The Boys from Binjiwunyawunya (39 page)

‘Les,' Richard smiled as he and Pamela sat down opposite him. ‘I just came to tell you, you're going absolutely sensational. You've no idea what a difference that makes to us. I just had a look at the video, and it looks great. Just great.'

‘Ohh good. I'm glad.'

‘With a bit of luck you'll be wrapped by lunchtime.'

‘Fair dinkum.'

‘Yep.' Both Richard and Pamela smiled. ‘Also. We're having a bit of a drink in town tonight, if you'd like to come.'

‘Sure,' shrugged Norton. ‘I'm not doing anything.'

‘Good. Well, I'll go back inside. Pamela will tell you all about it.'

Norton waited for a moment till Richard went back inside. ‘So,' he said, turning to Pamela, ‘what's the story about tonight?'

‘We're all going to a disco in the city. It's called Richard's. It's in Collins Street. You can't forget it. It's the same name as the director.'

‘In Collins Street eh. What do I do? Just lob up?'

‘That's all. We probably won't be there till about nine. Half past.'

‘Okey doke. Sounds good.'

‘We'll probably have a bit of dinner. Rock on for a while. Then if you like, I've got a flat at Sandringham. You can come over and have a drink.'

‘That sounds good too. You live on your own do you Pamela?'

‘The flat belongs to Mr Leishman. He lets me stay there,' she added with a wink.

‘Good one.'

‘And if you get a bit drunk and you don't feel like driving back to the motel, I might even be able to find somewhere for you to sleep,' she purred.

‘That sounds even better Pamela.'

Pamela smiled seductively and took a deep breath that nearly sent a shower of buttons all round the foyer. ‘Oh. By the way. This is for you too.' She reached into her pocket and handed Norton $300 in cash.

‘What's this for?'

‘Your expenses. $100 a day.' Norton looked a little bewildered. ‘And that car you asked for is in the parking lot at the motel. A white Ford Falcon. The keys are at the reception.' ‘Ohh beauty.' Norton pocketed the money. ‘Well, I certainly can't complain about Melbourne hospitality.'

Pamela got to her feet and gave Les another seductive smile. ‘We do our best. And you never know, Les. The best might even be yet to come. I've got to go. I'll see you inside,' she added with a wink.

‘Yeah... righto.' Norton was almost speechless.

Christ-all-bloody-mighty, he thought as he watched her shapely backside disappear into the Neptune Room. Is this for real? I've been here one night and I've emptied out the woman who owns the motel. The ad's a piece of piss. I'm
another $300 in front. And that glamour's just invited me back to her flat for a drink. I don't believe this. I think I'd better have another look in the mirror, I must be a better sort than what I think. Or Pamela needs new glasses. And Billy and George want to rubbish the joint. They're kidding. They wouldn't know sheep shit from baked beans at times.

Norton felt like he needed a bit of a walk after that; besides, it was getting a little hot and smoky in the foyer. He gave the two security guards a nod, trotted down the front steps and stood on the footpath stretching his legs while he watched the traffic, the people and the odd tram go past. He had a bit of a sniff around the trucks parked out the front; maybe he could have a bit of a mag with some of the crew, but everybody still seemed to be inside eating. One truck caught his eye. It had South Melbourne Special Effects painted on the side. Now what would they be doing here? Oh that's right. He remembered something on the script they handed him about lights and coloured smoke going off at the end. He walked around and had a look in the back. There was no-one inside. Tools, rolls of wire, pieces of pipe, cans of nails and other equipment were either hanging from the roof, sitting on benches or scattered around the floor. Jesus, what a rat's nest thought Les. A small cardboard box covered in red lettering and lying on the floor next to a coil of rope caught his eye. Hello he thought. What are they doing there? They must've fallen down. I'd better put them back on the shelf or some kid walking past might pick them up. Bloody electric detonators. It's a long time since I've used these he mused as he picked up the carton. Then one of Norton's usual, bizarre but diabolical thoughts occurred to him.

George Brennan had bought an old home unit at Coogee he wanted to do up and sell. But a team of punks were living in there and refused to budge. Les and Billy were going to go round and put the bustle on them. But a couple of them were young girls and they weren't all that keen. The old exploding-bag-of-shit-trick should help the punks change their minds.

It was a low caper to pull. You broke the glass off round a light bulb and attached an electric detonator to the filament. Around the filament you placed a small plastic-bag full of shit, which you taped to the ceiling. The victim came home, switched on the light, and bang! They got shit splattered from one end of the room to the other. Which you could only remedy by repainting and recarpeting the room.

With a devilish grin on his face, Norton slipped two of the little, bullet shaped detonators out of their polystyrene packing and into his pocket before placing the carton back on one of the shelves. Whistling innocently, he walked back up the stairs of the hotel, nodded to the two security guards and stood inside the foyer waiting for them to call him.

He was standing there, gazing around absently, when he noticed a young girl walking from the Neptune Room towards the cigarette machine. She had a mop of straggly blonde hair, the dye starting to go off in parts, and heaps of chains round her neck and rings on her fingers. She was wearing a minidress made out of recycled jeans, black lace stockings and Peter Pan kind of ankle-length boots. She didn't have a bad figure but Norton noticed she was a bit on the pale side. He recognised her as one of the caterers. She must have had her mind on the food because she didn't notice a cable on the floor and tripped over it. She pitched forward and would have gone straight on her face, only Norton reached out quickly and grabbed her arm. None too gently, but it certainly saved her from a nasty spill.

‘Whoops. Hold it there kid,' he grinned. ‘Just stay on your feet another round and you'll get a draw.'

‘Ooh,' she squealed. ‘Thanks.'

‘That's okay,' Les smiled chivalrously. ‘Don't tell me you've been getting into that bloody St Kilda Kooler too.'

‘Hardly,' she smiled back, running a hand through her hair. ‘Just watching you drink it's enough.'

‘Yeah I know,' replied Les. ‘Then I gotta eat your food on top of that. They ought to be paying me danger money.'

‘Hey hold on, digger. There's nothing wrong with our cooking.'

•‘No. If you were doing twenty years in a Russian gulag, you'd probably get to like it.'

‘Jesus you're a cheeky big mug,' she said, half turning her back as she pumped some coins into the cigarette machine. ‘Are all Sydneysiders as cheeky as you?'

‘Actually, I'm from Queensland,' smiled Norton.

‘Ohh Christ. That's even worse.'

She lit a smoke, offered Les one which he declined, and they started having a bit of a friendly chitchat. Norton was just about to ask her her name when Pamela came to the door.

‘When you're ready Les,' she said politely.

‘Righto.' Norton turned back to the catering girl. ‘Well.
I'd love to stay and talk to you, mate,' he grinned, ‘but I gotta get back inside and play movie stars. I'll see you anyway.'

‘No worries. Nice talking to you.'

Norton's next few scenes were even easier than the first ones. A few pick-ups here and there and a few shots of him from different angles. Half the time he spent just hanging around talking to Pamela or Richard; it couldn't have been easier and Les was ready to kiss Warren when he got back to Sydney. Though after about an hour or so of gooning around the set he did make himself one promise. The next person that said ‘no worries' — be it man, woman or child — he was going to kick fair in the groin. The Melbournians were pretty heavily into rhyming slang, and he could handle that okay. But the ‘no worries' every two minutes was starting to get to him.

Check the gate. No worries. How's the sound? No worries. Bit more light. No worries. Bit less smoke. No worries. Would you like a sandwich? No worries. Russia's just invaded Europe and half of California's been washed into the sea by an earthquake killing fifteen million people. No worries.

Still, he supposed, in Sydney, everyone says ‘sweet' all the time. And in Queensland they say ‘eh' after every sentence. But he'd never heard the expression ‘no worries' flogged to death like it was on this set.

But the big Queenslander needn't have worried, because they wrapped him at eleven-fifteen. And everyone was tickled pink with his work. The director thanked him. B.O. Plenty thanked him. The whole crew, including the trendies, gave him a big cheer and wished him all the best. And they told him he could keep the St Kilda guernsey, which saved him having to steal it.

‘Well come on,' said Pamela, after Norton had scraped off what little make-up there was. ‘I'll run you down to the motel.'

‘That's okay,' replied Les. ‘I'll walk. It's only just down the road.' He stuffed the guernsey into his overnight bag, palming the two detonators in there at the same time.

‘Are you sure?'

‘Sure I'm sure. No bloody worries.'

‘Okay.' She shrugged her shoulders, oblivious to Norton's sarcasm and they moved across to the front door. ‘You're still coming tonight. Aren't you?'

‘Are there shamrocks in Ireland?'

‘Good.' Pamela gave Les another one of her seductive, shirt
splitting smiles. ‘Then I'll see you tonight. And I'm looking forward to it.'

‘Me too,' winked Norton. He paused and smiled at her. ‘I'll see you tonight Pamela.'

‘No worries.'

Norton winced slightly as he turned and walked down the steps. I'll give you no worries tonight when I get you back to your place, you big titted thing. When I'm finished with you, Pamela, you won't have a bloody worry in the world.

He headed briskly for the St Moritz. The sun was shining brightly and it was a beautiful day. What a bloody ripper he chuckled to himself. I was expecting to have to do that other business tomorrow. I can do it today. I'll have a quick bite to eat, pick up the car and head out to that reservoir or whatever it is. I should be back by six. Get a couple of hours sl^ep, then it's disco down tonight with the lovely Pamela. He grinned out across Port Phillip Bay. Melbourne. Don't believe what those mugs in Sydney say about you. You're a great little town.

Les smiled and said good morning to the girl in the office as he walked past. She gave him an odd sort of smile in return, as if possibly she may have known something about the previous night's episode with her boss. He got the lift to his room, made a cup of coffee and changed into his tracksuit and sneakers; very un-Melbourne gear for Saturday afternoon, but Les wasn't shopping for clothes or hanging around the coffee shops in Toorak Road, South Yarra.

He spread his road map of Melbourne and the outer suburbs on the bed and lay Mousey's map next to it. The little sweeper's map began to make more sense than ever now, and Whittlesea and that Yan Yean Reservoir didn't look all that hard to get to. From his travel bag he took a carpenter's retractable tape measure and a small azimuth compass he'd bought before he left Sydney and placed them on the bed too. He'd been counting on stealing or borrowing a shovel from somewhere, but seeing it was still early Saturday he should be able to find a garage or hardware store open somewhere and buy one. Nodding his head slowly, he gazed at the objects on the bed for a few moments while he sipped his coffee. Well, he thought. No good hanging around here like a stale bottle of piss. That won't get it done. Nothing to it now but to do it. He took the St Kilda guernsey out of his overnight bag and put the maps and the other little odds and ends
in, then finished his coffee and went down to the foyer to pick up his car keys.

A casually but well dressed man of about fifty, thinnish with grey hair and a neat moustache, was standing behind the front desk. Norton tipped him to be Mr Perry.

‘G'day mate,' said Les breezily. ‘I'm Mr Norton in room 19. Is there a set of car keys here for me?'

‘Yes there is,' smiled the man with the moustache. ‘Here you are.' He took a set of keys from a pigeonhole and handed them to Les. ‘You know where the carpark is?'

Norton nodded. ‘You must be Mrs Perry's brother?' he asked.

The man looked at Norton blankly. ‘Brother? I'm her husband. Whatever gave you the idea I was her brother?' Norton gave him an equally blank look in return. ‘Oh. Just something the girl from the film company said. I must have got it mixed up.'

‘You must have,' smiled Mr Perry.

The girl on the switchboard gave Les the same odd smile she gave him when he walked in earlier. Just then Mrs Perry stepped out of an office down from the switchboard. She baulked only slightly when she saw Les, but not a muscle in her face moved.

‘Good morning Mr Norton,' she sniffed.

‘G'day Mrs Perry,' replied Les dryly. ‘How are you this morning?'

‘Fine thank you Mr Norton.' She gave Les a brief smile as she picked up some papers and began busying herself behind the desk.

‘Well, I guess I'd better get going,' said Norton, giving the keys a jangle.

‘Have a good day,' smiled Mr Perry.

Norton smiled back. As he got to the front door he stopped and turned around. ‘Oh Mr Perry,' he said slowly. The owner looked up. ‘There might be a couple of phone calls for me this afternoon. Could you take a message?'

‘Certainly.'

‘And the phone's been playing up in my room. Could you get someone to take a look at that too?'