Guns 'n' Rose (3 page)

‘Well, what do you reckon, Les?' beamed Price.

Norton shook his head almost in disbelief. He felt that good he was almost embarrassed. ‘Shit! I don't know what to say, Price. Thanks a lot, mate. I really appreciate it.'

Price waved a hand dismissively. ‘Think nothing of it, Les. You're family to us. And you'll like the place now, too. I've had it all done up. I rent it to these corporate cowboys and rich dudes. You'll love it.'

‘Thanks, Price,' repeated Les. ‘That's terrific of you.' Norton felt happy, relieved and glad to be amongst friends who appreciated the fact that he was feeling a bit down at the moment. It was like Price said—almost as if he was family.

‘And, ah, while you're up there, Les,' said Price. ‘I might get you to do me a bit of a favour.'

‘A favour?' Norton sat up a little in his seat, his eyes narrowed slightly and he stared directly at Price.

Price moved his gaze across to George Brennan. ‘George'll tell you all about it, Les.'

Norton zeroed his eyes in on George like two laser beams. ‘So, go ahead, George… old mate. Tell me, what's this favour? I'm all ears.'

George lifted his chin a little and the look he gave Norton was almost saintly. ‘While you're up there, Les, I'd like you to look after my young nephew,
Jimmy… James. He's my favourite nephew and I love him dearly. And that's the truth, Les.'

‘The truth, eh? Okay, George, what about some more truth? How old's this James? And what's he doing up there?'

‘He's … nineteen. And at the present time young James is in Kurrirong Juvenile Justice Centre doing a year … sort of.'

‘Doing a year… sort of?' repeated Les.

‘Well, he's doing his time at Mount Narang. But we got him transferred to Kurrirong because some nutter in the other nick is convinced James gave him up and wants to kill him … blade him. We're still not sure if he's safe in Kurrirong. But we got him five days' compassionate leave while we sort the rattle out with this other Elliott and either get him necked or his legs broken or transferred to Goulburn or something. That's all.'

‘That's all?' said Les.

‘Yeah,' nodded George. ‘That's it. Just look after my young nephew for five days in Terrigal. Take him out, have a good time, do what you like. You'll like him, though. He's a top bloke.'

‘A top bloke, eh? Well, if he's such a top bloke, what's he doing in the nick?'

‘Ahh, some rotten cops up there who don't like him set him up on a pot charge.'

‘Pot? Shit, that's bugger all. Especially if he was set up.'

‘And now he's got some nutter wanting to kill him for nothing.'

‘Yeah, well he sure doesn't need that, the poor cunt.'

‘So, Les,' said Price, ‘in a way you'd be doing both yourself and the kid a favour if you go up there. And George, of course—the kid's uncle.'

‘That's right, Les,' said George, ‘a big favour.'

Les stared into his bottle of beer for a moment. He knew almost from the word go that it was too good to be true. But on the other hand, it did save a lot of stuffing around and he was muttering something to himself earlier about having a bit of company. And besides that, if James turned out to be a flip, it was only an hour and a half back to Sydney and he could piss off somewhere else. Les took a mouthful of beer then shrugged a look across to George. ‘Yeah, why not? Why bloody not? So what's this nephew of yours' surname, George?'

‘Rosewater,' replied George.

‘Rosewater?' Norton closed his eyes, shook his head and laughed. ‘Jimmy Rosewater. Doing a lag at Kurrirong Juvenile Justice Centre.' Norton tossed back his head and laughed again. ‘I like it. Oh yes, I like it.'

By the time everybody except Eddie was half drunk, Les knew what he had to do, where he had to go, and had a road map and the directions on a piece of paper showing him how to get there. He also had the keys to the house and $3000 in cash. All he had to do was pick up a hire car the next morning, take a relaxing drive to Terrigal and collect young James on Thursday morning. Les also had this feeling of deja vu or as if his life at times was like an episode of ‘Minder' running over and over, and like poor, suffering Terry, he was always doing the right thing by people and getting shafted for his trouble. But by the time George and Price plied him
with copious quantities of cold beer and choice bourbon, Les would have agreed to anything just to get out of Bondi for a while. In fact, when Eddie dropped him home on the way to Price's house at Vaucluse, Les was rolling around in the back of the Rolls-Royce with Price singing ‘New York, New York' and ‘If You're Going to San Francisco'. And when he almost fell out the door of the Roller, Les felt like he didn't have an enemy in the world and he was looking forward to getting away in the morning.

Warren was in bed asleep, so Les did his best not to wake him while he had a glass of filtered water from the fridge and an Ovaltine from the microwave oven, which he sipped on the back verandah as he gazed into the garden. Before Les knew it, he was yawning away and not thinking about much except getting to bed. Terrigal did play briefly on his mind, however. It's funny, he mused as he sipped the last of his Ovaltine, it doesn't seem like that long since I was up there. Not that I saw much the last time. All I seemed to see was that ratbag sheila's ted. I wonder if I'll bump into the beautiful Sophia again? Norton drained the last of his Ovaltine and walked towards the kitchen. Bloody hope not. He rinsed his mug then hit the sack and crashed out like a light.

 

 

 

Les wasn't feeling all that bad when he rose around eight, climbed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, had a horrible boozy dump, cleaned his teeth and found Warren sitting at the kitchen table wearing Levi's and a matching denim shirt.

‘G'day, Woz,' said Norton. ‘How's things?'

‘All right,' replied Warren, taking a glance at his watch. ‘Except I'm just about to hit the toe for the pickle factory.' He took a sip of coffee and looked up at Les. ‘So what's your story, homeboy? How was work last night? Any murders? Bashings?'

‘No, it was pretty quiet, to tell you the truth.' Norton opened a cupboard and started getting some cereal and coffee together. ‘I keep telling you, Woz, nothing happens up there now. It's like an old folks' home. In fact, it's that quiet I've been laid off for a week.'

‘Laid off?'

‘Yep. Downsized. It's a proper bastard.'

‘Shit! I thought you were pretty sweet up there.'

‘So did I. Instead, Price has turned out to be nothing but a rotten cunt.'

‘So what are you going to do?'

‘I'm staying at his place in Terrigal for a week.'

‘You're what?'

Without mentioning George's nephew, Les told Warren pretty much the truth about Price giving him a week off and the use of the house. Warren was impressed.

‘So that's the story, Woz. Don't wreck the joint while I'm away, and I'll see you next Wednesday.'

‘Fair enough. Have a good time up there.' Warren drained the last of his coffee and rinsed the mug. ‘Well, I'm gonna clean my teeth and piss off.'

‘Yeah, you're up earlier than usual. Got a big day on with the other rocket scientists in the ad agency, have you?'

‘Yep. In fact there's a board meeting straight up where I will have to fight to get my point across. Which, if I do, could mean mucho extra dinero for yours truly. And, Les, if something's worth fighting for, it's worth fighting dirty for. They won't know what hit them when big Woz walks in the room.'

‘Go get 'em, Woz. But just remember what my old grandma used to say.'

‘What's that, Les?'

‘Never get in a fight with a pig. You both finish up covered in shit and the pig likes it.'

‘True, Les, but the mugs I'm dealing with think the truth is very interesting but entirely irrelevant. And mugs that think logically, captain, are completely out of touch with the real world.'

‘Exactly, Spock. The more you run over a dead cane toad, the flatter it gets. And all things being equal, fat people use more soap.'

‘I'm going to clean my teeth.'

Warren left for the bathroom, leaving Les to potter around getting himself some breakfast. He was back within seconds, standing in front of Les holding his toothbrush.

‘I'll tell you something, Les,' said Warren. ‘You're a reasonably articulate bloke, you own a nice house in Bondi worth quite a bit of money, you're fit, you can fight, and you're not bad with the sheilas. But one thing, Les, don't ever get around thinking your shit doesn't stink. Christ!'

Norton moved aside to let Warren clean his teeth in the kitchen sink. ‘I never have,' he replied. ‘I reckon my farts are okay. But my craps? Never. Though I will say one thing, Woz. I reckon my craps are more like they are today than they ever were before.'

After Warren left for work, Norton sat alone in the kitchen finishing his coffee, with some FM radio drifting in from the loungeroom. He stuffed around, taking his time, then looked at his watch and decided he might as well get his arse into gear. The sooner he packed his gear, the sooner he'd be out of beautiful, downtown Bondi. He ratted through his room picking out what he thought he'd need for a week away; clothes, cassettes and his VISA cards mainly. Plus a few other odds and ends. He wouldn't need any cash because Price had given him more than he could possibly spend. After he packed two bags plus his overnight one, Les changed into a pair of jeans and a clean Hahn-Ice T-shirt, walked down to Six Ways and got a taxi to the car rental office in Bondi Junction.

The girl there was polite but terribly sorry that all
the BMWs and LTDs were gone. However, there was a near new, dark blue Holden Berlina tanked up and ready to go. And yes, Mr Norton, it did have a good stereo system. Norton signed the necessary papers, returned the young lady's smile and drove off.

Well, nothing wrong with this, thought Les, as he cruised down the back of Bondi Junction towards Old South Head Road. The Berlina went like a dream, so did the stereo, the air-conditioning and the power steering. And a ton of guts too, Les smiled to himself, as he tromped it and left a mini-van in his wake. Wasn't it P. J. O'Rourke who said that the best cars to drive are hire cars? They always seem to perform better than your own and they're indestructible. After his old Ford ute it was like driving a Dino Ferrari.

Les screeched to a halt outside Chez Norton and wasn't there twenty minutes before he had his bags in the car, the house locked and a note left for Warren to tell the neighbours to keep an eye on the house. Well, goodbye Bondi. Norton smiled and rubbed his hands together for an instant as he cruised comfortably and effortlessly back up Lamrock Avenue. I'll see you next week. And if it's any good up there it might just be another week.

Les didn't bother with the stereo till he was well over the bridge and going past Gordon. The traffic seemed a little heavier than normal with quite a few big trucks rumbling along, so he concentrated on that and one or two other things that were on his mind. He was getting a pretty good deal, there were no two ways about that, and it didn't worry him one way or the other whether Jimmy turned out to be okay or a
complete dill. But George had never spoken of him before and Les had met just about all of George's family since he'd been at the club. And Price seemed to have an unusually avid interest in all this, seeing it was only one of George's nephews—telling Les to look after him, see he didn't get into any trouble and if he needed help with anything to give him a hand. The spiel about how Jimmy happened to be in the nick and the trouble was probably fair dinkum. But if you got a prisoner out on compassionate leave, wasn't he supposed to have a guard with him at all times? Though you could expect Price and George would have pulled every string in the book to get around that. Maybe Les had been slotted in as Jimmy's guard for the week or whatever. There were a couple of things that seemed a bit strange. Still, if Jimmy was George's nephew, he should know how to do the right thing because the Brennans were all pretty staunch and well known around Balmain. No matter what, he'd still be someone to talk to and have a drink with.

Before Les knew it, the traffic had eased and he was almost at the turn-off before Hornsby. He stopped for the lights, fiddled in his overnight bag for a cassette and slipped it into the stereo. The lights turned green and as Les drove down onto the F3 Gina Jeffreys started banging out the old Janis Joplin song, ‘Mercedes Benz'. By the time this cut into The Fabulous Thunderbirds' ‘We Got To Stick Together', Les was having the time of his life cruising along in the powerful new car. It seemed to eat up the miles and he'd gone over the Hawkesbury River with its beautiful view of Brooklyn and the water, up Jolls Bridge and was
cruising up and over Mooney Mooney Bridge towards the Gosford turn-off. A big Shell truck stop zoomed up on his right a few kilometres further on and Les reflected on the map they gave him and knew that the gaol he was supposed to pick Jimmy up at was round here somewhere. The lights turned green, Brisbane Water and Gosford loomed up in the distance at the bottom of the hill and Les wound down the winding road, past the Woy Woy turn-off and over the Brian McGowan Bridge onto The Entrance Road past the furniture showrooms and other small shopping complexes. Next thing he'd reached the big roundabout and had turned right into Terrigal Drive past Erina Fair, the gardening centres, and the houses on either side of the road nestled amongst the trees. Maybe it was the car, all the trees around him or just the fresh air, but Les suddenly felt relaxed and happy again. Like a weight had been lifted from him. A few kilometres on, he turned right near a hotel and a small bridge. There was a huge expanse of ocean and just over the rise was the popular seaside town of Terrigal.