The Boys from Binjiwunyawunya (7 page)

‘Well,' he said, rubbing his hands across his face. ‘You can stick this movie in your arse. I think I might hit the sack. I'm buggered.'

‘Yeah, I don't blame you,' said Yarrawulla. ‘This movie'd turn you off a baked dinner.'

‘I put your overnight bag in the guest room,' said Numidi. ‘Do you want to have a shower or anything first?'

‘Yeah. I wouldn't mind to tell you the truth. I've got red bulldust in my hair, my ears, up my bum. And my armpits smell like grandpa's socks.'

‘I'll show you how to work the shower,' smiled Koodja.

‘Thanks.'

She led him down the corridor to the well-appointed guest room, with its neatly made double bed, brown Aboriginal motif decor and large curtained window overlooking the gardens. She waited while he got a clean T-shirt and a pair of Stubbies out of his overnight bag, then led him back down the corridor to the spacious, tiled bathroom.

‘Do you want to have a bath or a shower?' she asked.

‘I'll settle for a shower thanks Koodja,' replied Murray. And I wouldn't mind you running the loofah over my back, he thought as he watched her in her almost non-existent shorts reach through the sliding smoked-glass windows of the cubicle and turn the taps on.

‘There you go,' she said, running her hands through the steaming jets of water. ‘If you need anything — just give me a call,' she added with a sly smile.

‘I think I'll be all right thanks,' replied Murray, returning her smile. He watched her as she closed the bathroom door quietly behind her, then dropped his clothes and got under the shower.

There was something about showering in hot mineral water that Murray couldn't quite explain. Even though the water was a little hard it seemed to bubble as it left the nozzle and caress his body like velvet, vitalising his skin and soothing away any aches or bruises from the long, dusty drive. Maybe this is why the boys always look so young, he mused, remembering his wife telling him something about women in the city paying a fortune for tiny atomizers of perfumed spawater to spray on their faces. He dried off with one of the fluffy white towels folded in a rack, wrapped another one around him and had a shave in the large vanity mirror built around the marble basin. There were several bottles of skin conditioner, deodorant and after-shave sitting neatly to the side. He sprayed some Mennen under his arms and settled for a bit of Monsieur Rochas to splash over his face.

‘Well, I certainly feel a lot better after that.' He smiled at the others as he stood in the entranceway to the lounge in his T-shirt and stubbies.

‘You look a lot better, too,' laughed Mumbi.

‘You don't smell half bad either,' giggled Numidi. ‘I can smell you from over here.'

Murray smiled back a little self-consciously. ‘Anyway gang, I'm gonna hit the sack. Thanks for the grouse meal girls — and you too fellas. I'll see you in the morning.'

‘Goodnight Murray. Sleep tight,' came the chorus from the loungeroom.

Back in the guestroom, Murray felt tired but he also felt a strange kind of freshness from the shower. He switched off the main light and turned on the small fluorescent one behind the bed. There were several copies of
Hooves and Horns
on a small table so he decided to read for a little while before he went to sleep.

He was standing there flicking through a couple with his back to the door when he heard it click open then close again. He turned around slowly to see Koodja standing there in the soft light wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy, pink knickers and a brief, white nightie held up by two tiny bows across her shoulders. The nightie barely covered her bum and appeared to be so delicate that if you looked at it hard it would disintegrate.

‘Koodja?' said Murray, blinking up from the magazine. ‘What's... what'd you want?'

‘Oh nothing,' she replied coyly. ‘Tjalkalieri told me to look in and make sure our special guest was all right.'

‘Oh he did, did he?' Murray had to smile at her little white lie.

‘Yes.'

‘And did Tjalkalieri tell you I was a happily married man?'

‘Yeah. He mentioned something about it.' She shrugged, making the two little bows dance. ‘But that's okay. I only came to make sure you were all right.'

‘Mmhh.'

Koodja moved to the other side of the bed and climbed in under the covers.

‘I thought you said you were tired?' she smiled up at him, patting the space next to her.

Murray put the magazine down and looked at the exquisitely beautiful young girl for a moment. In twelve years of marriage to Elaine, Murray had very rarely strayed from the straight and narrow. He loved his wife and two sons fiercely and would kill anyone who happened to so much as lay a finger on any of them. But here he was, quite weary, a long long way from home, and his senses clouded somewhat from all the wine, beer and liqueur. And after all, he was only human.

Koodja smiled up at him devilishly and ran her tongue slowly across her top lip. Murray drew back the covers and climbed into bed next to her. She immediately slid across to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Murray ran
his hand up over her ribcage and cupped her almost unbelievably firm breast in his hand. He squeezed it gently and the delicate, pink nipple straight away firmed up under the soft massage of his thumb. The next thing he was kissing her and her hot, sweet tongue was darting hungrily, enticingly into his mouth.

‘Koodja,' he whispered quietly. ‘You're right. I am tired. Real tired.' He kissed her again. ‘But I'm not that tired. I don't think I could ever get that bloody tired.'

The following Wednesday morning in Sydney, Les was up at six a.m. He had a run on Bondi, got cleaned up, had breakfast and was in the lounge room on the phone to Price when Warren got out of bed about eight. Price was having breakfast next to his swimming pool when Les told him it was on and he'd be needing that $100,000. Price replied that Sheldon Drewe would need a little bit of time to organise things, but to meet him at Bondi Junction at twelve-thirty. Price sounded a little sceptical over the phone, but he was no doubt still interested to see what Norton's strange plan was all about. They chatted on for a few more minutes with Les hanging up saying he'd fill him in a bit more as things started to progress. The next call was to Eddie Salita, with Norton jotting down a name and address on a pad next to the phone before he hung up.

‘You're up and about early this morning,' said Warren, sipping coffee and noticing Norton in a clean pair of jeans and a freshly ironed, button-down collar blue shirt.

‘Yeah,' replied Les, stroking his chin as he looked up from the piece of paper in his hand. ‘I've got a fair bit on today... and the next few days. I might even be away for a few days.'

‘Yeah. Where you going?'

‘Not far. I just mightn't be here for a few days, that's all.'

Warren stared at Les for a moment while he sipped his coffee. ‘Something to do with work?'

‘Something like that. But don't worry, I'll be here to cook tea for you tonight.'

Norton winked Warren a goodbye, grabbed his wallet and headed out the front door. As he started the car he checked once more the name and address Eddie had given him over the phone. His first stop would be Kingsford Smith airport.

He had no trouble finding a parking space when he pulled up opposite the flight facilities area twenty-five minutes later.
He crossed the road and walked across to the small parking area outside the main terminal that services Lord Howe and Norfolk Islands. However, instead of going in there he headed for a small doorway a few metres in front and to the left. He stepped through it into a huge hangar with a number of small aircraft parked there, most of them getting some sort of maintenance. Several mechanics in overalls were walking around, others had there heads stuck in the cowlings of the machines they were working on. Through the open end of the hangar Les could see more private aircraft taxiing along the tarmac while dozens of others were parked neatly around the perimeters of that part of the airfield. Rows of office doorways with the names of the various air charter companies faced the end of the hangar, and above them was another row of offices flanked by a narrow walkway with a ricketty-looking wire mesh guardrail. A set of steep wooden stairs led up to these offices and Norton took two at a time. He found what he was looking for at the end of the walkway. A chipped white door with Boomerang Aviation written in faded red letters on the front. Underneath, in smaller letters but just as faded, read Kingsley Sheehan, Proprietor. Norton gave the door a rap with his knuckles and a cheery voice called him in.

Les stepped into a small, bright, if a little untidy office. Manuals, logbooks and various other aviation magazines and books were stacked on shelves around the walls, above which were hung maps of Australia and a few dog-eared posters. A tiny kitchen with a coffee machine ran off to Norton's left and at the far end of the room was a large, glass-topped table next to a tan corduroy lounge and a couple of lounge chairs. Sitting on the lounge, underneath a curtained window with his legs crossed and reading the paper was a round, almost boyish faced man with a neat brown moustache that curled slightly at the end. He was wearing a short, black leather jacket and scarf and perched jauntily on his head was, of all things, a World War Two pilot's peaked leather cap. For a moment Norton thought he was watching a rerun of Gregory Peck in
Twelve O'Clock High
.

‘Are you Kingsley Sheehan?'

‘That's me boss,' grinned the pilot, getting up from his seat.

Even without the grin Norton could see the pilot was one of those waggish people with a permanent twinkle in their eye. The type that rarely get the shits and love a practical
joke. Norton also knew he was a mate of Eddie's from Vietnam, so he had to be close to forty, yet Kingsley Sheehan didn't look much over twenty. Norton returned the pilot's warm handshake and introduced himself as George.

‘So what can I do for you, George?' asked Kingsley, offering him a seat. ‘You want a coffee?'

Norton shook his head. ‘Eddie Salita told me to see you. I need to charter you and your plane for a couple of trips. He recommended you.'

‘Eddie sent you, did he?' At the mention of the name Sheehan's grin intensified and his eyes lit up noticeably. ‘How is he these days?'

‘Good. He said to say g'day to you.'

Kingsley paused for a moment and looked Les up and down. It was obvious from Norton's appearance, and his being sent to him by Eddie Salita, that the job he had in mind wasn't going to be an ice-cream run or a joy trip over the Blue Mountains.

‘So. What did you... have in mind George?'

From the even way the pilot spoke Norton surmised that he didn't give a stuff much what he did; just as long as the price was right.

‘All I want you to do, is fly me out to a place near Mt Isa, pick three blokes up and fly them back to Sydney. Then fly them back about four or five days later.'

Sheehan blinked for couple of seconds. ‘Is that all?'

‘Yeah,' shrugged Norton. ‘What'd you expect.'

‘Well. Being a mate of Eddie's, I wouldn't have been surprised if you'd have wanted me to napalm a couple of suburbs of Brisbane or something.'

Norton shook his head. ‘No, that's all it is. Just pick up three blokes and bring them back to Sydney.'

‘Have these blokes broken out of gaol or something. Not that I give a fuck.'

‘Turn it up. They're just three old blokes living on a property out there — that's all.'

‘Okay.' The pilot still sounded a little surprised and possibly a little sceptical. ‘Anyway, where exactly are we going?'

‘You know where Boulia is?'

‘Yeah. Know it well. Got a big bitumen airstrip there. Piece of piss.'

‘Good. Well we're not going there. We're going about a hundred kilometres west of there, where the Yanks built an
airstrip during the war, between Lucknow and Chiltern Hills. You know it?'

The pilot nodded his head. ‘I've flown over it a few times.'

‘Can you land a plane on it?'

‘If it's not too rooted I can.'

‘It's all right. A mate of mine was out there a few months ago. Said it's okay.'

‘Fair enough. I'll take your word for it.'

‘All right then, Kingsley.' Norton folded his arms and looked at the boyish pilot for a second. ‘How much do you want?'

‘Two trips. Four blokes the first time. Three the second.' Sheehan drummed his fingers on the table for a moment as he looked at Norton with one eye closed. ‘Nine thousand dollars, all up.'

‘Righto,' replied Les without so much as a blink.

It was Kingsley's turn to blink. He'd obviously asked Norton top dollar, but the emotionless way Les accepted the fee made the pilot wish he'd asked for more.

‘I want to leave here by about seven tomorrow morning. Is that okay?'

‘Sure. No worries.'

‘And how long'll the trip take?'

‘About seven or eight hours — there and back.'

‘Right.' Norton rose from his seat and shook hands with Sheehan once more. ‘I'll see you about seven.'

‘Okay George. I'll see you then.'

Kingsley walked Les to the door and watched him walk back along the walkway. This is a funny one he thought as he closed the door and went back to his coffee and the paper. Seems almost too good to be true. Then again, knowing bloody Eddie Salita, it probably bloody well is.

That was easy enough thought Les as he drove back towards the city. And he doesn't seem like a bad sort of bloke either. Don't know about the flying cap and scarf, though. And the nine grand. Then I've gotta give Murray ten and they want fifty. Price isn't going to get much change from his hundred grand. Twenty or so minutes later, Les pulled up and parked his car in Regent Street, Redfern, not far from the main shopping centre and the railway station.