Guns 'n' Rose Page 8

  ‘Well, Jimmy. What do you reckon? I could think of worse places to be.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jimmy started singing with a bit of a punk British accent. ‘Like down in a sewer. Or on the end of a skewer.’

  ‘The Stranglers. “Rattus Norvegicus”.’

  ‘Hey, Les, you know your music.’

  ‘Warren—the bloke I live with—he’s got the CD.’ Les took another mouthful of mineral water. ‘You didn’t seem to mind some of the stuff I had playing in the car.’

  ‘Country and Western. Are you kidding?’ Jimmy started to laugh. ‘Rural-influenced contemporary music. In fact, I’ve got a surprise for you later, Les.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Yep. We’re going out for a couple of hours at six o’clock.’

  ‘We are? Where?’

  ‘Over to Avoca. I reckon you’ll love it. So don’t get pissed.’

  Norton shrugged and nodded to the ice bucket. ‘Not on that shit, I won’t.’

  The entrees arrived. Jimmy’s oysters were creamy, plump and fresh that day, and he ate them like a gentleman. Norton’s laksa was rich, spicy, full of succulent prawns and noodles with seasoned, fried shallots on top and, despite a finger bowl, he ate it like a caveman. Then, hard as it was to believe, the cajun coral perch was as good or even better. Two fat fillets of delicious blackened fish that fell apart on a bed of shredded lettuce into the sour cream. If Norton had been a dog, he would have run out to the kitchen and started rooting the chef’s leg. They slipped, slopped and slurped away, getting into the salad and garlic bread as well till there was nothing left. Les was good on the tooth. But for his size Jimmy wasn’t bad either and despite a bottle of wine he didn’t appear to be the slightest bit drunk.

  Les raised his second glass of mineral water. ‘Well, Jimmy, I’ve got to hand it to you.’

  ‘My choice of restaurants?’

  ‘That. Plus you’ve drunk a whole bottle of wine and haven’t carried on like a drunken abo.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. You haven’t picked a fight with the owner. You haven’t abused any of the other customers and asked them what they’re looking at. And you haven’t called me a boofheaded white cunt and told me I stole your country.’

  Jimmy sniffed indifferently. ‘Why bother? You don’t need me to tell you that. Besides, you’re driving me around, picking up the tab—you even carry my bag for me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a goosey big mug.’ Jimmy drained the last of his wine and blinked at the look on Norton’s face. ‘Les, Les, I’m sorry. You’re not. You’re not a mug, are you? Good Lord, why didn’t you tell me?’

  What could Norton say? He’d been completely hoisted with his own petard. ‘Jimmy, I reckon you could make carrot cake out of cow shit.’

  ‘Too right, Les. I might be temporarily bunged up at the moment, but I sure as hell ain’t climbing up mug’s hill on the slippery side.’

  ‘So what do you want to do now?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind going for walk. Walk the meal off. Just get out in the open for a little while.’

  ‘Good idea, Jimmy. Whereabouts?’ Les nodded over the balcony. ‘Terrigal.’

  ‘Avoca. I like it down there.’

  ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  As they got to their feet Jimmy pointed to the bill. ‘Oh, and Les, don’t forget a substantial tip.’

  Norton grinned and patted his stomach. ‘You don’t have to worry about that, Jimmy.’

  With Jimmy giving directions, Les drove past the Haven and on up the hill to the North Avoca turn-off. Jimmy explained how you couldn’t drive directly to South Avoca because of the lagoon in the middle, but you could get there easy enough walking along the beach, which was what they were going to do. The road led down, then on past a cluster of shops; Les pulled up in a small carpark next to North Avoca Surf Club.

  ‘We may as well leave our shoes in the car,’ suggested Jimmy.

  ‘Good thinking, 99,’ said Norton, kicking his off then locking the doors.

  There was one other car in the carpark and two surfies standing on a wooden platform above some bush checking out what the gusty sou-easter had done to the waves. Les followed Jimmy through the bushes split by a fenced-off pathway that led to the sand and a sign saying NO DOGS, NO LITTERING, NO TRAIL BIKES, etc, next to a swing-top garbage tin. Between the sign and the garbage tin was a pile of empty chip packets, flavoured-milk cartons and softdrink cans and several dog turds.

  Jimmy pointed over to the water’s edge. ‘The tide’s half out. It’ll be good walking on the wet sand.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Les.

  As he followed Jimmy across the beach, Les had a look around and checked things out. A small point jutted out on the left, beneath a towering headland thick with scrubby bush that almost hid a number of houses nestled amongst the trees. More houses ran up the green hills to a huge, blue water tower bulging out against the sky. Further along the treeline Les thought he could make out where Price’s house just missed the best part of the view. To the south, a wide curve of beach, a little like Bondi only longer, ended at another surf club and three towering headlands thick with more trees and bush. All the houses and units around the beach seemed to end near the surf club and just back from the middle of the beach was a lagoon; back from the beach on the other side of the lagoon was a row of tall Norfolk Island pines. A few clouds had started to drift over and the sou-easter had stiffened, but Les was still surprised how few people were on the beach.

  ‘We’ll just walk down the south end and back,’ smiled Jimmy. ‘It won’t take long.’

  Norton shrugged. ‘Whatever you reckon, Jimmy. I’m easy.’

  Jimmy strolled off along the water’s edge, kicking at the few small waves trickling in, waving his arms around, skipping flat stones across the water and just enjoying the bit of freedom they’d somehow managed for him. Les was happy to fall behind a little and let Jimmy do his thing and skipped a few flat stones across the water himself. He was also thinking of checking out some of the local real-estate agents’ windows before he left. After Sydney, the Central Coast just seemed to get better and better. A couple of joggers went around them, and a fat woman puffed along with a cocker spaniel almost as fat as she was on a lead. Then they walked past the lagoon and the pine trees, finally stopping at a shallow rockpool in front of the surf club. It was more sheltered at the south end and a few mothers were splashing around with their children in the pool while the beach inspector sat in his four-wheel drive keeping an eye on what few swimmers there were splashing around between the flags.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Jimmy,’ said Norton looking around him, ‘compared to Sydney, this place is God’s own.’

  ‘Yeah,’ answered Jimmy. ‘The land of the three Bs.’

  ‘The three Bs?’

  ‘That’s right. Builders, bastards and boofheads.’

  ‘I don’t quite get you.’

  ‘Well, every prick up here with a hammer and a bag of nails reckons he’s a builder. The place is swarming with bastards—I can vouch for that. And believe me, Les, there’s no shortage of boofheads.’

  ‘Ahh, come on, Jimmy. That’s just the chip on your shoulder talking. You’ll find boofheads everywhere. This place is tops.’

  ‘Yeah, righto. Come on, let’s start walking back.’

  They headed back the way they came, taking their time with Jimmy in front and Les following. Just past the lagoon, Jimmy spotted something washed up on the beach. It was an old piece of roofing batten a little less than a metre long, baked black and hard from the sun and the salt water. He picked it up and started twirling it around; first like a drum majorette, then across his chest and up under his arms like he had a nunchuku. Whatever Jimmy was doing it had a definite technique and Les was curious—that curious that Les wasn’t watching where he was going and, of all things, he trod on a poor dead bee.

  ‘Yeow, shit! You bastard!’

  The sting went in just under his big toe and though the pain wasn’t e
xcruciating it hurt enough and was certainly annoying.

  ‘I don’t bloody believe it,’ cursed Les as he flopped on his backside and rubbed his toe with wet sand. ‘It could only happen to me.’

  Jimmy was still strolling along, playing around with his stick and Les was about to call out to him when he saw a movement coming down the beach to Jimmy’s left. A big, ugly, burly man in a blue cap, old shorts and a sweatshirt with the sleeves hacked off came walking across the sand with a big, black Alsatian just as ugly as he was. It had no collar or lead and was just plain mean and vicious and out looking for something to bite or kill. There were no cats or dachshunds around, so as soon as it saw Jimmy it snarled, drew back its fangs and went for him. Les was about to warn Jimmy when the owner called out to him.

  ‘Run into the water!’

  Jimmy turned around, saw the dog coming at him and spun the stick into his right hand.

  ‘Run into the water, you fuckin’ goose,’ yelled Blue Cap, the owner.

  The Alsatian charged at Jimmy and was just about to sink its teeth into his thigh when Jimmy smashed the stick down across its snout. The dog howled with pain and crashed onto the sand front legs first, like a horse going down in a Western movie. Before it had a chance to let out another yelp Jimmy belted it across the snout again, only harder this time. That was the last thing the Alsatian was expecting. It literally dogged it. It stuck its tail between its legs and, yelping and screeching, tore off up the beach towards North Avoca and parts beyond. The owner watched his heroic killer attack dog disappearing into the distance and came charging over.

  ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ he bellowed at Jimmy.

  ‘What am I doing?’ answered Jimmy. ‘Stopping myself from getting my leg torn off.’

  ‘Why didn’t you run in the water like I fuckin’ told you?’

  Jimmy’s temper started to rise. He was entitled to an apology, but instead he was getting abused. ‘Fuck running in the water,’ he snapped. ‘You’re not even supposed to have the fuckin’ thing on the beach. And where’s its fuckin’ lead? Lucky I wasn’t some poor little kid.’

  ‘Fuck the lead. And fuck the sign,’ bellowed Blue Cap. ‘If I want to bring my dog down the fuckin’ beach, I’ll fuckin’ bring it down.’

  ‘Good. And if the rotten thing comes back and tries to bite me again I’ll give it another belt in the head, you fuckin’ big goose.’

  ‘What!? Ohh fuck you, you poofy-looking little cunt.’

  Blue Cap charged at Jimmy and shaped up to throw a big looping left.

  Oh-oh, thought Norton, I’d better make a move here or Jimmy’s face is paste. That mug’s a bit big for young James. Les ignored the bee sting and started to run over. But he didn’t need to.

  Jimmy stood where he was and as the bloke moved in he brought the stick down across his wrist then backhanded it across his shin all in the one movement. The bloke yelled and cursed with pain, not sure whether to grab his wrist or his shin first. Before he got a chance to do anything, Jimmy bent down behind him, shoved the stick between his legs near his ankles, turned it around and jerked back tripping Blue Cap face-first into the wet sand. Norton was stoked. Hey, good one, Jimmy. Now shove the stick right up his arse. Jimmy stepped back smiling as the bloke wiped the sand from his face and lumbered to his feet.

  ‘Why, you fuckin’ little cunt!’ he screamed with rage and pain.

  Blue Cap glared at Jimmy then charged at him again, this time throwing a big angry right. Making it look easy, Jimmy crouched under the mug’s right, letting it slide behind him, shoved the stick up under the mug’s right armpit and over his shoulder, stuck his left leg in front of Blue Cap’s right knee, pushed the stick and bent over at the same time. Blue Cap went sailing over Jimmy’s hip, head-first into the sand again, somersaulting onto his back. Les was even more stoked than before. Hey, we got one bad-arse, motherfuckin’ nigger here. Go, Jimmy, go. He was wondering what Jimmy was going to do next when two blokes about the same size and wearing much the same clothes as Blue Cap came running across the sand. They looked at Jimmy holding the stick, then looked at Blue Cap who was now half on his knees trying to get his breath back.

  ‘Hey, Thommo, are you all right?’ said one. ‘What’s goin’ on?’

  ‘I was walkin’ along the beach,’ howled Blue Cap. ‘And this little cunt in the poofy shorts hit me with a lump of wood.’

  ‘What! Why you fuckin’ little yuppie cunt.’

  Blue Cap’s mates started to move towards Jimmy. Les thought it was now high time he did put his head in. Jimmy might have been okay at what he was doing. But there were two of them and they were both twice as big as Jimmy. Les ran over and stopped in front of them.

  ‘Bad luck, boys. The yuppie’s not on his own.’

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ said the first one.

  ‘No one,’ answered Les. ‘But I’m with him.’

  ‘Well, too fuckin’ bad,’ said the other.

  Just as he spoke, the first one threw a big right at Les. Les pulled his chin in, stepped inside it and slammed a short right under the bloke’s heart. He gasped with pain and his eyes bulged as Les snapped a left hook into his jaw that mashed up the inside of his mouth, chipping and knocking half the fillings out of his teeth. His mate thought this was about the only good chance he was going to get, so he ran at Norton, throwing all sorts of punches. Les took a few around the shoulders and a couple on the top of his head, then stepped back and snap-kicked the bloke in the solar plexus. He stopped dead in his tracks just in time for Les to slam a left-right combination into his face, breaking his nose. He barely had time to close his eyes and give a tortured grunt of pain when Les grabbed him by the hair and brought his face down into Norton’s knee coming up, smashing the rest of his nose across his face in a splatter of blood and snot. He hit the sand face-first and started snoring.

  The other mug was still on his feet, not feeling very well, and fast realising he wasn’t going to get any better. In desperation he threw a big, slow right at Les. Norton stepped outside, letting it go past his face then jammed his left forearm up under the bloke’s chin, pushed his right elbow up with his right hand and kicked the bloke’s legs from under him with his left foot. The bloke landed heavily on his left side and Les banged two withering short rights into his jaw, breaking it and smashing up a few more teeth. There was really no need, but Norton thought he might stomp on the bloke’s groin a few times, ‘Jake the Muss’ style, just for fun. So he did.

  Blue Cap saw all this and started to panic. ‘I’ll get the police,’ he howled. ‘I’ve got a mate’s a cop in Gosford.’

  ‘Have you now?’ said Norton, walking towards him. He turned to Jimmy. ‘Eric,’ he said, slowly and distinctly, ‘give me that stick.’

  ‘Sure … Vernon.’

  Les took the piece of roofing batten and jammed one end into Blue Cap’s mouth, straight through his teeth, over his tongue and halfway down his throat. Blue Cap moaned a painful gurgle through the blood and smashed teeth and clutched at his face. Les looked at him for a moment then gave him a couple of quick whacks over the ear just for being a mug.

  ‘When you can talk again, shit-for-brains, say hello to your copper mate for me. Come on, Eric, let’s go back to the hotel.’

  ‘Good idea, Vernon. I don’t think I like it down here.’

  They walked off, leaving the three heroes bleeding and moaning on the wet sand. No one appeared to have seen anything, but Les threw the piece of roofing batten way out into the sea all the same.

  ‘Just in case that big sook does call the cops, we don’t want anybody noticing us.’ Les grinned. ‘We’re just a couple of tourists walking along the beach, Eric.’

  ‘That’s us, Vernon,’ winked Jimmy. ‘Two yuppie tourists.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Jimmy, you’re not bad with the bloody thing. Where’d you learn that?’

  ‘Kukishin ryu. Off a Japanese bloke I know in Sydney. I can’t fight to save my life, Les, and I’m not interes
ted. But give me a weapon of some description and I’m pretty sweet. Anything from a can opener to a biro to a gun—I’m there.’

  ‘I can see that, James.’

  ‘Hey, don’t worry about me. You’re not bad yourself. Not fuckin’ bad at all.’

  Norton shrugged. ‘I get by.’

  ‘But what was I saying about boofheads, Les?’

  ‘Yeah, but you can’t judge everybody by those three dills.’

  ‘Mmmhh. It’s a good thing I did find that bit of stick though. I’d have a big piece missing out my leg now and he wouldn’t have given a fuck. “Run into the water.” The fuckin’ imbecile.’

  Les shook his head and started to laugh. ‘You know it’s funny, Jimmy. Every time I come up here, I finish up in a fight on the beach and crazy women jump my bones.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’

  They got to the sign saying no dogs were allowed on the beach and Jimmy stopped. ‘Hey, Les.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘What do you call a boomerang that doesn’t come back?’

  ‘Fucked if I know. What?’

  ‘A stick. Jesus, you are a mug, Les, aren’t you?’

  Norton shook his head. ‘Not really. It’s just that I wouldn’t shock your sensitivities by mentioning a racist joke like that. But it’s droll, Jimmy, all the same. Verrry droll.’

  Back at the house, Jimmy said he wanted to make some phone calls, sort a couple of things out and put his head down for an hour; he’d see Les back in the kitchen at six, then they’d head over to Avoca. Les poured two large glasses of orange juice and Jimmy took his downstairs with him, leaving Norton in the kitchen figuring out what to do with himself. It was still a fairly nice day outside and a bit of exercise wouldn’t go astray, like a run or a good solid walk up and down the hills around Terrigal to check out the neighbourhood. That’d be an idea. Instead, Les decided to glide up and down the pool for a while in the clean country air. After leaving a message on Price’s answering machine to say the eagle had landed and mission accomplished so far, he got his goggles and a towel and did just that.