The Boys from Binjiwunyawunya (10 page)

Murray half closed his eyes and shook his head over the sexy young Koodja's. ‘Ohh I don't know about that,' he said.

‘Anyway, come over and meet the pilot. He's not a bad bloke. He's a mate of Eddie's.'

The boys said a last goodbye to their women, then picked up their overnight bags, plus a larger, black canvas one which Mumbi and Yarrawulla carried between them, and walked across to the aircraft. They gave the pilot a friendly smile and climbed on board.

‘Kingsley. This is my brother Murray.'

‘G'day Kingsley,' smiled Murray, almost pulverising the pilot's hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.'

‘Yeah,' winced Kingsley. ‘You too Murray.'

‘Anyway mate,' said Les. ‘I suppose we'd better get cracking.'

‘Okay Les.' Murray shook hands with his brother once more. ‘Bad luck we couldn't have had a bit of a yarn, eh?'

‘Yeah. It sure is. But I'll give you a ring over the weekend and tell you how everything's going.'

‘Okay Les. See you then mate.'

‘See you Muzz. Don't forget to say hello to Elaine and the kids for me.' Norton climbed the steps and disappeared into the aircraft.

The pilot looked up at the doorway for a moment, then back at Murray, ‘Les eh? That's funny. I thought his name was George.' He shook his head at the blank look on Murray's face. ‘This is all very Frederick bloody Forsyth isn't it?' He
shook his head again before he too climbed up the steps. ‘I'll see you again Murray.'

‘Yeah righto Kingsley. See you mate.'

Murray jogged back to the four girls and they all stood there waving as the Beechcraft taxied back to the other end of the runway, turned and idled for a moment before it sped back along the tarmac and roared off into the shimmering outback sky. The girls kept waving till it disappeared from sight, then they all bundled into the Land Rover and drove off.

About two or three minutes later, as they were bouncing along the almost non existent dirt road back to Binjiwunyawunya, Murray turned to Koodja sitting alongside him.

‘Hey, Koodja.'

‘Yes,' she smiled.

‘Who's bloody Frederick Forsyth?'

Koodja looked at him blankly and shrugged her shoulders.

‘Isn't that the bloke that owns the hardware store out at Winton,' chimed in Mammanduru from the back seat.

‘No. You're thinking of old Fred Foster the butcher,' said Numidi.

‘Oh well. Buggered if I know,' said Mammanduru.

They continued on in silence.

Inside the plane, Les gave the pilot a quick introduction to the boys, telling them briefly his name was Kingsley. He didn't bother to introduce them individually, figuring he'd never remember their proper Aboriginal names and their nicknames were just a personal thing between them and the Nortons; to introduce them to an outsider as Chalky, Mumbles and Yarra would only be demeaning. Although he was smiling and acting quite blase about it all, Kingsley was none the less quite mystified as to what was going on around him. It wasn't every day he flew out to the middle of nowhere to pick up three of the strangest looking Aborigines he'd ever seen in his life, especially with those almost hypnotic electric-blue eyes. Even now he could still feel the way they seemed to bore into him as he walked past them to get to the cockpit. And what about those four young spunks standing next to that Murray bloke's car? They were gorgeous. They looked like their daughters, but the way they kissed them goodbye there was no way they could have been. Then George, or Les, or whatever the big red-headed bloke's name was, was recommended to him by Eddie Salita. That was enough to
set the alarm bells ringing in itself. But nothing illegal seemed to be going on and the money was there all right, in cash. It was just a bit odd, that was all. But they could have anything in that big, black canvas bag. Kingsley smiled to himself, kept his thoughts the same way, and flew on.

‘What's in the bag anyway?' asked Les, motioning towards the compartment at the rear with his thumb.

‘We'll show you in Sydney,' replied Tjalkalieri, shifting his bright blue eyes towards the pilot.

‘Fair enough,' nodded Norton.

‘Anyway bloodnut,' grinned Yarrawulla, giving Les a slap on the thigh. ‘How have you been the last few years? You're certainly looking well. How's Sydney been treating you? We've heard a few stories.'

‘Ohh shit!' Norton tossed back his head and laughed. ‘Where do I bloody-well start?'

The rest of the return journey was spent swapping yarns and reminiscing, going right back to when Les was just a snotty-nosed schoolboy going to Dirranbandi Public School... and beyond that to when they first met Les's father before he got married. They were so engrossed in laughter and conversation, with that and a Northwest tailwind they were circling Mascot aerodrome before they knew it. Less than four hours after they'd taken off they were on the ground walking towards the hangar and Kingsley's office.

‘Just wait here for a sec,' said Les, when they were in the hangar. ‘I'm just going to duck up and settle with the pilot.'

Kingsley smiled a goodbye to the boys, adding he was pleased to have met them, and Les followed him up to his office.

‘There you are Biggies. There's another two grand.' Norton handed Kingsley another wad of money. ‘The boys'll give you the rest when they get off the plane next week. All right?'

‘No worries mate,' smiled Kingsley, ‘You're welcome to do business with me again any time you want. When do you reckon they'll be wanting to go back?'

‘Probably next Thursday. Maybe Wednesday.'

‘Good as gold. I'll be here.'

‘Okay. Well I'll probably see you then Kingsley.'

‘Righto. See you then... George. Or whatever it is.'

Norton paused by the door and smiled evenly at the pilot. ‘George'll do. I like it. It's a good honest-sounding name, don't you think?'

‘Call me what you like but don't call me late for breakfast eh?'

‘Yeah. Something like that.'

‘Righto boys,' said Norton, back down in the hangar. ‘Let's hit the toe for Redfern?'

He carefully picked up the black canvas bag and they strolled out to where he'd left his old Ford. The next thing they'd joined the afternoon traffic along South Dowling Street and were heading for the Thames Tavern.

Ross Bailey wasn't around when Les and the boys walked into the foyer, so they went straight up the stairs. Les opened the door to number 9 and showed it to the boys who were already starting to exchange very disdainful looks amongst themselves.

‘Jesus, what a fuckin' dump,' said Tjalkalieri, gazing scornfully around the main room after Les had closed the door behind them. ‘Is this where we're staying? It looks more like the shithouse in a Turkish prison.'

‘I don't reckon it's that bad,' replied Les, walking towards the verandah. ‘You've got a top view.'

‘Yeah. On a clear day you can see right across the room.'

‘Hey, you seen the size of these bedrooms,' called out Mumbi. ‘There's two mice in here and they're both hunchbacks.'

‘You are kidding, Les?' added Yarrawulla. ‘If this place was any smaller you'd have to go out in the hallway to change your mind.'

‘All right,' said Les, opening the door to the balcony. ‘I agree, it ain't the Waldorf Astoria. But for fifty grand for five days work I'm entitled to throw you all in a Valiant station wagon underneath a bridge with a couple of flagons of plonk.'

‘That could be worse than this?' said Mumbi.

‘Anyway come out here. I want to show you something.'

They followed Les out onto the balcony for their first glimpse of the view across Redfern, which after the peaceful beauty of Binjiwunyawunya looked like hell on earth with its smog, pollution, fumes and noise from the trains and traffic thundering and roaring past.

‘Yeah, it's real nice, Les,' said Tjalkalieri. ‘Has that pilot bloke refueled yet. If we hurry we might be able to get the four-fifteen back to Boulia.'

‘Hold on a second, Chalky,' said Norton. ‘Before you go
getting your bowels in a knot, just let me show you something.'

Les pointed out the block of land in question and the old building with the AWEC office. He told them exactly what was going on between Price and Kilby and explained why he'd chosen that particular hotel, even if it was a bit on the grotty side.

‘A bit on the grotty side,' said Yarrawulla, his blue eyes flashing. ‘That's like describing the Battle of Stalingrad as being a bit noisy.'

‘Yeah okay, Yarra. But remember, you're only going to be here a few days, and Kilby's only just across the road. Mate, it's perfect. You'll be able to knock him off like shit from here.'

‘Fair enough I suppose,' muttered Tjalkalieri, a little reluctantly. ‘Jesus, the things a man has to put up with just to try and earn a quid. Come on, let's go back inside. The air out here's that thick you don't breathe it, you eat it with a knife and fork.'

They trooped back inside and Norton closed the door behind them.

‘Well when do you want to start work?' he asked.

‘Ah we'll probably start getting things organised now,' said Tjalkalieri. ‘Then start chanting first thing tomorrow. Maybe tonight. The sooner we get this over and get out of this shithouse the better.'

‘What are you going to do?' asked Mumbi. ‘You sticking around or are you gonna piss off?'

‘No, I'm here for as long as you are Mumbles,' replied Les. ‘Anything you want, just tell me. Food, drink, whatever. Just tell me and I'll go and get it. I'm also hanging about to make sure nothing happens to any of you.'

‘Thanks Les,' said Yarrawulla. ‘You're a regular bloody Mother Theresa.'

The boys had a quick discussion amongst themselves as to their sleeping arrangements. Yarrawulla and Mumbles would go in one room, Les and Tjalkalieri in the other. They'd start getting things together straight away and more than likely start the chant that night, taking it in four hour shifts. They left the black canvas bag in the middle of the room and started unpacking the few clothes they'd brought with them, hanging them up on some wire coat-hangers in the cheap plywood wardrobes. Les said his stuff was still in the boot of his car, which he'd parked at the rear of the hotel. He trotted down and got it and was back in a few minutes. When he returned
the three others were sitting on the old vinyl lounge, in front of the blank TV set, not saying anything but with odd half smiles on their faces. Les twigged something was going on so he tossed his overnight bag through the open door of the bedroom and returned their stares.

‘What's... going on?' he asked, a little suspiciously.

‘Les. We just remembered. There was something we forgot to tell you,' said Tjalkalieri.

‘Yeah. What's that?'

‘Well. To make this thing work we've got to have something belonging to Percy Kilby.'

‘You mean, like an article of clothing or something?'

‘No. Something from him. Of him. Like a few drops of sweat or some saliva.'

‘A few drops of his blood is what we really need,' said Yarrawulla.

‘Blood? How the hell am I gonna get some of Kilby's blood?'

‘We don't know,' said Tjalkalieri quietly. ‘But if you want this thing to work properly — you'll have to get some.'

‘Now you tell me. Shit! This is going to be nice.'

Norton jammed his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and began to pace moodily around the room, while the others continued to study him intently from the lounge, looks of slight amusement on their faces. Norton knew there had to be a snag sooner or later. And now here it was. Go up and get some blood from this bloke, just like you're asking him for a light or what time it is. But Norton was half expecting problems. Things were all falling into place too smoothly, almost too good to be true. Jaws clenched firmly he paced around a minute or two longer, then turned to face the others, angrily snorting a burst of air out through his nostrils.

‘Fair dinkum, you're making it hard. The only way I can see of doing it, is to go up and belt him in the nose and mop it up with a hanky or something. The only trouble is, it could fall back on Price. And if he gives a description of who hit him and he kicks the bucket not long after, it could all fall back on me.' Les looked at the others and shrugged his shoulders. ‘But what else am I going to do? I can't just walk over there and cut his throat.'

‘That method's no good anyway,' said Tjalkalieri, slowly shaking his head.

‘No good. Why not?'

‘It has to be done unsuspectingly. It works better if the victim doesn't know he's being pointed. That bit of violence
could break the spell and Kilby could realise something is going on. It might not stop us getting to him, but it would certainly make it a lot harder.'

‘Shit!' cursed Norton again. ‘Shit! The next thing you'll be telling me not to come back unless his blood's RH negative or something.'

‘We don't really give a stuff if it's strawberry malted,' chuckled Mumbi. ‘Just as long as you get us a few drops.' Norton let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I guess I'm just going to have to work some bloody thing out I suppose.' He stared despondently at the three others for a few seconds as he picked at his chin. ‘There's a phone down in the foyer. I'm just going to duck down and ring someone up. I'll be back in a few minutes.'

Groping around in his pockets for some twenty and ten cent coins, Les jogged down the thinly carpeted stairs and found a phone not far from the front door.

‘Hello Lyndy. It's Les. Is Eddie there?'

‘Oh hello Les,' came the pleasant voice at the other end. ‘He's out in the garden mucking around with his roses. I'll go and get him. How are you Les, anyway?'

‘Good thanks Lyndy.'