And De Fun Don't Done (70 page)

Norton had plotted, schemed, paid out a fortune in slings, driven all over the place, almost got arrested, not counting stubbing his toe, to find this loot. Now what was he going to do with it? Yeah, what? Take it with him? Hah! If he went within cooee of those metal detectors at the airport they'd start going off like New Year's Eve in Brazil. Plus it weighed a ton, and the customs department was red hot in Jamaica. It wouldn't last five minutes in his travel bag. If they didn't find it with X-rays, imagine some baggage handler picking it up. He'd get a few coins out among the dimes and quarters he still had from Florida,
plus the Jamaican ones he was keeping and the coins he still had from home. But that was about it. Forget it, Les. Well done, nice try, but you blew it. Les stared at the coins lying on the towel and in the Spanish jar. Maybe it wasn't meant to be, after all. Maybe it was a secret between a brother and sister that was supposed to be left in the grave. Les had a bit of a think for a minute. Yeah. I'll put it all back where I found it. And just leave things as they were. At least I know where it is if I want it. Les looked up at the name embossed on the wall and at the massive, mahogany column, still hanging from the ceiling like a monstrous, chocolate-coloured stalactite. So back it all goes, Eduardo and Elizabeth. Well, not quite all of it.

Getting the Spanish jar back into its hiding place was a monumental pain in the arse. Les packed the coins back in easy enough then took his last few photos, after that it was like lying on a pile of half housebricks, trying to do bench presses with your hands in the middle of your chest. Les grunted and strained, cursed and sweated as he slipped across the cannonballs and banged his knees and elbows trying to get the heavy ceramic container back into the mahogany column. Finally, with the help of the crowbar, he was able to heave it in, lever it around then get the stopper screwed on; ending up with three bleeding knuckles and bruises all over his back. After that, Les had a quick breather and drank his last carton of orange juice, then picked up the pinchbar and jammed it back under the sandstone blocks, only on the opposite side. After being loosened, they moved easier this time. Without too much trouble Les was able to jemmy them across the cannonballs with some more crunching and grating before they rumbled and clunked down into place. The only difference this time was a gap between the sandstone blocks and the bottom of the column where the sandstone blocks had been dislodged. But if you didn't know it was there, you probably wouldn't notice it. Well, that's the best I can do, thought Les. At least it's back in there and I doubt if anyone will ever find it. Unless maybe the place
caught on fire. Les stood back and was admiring his afternoon's work when there was a groaning, rumbling, slow crack from the ceiling. Les slowly raised his eyes. The huge beam above the columns seemed to quiver for a moment, dust and bits of debris fell to the floor then the end column slammed down onto the sandstone blocks with a dull thump that shook the floor. It wasn't hard enough to smash the blocks. But if they had been pivoted to the side, with just the edge of the column resting on them instead of right underneath them, the whole thing more than likely would have come crashing down. Five tonnes of solid, milled hardwood rolling and banging round the ballroom. The four bolts were holding the column now with the sandstone blocks underneath. But the huge old beam above had more dry rot inside than Les first thought. Norton gave one giant blink then stared at where the massive column had jammed itself against the sandstone blocks, wide-eyed as more dust hung in the hazy shafts of light surrounding him.

‘Oooohhh! Ooohhh!' Les shook his head slowly. ‘I don't think I like this.'

Strange thoughts began to fill Norton's head. If he'd spent some more time drinking his orange juice, if he'd gone for a leak, if he'd had some more film in the camera. Just a few minutes either way… Les decided to stop thinking. It wasn't a good idea. One thing was for sure though, Les thought. The Spanish jar would be a lot harder to get out next time. After that, it didn't take Les long to get his stuff together, the tools rolled up in the sheet of tarpaulin and back in the car. He didn't stay for any final, nostalgic farewells to the old manse. Something weird was going on, Les could feel it in his bones, and he wanted out of the place before he started hearing strange voices and seeing luminous outlines amid the shadows.

Seconds later Norton was in the Honda, taking a short cut up Harbour Street behind the police station then back onto the main road leading out of Dredmouth. If Inspector Noonan appeared out of the bush trying to sell tickets
to the policemen's ball, Les would have driven straight over the top of him.

Back at the hotel Errol was standing in his usual place at the bottom of the stairs when Les swung the Honda into the carpark and pulled up almost next to him. There was no sign of the caretaker, so Les motioned for Errol to come over to the car, where Les handed him the tools, plus his other fifty dollars, thanking him again for his trouble. Errol seemed happy as a clam and carried the tools off down the side passage. Les watched him for a moment then got the rest of his stuff from the car and trotted up the stairs to the office. There was no sign of Esme or Delta. But his key was at the desk with a message. They had rung Millwood Downie three times. They'd gone for a walk and would be back by six. Short and to the point, thought Les. Though they didn't say whether Millwood would be at the hotel by six-thirty.

There was definitely a woman's touch in his room when Les opened the door. Two plastic bags on the neatly made spare bed, the whiff of cheap, yet sweet, perfume in the air and a couple of bottles plus some knickers and other odds and ends in the bathroom and two girlie magazines near the phone. Besides that, all his clothes were neatly folded and placed on his bed, his towels, sock and shoes were all together and someone even had the audacity to iron his blue, button-down collar shirt and a clean pair of jeans and hang them on the wardrobe. Nothing was missing, not even the change he'd left by the phone. In fact, even that was stacked into four neat piles. The cheeky little bastards, thought Les, dumping his backpack on the bed. How's their form? They're bloody lucky I'm leaving tonight or they'd both get a piece of my mind. Not that I've got that much to spare. Whistling happily, Norton climbed out of his dirty, sweat-sodden clothes and got under the shower. He took his time and had a good close shave, got all the crap out of his hair then spruced up with several dabs of Jamaica Island Lyme he'd bought at the resort.

Before long Les was looking pretty chic in his freshly
ironed jeans and shirt with a plain white T-shirt underneath. Packing his gear was easy, everything was all neatly laid out and he had time for a think. There wasn't a great deal to think about now, just one or two things. But mainly Indiana Norton had scraped through again, made some more friends and got out in front. He was thinking of getting another bottle of Sangsters Rum and going out in style, but Les had a feeling the drink might finish up a bit melancholy. They say parting is such sweet sorrow and this was shaping up as no exception to the rule. There was something about Esme and Delta tidying up his clothes for him that touched Les, and Millwood, corny jokes or not, was one of the most decent blokes he'd ever come across. He was a destant smadi, alright. Then finding his roots going back all those years was something else again. Weird, uncanny; spooky even. And right on top of that bizarre, crazy experience in America. For a first trip away from Australia it hadn't been a bad one. Les was reflecting on all this when there was a knock on the door.

‘Well, well, well. If it isn't the two best sorts in Jamaica. How are you, girls?'

‘Fine Les,' chorused Esme and Delta. ‘How are yu?'

‘Tops,'grinned Norton. ‘Couldn't be creamier. No pun intended of course, Esme.' This went over Esme's head, but she kept smiling as Les closed the door. ‘So what's been happening?'

They sat on the beds, facing each other, and Les sorted out what the girls had been up to and what was happening with Millwood. The girls had spent a lovely day hanging round the hotel and the beach and resting up in the room. They'd rung Millwood three times. He got to work late and he was busy, but he should be at the hotel by six- thirty. If not, he'd see Les at the airport.

‘At the airport?' frowned Norton.

‘That's what he say,' nodded Esme. ‘We ring back twice. But he busy and de 'oman not put us through.'

‘Mmmhh.' Les picked at his chin for moment. ‘Oh well, it's not half past six yet. He'll probably get here. Come on,
let's go and have an orange juice or something while we're waiting.'

‘Okay,' smiled Esme.

‘Hey. And thanks for tidying up the room and ironing my shirt for me,' said Les, returning Esme's smile. ‘No wonder I love the both of youse.'

‘We know you do,' said Delta. ‘You're our Brer Wallaby.'

They had a bit of a laugh and a muck around then walked out onto the balcony.

The Caribbean sun was starting to set behind the clouds, filling the sky with streaks of violet and gold while it turned the still waters of Montego Bay a shimmering mauve. Considering the threat of an approaching hurricane it was quite a beautiful evening. There were only two other couples on the balcony so they sat down at the same table again and Les got two orange juices and a bottle of Red Stripe from the bar. Les was going to stick to orange juice, but it was a kind of celebration and he figured a couple of beers wouldn't hurt him. They clinked glasses then sat around talking while they waited for Millwood. Les was in a fairly jubilant kind of mood, which would have been even heightened if Millwood had been there. The girls were a little down. Besides being genuinely sad at seeing Les go, they had to be out of the room in the morning, then they had to go and start working for Lucretia Borgia at the Badminton Club in the afternoon. Not something to make you want to start doing handstands. But it would have been a lot worse if it hadn't been for Les. They almost brightened up a little when Les told them not to worry. Happy up. Things could only get better. Wait and see. Les told them a bit about Australia and his trip to Florida. He'd drop them a line when he got home. All the time he was talking Les kept checking his watch and looking out at the street. But there was still no sign of the schoolteacher. Where is the bastard? frowned Les. It's not getting any earlier. He bought another bottle of beer and drank that. Before Les knew it, time had run out.

‘Righto, girls,' he said, finishing his beer. ‘I got to make a move. By the time I fix up my bill it'll be time to get to the airport and check the car in. Millwood did say he'd be here, didn't he?'

‘If not here, the airport,' shrugged Esme.

‘Shit!' Les waited another minute, peering over the balcony just in case.

‘What the crosses, Les?' asked Delta. ‘Why you so screw face?'

‘Why? Cause I want to bloody see him. That's why.'

‘Okay, Les. I know he yu friend. I only asking.'

‘I mean he's a good bloke,' said Les. ‘And I'd like to say goodbye to him, Delta. That's all. Sorry. Anyway, we might catch him at the airport. I know I gave him my flight number. Righto.'

Les went to his room, had a last look around and gave himself a last detail. Some reggae track came belting up the wall from downstairs; Les didn't know what it was and he didn't particularly care. He made sure all his travel documents were in his backpack, checked to see that everything he'd need was in order, had one quick think for a moment then picked up his travel bag and walked out to reception. While the girl was fixing his bill, Les got her to ring the golf club; the number was engaged both times. The girl sorted out Norton's bill and hoped he had a pleasant stay at the hotel. Les smiled and said it was great. Esme and Delta got what they wanted from their room now and they walked down to the car. Errol was standing in his usual spot, so Les shook his hand and said goodbye. Errol was cool and he'd been a big help — though from the look on Esme's face you wouldn't think so. As they got in the car Les thought she was going to kick him fair in the nuts. Next thing they were on their way to Sir Donald Sangster Airport with Esme sitting in the front, her hand resting gently on Norton's knee.

The traffic wasn't heavy and the short drive out was uneventful. Les didn't say much. Most of the time he was looking in the rear vision mirror as if he expected Millwood to zoom up behind him with Harvey at the wheel
and start honking. Next thing they were there. It wasn't anywhere near as hectic as last time and Les was able to drive straight into the rental area without any trouble and they got out of the car. Esme offered to carry Les's backpack; it looked heavy and he had a sore hand. Les said that it was quite alright. He could manage. The departure lounge didn't seem any busier than normal either. There were the usual crowds of tourists, passengers and staff walking around or whatever. But for a place expecting a hurricane at any time it seemed all very casual. Les decided to check his bag in first. There was a middle-aged couple in front of Les and he was patiently waiting his turn when he was surprised slightly by some bloke in a blue suit carrying a walkie-talkie who approached him from out of the crowd. He asked if that was Norton's bag, did he pack it and did he know that it would be X-rayed and sniffer dogs would go over it before it went on the plane? Les told the bloke it was his bag and they could do what they liked with it for all he cared. Spray graffiti on it, raise goats in it, fire a gun through it; anything they wanted. Just as long as it finished up in Australia. The bloke gave Les a miserable once up and down and drifted off into the crowd.

‘What was that all about?' asked Esme, when Les came back from the counter.

‘Buggered if I know,' replied Norton, a little mystified. ‘Come on, I'll get rid of the Rolls then we should have time for a couple of drinks before I go.' Les scanned the crowd again then led the girls over to the Hertz counter. Maybe that's why the bloke from customs came over, mused Les. I haven't stopped looking around since I got here.