‘G’day,’ said Mick. ‘Are you Ralphy Boy?’
‘Yeah, that’s me, bloke,’ replied the owner. ‘Are you Pete’s mate?’
‘That’s right,’ said Mick.
‘And you’re after a car?’
‘That’s right,’ repeated Mick.
‘I got a Holden Commodore out there you can have. It’s nothing flash. But it goes okay.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Mick.
‘How long did you want it for?’
‘Monday okay?’
‘Sweet as.’
‘How much?’
‘Fifty bucks a day and a hundred bucks deposit. It’s insured. But if you have a prang, you got to pay the first three hundred. Okay?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Mick. ‘Will you take a credit card?’
‘Mate. I’ll take anything but shit from a Pom.’
It didn’t take Ralphy Boy long to sort things out and before Mick knew it, he was parked at the back of the Cosmopolitan Hotel in a dusty white Holden Commodore with a scratchy radio and splits in the upholstery that would have fetched twenty-five hundred dollars at the auctions. But it
was much better than chancing another cracked pressure plate in the Buick.
Mick took a quick look in the bar to thank Pete for his help, but he was nowhere to be seen, so Mick went to his room. On the way into town he’d noticed a sign pointing to the Swimming Centre. He got into his Speedos, put a towel and a book into his overnight bag, then walked back down to the Holden. Shortly after, Mick pulled up in the Swimming Centre’s parking area.
On the right was a heated, enclosed pool and further down, an open fifty-metre pool in front of a viewing stand near a shallow children’s pool. Everything was edged with plush green lawns and through the surrounding cyclone-wire fence the water looked blue and inviting. This’ll do me, smiled Mick, taking his bag from the front seat. He walked across to the office and paid the admission and also purchased a pair of goggles, a packet of earplugs and a chocolate Paddle Pop. Munching into his Paddle Pop, Mick strolled down to the stand alongside the fifty-metre pool, spread his towel and prepared for an enjoyable afternoon.
Not far past Branxton, Agent Moharic swung the Jeep Cherokee into a service station and waited
with the motor running till Agent Coleborne returned with three large bottles of mineral water.
‘Hey, what about this Mickey Mouse plastic money,’ said Agent Coleborne, climbing back in the front seat and handing the bottles around. ‘You can’t fold it. You can’t do nothing.’
‘As long as you can spend it, Orrin,’ said Agent Niland. ‘That’s the main thing, buddy.’
‘Right on.’ Agent Moharic had a drink of mineral water then screwed the cap back on the bottle. ‘Okay guys,’ he said confidently. ‘Next stop, Muswellbrook.’ Agent Moharic waited for a break in the traffic then swung the Jeep Cherokee out of the service station, straight across to the wrong side of the road.
‘Jesus Christ, Floyd!’ yelled Agent Coleborne, frantically pointing to a fast approaching truck. ‘You’re driving on the wrong side of the road.’
‘What? Oh shit!’
With the deafening blast from the truck’s horn echoing in his ears, Agent Moharic swung the Cherokee back onto the proper side of the road, cutting off a green early-model Rover driven by blue-rinsed widow Mrs Vera Winters. Dressed in a neat white bowling outfit, Mrs Winters had time to beep the horn before there
was a shrieking of tyres followed by a dull metallic bang, and she collected the Cherokee in the back door. Both cars swerved to the side of the road, where Agent Moharic skidded to a halt in front of the green Rover. After a moment or two, he returned the horrified stares of the other agents.
‘Oh shit!’ he repeated. ‘Oh shit!’
‘Bloody hell! Did you see that?’ said Craig Cozens, as the ASIO officers passed the two cars stopped on the edge of the highway. ‘The stupid bastard drove out on the wrong side of the road.’
‘Shit!’ said Kerrie. ‘You’d better pull over.’
Craig drove on another hundred metres or so then stopped near a dirt driveway with a tin drum for a letterbox. He cut the engine and the two ASIO officers turned around and stared out the rear window.
‘Lucky the green car was only going slow,’ said Craig.
‘Yeah, they’re lucky, all right,’ agreed Kerrie. She turned to Craig. ‘What do you think we should do?’
Craig shrugged. ‘Nothing much we can do. Just wait here till they get their shit together. Then get on their arse again.’
‘I’ll ring Blessing,’ said Kerrie.
A few people came out of the service station when they heard the noise. But there didn’t appear to be anything major, so after a quick look they went back inside. Several passing cars slowed down for a moment, then after satisfying their curiosity continued on their way.
‘Okay. Now everybody stay cool,’ said Agent Moharic.
‘Stay cool,’ echoed Agent Coleborne. ‘Jesus Christ, Floyd! You nearly got us all killed.’
‘Twice,’ said Agent Niland.
‘All right.’ Agent Moharic gestured defensively. ‘It was my fault. But let’s just get out of the car, go talk to the driver and try and sort this out. And remember. We’re all here working for the Lord.’
‘Talking about the Lord,’ said Agent Niland. ‘Who’s gonna ring Sierota?’
‘You can,’ answered Agent Moharic.
The three agents got out and inspected the damage. The Cherokee’s back door was stoved in, but it still opened; the Rover had a crumpled right mudguard and the headlight was smashed with the rim hanging down. Mrs Winters was sitting behind the wheel with her seatbelt on, unhurt and staring into space. She looked up when she saw the three men approaching in their black suits.
‘It’s an old lady,’ said Agent Coleborne. ‘Looks like a nurse.’
‘I don’t think she’s hurt,’ noted Agent Moharic. He approached the driver’s side window. ‘Hello, madam,’ he said unctuously. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes. I think so,’ replied Mrs Winters. ‘I’m just a little shaken. That’s all.’
‘I’m terribly sorry about what happened,’ apologised Agent Moharic. ‘But a kangaroo jumped out in front of me.’
‘A kangaroo?’ said Mrs Winters.
‘Yeah. A big grey thing,’ said Agent Colborne. ‘Looked like a mouse on steroids.’
Mrs Winters stared up at Agent Moharic. ‘Are you Americans?’
‘Yessir, ma’am,’ smiled Agent Moharic. ‘We’re with the church. We’re Mormons. I’m Elder Gorgel. This is Elder Caleb. And that’s Elder Bozidar.’
Mrs Winters rolled her eyes. ‘Oh my God!’
‘That’s him,’ smiled Agent Moharic. ‘Always there when you need his guidance. Here. Let me help you out of the car.’
Agent Moharic opened the door and helped Mrs Winters out of her seat. She straightened herself up and inspected the damage.
‘I’ve been driving almost fifty years and never
had an accident,’ she said. ‘I don’t quite know what to say.’
‘Yes, well, there’s not much damage,’ said Agent Moharic. ‘And praise the Lord, no one got hurt.’
‘Yes, thankfully,’ agreed Mrs Winters.
‘So there shouldn’t be any need to call the police. We’ll just give you our particulars and be on our way.’
‘Oh no,’ said Mrs Winters. ‘I’ll have to call the police. I don’t want to lose my no claim bonus.’
‘But,’ pleaded Agent Moharic, ‘it was all our fault. And we’re fully insured.’
‘That’s right,’ said Agent Coleborne. ‘I mean, if you can’t trust three men working for the Lord, who can you trust?’
‘Exactly,’ said Mrs Winters. ‘No. We’ll call the police,’ she insisted. ‘Your friend’s got his mobile phone out now. We’ll use that. They won’t take long to get here.’
Agent Moharic gritted his teeth. ‘Very well, madam. If you insist.’
In the air-conditioned comfort of Bible Bungalow, Zimmer Sierota had his eyes closed as he held the phone and spoke to Agent Niland. ‘You what?’ he moaned.
‘We had an accident,’ said Agent Niland. ‘Floyd hit an old lady driving some sort of British car.’
Sierota shook his head. ‘Don’t try and tell me he was driving on the wrong side of the road?’
‘Well…yeah, boss. But only for a couple of seconds.’
‘Jesus H. Christ!’ exclaimed Sierota. ‘Was there much damage to the car? Is anybody hurt? Are the police there?’
‘No. It’s only a small thing. But the old broad wants to call the highway patrol.’
‘Shit!’ Sierota thought for a moment. ‘Okay. There shouldn’t be a problem. But if there is, get back to me. You got that?’
‘Yessir.’
A couple of hundred metres away in the white Commodore, Craig and Kerrie were still following proceedings back at the accident. Officer Cozens was watching through a pair of binoculars.
‘What are they doing now, Craig?’ asked Officer Ryman.
‘The mobiles are out. So I’d say they’re calling the police.’
‘I wonder how long that’s going to take?’ asked Kerrie.
‘Dunno.’
‘How about we duck back to that service station while we’re waiting and get something to drink.’
‘Okay. Ring Blessing first and give him an update.’
Seated at her table in Muswellbrook Library, Jesse was steadily ploughing through the reference section on old Muswellbrook. She hadn’t found anything that pointed directly to where the mysterious Klaus Slate had left his doomsday machine, but she did photocopy something interesting that cross-referenced with the contents of one of the old briefcases.
Down at the pool, Mick read his book, swam two kilometres, and splashed around in the beautiful clear water enjoying the afternoon immensely. Until he’d met Jesse, Mick had never been much of a reader. But having a girlfriend who owned a bookshop, he had no choice. Jesse started him off with a few easy reads, and now Mick rather liked a good book. At the moment he was reading
Jabberrock
, by Obstfeld and Fitzgerald,
The Ultimate Book of Rock ‘N’ Roll Quotations
. Two quotations Mick found amusing. One was by Frank Zappa:
‘Rock journalism is people who can’t write, interviewing people who can’t talk, for people who can’t read.’
Another from Elton John:
‘Sometimes when I’m flying over the Alps I think, that’s all the cocaine I sniffed. We once tried to figure out how much money we spent on coke and alcohol. We were so disgusted that we stopped.’
Sergeant Bob Schueling was a big, easy-going country cop with thinning brown hair who’d seen all sorts of things after twenty-five years in the Force. He was on his own in the small police station when the call came in that there’d been an accident not far from Branxton. Once Sergeant Schueling had established it wasn’t serious, he replied that he’d be there the first chance he could; which meant as soon as he’d eaten two massive corned beef sandwiches and a home-made lamington, washed down with a huge mug of strong tea; followed by a long, relaxing dump while he read the paper.
Back at the scene of the accident, Agents Coleborne and Moharic were sitting impatiently in the Jeep Cherokee when Agent Niland returned from the garage with several bars of chocolate.
They looked up from whatever they weren’t doing when he climbed in the back.
‘Hey guys,’ he said, handing round the chocolates. ‘You’re not going to believe this, but I thought I just saw Vincent and his girlfriend drive out of that gas station in a white car.’
‘In a white car?’ said Agent Moharic.
‘Yeah.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Agent Coleborne.
‘Well, I’m not a hundred per cent sure, because I was expecting him to be driving that yellow Buick. But goddamn! It sure looked like them.’
‘Did you get the number?’ asked Agent Moharic.
Agent Niland shook his head. ‘No. But there was another car in there like the one they were driving. Called a Holden Commodore.’
‘Christ!’ said Agent Moharic. ‘That’s all we need now. They’re driving a different vehicle.’
Mrs Winters was seated patiently in her Rover reading the latest Mills and Boon by Valerie Parv, when Sergeant Schueling pulled up behind her and got out of the patrol car with his notebook. Mrs Winters put the book down and removed her reading glasses.
‘Well, what do you know,’ said Agent Niland. ‘Here’s the pride of the Noo South Wales highway patrol now.’
‘About friggin’ time,’ said Agent Moharic. ‘Christ! How long does it take these hillbillies down here to respond to a call?’
‘You want to know how long, Floyd?’ said Agent Coleborne. ‘Check the size of this guy’s ass. The words “move it” wouldn’t be on his radar.’
‘All right. Come on,’ said Agent Moharic, opening his door. ‘And be cool with this guy. Okay? Very friendly. And very cool.’
‘Cool and friendly it is, Elder Gorgel,’ said Agent Niland.
By the time Mrs Winters got out of her car, and the agents theirs, Sergeant Schueling had established the accident wasn’t more than a bingle and close enough to a waste of his time having to drive out there. But at least the people involved appeared to be solid citizens who were all calm and collected.
‘Looks like you’ve had a bit of bad luck there, people,’ he said, taking out a biro. ‘Okay. Who wants to tell me what happened?’
‘Officer,’ said Agent Moharic. ‘We’re church elders. I was driving, and it was entirely my fault.’
‘He said a kangaroo jumped out in front of him,’ voiced Mrs Winters.
‘A kangaroo?’ Picking up on Agent Moharic’s
accent, Sergeant Schueling turned back to him ‘Was it a red one, or a grey one?’
‘I’m not sure,’ replied Agent Moharic. ‘It all happened so fast. Sort of in between. Reddish…kinda grey.’
‘Did it have stripes across its back?’ asked Sergeant Schueling.
‘Yeah. It could have.’
‘Sounds more like a Tasmanian Tiger,’ Sergeant Schueling nodded sagely. ‘We get a lot of them up here this time of year.’
‘Then that’s what it was,’ said Agent Moharic. ‘A Tasmanian Tiger.’
‘Came right on out of nowhere,’ added Agent Coleborne.
‘Darndest thing I ever did see,’ said Agent Niland.
Sergeant Schueling knew the three American Bible bashers were lying. But they were no doubt only attempting to hide their embarrassment at causing the accident. So he considered it no big deal. Nevertheless, Sergeant Schueling wrote it down in his report exactly as Agent Moharic stated.
Driver of black vehicle swerved to avoid large Tasmanian Tiger
. The big Sergeant would Xerox that when he got back to the station and pin it up on the wall, then tell everybody he
knew when he went for a beer after work. Apart from that, everything was fine. Neither driver had been drinking, Agent Moharic’s driver’s licence was in order, the car was registered and insured, and Mrs Winters definitely wasn’t a menace to society. Of course if Sergeant Schueling had bothered to search the Jeep Cherokee and found a compartment in the back full of guns and ammunition, it would have been a different story. Instead, he rummaged around in the boot of the patrol car till he found a roll of duct tape and, with the help of the three concerned elders, secured Mrs Winters’ headlight till she could get her car to a garage.