‘Apparently you didn’t do a bad job on them,’ said Mason.
‘Yeah,’ shrugged Norton. ‘A couple of them forgot to duck. How did you know?’
‘Jock told us,’ answered Mason. ‘He knows them from round here.’
‘There’s talk about getting you tonight after work,’ said Buddy.
‘Yes. One of the heroes mumbled something about that as he was running away.’
‘It might be an idea if we walk you back to the hotel when you finish,’ suggested Buddy.
‘Okay,’ nodded Les. ‘That’d be good, Buddy. Thanks.’
‘No problem at all, Les.’
‘So how’s Lonnie tonight?’ asked Les.
‘Ohh, don’t even ask,’ replied Mason. ‘He’s got the shits good and proper.’
‘Yes. He is not a happy man,’ added Buddy.
‘What’s up?’ said Les.
‘Dunno,’ said Mason. ‘He didn’t say. But something’s on his mind.’
‘Well. Whatever it is,’ said Les, ‘I’d better go inside and do my thing. I’ll catch up with you before the night’s over.’
‘For sure, Les.’ Buddy opened the door and Les stepped into the foyer.
As usual, the foyer was empty. But the room was almost half full. The girls were busy behind the bar and Jock was out on the floor with a bucket picking up glasses and bottles. Les gave the girls a wave then stepped under the bar gate before walking into the office. Lonnie was in his office chair, staring into thin air with a worried look on his face.
‘G’day, Lonnie,’ smiled Les. ‘How’s things?’
Lonnie looked up, but didn’t return Norton’s smile. ‘How’s things?’ he repeated. ‘Up to shit.’
‘Why? What’s wrong?’ asked Les.
‘Eddie ain’t going to be here.’
‘He’s not? Why? What’s up?’
‘Did you know he had a crook ankle?’ said Lonnie.
‘Yeah,’ nodded Les. ‘He sprained it playing squash with George Brennan.’
‘Well, George fell on it and nearly broke it.’
‘George fell on it?’ Les was astounded.
‘Yeah. Coming out of a restaurant last night. Now Eddie’s ankle’s in plaster and he’s on crutches. He rang me this morning.’
‘Shit!’ exclaimed Les. ‘So does this make much difference to you?’
Lonnie stared grimly up at Les. ‘Does it make much difference? Yeah. Just a fuckin bit.’
Les didn’t quite know what to say. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ he offered.
Lonnie gave a tiny shrug. ‘No. Not really, I don’t suppose. Just go out there and play the music.’
‘Righto.’
‘Hey, I heard you got into a fight last night,’ said Lonnie.
‘Yeah,’ nodded Les. ‘Outside the hotel.’
‘Jock reckons there’s a team coming back to get you.’
‘That’s what Buddy and Mason said too. They’re going to hold my hand and walk me home.’
Lonnie shook his head. ‘Fuck. It never rains but it fuckin pours.’
‘So they say.’ Les glanced up at the clock. ‘Well. I’d better go and do my thing. I imagine I’ll see you as the night progresses, Lonnie.’
‘Undoubtedly, Les,’ replied Lonnie. ‘Un-fuckin-doubtedly.’
Les left Lonnie in his office and got two bottles of mineral water before walking across to the DJ’s booth. Shit. What a bummer, scowled Les as he opened the half door and stepped inside. No Eddie. Which means I now put plan B into action. Stay off the piss and get my gear out of the pub. Tell Frau Schmidt and her fat mate to get rooted, then split for that all-night motel in Ballina. And with a little bit of luck and the creek don’t rise, I’ll be home tomorrow night with a thousand bucks in my kick and all this shit behind me.
Les gazed out over the punters who were giving him mixed looks. Okay. What am I going to play first up for these fuckin hillbillies? Les had a drink of water, closed his eyes then fished out a CD and checked the back. This’ll do, smiled Les. Bob Dylan—‘Thunder on the Mountain’. Les put the CD in the player, cued the track and pressed play. Seconds later, more good rock ’n roll came pumping out of the speakers.
Les followed this with ‘Pennsylvania six–5000’—Brian Setzer. ‘Break Up’—Johnny Green’s Blues Cowboys. ‘Solid Gold’—Eagles of Death Metal. ‘Hep Cat Roar’—Pete Cornelius and the Devilles. And ‘Uncommon Connection’—John Hiatt. Before long the place was filling up, Lonnie and the girls were flat out behind the bar and the punters were starting to get restless. Jock came over and asked Les if he wanted any mineral water.
‘Yeah. You may as well get me another couple of bottles,’ replied Les. ‘It’s starting to get a bit hot in here. Get me some ice too, will you?’
‘Sure. No problem, Les,’ said Jock.
‘Hey, Jock,’ said Les. ‘Buddy and Mason told me you reckon those blokes I had a stink with last night, their mates might be waiting for me outside the hotel later.’
‘That’s what I heard,’ replied Jock. ‘They’re all rugby union players. And they’re not real happy about what happened.’
Les flashed onto the length of lead pipe lying in the laneway. ‘They might be in for a bit of a surprise,’ he smiled.
‘I’m sure they will,’ nodded Jock. He was about to walk off when he stopped and turned to Les. ‘Hey, Les,’ he said. ‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’
‘No. Go for your life, Jock.’
‘Are you some kind of ninja superman or something?’
‘Why’s that?’ laughed Les.
‘Well, I know Raggsie, one of the blokes you belted. And he’s a good footy player and not a bad fighter.’
‘So?’ shrugged Les.
‘Well now he’s in hospital with four broken ribs, a busted sternum and a ruptured spleen. Roy Holland’s got a broken jaw. And Fritz had to get twelve stitches in his mouth and four teeth put back in.’
Les placed his hand on Jock’s shoulder. ‘Let’s just say they all landed awkwardly.’
‘I’ll go and get you your mineral water,’ said Jock.
‘Thanks, mate.’
‘Rock Everybody Rock’—McKinley Mitchell cut out and Les played ‘Good Rockin’ Tonight’—Lucy De Soto. But the one that got the punters going was ‘Boogie Woogie Country Girl’—Roomful of Blues. The first tinkles of honky tonk piano bopped out of the speakers and six punters jumped up and started going for it. Les flicked the No Dancing switch and in no time Lonnie came flying over and ordered them to settle down.
After that it was chaos. Les kept finding more good rock ’n roll tracks, more people got up and started dancing, Les flicked the yellow switch and Lonnie would race over and tell everybody to settle down or they were out. After getting abused by three blondes, two brunettes, a redhead and a beefy bloke with tattooed arms, Les was starting to get the shits. He put on ‘Hula Hoop’—Anson Funderburgh and was taking a drink of water when he noticed a dark-haired man wearing a blue suit and a brown-haired man with a moustache, wearing a grey suit, come through the archway and start looking po-faced around the room.
What’s the betting, thought Les as he placed another CD in the player, they’re the licensing police. You couldn’t put enough money on it. The two men walked across to the bar, Lonnie caught their eye and did his best to smile before taking them into his office. Before too long, they all came out of the office and Lonnie led the two men across to the DJ booth. The two men looked up at Les, Les gave them a smile and got a curt nod in return before Lonnie pointed out the No Dancing sign on the front of the booth to them.
‘Hey, Les,’ he called out. ‘Hit the yellow switch.’
Les flicked the yellow switch and the No Dancing sign between the windows flashed on and off. Lonnie and the two men in suits went into a huddle and before long the two men stood looking at each other somewhat nonplussed. Next thing Lonnie was escorting them to the front door and they were gone. Shortly after, Lonnie returned to the DJ’s booth.
‘That was
the licensing police,’ he said.
‘I thought they might have been,’ replied Les. ‘How did everything go?’
‘Not bad,’ nodded Lonnie, attempting another smile. ‘Not bad at all.’
‘Good,’ said Les. ‘Because I want to have a word with you.’
‘Oh? What’s up?’ asked Lonnie.
‘What’s up?’ echoed Les. Les flicked the yellow switch and the No Dancing sign flashed on and off. ‘That’s what’s up. That fuckin thing. It’s starting to give me the shits.’ Les switched it off. ‘I’ve been getting dirty looks and abuse all night. That’s the reason I got into a fight with those dills last night. And you can bet I’ll get into another one tonight. That’s before I get round to the team waiting outside the hotel for me when I go home. So I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Lonnie.’
‘Go on,’ said Lonnie.
‘I’m not switching the fuckin thing on again,’ declared Les. ‘And if you don’t like it, you can get fucked and play your music your fuckin self. And you can stick your thousand bucks in your arse too. Fuck it.’ Les gave Lonnie a curt nod. ‘There. Now you know.’
Lonnie stared impassively back at Les. ‘All right,’ he shrugged. ‘If they want to dance, let ’em. I’ve proved my point.’ Saying that, Lonnie abruptly turned and walked back to the bar.
Bloody hell. What a weirdo, thought Les as he watched Lonnie walk away. I still don’t know what his problem is. But this certainly makes things easier for me. Okay. Now let’s have some fun. Les flicked through the CDs and came up with AC/DC—‘Big Jack’. The solid back beat and the mean guitar riff thumped out of the speakers and the punters started moving around on their seats. Picking up a lot of dirty looks, Les gazed out over the crowd and grinned. He raised his arms in the air then made gestures with his hands inviting anybody who wanted to get up and boogie to go for it. To get the ball rolling Norton started hoofing around in the DJ booth. The crowd didn’t need to be told twice. Within seconds, those that wanted to were dancing, singing and stomping around the chairs and tables.
After that the night was like one big party. Les played everything from ‘Chicken Shack’—Willie and the Poor Boys to ‘Down along the Cove’—Duke Robilliard. He even hit the punters with some more Lucy De Soto. Then, amongst the racks of CDs, Les found the Holy Grail of rock music: The Doors Other Voices and The Doors Full Circle. The two albums they recorded after Jim Morrison died. They were as rare as rocking horse shit. Lonnie had the original vinyl albums burnt onto CDs and had marked ‘Get Up and Dance’ and ‘Hardwood Floor’. Les played both tracks one after the other and the crowd loved them. But the two tracks that got the whole place jumping were ‘I’m Working On A Building’—John Fogarty, and ‘Circle’—Debi Candish and Po Boys. Somehow Les played both songs one after the other and the room almost turned into an evangelical event. The punters were singing, dancing, waving their arms and happy clapping round the room like they were expecting Jesus himself to walk in the door with John the Baptist and order two Jack Daniel’s and Coke, ice and slice. Watching the punters having such a good time and being able to relax, Les was a little sorry the night would have to end. Then through the crowd he saw Nissa and Solveig with two testosterone pumping young studs hanging all over them and had a fair idea where the boys would finish up later, so he was happy he’d be finishing before long and high-tailing it out of town. From out of the crowd, Jock appeared at the door to the DJ booth with two cold bottles of mineral water.
‘Hey, Jock,’ smiled Les, taking the bottles and placing them alongside the amplifier. ‘How’s it going, mate?’
‘Les,’ said Jock. ‘I got some bad news for you, mate.’
‘Yeah? What’s wrong?’ replied Les.
‘Buddy and Mason had a fight out the front. Buddy’s busted his wrist and Mason’s hurt his knee. So they’re going straight to hospital after work for X-rays, and they won’t be able to walk you home.’
‘Yeah?’ said Les. ‘Well, it looks like you’ll have to back me up, dude.’
Jock shook his head. ‘Les,’ he said seriously. ‘I’m a lover, not a fighter. And I’m not much of a lover either.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Jock,’ smiled Les. ‘I’ll sort it out.’
‘I’m sure you will, Les.’
What did Lonnie say, thought Les, as he watched Jock move back through the crowd with his bucket. It never rains but it pours. He wasn’t wrong. But not to worry. I’ll just take a detour round those two shops and get the old bloke’s walking stick from where I left it in the ditch. The local heroes won’t be expecting that. And once I smash the first three or four kneecaps and the rest know I mean business, I reckon they’ll soon drop off. Better still, I should be able to sneak in the back door without them knowing. That’ll save a lot of aggro and my arse as well, in case the walking stick isn’t there. By the time the mugs figure out I’m gone, I’ll be halfway to Ballina.
Les played ‘Sonic Boom’—Guitar Shorty, and ‘Long Time Dead’—Jack Rabbit Slim. And before he knew it, it was time for the last track. Les flicked through the CDs and found the only single amongst them: ‘Rock DJ’—Robbie Williams. Oh yes, smiled Norton. It’s a bit disco, but I like this. Les slipped it on and watched the punters go for their lives. They danced, they grooved, they sang the lyrics. Next thing it was all over. The lights came on and Les stood back with his bottle of mineral water. Suddenly the crowd turned towards the DJ booth and gave Norton a standing ovation. Taken by surprise after all the previous aggro, Les grinned sheepishly and took a bow. The two beefy blondes from the night before came up and drunkenly said it was one of the best nights they’d had. And it was a good idea he’d fucked off that No Dancing sign or they would have wrapped it round his head. Les thanked them with a kiss on the cheek and said he agreed wholeheartedly. Then a skinny hippy in a red kaftan came up to the DJ booth. He had long black hair with a leather band round it and could have passed for Neil out of The Young Ones.
‘Hey, man,’ he said in a flat whiney voice. ‘That music was freaking unreal, man. I mean. Like, you know. It was such a cool vibe, man.’
‘Ohh, wow, man,’ replied Les. ‘I’m like. So glad you dug it, man. Cause for a while there, I was like. You know. Freaked out on a nowheresville groove trip, with all this really heavy shit going down. And then it was like. Just a beautiful scene full of beautiful people. I mean like. Really, really unreal, man.’
‘Ohh, yeah, I can dig that, man. I really know where you’re coming from. You’re out there, man. You’re cosmic.’
‘Thanks, man. You’re a really beautiful person.’
The hippy offered Les his hand and Les had to give him one of those wraparound California handshakes that always made Norton cringe.
‘Peace, man,’ said the hippy. ‘Keep it real, dude.’
‘Yeah, man,’ replied Les. ‘Hang loose, keep cool and fly low.’
Brother, can I find them, thought Les as he watched the hippy rejoin his mates seated near the snack bar, where they finished their last drinks. Buddy and Mason came inside and started moving the remaining punters out the door. Mason limped up to the DJ booth and Les noticed Buddy favouring his left hand.
‘Hey, Les,’ said Mason. ‘Did Jock tell you what happened?’
‘Yeah. You and Buddy hurt yourselves out the front and you won’t be walking me home,’ answered Les.
‘We’re really sorry, Les. I can just walk and Buddy’s hand’s fucked. We’d be useless. We’d get someone to help you. But we’re not from round here and we don’t know anyone.’
‘That’s all right, Mason,’ smiled Les. ‘Don’t worry about it. I got a secret weapon.’
‘All right. But just be careful.’
What a couple of good blokes, thought Les, as he watched Mason limp off and move a few more punters out the door. Good country boys. You can’t beat them.
Lonnie suddenly appeared at the gate to the DJ’s booth. ‘How’s things?’ he asked.
‘All right,’ replied Les. ‘Once t
he punters started dancing, it was like a big party. They even clapped me at the finish.’
‘Yeah. I heard them. You know about Buddy and Mason, don’t you? They won’t be able to walk you home.’
Les nodded. ‘It doesn’t matter all that much,’ he said. ‘I can sneak in the back way. And as soon as I get my stuff, I’m heading straight to an all-night motel in Ballina. As well as those idiots waiting out the front, I got two backpackers in my room look like warthogs.’
‘Fair enough,’ nodded Lonnie. ‘See me in the office before you leave. I can run you down the back of the hotel.’
‘Okay. That’d be good. Thanks, Lonnie.’
‘No worries.’ Lonnie turned and walked across to the bar.
Les drummed his fingers on the amplifier. Okay. Now what’s my John Dory? He stared across at the snack bar. That’s what I’ll do. Make myself a cup of coffee. By the time I drink that, Lonnie should have my money sorted out and I can split. Before I make a cup of coffee, I’d better have a piss. I’m busting. Les opened the gate to the DJ booth. Shit, he grimaced as he closed it behind him. I can just imagine what the brasco’s going to be like.
Les wasn’t wrong. The Gents looked more like a third world rickshaw wash than a toilet. There was water, urine, roaches and vomit from one end to the other, the sink was blocked up and so were the half forty-four gallon drums that formed the urinal, where some smarty had dropped a handful of change on the bottom. Rather than splash his clothes with urine and whatever else, Les pissed on the floor and without even thinking about washing his hands, stepped gingerly out of the toilet and walked across to the snack bar.
There was no sign of Amy, Lonnie appeared to be in his office and the girls were busy on the tills. Norton left them to it and started fossicking around in the snack bar. He found a clean mug and a large can of Golden Roast Instant Coffee. There was hot water in an urn, sugar on the table and milk in the fridge. In no time, Les had a steaming mug of coffee in his hand that didn’t taste all that bad. Sitting on top of the fridge were three chocolate biscuits with blue M and Ms on them, left in a plastic bag. Just what I feel like, smiled Les. He helped himself and they went down extra well with his mug of coffee. After he’d finished the last one, Les was wiping a crumb from his mouth when Amy walked into the bar.
High Noon in Nimbin Page 14
