‘Of course I do.’
‘Well. I got a ghetto blaster and some good tapes. If you want to come back for a cool one before I leave, you’re more than welcome.’
‘I might just do that when I finish on Thursday night,’ smiled Claire. She looked at Les for a moment. ‘Do you like a little puff, Les?’
‘Does a honey bee like a little buzz, Claire?’
‘I’ll see you up here Thursday night.’ Claire glanced at her watch. ‘Well, I’d better get back to work. We’re doing a stock-take.’
Les pointed to his empty glass. ‘Can you get me another beer before you go?’
‘Sure.’
Claire got Les another beer then disappeared out the back. Les had a mouthful and looked into his glass, a tiny smile flickering around his eyes. Thursday night with Claire, eh. There’s not enough O’s in smooth to describe you, is there Norton. Les caught his reflection in the mirror and grinned. Queenslander.
Les relaxed with his beer and listened to the music coming out of the hidden speakers, finding it laid back and very easy to listen to. He had another sip of beer and his stomach started to rumble. He thought of checking out the restaurant menu then decided he may as well order room service back at the resort and watch a movie. The food at the resort was very good and he could have a meal at the hotel on Thursday night.
Les was halfway through his beer and he still had the place to himself when a movement in the bar mirror caught his eye. Maybe it was coincidence. Or maybe Trish had got on a mobile or something. But Bucky, the bloke he’d belted the night before, had just walked in with two other blokes. Les kept his back to the door and checked them out in the mirror as they approached the bar. Bucky looked solid in a Levi jacket and jeans, except his jaw was wired up and he had two glorious black eyes. His two mates weren’t quite as solid. But they were tall and fit. One bloke with fair hair was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. The other had a black mullet and a black leather jacket over a pair of grey trousers. They both had lean, sallow faces and hard eyes and something in their walk that got Norton’s radar going. They saw Les sitting at the bar and appeared to take no notice. Les casually sipped his beer and stared ahead as the three men sat down two stools away on his right; the fair-haired bloke nearest to him, Bucky in the middle and the Mullet on Bucky’s right. The man in the blue shirt came out and one of the men ordered three Bacardi and cokes. They got their drinks and the man in the blue shirt went out the back again. The fair-haired bloke gave Les an impassive once up and down then the three men settled into a quiet conversation. Well, thought Les. They haven’t particularly come in here looking for me. And Bucky hasn’t noticed who I am. I reckon if I keep my head down, I’ll be able to finish my beer and get out of here without any dramas. And return on Thursday night looking the goods. Les finished his beer then stood up and pocketed his change, leaving something on the bar for Claire. Bucky absently noticed Les in the mirror and suddenly squeezed a painful double blink from behind his blackened eyes. He motioned to his mates, mumbled something through his wired-up jaw, and pointed at Les. Oh well, thought Norton regretfully. So much for no dramas. Because I’m not letting them follow me out to the car. Especially those two pricks in the leather jackets.
Les took a quick step across then reached down and grabbed the legs of Bucky’s stool with both hands and yanked it out from under him. Bucky’s legs shot up in the air and he flew back, hitting his head against the bar rail before landing under the bar seeing a lot of stars through a lot of pain. Les brought the stool up over his shoulder then swung it against the side of the fair-haired bloke’s face. It knocked him violently off his stool and he slammed into the bar then fell on the floor next to Bucky, out cold. The bloke with the mullet jumped up and reached under his leather jacket just as Les hurled the bar stool into his chest knocking all the wind out of him. The Mullet clutched at his solar plexus gasping for breath and from somewhere under his leather jacket a knife fell out and clattered on the floor. Les left it there then quickly picked up the stool he’d been sitting on, raised it above him and banged it down over the Mullet’s head like a mallet. The Mullet’s eyes glazed over and he landed on his backside against the bar then slumped over on top of the others, out like a light. Les looked at the three men stacked neatly on the floor and brought the stool up again to give them another serve, the Mullet in particular. But there was no visible blood and no one had seen anything. Les decided to leave it at that. He replaced the bar stools, then picked up the knife and put it in his pocket just as Claire appeared from out the back. She couldn’t see what was on the floor in front of the bar. But she saw Les standing there and smiled.
‘You’re leaving?’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ nodded Les, zipping up his leather jacket. ‘I’m driving. And it’s best not to take the risk.’
‘Smart thinking,’ agreed Claire. She looked curiously at Les. ‘I thought I heard noises out here?’
Les pointed to Bucky and his mates lying on the floor. ‘Yeah. I don’t know what happened,’ he replied frankly. ‘These blokes were sitting having a quiet drink. Then they fell off their stools. Maybe they’re epileptics or something?’
Claire looked down over the bar. ‘Good Lord!’ she said. ‘I’d better get the manager.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Les. ‘A glass of water might be an idea too. Okay Claire. I’ll see you on Thursday night.’
‘Yes,’ Claire replied absently. ‘I’ll see you then Les.’
Norton walked back to the car, got straight in and quickly drove home. Minutes later he was standing in the kitchen having a delicious. Alabama 3 were quietly bopping ‘Reachin’ on the ghetto blaster and Les was softly crooning along with the lyrics, the knife sitting on the kitchen bar top. It was ten centimetres long, with a black handle and a tiny, serrated knob on the blade so you could flick it open with one hand. Well fuckin beat that, mused Les. I can’t go anywhere without getting into strife. Australia just isn’t big enough for me. And even though I swore I wouldn’t mention bloody deja vu again, the same thing happened to me in Adelaide. Some bloke I belted turned up at a pub in Victor Harbor with his mates, and I had to fight them too. But at least they didn’t have knives. Les sipped his bourbon and stared at the deadly little weapon sitting on the bar. Yeah. I knew there was something about those two blokes. If they’d have followed me outside, that could have finished up in my back. And you can bet his mate had one too. Pair of pricks. Les drained his bourbon and patted his stomach. Anyway. I got more important things on my mind than Bucky and his mates. Dinner. It’s getting late, and I ain’t been fed.
Les made another delicious then rang room service and ordered two dozen oysters kilpatrick, braised lamb shanks with parmesan mash and port wine jus, a side salad and oven roasted potatoes with rosemary and garlic. Plus a frozen chocolate mousse with creme anglaise. He changed into his blue tracksuit then kicked back in front of the TV while he waited for room service.
His food arrived before long. The waiter placed it on the table, Les tipped him then ripped in. It was delicious, the two beers had put an edge on his appetite and Les ate every morsel; when he’d finished he could hardly move. But he managed to make another delicious before turning on the in-house movie, Austin Powers — The Spy Who Shagged Me.
It wasn’t the worst movie Les had ever seen. But it was up there with them. Inane dialogue and non-stop corny sexual innuendos mixed with ghastly colours and atrocious music. It was that bad it got Les in. Or maybe it was Elizabeth Hurley’s boobs. Send up or not, it was a dog. And when it finished Les couldn’t work out for the life of him why a good actor like Tim Robbins would take a part in such a stinkerrollah. Les shook his head in disgust then turned everything off and went to his room.
Les thought about reading for a while. But the huge meal and dud movie had flattened him. He yawned, switched off the bedlamps and got under the douvet. Oh well. Tomorrow, my quest takes me to Apollo Bay. I wonder what sort of shit I’ll get into down there? Knowing my luck, deep
and thick. Les yawned again, shoved his head into the pillows and before long he was sawing wood.
The rain had temporarily eased to windswept drizzle and it was another cold, bleak day when Les got up the next morning and stared out over the balcony. Although he’d slept in his tracksuit, he didn’t bother changing. He just cleaned himself up, put his gym boots on then got the lift down to the lobby and took the stairway from the resort down to the restaurant.
After a fruit juice and coffee, Les had a chuckle over his breakfast as he reflected on last night’s events in the old hotel. I wonder if Trish came across Bucky and his mates lying on the floor after I left? I’d like to have seen the look on her face if she did. Norton finished his breakfast with one more cup of good coffee and went back to his unit.
His sweatshirt had dried out, so he put that back on with his anorak over the top. After checking his overnight bag and taking a look at the road map, Les put his cap on and took the lift to the parking area. When he opened the car door and went to throw his overnight bag inside, he noticed the damp, rusty piece of iron inside it was rubbing against everything. Near another car were several sheets of newspaper. Les put them on the back seat and lay the length of iron on top. He started the motor and turned on the radio to find the station was playing blues music. Les drove out of the garage then took a right at the roundabout, and with Eric Clapton crooning ‘Got You On My Mind’, headed for Apollo Bay.
The road was even windier than driving down from Melbourne, with steeper cliffs and hills overlooking the ocean. Coming off the sea, a strong breeze was pushing the rain up against the cliffs like huge billowing clouds of steam. Les didn’t see many beaches. Mainly glimpses of pretty little bays with small green rivers running into them between rocky headlands. And only glimpses. The road was full of hairpin bends and he wasn’t game to take his eyes off it for a second. The surrounding hills and cliffs also made the radio reception a bit iffy. However, the rain suddenly stopped, although there was absolutely no sign of any sun.
Les drove through Wye River and glimpsed several odd-looking long-necked animals amongst some cattle high up on a hill. They were alpacas. The last time Les had seen an alpaca was in Wagga Wagga, when he was minding the Murrumbidgee Mud Crabs for Neville Nizeguy. He slowed down as he approached the small hamlet of Kennett River then slowed right down when he noticed a white police car parked near a shower block in a dirt parking area on his left. Next thing a uniform cop stepped out from in front of the patrol car holding a STOP sign. Les turned in and pulled up alongside him. The cop had a ruddy face lined from the weather with tufts of scrubby red hair poking out from under his cap, and from the way he towered over the car, Les tipped he was an Aussie Rules player.
‘Good morning, sir,’ he smiled. ‘I’m Constable Hitchon. Apollo Bay police. Have you been drinking at all?’
Les looked up at the cop and shook his head. ‘Sober as a judge, officer.’
The cop continued to smile. ‘Would you mind blowing into this, sir?’
‘Sure,’ said Les.
The cop pushed a breathalyser unit through the car window. Les blew into it and it came up negative.
‘May I see your driver’s licence, sir?’ asked the cop.
‘Sure,’ repeated Les.
Les took his wallet out from beneath his anorak and handed the cop his New South Wales driver’s licence. The cop noticed all the money in the wallet and looked at Les as he carefully examined the licence.
‘Are you the owner of the vehicle, sir?’ the cop asked.
Les shook his head again. ‘No. It’s a rental. I got it in Melbourne.’
The cop handed Les his licence back, glanced at Norton’s overnight bag then noticed the length of iron on the back seat. ‘What’s the iron bar for, sir?’
Les half turned around. ‘That? I found it in the car park where I’m staying. And I’ve been using it to knock the mud off my shoes.’
‘Where are you staying, sir?’
‘The Otway Resort in Lorne. I’m down here on a holiday.’
‘May I examine the contents of your bag, sir?’
‘Sure.’
Les sat the bag on his lap and opened it up. The cop gave it a perusal noticing the torch and Norton’s camera.
‘A torch, sir?’
‘I always carry a torch with me,’ shrugged Les.
The cop nodded. ‘Would you mind stepping out of the vehicle, sir?’
‘If you want.’ Les switched off the engine and apprehensively got out of the car.
The cop gave Les a heavy once up and down. ‘Would you please open the boot, sir?’ he said.
‘Sure.’
Les reached into the car and pulled the button. The lid swung open and Les stepped round to the back of the car while the cop examined the boot. It was spotlessly clean and empty.
‘You can close the boot, sir,’ said the cop.
Les shut the boot and turned to the cop. ‘Is there a problem, officer?’
‘No. No problem.’ The cop gave the car another once over then smiled at Les. ‘Enjoy your stay in Victoria, sir.’
Les returned the cop’s smile. ‘Thank you, officer. I’m sure I will.’
Les got back in the car, the cop waved him on and Les drove off. In the rear-vision mirror he noticed the cop writing something down in a notebook. Well what the fuck was that all about, wondered Les as he went round another bend. Suddenly he clicked his fingers. That big heroin bust they just had down here, when they boarded that North Korean freighter. There was a body and a shitload of heroin on a beach near Lorne. And only last week they found another forty-five kilograms buried on some other beach. No wonder they’re pulling cars up. And me, driving a rental and coming from New South Wales, especially with my big boofhead. I’d stick out like … like an alpaca’s knackers. But, smiled Les, apart from smoking two grouse hash joints with a good little sort, I have got nothing to do with wretched drugs and the misery they bring. Les drove on with the radio playing something inaudible in the background.
The road climbed up and Les got snatches of a sensational view as he drove past Cape Patton Lookout. He drove through more tiny hamlets with names like Wongarra and Skenes Creek, then the road levelled off, curved once or twice, and just as the rain started up again a long white beach flanked by trees opened up on the left and he came into Apollo Bay.
Unlike Lorne, the surrounding hills facing the ocean were much further away from the road and the bay ended at a breakwater and harbour. A large red-brick house, built up off the road on the right with a sign out the front saying OLD CABLE STATION MUSEUM, was the first thing Les noticed as he drove by, then came blocks of land, houses, and holiday units before the shops started: a garage, restaurants, clothes stores, etc. Les passed a large, modern hotel and a park alongside the beach opposite dotted with wooden statues, before coming to an older hotel near the end of the shops. Although Apollo Bay’s shopping centre was longer than Lorne’s, it wasn’t as developed, and still had an easygoing, country town look about it. The shops ended at a war memorial in the middle of the road near the local police station, then the road continued south. Les pulled over on a rise where a sign said MARENGO. Cattle were grazing in open marshes on the right and in the grey distance Les could see a cemetery overlooking the ocean. He did a U-turn and came back into Apollo Bay.
On the right, a golf course ran alongside the harbour, and across the road was a large red-brick church. Not far up the road from the war memorial was another church built from white weatherboard. Hello, smiled Les. We’re in business already. He drove slowly along the strip then pulled up outside a coffee shop next to a real estate agency. Les got out of the car and walked into the real estate. It wasn’t very big and behind a desk sat a dark-haired woman in a beige dress. Les stepped up to the counter and caught her eye.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I was looking at some houses in your window. Would you have a map of Apollo Bay?’
The woman pointed to some flyers on a rack near the door. ‘Help you
rself.’
‘Thanks.’ Les took one out and came back and placed the map on the counter. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I’m trying to buy a house for my mother who’s very religious. Could you mark where the local churches are for me?’
‘Certainly.’ The woman got up with a biro and made three crosses on the map. ‘There’s two just down there. And another further round in Sandstock Road.’
‘Thanks very much,’ smiled Les.
‘No worries.’
Les got back in the car and drove down to the big brick church he’d noticed opposite the golf course. He stopped in a driveway out front, took the piece of iron from the back seat, put it back in his overnight bag and got out of the car.
The church was high and wide and set in well-kept grounds surrounded by flowerbeds. A set of concrete steps ran up to an open door behind a white archway at the front, and next to the archway a sign said CHURCH OF OUR BLESSED LADY, MINISTER: FATHER RUPERT STRECKETSEN. Les figured there was no need to go inside the church, so he walked around the back.
Built onto the rear of the church was a red-brick house surrounded by thriving flowerbeds. One was full of huge white roses shimmering with rain drops. Opposite the house was a garage and two small toilet blocks, and near these was a brick storage shed with a green wooden door. There was no one around and no sounds coming from the house. Les walked up the steps and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so he knocked again. Les gave it a third knock then walked over to the storage shed. He had a good look around then took the length of iron from his overnight bag to prise it open. Suddenly a thought occurred to Les. When the cop pulled him over earlier, he questioned him about the iron bar on the back seat and the torch in his bag. If a local church reported a break-in, that cop would remember him for sure. And after leaving footprints, tyre prints and fingerprints all over the place, it wouldn’t be five minutes before the local wallopers were banging on his door at the resort. And besides getting nicked, if he did happen to find the paintings, the police would confiscate them. All of a sudden Les was up shit creek. He was about to let go a string of expletives then remembered he was on sacred ground. He turned and walked back to the car. Les sat behind the wheel staring out the windscreen at the rain for a while, then started the car and drove down to the white-panelled church he noticed driving in. He pulled up out the front, turned off the motor and checked it out.
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