarian.’

  For once Faith blushed scarlet.

  ‘Lying bastard said you were good-looking, Faith,’ Jack said. He turned to Martin. ‘She’s bloody gorgeous. How did a porky prick like you manage to pull her with a measly million bucks?’

  ‘Luckily for him, Martin has other attributes besides a big mouth,’ Faith said. Martin grinned.