And De Fun Don't Done (5 page)

‘Cheers, mate,' he said, trying to stop his stomach from heaving. ‘Good to see you again.'

Hank raised his beer like he had a broken collarbone. ‘Whatever.'

Les took a monstrous slurp on his margarita. It was delicious; the salt bit his lips and the whole thing hit the spot nicely. He noticed Hank took a lengthy pull too and guessed it might have been a while since Hank had his mitts on a nice cool one; especially a shout.

The girl brought back Norton's change, put it on the bar and continued to smile at Les. ‘Are you Australian?' she asked.

‘Yeah,' answered Les, a little taken back. ‘How'd you guess?'

‘The accent.'

‘Christ!' exclaimed Norton. ‘I only said about five bloody words.'

‘That's all you need, big guy,' winked the girl.

Les threw back his head and laughed out loud and the rest of the margarita disappeared down his throat. ‘Well, if that's the case, good lookin', while you're standing there doing nothin' I'll have another one of those please.' Les placed his empty glass on the bar and turned to Laurel. Laurel shrugged again. ‘And another beer for… him.'

‘You got it.'

While he waited for the next round to arrive Les had a slew round the bar, partly out of curiosity, mainly to avoid having to talk to Hank. There was just some skinny bloke in a Bud-Lite T-shirt under a TV at the end, a couple three stools down and another couple in a cubicle by the dancefloor. From out of the dining area a huge black man appeared, wearing jeans and a Toby's T-shirt, and carrying some ashtrays and what looked like paper napkins. Les tossed him a wink and got a happy enough smile in return. The drinks arrived. Les thanked the girl and took another massive slurp.

‘So how do you like the United States?' asked the barmaid.

‘It's great,' answered Norton. ‘One of the best places I ever seen.'

‘Hey, isn't that nice?' The girl was genuinely pleased. ‘How long have you bin here?'

Norton glanced at his watch. ‘About an hour and a half. I just got off the bloody plane at Tampa.' Les watched the barmaid put her hand over her face as she tried not to laugh. ‘So what's your name anyway, sweetheart? You're certainly friendly enough.'

‘Trudi.'

‘I'm Les.' The Queenslander held up his drink. ‘Nice to meet you, Trudi.'

‘You too, Les. You don't seem like a bad bloke yourself … mate.'

‘Good on you, Trudi.'

Margarita number two went down pretty smartly, so Les ordered another one, then a whiskey sour, as he raced
a big wooden clock at the end of the bar that kept ticking towards two. So far Hank hadn't grunted more than about three words, preferring to smoke cigarettes, act macho and drink the free beers in front of him while Les nattered away with the barmaid.

It turned out Trudi had moved down to Florida from Baltimore with her husband about two years ago. Baltimore was just below New York. At the mention of New York Les smiled to himself as he looked at Hank's reflection in the bar mirror and saw his face go about as sour as the whiskey Les was drinking. Even though Florida was terribly hot in summer, continued Trudi, winter was lovely; especially not having to walk around up to your waist in snow at times.

‘So what brings you to the States, Les?' enquired Trudi, getting a kick out of watching him ripping into his whiskey sour. ‘On vacation are you?'

‘Not really,' said Norton. ‘It's more a business trip. Like a working holiday.'

‘Oh?'

‘Yeah. Back in Australia I'm with the NTCRC.' Trudi looked puzzled, even the skinny drunk at the end of the bar started to earwig. Hank still sat there like a stale bottle of piss. ‘The Northern Territory Crocodile Racing Commission.'

‘Northern Territory?' Trudi looked puzzled. ‘I think I've heard of Sydney and Melbourne. And somewhere called Perth.'

‘It's up the top end of Australia. Place called Darwin. I'm over here to buy some breeding stock. I'm taking some alligators back with me. We're gonna cross breed them with the crocodiles and see how they go.'

‘You have crocodile races back in Australia?' Trudi stared at Les.

‘Bloody oath! It's a big business back home. The annual Darwin Cup's worth nearly half a million dollars. We get crocodiles come from all over Australia.'

‘Crocodile racing.' Trudi shook her head. ‘How do you get those big, mean critters to stay on the track, or whatever?'

‘We use koala bears as jockeys.'

Trudi's mouth swung open. ‘Those cute little things with the big ears? My god! How do you get them to ride on those big monsters?'

‘Easy,' said Norton. ‘They got little saddles and whips. And helmets and goggles. Hey, don't worry about koalas. They're tough little bastards, I'm telling you. They hang on to trees alright. Same with crocodiles.' Norton started making jockey motions like he had a whip in his hand and was holding onto the reins. ‘Only thing we have to watch is the cheating. There's a bit of that goes on.'

‘Cheating? In a crocodile race?' Trudi shook her head again.

‘Yeah.' Norton looked serious. ‘Only last week we had a racing scandal, and a big inquiry. We caught one of the jockeys using a battery. Had it hidden in his whip, the little bastard. But we were on to him; we knew he was cheating.'

‘My God! What happened?'

‘The crocodile won by five lengths. But the koala got electrocuted.'

‘Oh, my God! That's awful.'

‘Yeah,' nodded Norton sincerely. ‘If you can't trust a cute, cuddly little koala bear, who can you trust?'

The clock hit two. Hank briefly caught Norton's eye as he got off his stool and headed for the door. Norton drained his last drink and put the glass on the bar, leaving about six dollars next to it in one dollar bills and quarters.

‘Well that was truly delightful, Trudi,' he said. ‘Exactly what I needed. But now I have to leave. My handsome prince is waiting outside with a pumpkin coach drawn by six white mice.' Just a little unsteadily Les turned towards the door where the big black bloke was standing next to a cigarette machine.

‘Hey!' called out Trudi. ‘Are you gonna come back and have another drink with us before you go back to Darwin? Saturday nights are good. We have a band.'

Les looked at the big black bloke, who was about three
inches taller and at least ten stone heavier than Les, and smiling feinted a left rip at his massive stomach. ‘Ain't nobody here big enough to stop me.'

The black bloke flashed back a white grin that was almost as big as he was and opened the door for Norton. ‘You have a good one, brother.'

As Norton stepped through the door he stopped and gave Trudi a wave. ‘See you later, alligator,' he called out boozily.

Hank was sitting in the pick-up, smoking a cigarette, with the motor running and the lights on. Pleasantly numbed from six stiff drinks in about half an hour Les swung inside on top of his gear in a better frame of mind to cope with the seppo. They took off in silence and about two miles back onto the highway Hank spoke.

‘That was one of the stupidest things I've ever heard. What made you come out with all that crap?'

‘It's … I say, it's called having a joke, boy. You do know what a joke is, don't you, Laurel?' The drinks hadn't helped the sarcasm that had been building up inside Les either.

‘I sure know what being stupid is when I see it.'

Tomorrow, thought Les, staring ahead into the night. I'll get a good night's sleep tonight. Then tomorrow, after I've let this prick show me around a bit, I'll hit him right on the chin and break his jaw then move into a motel or head over to Miami or something.

‘Back at my place,' Hank took a big drag on his cigarette and gave Les a super smug look, ‘I'll show you something that ain't stupid.'

‘Yeah. Like what?' Norton couldn't stop himself laughing. ‘A photo of you at your senior prom, wearing a white sports coat and a pink carnation?'

‘You'll see and feel something you don't see in Australia.'

I can't wait, thought Les. He was going to sling off some more but changed his mind and just wound down the window.

They drove on pretty much in silence with Les still
absolutely clueless as to where he was; all he knew was that it was still dead flat and they'd come about ten kilometres. Or six miles in seppo talk. Hank turned off the main road onto a smaller one, then another. Now there were vacant lots and single-storey homes that reminded Les of holiday houses on the north and south coast of New South Wales, only there were no fences and they all had double garages and huge driveways. There also seemed to be more trees and behind some of the houses Les could see what looked like ponds or lagoons shining a murky silver in the moonlight.

Hank turned left through some trees and they crunched up a long driveway to pull up in front of a rickety carport with a lopsided roof hanging over some car beneath. There was a single-storey house to the right with a light on over a verandah out the front that still reminded Les of a holiday home. A narrow path led from that house to a smaller one about thirty metres away that had an extra storey built on top; it too had a light left on and even from that distance Les could see the paint was peeling off and weeds grew up to the front door. All round were trees with this creepy-looking grey-green fern hanging off them, which Les later found out was called Spanish Moss. It might have been the night and the oppressive heat, it might have been the Spanish Moss in the moonlight, but the whole place had this eerie, necessitous look about it. Hank got out of the car, undid his fly and did a great piss on the driveway. Well, that suits me, thought Norton, and got out and did the same. Hank finished first and started towards the larger house.

‘This way,' he said, without waiting for Les.

‘Yeah, righto,' answered Norton, and took his time finishing.

Les picked up his bags and walked into the house, trying not to make too much noise. There was the usual small hallway when you entered, a loungeroom to the left and another room to the right with a large wooden table and some old chairs around it. The house was nothing too flash, lots of paintings on the walls, bric-a-brac sitting on
old cabinets and a few scatter rugs on the yellowy brown carpet. Somewhere ahead light came from another door; Les headed towards it and found a fairly large kitchen with windows facing on to what looked an enclosed verandah. There were more doors to his right and a passageway that was a laundry. Light came from another doorway at the end of a shorter passageway; Les walked towards it and found what evidently was his room.

It was a fairly large, dimly lit room with carpet — and not much else. There was a single bed against the wall as you walked in; opposite was a long, low table with a lamp on it, a fan, an ancient ghetto blaster and just plain junk. There were a couple of old lounge chairs, another low but smaller table in one corner and that was about it. No dressing table, no wardrobe, not even an overhead light fitting. Just a sliding glass door and a flyscreen to the left as you walked in, left open to get the non-existent breeze or air, and another door in the far corner. The rest was just junk; mainly old wooden frames that looked like they could have once held paintings.

Hank stood in the middle, looking round like it was the Presidential Suite at the Sydney Regent. ‘Well, what do you say?'

‘Great,' answered Les, sweat already dripping from his chin. His bags dropped on the floor along with his arse. ‘Bad luck I can only stay three weeks.'

‘You got a bed there, a lamp, the fan works. That sliding door leads out back and this is your bathroom.' Hank opened the door in the corner. There was a shower, toilet and sink; the white tiles looked reasonably clean but it smelled of stagnant water.

‘Nice,' nodded Les, as Hank closed the door. Christ! he thought. How do I find myself in these spots? Long Bay wasn't much worse than this. And at least it was cooler.

‘Now let's go and have a real drink.'

Les had a last look round his sumptuous lodgings and followed Hank out the same way they came in. I imagine another margarita would be out of the question, mused Norton.

There were a few night sounds as Les crunched along the narrow path to what was obviously Hank's section of his family's rambling estate; though what Les was mainly concentrating on was the bloody heat and flicking Spanish Moss out of his face. Laurel Lee's house reminded Norton of a weekender down the south coast alright. The south coast of East Germany. The front door stood warped and splintering in the dim light just above it, there was a large window and curtains to the right and a smaller window to the left, which Norton surmised was the kitchen. The place was all a sickly orange and white and looking at it from the outside it was hard to imagine that it once was new. All it was now was faded paintwork, grime and dry rot. Come and stay at my place any time you're in America, you guys. I own two houses and my family's got heaps of money. What did Price, the wise old owl, say the night before Norton left? Don't even believe half of what yanks tell you. They're full of bullshit. No wonder his boss was a multi-millionaire and looked twenty years younger than he was.

Hank unlocked the front door and inside was just as tatty, only it was musty as well. There was a kitchen to the left, cluttered with pots and dishes, a grimy sink, a grimy stove and a rusting fridge. The rest of downstairs was just one big room with bare floorboards, except where a landing walked up one step to a curtained off room in the right corner. A set of stairs led left from that up to what looked like the master's magnificent bedroom and lavish toilet facilities. A dusty, noisy air-conditioner, whining away at the top of the stairs, did manage to bring the temperature down a few degrees. There were a couple of daggy animal skins pinned to the walls, two or three paintings and as far as home decorating went, that was it. The only noticeable comforts were an old three-piece lounge sitting between the door and the far wall as you walked in, a small-screen TV set sitting on a dusty, wooden cabinet full of old books, and a coffee table with a telephone on it. Les noticed a locked cabinet against one wall and beneath this a table holding what looked
like a home mincer. Norton stared at the handle on it for a few seconds; he knew what it was but couldn't think for the moment. There was no stereo in the room, no pool table and definitely no cocktail bar or cabinet.