Guns 'n' Rose (27 page)

‘So what's doing today, Jimmy?' he asked.

‘You feeling hungry?'

‘Jimmy…'

‘Yeah, I know, Les, you're always hungry. How would you like lunch down the Galleon?'

‘Where's that?'

‘Right in Terrigal Haven.'

‘Sounds pretty good to me. How're we getting there? You want me to drive?'

‘It's not too bad a day outside—I wouldn't mind walking. It's only about fifteen minutes.'

‘Righto. I don't mind a bit of exercise.'

‘Then about four o'clock we'll get the limo and go over and see the band.'

‘Okay. What time do you think we'll be back?'

‘Oh, about six. Seven at the latest.'

‘Unreal. I like to watch “Sixty Minutes” on Sunday night if I get the chance.'

Jimmy took a couple of sips of coffee and studied Norton over his cup. ‘You're in a good mood today, Les.'

Les had started to half glance at the papers again. He looked back up. ‘What do you mean, Jimmy?'

‘I mean, after last night. You were blowing up the last time I saw you.'

‘That?' Les made a dismissive gesture with one hand. ‘Forget about it. I thought things over and I reckon that old scrubber's full of shit.'

‘That's what I reckon. Fuck her.'

‘What's she going to do anyway?' said Les. ‘She was pissed and fell down the stairs. It's only her word against yours. And Paula's. Paula didn't see you hit her. I didn't see you hit her. You did hit her, didn't you, Jimmy?'

Jimmy looked shocked. ‘Me? No way, man. If anything I was trying to help her up when she fell down drunk.'

‘Exactly. You try to do the right thing and some old bitch wants to shaft you.'

‘Right on, baby.' Jimmy started laughing then settled down and took another sip of coffee while Les continued to scan the paper. ‘Hey, Les, you're cool, you know that.'

Les tossed Jimmy a wink and a nod. ‘Let's just say, there's worse blokes round than me, Jimmy.'

‘Is there what.'

‘So what time do you want to head down to this restaurant?'

‘Say, about twelve or so. I wouldn't mind having a swim first.'

‘Righto. I'll finish reading the papers, then I'll see you—' Les pointed an index finger towards the kitchen, ‘—back in the office.'

Jimmy finished his coffee, then took his cup out and rinsed it in the sink. Before he went down to his room he stopped at the top of the stairs. ‘Hey, Les, how did you go with Paula last night? Did you get into her pants?'

Norton smiled and shook his head. ‘Nearly. I was almost there when your girlfriend started banging on the door and stuffed things up. The drunken, rotten moll.'

Jimmy nodded knowingly. ‘Right. So that's why you had the shits last night.'

‘Well, wouldn't you?'

Jimmy looked at Norton for a moment. ‘Over Paula? No.'

Jimmy disappeared down the stairs. Les finished reading the papers, watched him in the pool for a moment or two, then went to his room and started packing his clothes.

There wasn't that much so Les took his time, putting it away neatly so he wouldn't have to iron it again when he got home. He made his bed and gave the room a tidy, then when he was satisfied everything was okay, changed into a pair of jeans and an old white Eumundi Lager T-shirt to wear down to the restaurant. He left his Jamaican T-shirt on the bed to wear over to the hotel along with a light denim shirt to throw over the top. What would he tell Jimmy as he was leaving? How about ‘goodbye'? And maybe a toe right up the arse for involving Les in his rotten little scam and a blistering earful of what he could do with his rotten fuckin' machine guns. Les placed his bags by the end of the bed and walked out to the kitchen. Jimmy came in a few minutes later wearing his white tracksuit and Fila trainers.

‘You right, Les?' he said.

‘Yeah,' replied Les, rubbing his hands together. ‘Let's go.'

There was the usual Sunday traffic cruising around, but the walk down was pleasant enough. Jimmy wasn't saying much. He seemed to be thinking about something and taking everything in around him while he skipped along with this cocksure attitude like Brer Rabbit in the briar patch again. Norton left him to himself and let him lead the way. They went past the Silver Conche on the opposite side of the road; Jimmy made some remark about how even though Megan finished with a black eye she still had a better time than being stuck with the two suits from Adelaide. Les laughed like it was one of the funniest things he'd ever heard. See how funny you think it is, you little smarty, when
they give you another year, he laughed to himself. They ran out of footpath just past the North Avoca turn-off and crossed the road. On the left was a bowlshaped valley full of houses and on the right a scrubby rise running along the cliff tops shielded the road from the ocean and the rocks below. They passed a huge house with gables and turrets that looked like it belonged to the Addams Family, then crossed over a bit further on at the turn-off into the Haven.

Les had only glimpsed the Haven going past and didn't realise how big an area it was. A football oval sat in the middle, surrounded by rolling parkland and bush that ran up to the cliffs. On the left was a beach and bay full of boats, pelicans and catamarans, to the right a steep, green rise that Jimmy said was The Skillion towered up over the ocean and further on more scrubby, rugged headlands led round to North Avoca. Cars came and went towing fishing boats or jet-skis, people were kicking balls around the oval, others were either walking about or seated at the picnic tables where a Mr Whippy van was doing brisk business. The Galleon and its surrounding wooden balcony was built over the beach with a dive shop and catamaran club beneath. Les followed Jimmy down some stairs to a carpark and inside the glass doors of the restaurant. At the top of a short set of steps was a wooden counter with a jar of shells sitting on it.

The restaurant was quite spacious and being Sunday lunchtime it was almost full. There was one dining room as you walked in, then another with a line of chairs and tables placed along the balcony overlooking the ocean. The place had a warm, timbered feel about
it that welcomed you as you entered. There were indoor plants hanging from the beams and ceiling, paintings and prints mounted on the walls and a number of rope pulleys, old ship pump handles and tiny wooden keels here and there which gave the restaurant a distinctive, nautical ambience. A fair-haired, boyish-faced man in glasses wearing a blue shirt smiled at them from behind the jar of sea shells as they walked in.

‘Hello, Jimmy,' he said. ‘How's things?'

‘Pretty good, Len,' answered Jimmy. ‘What about yourself?'

‘Busy, but I got a nice one for you,' he added with a wink.

The man led them over to a table on the balcony right above the water. There was a beautiful view across the ocean, a light breeze whispered across the tables and below them Les could hear the gentle, soothing swish of tiny waves lapping against the sand.

‘Well, what do you think?' said Jimmy.

‘What can I say, Jimmy?' replied Les. ‘You've done it again—I'm impressed. If the food's half as good as the view, we're laughing.'

‘Have I let you down yet?'

‘Not a chance.'

‘It's BYO, but I don't feel like drinking much at the moment. And it shouldn't worry you.'

Norton shook his head. ‘In fact I'm not having much this afternoon either. I might wait till we get back and have a few watching TV.' You wouldn't like to see me get pinched for drink-driving on my way back to Sydney, would you, Jimmy? thought Les.

‘Please yourself.'

A waitress in a blue dress and a white Galleon polo shirt left them with a menu. When she came back, Les had decided to go for the oysters grilled with Thai coconut curry and a Tilo Steak with green peppercorns and garlic gratin potatoes. Jimmy decided on Veal Sweetbreads sauteed in bacon, mushrooms, onion and garlic, and Crispy Skin Honey Sesame Duck with orange and mango compote. For dessert they both chose baked peach cheesecake with chantilly cream all washed down with mineral water, ice and slice, followed by two flat whites. Again the food, the service and the atmosphere were sensational and again Norton didn't leave a great deal on any of the plates. Bad luck this was going to be the last supper because there were probably more restaurants around Terrigal worth sampling. Maybe next time.

‘Well, how was that, Les?' asked Jimmy over his cup of coffee.

‘Like I said before, Jimmy,' replied Les. ‘You've done it again. Fan-fuckin'-tastic.'

‘Yeah, not bad. Not bad at all.' Jimmy eased back in his chair, adjusted his sunglasses, then looked around him like he owned the place.

Norton watched him over his coffee for a moment. ‘So you got bunged up over some dodgy outboards, eh, Jimmy?'

‘Yeah,' replied Jimmy. ‘I was a bit stiff.'

‘A mover and shaker like you, I'm surprised you couldn't have done a bit of business there.'

‘Not on that particular occasion, I couldn't,' said Jimmy. ‘Not that you can't up here. Christ! If ever
ICAC go through this joint, it'll make Kings Cross look like tea and cakes at Government House.'

‘Yeah,' smiled Les, ‘I saw one of your local wallopers on TV the other week. Or glimpses of him on video. He was in a brothel getting his bat sucked, snorting coke, watching a porno movie while he tried to buy some ecstasy for his mates. I was talking about it with some cops in Sydney and even they were laughing.'

‘The go up here, Les, is to get on the board of some registered club as a director, then wash all the drug money through the club. It's their favourite rort. All ICAC's got to do is find out which cops are directors of clubs up here and go through all their bank statements with a computer. There'd be bent cops going everywhere. I'd love to see it.'

‘The way things are going, Jimmy, you probably will.'

‘Yeah. So what's Jamaica like again?' said Jimmy, changing the subject.

‘Jamaica? All up, Jimmy, I don't think you'd like it very much. Even being an abo.'

Les related a few more things to Jimmy about his time in Montego Bay. He even added a bit about Florida. Jimmy appeared interested and seemed to get a laugh here and there. But when Les told him about Hank and all his guns Jimmy's ears pricked up and he started asking questions about the type, the calibre and the ammunition. Les didn't need any more proof that Jimmy was interested in guns and ammo. On one hand Les was enjoying himself, sitting back amongst the beautiful surroundings telling Jimmy yarns about
overseas. On the other hand it seemed somewhat hypocritical, being sugar sweet and lulling Jimmy into a false sense of security when he was going to give him a good gobful later on and a crisp backhander for being a fuckin' little smartarse. Jimmy would probably think Norton was schizophrenic. Then again, knowing Jimmy, he'd probably take no notice at all, tell Les to get fucked himself and brush it off with his usual sardonic insouciance. Even now when he was talking, Les felt that though Jimmy was looking at him he was thinking of something else half the time, probably playing him for a mug. A word or two with Jimmy's fat uncle when Les got back to Sydney would definitely be on the cards.

Before long the afternoon had started to slip away and most of the other diners had drifted out of the restaurant. Jimmy looked at his watch and mentioned it to Les. Les paid the bill, left a hefty tip, seeing everything was so nice, and they started walking back home the way they came.

Again Norton fell behind and let Jimmy set the pace; Jimmy was stepping along quite smartly and after such a big meal the walk felt good and Les was enjoying it. Nothing much was said. Jimmy seemed to be thinking and was looking around at the trees, the sky, the houses, taking it all in. Now and again Jimmy would turn around, look at Les for a moment as if maybe he was going to say something, then turn away again and keep walking. Les could only guess what was on Jimmy's mind. As they walked past the doors of the Silver Conche Les was expecting Jimmy to make another remark about Megan. But this time he
kept quiet. Les was half thinking of being smart himself and speciously suggesting they come there for dinner one night before the holiday ended; then thought why bother? Next thing they were back inside the house.

‘I'm going to get changed and sort a few things out,' said Jimmy, glancing at this watch. ‘I'll see you at four.'

‘Righto,' answered Les.

‘What are you going to do?'

‘What am I going to do?' The way Jimmy spoke, Norton began to feel as if he was giving him orders or looking down on him. What fuckin' business is it of yours what I do, you little prick, Les thought. ‘I might lie on the bed and read my book for a while.'

Jimmy nodded and gave Les a look of grudging approval. ‘Yeah, I've done that before today,' he said, then turned and walked down the stairs.

Les went to his bedroom and wondered what he should do. Why not do what he just said? Read his book. After all that food, he'd sink if he had a swim and Sunday afternoon TV is generally
tres ordinaire
. Les propped some pillows up at the end of the bed, opened
The Hand that Signed the Paper
and started reading. After twenty or so pages of Stangl, the herr kommandant, organising the killings while Vitaly porked Magda Juskowiak in the hay loft, it was time to make a move. Les placed the book back in his bag, put his shirt on, straightened the bed and went out to the kitchen. Jimmy was standing near the sink sipping a glass of water in his sunglasses. But instead of his usual sartorial elegance, he was wearing black jeans,
black Reeboks and a dark green army jacket with angled pockets on the front. At his feet was his overnight bag; it looked full and sticking out one end was the handle of the stockwhip. For a moment Les flashed onto some movie he'd seen on TV lately.