Mystery Bay Blues Read online

  ‘Suits me,’ nodded Grace. ‘Little Charlie and the Nightcats are on in about half an hour.’

  ‘Did you say Little Charlie and the Nightcats?’ chorused Les and Warren.

  ‘Yes. Haven’t you got a program.’

  Les shook his head. ‘I got a brochure with the tickets. But no program.’

  ‘They never sent you a program?’ queried Grace.

  ‘Haven’t you told Grace how you got the tickets?’ said Warren.

  ‘Didn’t you buy them like everybody else?’ asked Grace.

  ‘Not really,’ said Les. He explained to Grace how he managed to get the tickets. ‘So in a way Grace, if I hadn’t bumped into The Zap, we probably wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘That’s not a bad bartering system you have in Bondi,’ said Grace.

  ‘It’s another world up there. Believe me,’ said Les.

  Warren gave Les a punch on the arm, ‘Where he’s known as Lucky Les.’

  ‘I wish.’ Norton raised his empty glass. ‘Well, what do you reckon Grace? We make a move?’

  ‘That might be a good idea,’ agreed Grace. She turned to Warren. ‘There’s a souvenir stall inside where they sell T-shirts and CDs. How about we meet you and Clover there after Little Charlie?’

  ‘No problem,’ said Warren. ‘We’ll find it and wait for you.’

  They proceeded inside. Grace got her bag from the kitchen. Warren made himself another drink. Les got his camera and gave Warren the key, telling him to leave it under the mat. They said goodbye and Warren started to unpack.

  Les and Grace walked down the hill and around the jetty and joined the crowd. It was a different scene to the evening before when Les had the place almost to himself. Now there were people everywhere, heading for the festival. Music was coming from inside the park and just past the local pool was an entry for the performers and their trucks with security people in black standing on either side. They rounded the corner and joined a queue at the entrance next to the tourist centre. Les handed over his ticket and was given a plastic tag to put round his wrist that he was assured would stay on for the three days, then Grace had her bag politely searched and they went inside.

  There were people everywhere, but the park was long and wide so there was no shortage of room. The souvenir stall selling T-shirts and CDs was on the left next to some other stalls and opposite was a big red and blue tent with a stage and seating. Further on to the right was a much larger red and yellow tent and round to the left was a smaller green one. Between the largest tent and the entry backstage, a striped booze tent was doing a roaring business. Overlooking everything were two huge trailers full of Portaloos.

  Les glanced at his watch. ‘Why don’t we have a quick look around before Little Charlie comes on,’ said Les.

  ‘Okay,’ said Grace.

  With Grace by his side Les checked out the rest of the park. At the far end were food and drink stalls selling everything from chilli-dogs to authentic bush tucker, from fresh fruit juice to Turkish cuisine and Thai noodles. Other stalls sold alien masks and new age clothing, bottles of oil, jewellery, all sorts of things; and doing a brisk business. Grace went to get two orange juices while Les cast an eye over the punters.

  There were plenty of young people. But definitely no ravers with bottles of mineral water. Most of the crowd were in their late thirties and on and some people had brought their kids with them. The dress code was very casual. Plenty of leather and denim, baseball caps and Akubras. Vests and cowboy boots and T-shirts saying what the owner drank or where they came from. The men were all shapes and sizes with a sprinkling of Willie Nelson and ZZ Top look-alikes. The women were either fit with big breasts and long hair, and squeezed into faded jeans, or had their hair shorter and their clothes looser and appeared more into taking life easy. In general, the crowd was pretty much Aussie working class. All enjoying the music and the food, definitely enjoying a drink; and everybody with a smile on their face. Grace came back with two fresh squeezed orange juices and handed one to Les.

  ‘Hey this could be all right,’ said Les, picking up a good vibe in the air.

  ‘It always is,’ replied Grace. ‘And the weather’s good this time of year too.’

  ‘It’s definitely not cold tonight.’

  ‘Why don’t we head over to the tent and find a seat? The band will be on in a few minutes.’

  ‘I’ll follow you.’

  They weaved their way through the crowd across to the big tent and fluked two seats on the side about ten back from the stage. The stage was all set up and they weren’t there long before a huge man, with dark hair and a long face and wearing jeans and a Blues Festival T-shirt, came out on stage. He towered over the microphone and adjusted it to suit him.

  ‘Christ! Check the size of this bloke,’ said Les.

  ‘That’s the guy that runs the festival,’ said Grace. ‘Norman Dadd. Everybody calls him Daddy.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to call him names,’ said Les. ‘He’s a big boy.’

  ‘I’ll introduce you later. I’ve known Norm and his wife for years.’

  Daddy tapped the microphone and started talking. He had a booming voice and didn’t like to waste words.

  ‘Righto,’ he said. ‘I want to welcome youse all to the South Coast Blues Festival. I know youse are gonna have a good time. And it’s good to see youse all again. Now I want youse to give a big South Coast welcome to one of the stars of the show. All the way from the west coast of America. Come on. Put your hands together for … Little Charlie and the Nightcats!’

  Three men, an Afro-American and two whites, walked out on stage led by Ric Estrin, wearing dark glasses, an oyster grey suit, a white shirt with a hand-painted silk tie and two-tone shoes. He looked immaculate and confidently took hold of the mike.

  ‘Alllriiiggght,’ he said, as the band got behind their instruments. ‘I just want to say how great it is to be here in Narooma.’ Ric took out his harp, nodded one, two, three four to the band, and then they slipped straight into ‘Dump That Chump’. Seconds later the whole tent was rocking.

  ‘Hey, how good’s this?’ said Les, bopping around in his seat.

  ‘Open your orange juice,’ said Grace.

  Les took the lid off and Grace tilted a hip flask into it. ‘What’s this?’ asked Les.

  ‘Stolly.’

  ‘Well done, Grace.’ Les took a sip, gasped and kept on bopping.

  Little Charlie and the Nightcats ripped into everything from ‘Don’t Do It’ to ‘Gerontology’. And brought the house down. Between bopping and drinking vodka, Les and Grace managed to get some good photos. The band did one encore, ‘I’m Just Lucky That Way’. Then walked off to a standing ovation. Les had a glow from the vodka and so did Grace.

  ‘Weren’t they good,’ said Grace.

  ‘Were they what!’ agreed Les. He looked at his watch. ‘I suppose we’d better find Warren and Clover.’

  ‘Yes. We don’t want him getting all excited again,’ said Grace.

  They got up with the rest of the crowd leaving the tent and walked over to the souvenir stall where Les immediately started to drool at the stacks of CDs on sale. He made a mental note to come back with his Visa card and fill his overnight bag. Les felt Grace tap him on the shoulder and turned around as Warren and Clover walked up. Warren was wearing designer jeans, a shiny, grey shirt and a black leather jacket. Clover had on a powder blue top an inch above her navel, a denim mini with a white belt six inches below her navel and red, white and blue cowboy boots.

  ‘Hello Clover,’ said Les. ‘How are you sweetheart?’

  ‘Good Les,’ smiled Clover. ‘The house all right?’

  ‘All right? It’s sensational. Clover, this is Grace.’

  ‘Hello Grace.’

  ‘Hi Clover.’

  Clover looked at Grace for a moment. ‘I think I know you. Do you work at a craft shop in Central Tilba?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Grace. ‘My friend Alysia owns it. I sell T-shirts there.’

&nb
sp; ‘Grace Holt originals.’ Clover pointed to Grace’s T-shirt. ‘You’re wearing one now.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘They’re beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you,’ smiled Grace.

  Les gestured. ‘Well, there you go. We’re all friends.’

  ‘We just caught the last of Little Charlie and the Nightcats,’ said Warren. ‘Can he play a harp or what?’

  ‘He doesn’t dress too bad either,’ said Les.

  At that moment, Ric Estrin came over to the souvenir tent to sign autographs and CDs. Considering he’d just performed a scorching gig, he still looked immaculate; not a hair out of place, not a crease in his suit. Coming through the crowd behind him was Norm Dadd. It looked like a tree moving across the park.

  He got near and Grace called out ‘Daddy’.

  Norm looked around. ‘Amazing,’ he boomed. ‘How are you? Everything okay? You got your ticket? You got in all right?’

  ‘Yes thanks,’ she answered, reaching up to give the big man a kiss on the cheek. ‘Daddy, I want you to meet some friends of mine.’ She introduced the three of them, then Daddy looked at Les.

  ‘Les Norton. You work at the Kelly Club with George Brennan.’

  ‘That’s … right,’ hesitated Les.

  ‘George and I are old mates. When I lived at Balmain, we knocked around together.’

  ‘Go on.’ Les recollected Norm waiting in a car outside the Kelly Club one night to give George a lift home.

  Daddy nodded slowly. ‘He told me a bit about you.’ Les discreetly placed his index finger in front of his mouth. Daddy understood. ‘About when you played football,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah. I played for Easts,’ said Les. ‘But I didn’t last long.’

  ‘When did you get here?’ asked Daddy.

  ‘In Narooma?’ said Les. ‘I arrived here late Thursday night.’

  ‘Late?’ said Daddy.

  Les picked up a certain tone in Daddy’s voice and a twinkle in his eye. ‘Yeah. I saw the end of the battle of the bands up at the golf links. Then I had a drink at Lawson’s hotel. That’s where I met Grace.’

  ‘You’ll have to come down the other pub and have a drink,’ said Daddy. ‘McBride’s.’

  ‘I intend to,’ replied Les. ‘I met Olney the chef last night.’

  ‘Olney’s a good chef,’ said Norm. ‘So where are you staying down here, Les?’

  ‘Clover’s parent’s own a big house in Browning Street. Warren and I are staying there.’

  ‘The old Merrigan house?’

  ‘That’s the one. You know, Norm,’ said Les, ‘there’s something I’ve always wanted to know about George.’

  ‘Oh. What’s that Les?’

  Les winked at Grace. ‘Excuse me a second.’ He pulled Daddy aside. ‘Are you on to me about what happened in the hotel last night, Norm?’ Les said quietly in his ear.

  Daddy nodded. ‘I was in the bottle shop, and I thought I saw you running out of the hotel. I wasn’t sure if it was you. But when I saw what had happened inside, I knew who it was.’

  ‘You haven’t told anybody?’

  Norm shook his head. ‘No. There’s half-a-dozen descriptions of you getting around. But one of them’s right on the money. So be careful. One of the blokes you flattened has got a real nutty nephew. And he runs with a bad team.’

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘Any trouble, come and see me. I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Thanks Norm.’ Les slapped Daddy on the shoulder and laughed. ‘So that was George.’

  ‘Yeah. That was him all right,’ said Norm. He was about to say something else, when a solid bloke with fair hair, wearing a Blues Festival T-shirt and an urgent look on his face came over. ‘What’s up Spike?’ asked Norm.

  ‘One of the women’s toilets is playing up, Daddy,’ said Spike.

  ‘Ohh shit!’ cursed Norm.

  ‘That’s part of the problem,’ said Spike.

  ‘I have to go,’ said Daddy. ‘I’ll see youse all later. See you, Les.’

  ‘Yeah. Nice to meet you, Norm,’ he replied.

  The others said goodbye then Warren turned to Les. ‘What was that all about?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, George got barred from a hotel in Balmain for fighting,’ said Les. ‘But he’d never admit it.’

  ‘Knowing George,’ said Warren, ‘he’d never admit to anything.’

  Grace had been to the souvenir tent. She handed Warren and Les a program each. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘Now you know what’s going on.’

  ‘Thanks Grace,’ said Les.

  ‘So what are we doing now?’ asked Clover.

  ‘Blue Katz are on in fifteen minutes,’ said Grace. ‘In the middle tent.’

  ‘Blue Katz,’ said Les. ‘They’ll do me.’

  ‘I got time to get some cool ones,’ said Warren.

  Les looked at Warren, who seemed to be a little on the nod. ‘Did you have a few more cool ones after we left?’ asked Les.

  Warren nodded. ‘And a hot one.’

  ‘He’s half wasted,’ said Clover.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand with the drinks,’ said Les.

  Les and Warren left the girls and walked over to the drink tent. Warren bought four tickets and went to the bar. While Les was waiting for Warren to get served, he didn’t notice he was getting a very deliberate once up and down from a beefy bloke with lank black hair, wearing a Jim Beam T-shirt and an earring. The bloke was also waiting for a mate at the bar, who was wearing a red T-shirt. When the bloke in the red T-shirt came back with four drinks, the bloke with the earring pointed Les out. They both gave Norton a very heavy perusal before taking the drinks over to the two denim-clad women they were with. Warren got the drinks, Les took two and they walked back to the souvenir tent. Les handed Grace a Bacardi and took a sip of JD.

  ‘We’d better see if we can find a seat,’ suggested Grace.

  ‘Yeah,’ yawned Warren. ‘I’m knackered. And my back’s that stiff from the drive down.’

  ‘Ohh shit, Warren,’ said Les. ‘Not your back.’

  They found four seats on the aisle behind each other. Warren and Clover took the front two, Les and Grace sat behind. They weren’t there long when a dark-haired bloke in a Blues Festival T-shirt walked out on stage and took hold of the mike. He had a husky voice and was even more succinct than Daddy.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen. All the way from South Australia, will you please welcome Blue Katz!’

  To generous applause from the people seated, or standing around the tent, the three-piece band came on stage. They were all dressed fairly neatly. But the leader in a dark blue suit and hand-painted tie could have almost given Ric Estrin a run for his money. Without any further to do, Blue Katz slipped into ‘Beef Bong Boogie’. Soon the tent was rocking, people were clapping, others were up in front of the stage dancing. Les told Grace he’d have to put any dancing on hold for the time being: Grace understood. Warren was too tired for any dancing and Clover was content to sit and get into the music.

  Blue Katz cruised through ‘Katman’, ‘Louise Louise’ and ‘Red Hot’. More tracks from their CDs, and for their encore did ‘Rock Big Daddy Rock’. Then they left the stage to thunderous applause and much whistling. Norton’s hands were sore from clapping, but he got some good photos over Warren’s head. Grace took some in front of the band. The four of them waited for the tent to empty a little.

  ‘Well, that’s one of the best nights of boogie I’ve had in a while,’ said Les.

  ‘Yes. They were unreal,’ said Clover. ‘What did you think Warren?’

  ‘Yeah. Great,’ said Warren, stifling a yawn.

  ‘I took some photos of the dancers,’ said Grace. ‘And I got one of this guy doing a spin just as his wig came off. I can’t wait to get it developed.’

  Les had his program out. ‘It says on the program, Jimbo’s Blues Band is on at one o’clock tomorrow. I saw them in Cairns. They’re a hoot.’

  ‘If you’re coming to see them, I might
join you,’ said Grace.

  ‘I’ll be here for sure,’ said Les. ‘That bloke in the war bonnet cracks me up.’

  Les and the others hadn’t noticed a bloke in a red T-shirt and another in a black Jim Beam T-shirt sitting two seats behind, listening to their every word. The two men nodded to each other then got up with their women and left.

  ‘Are you going back to Central Tilba tonight?’ Clover asked Grace.

  Grace shook her head. ‘No. I’m staying with my girlfriend Belinda in Eastaway Avenue.’

  ‘How are you getting home?’ asked Clover.

  ‘With her. She works at Lawson’s Hotel. But I’m not sure what time she’s finishing because of all the people in town.’

  ‘Mum’s picking me up at the house in about thirty minutes. We can give you a lift home if you like.’

  ‘That’d be great, Clover. All right if we call in to the hotel for a second while I tell Belinda?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘There you go, Ugly,’ smiled Warren. ‘Saves you having to drive Grace home.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Les, hoping Grace might have come back for a cool one.

  Warren could read the look on Norton’s face. ‘Lucky Les,’ he said. ‘You’ve done it again.’

  ‘Well, I suppose we’d better make a move,’ said Clover. ‘I don’t want to keep mother waiting.’

  ‘Yes. Come on Les,’ smiled Grace. ‘I’ll help you up the hill. You poor old thing.’

  ‘Thanks, Amazing,’ he replied.

  Part of the crowd were hanging back to see a Creole band still playing in the smaller tent. Les and the others joined the people leaving the park. It was only a short walk to the house and they discussed the bands they’d just seen, and cracked a few jokes. Warren yawned a few times while Les had one quick whinge about his back, then they were standing in front of the driveway.

  ‘Do you want to wait inside?’ asked Les.

  ‘No thank you,’ replied Grace.

  ‘No. Me either,’ said Clover.

  ‘I don’t know how you can just piss off and leave me like this,’ sniffed Warren.

  ‘It’s … relatively easy Warren,’ replied Clover. ‘I simply say goodnight. And go home to mother.’ She put her arms around Warren. ‘But I’ll be around for breakfast tomorrow darling, pet, dove.’