And De Fun Don't Done (31 page)

He made up what he could of the bed, cleaned his teeth then turned off the lights and flopped down on his back. It wasn't long before he was sweating again. Although he was starting to get used to it now and at least there were no mozzies. It had been a strange old day. In a true sense he was lucky to be alive. Finding out what Ricco and Vinnie were up to was more or less expected, though not necessarily needed. But what about porking Constable Plod? And who said things were always bigger in Texas? Norton laughed to himself. Won't that be a yarn for Billy Dunne and the boys when he got back home. Now, what's
on tomorrow? Ohh yeah. Souvenirs for Billy Dunne and the boys back home. Christ! How many T-shirts have I got to get? Warren wanted about eight. Les was thinking on this and one or two other things when before he knew it he'd dozed off again.

Les was in the kitchen about ten-thirty the following morning, after getting himself a bit of breakfast; it was too hot to bother cooking anything so he just had some fruit and a bit of toast and coffee. He was kind of looking forward to the day, tooling around Siestasota in the T- bird with no Hank, no Ricco, nobody to annoy him, just doing his own thing for a change at his own pace. Norton had got out of bed earlier and because it was still so stinken hot and just to be dirty on himself he decided to take the bike up to the little shopping centre to pick up some things: milk, more orange juice, etc. This had him sweating like a pig as usual when he got back, then a long swim and a few sit-ups and a cold shower afterwards had the big red-headed Queenslander feeling pretty good. He was sitting at the bar, sipping a large orange juice and ice, half looking at his map of Siestasota and half thinking about the previous night. Secret agent Benshoff, eh? he chuckled to himself. Wasn't that a bit of a funny one. Though I don't think Mr Wobbly's seeing the funny side of it this morning. He looked like he fell off a motorbike without wearing his leather jacket and helmet. And what about Ricco and Vinnie, the Mafia money men? What a nice quinella. And you can throw in Captain Rats for the trifecta. May as well add Constable Plod and make it the quadrella. Christ! Can I find them! About the only decent people I've met here have been the girl on the red velvet swing and her cousin. And she won't be back still Saturday.

Les sipped some more orange juice and looked at the map again. According to it, there was something called Siestasota Square Shopping Mall, about five miles to the right out the front of the estate going towards Salmo. Yes, thought Les, that looks alright and I think Hank's
mother mentioned something about it being a good place to shop. I can go out there, get all my T-shirts and junk. There's a post office up at that shopping centre. I can get a box from somewhere and send it all home, save me lumping it around. Then after that I might take a run over to that St Almonds Circle or wherever it was I saw that funny country band. That looked very Double Bayish over there. One never knows what choice goodies I might pick up just for Uncle Les. And I might shout myself a nice lunch while I'm there. Les clicked his fingers. Then later on I might go out, say hello to Mrs Laurel, and pick up my Walkman. He finished his orange juice and rinsed the glass. Well, no use hanging around here like a stale bottle of piss. It's a lovely day outside and I got places to go, things to do and people to see. Norton slipped into a clean pair of shorts a clean white T-shirt, got his wallet and VISA card then locked up the flat and went out to his car.

The power windows were a great idea. This meant you had to be in the car with the ignition on and the seat-belt warning light banging in your ear while you tried to find the switch to wind the windows down and the inside of the car was like a bloody pizza oven.

‘Jesus fuckin' Christ!' Norton cursed out loud. ‘What a cunt of a fuckin' idea! Don't tell me it's gonna be one of those days.'

He got all four windows down, then put them all back up again and shoved the air-conditioning on full before he dissolved. After a few minutes he felt a bit better, the breeze coming out of the dash was quite refreshing on his face and at least the steering wheel didn't quite burn all the skin from his hands. Norton kicked the motor over, backed out and began diving over the speed humps around what seemed like the neverending parking spaces of the estate. Although he was a bit loath to admit it, the big car still felt good to drive. There was a skinny black bloke wearing sunglasses and jeans shuffling around dragging a broom behind him. Les gave him a smile and a wink and got a wave in return. Les got to the roadway and
pulled up for a break in traffic when a thought occurred to him. He'd forgotten to bring any tapes with him and the T-Bird had a four-speaker stereo. Oh well. Let's see what's on the local radio stations. I haven't even bothered tuning into the one inside the flat yet. He switched it on, hit the scanner button at the end and turned up the volume. Next instant the entire car filled up with raunchy fiddles, twanging guitars, a honky-tonk piano and some good ol' boy wailing.

'Don
'
t fall in love with me, darling, I'm a rambler

Though you are the sweetest sweetheart in this world
.'

‘Holy bloody shit!' beamed Norton. ‘How good a track's this?' He listened for a few moments, tapping his feet and grinning, while he waited for a break in the traffic, then zoomed across the median strip, fish-tailed the T-Bird right towards Salmo and put his foot down. No worries at all. If you were driving in Australia. Norton was roaring down the wide open road to the fiddles and slide when he noticed not far in the distance a whole roadway full of huge American gas guzzlers coming towards him — rapidly.

‘Oh Ker-iste!' he howled, his eyes like two big donuts as his face went white.

There was no time to muck around. He tromped his foot to the floor, the T-Bird kicked back to first, and Les tore right, back across the median strip, the sump and diff scraping across the grass, before he bumped and banged his way onto the correct side of the road. The car landed and Les shoved his foot down again to beat the other approaching cars before eventually slowing down, his heart thumping against his ribcage in time to the drums and honky-tonk piano still pounding out of the speakers.

‘Bloody Hell! How close was that!' he swore out loud again. At least I know what the scene from today's movie is.
Smokey and the Bandit Meet the Wombat from Down Under
. The other traffic caught up and Les drove along looking straight ahead as if nothing had happened and not wanting to catch the eyes of any other drivers because he did feel like a nice wombat.

‘Yeah, that was Travis Tritt and “Don't Give Your Heart to a Rambler”. You're tuned to 88.5 WRIV. All country in the big country. And let's put some more drive in your country and more country in your drive. Here's Boy Howdy and “Thanks for the Ride”. It's 11.15 and ninety-eight degrees on a steamy summer day in beautiful Siestasota Florida. Weatherman says more rain late this afternoon with possible thunderstorms.'

The next track was even more twangy and country and being an old country boy at heart Norton dug it. He checked the numbers on the scanner and made a mental note to set the radio to that station when he got back to the condo. So after his initial brush with death on his first lone forage out on the highways and byways of America, Les settled down and cruised along past more walled estates, fast food outlets and small shopping centres, listening to country and western music while he kept his eyes open for the shopping mall. The tempo slowed down a little to a bit of ‘lonesome cowboy' stuff by Alan Jackson and Confederate Railroad; but it wasn't any worse than some of those wailing George Michael and Barbra Streisand pop ballads he had to endure at times back in Australia. Before long Siestasota Shopping Mall loomed up on his left.

There were traffic lights and signs everywhere, built over a bay in the media strip. Les pulled into the left, waited for the lights then took a right into a parking area about as big as Kakadu without the lily ponds and the Magpie geese. Norton couldn't guess how big the shopping mall was, it was just plain huge. Two or three storeys, brown coloured and modern, flags fluttering, cars and people everywhere, including police cars. He had very little trouble finding a parking space. He locked the T-Bird then walked through an entrance between a movie theatre complex and a couple of restaurants.

Inside was much like the plazas and malls back in Australia, only bigger, busier, a greater variety of shops and possibly, because it was so punishingly hot and humid outside, better air-conditioned. Norton wandered
along past the busy shops till he came to a rest area full of takeaway food outlets set round a kind of raised up dais with a green and white tiled fountain, surrounded with flowers, gurgling happily away beneath a wide sunroof. Near this was a coloured layout on a black background listing all the shops and facilities. Les walked over and checked it out to make sure he'd be able to find where he'd left the car and see where everything was. The mall seemed to be built around four department stores: W.C. Penneys and Sears Roebuck at either end of one arcade. Zeniths and Foleys at the end of the other and all the variety stores, restaurants and whatever set in between. Les gave it a good perusal, then, like any normal mug tourist with more money than sense, set off to see what he could find and how much he could spend; and waste.

Norton's little piece of plastic worked like a charm. The shops were only too pleased to take his money and he managed to knock off about two grand in about as many hours. He bought four pairs of Levi 501s in different colours for about a third of the price in Australia. He got Nike Jordans and Reebok pumps for Eddie, Billy and George's kids. Les must have bought at least twenty T- shirts with everything on them from the North Carolina Tarheels to Notre Dame the Fighting Irish to the Florida Gators. He bought caps for baseball, basketball and gridiron, even some for fishing and powerboat racing, plus some Harley-Davidson gear. Nearly all the T-shirts were for the team back home. But one he did get for himself. It was blue with a frozen margarita on the front and ‘Margaritaville' written across the chest. That was Norton's and there was no way they were going to get that off him. He got a pair of tan Rockports and some socks. Everything still seemed about a third of what it would cost back home, so Les figured the more he spent, the more he saved. After three trips out to the car, Les attacked the department stores. He got several button- down collar denim shirts, which were about a quarter of the price back home, and the quality seemed good. Les was curious how the yanks could make them so cheap.
But under closer inspection they were made in either the Dominican Republic or Mexico. Yes, just like home, thought Les. He bought some striped, button-down collar shirts and ones with other colourful designs on and noticed these were all made in the US; though after sales tax they weren't any cheaper. The service in the shops and department stores was something else. The staff were genuinely polite and obliging without the full-on, antiseptic McDonald's blurb. They all seemed to love Norton's accent and each purchase was followed by a pleasant smile and a, ‘You have a good one.' I bloody well ought to, mused Les. It's costing me enough bloody money.

After his third trip out to the car Les was sitting in the food area, munching on three mini-hamburgers and a can of Mountain Dew. There were heaps of gooey, spicy things to eat, from tacos and slices of pizza to shrimp melts and chilli burgers. But what Les missed most was the Asian takeaways like back home. He would have given his left niagara for a Soya Sauce Chicken or a Gow Gee and Noodle Soup. But the mini-hamburgers were okay and he was saving himself for a decent feed over the other side of town. After the last mini-burger, Les decided on a nice cup of genuine American-style coffee then he'd sit back for a while and observe the heads on the seppos.

He found a top little coffee shop called ‘Ernie's Coffee & Tea'. Inside was coffee from all over the world and a small, open-air counter for takeaways, or ‘to go', as the yanks like to say. There were two friendly women and a happy little guy all wearing red and white striped aprons. The little guy was gay with this cheeky, witty personality and you couldn't help but like him. Les hung back for a while, making out he was choosing, while he listened to the guy and nearly cracked up at some of the things he was coming out with. Especially when one typically dilettantish yank, dressed like Gordon Gekko, came up and ordered coffee and muffins with raspberry jam.

‘Are those raspberries fresh?' he demanded.

‘Yes,' assured the little guy behind the counter. ‘I went out in my little bonnet and apron and picked them first thing this morning.'

‘Okay, well, I'll take two.'

Les ordered a flat white, which was absolutely delicious, and, still chuckling, sat down in the rest area to watch the American punters.

There were an odd-looking lot. Mostly whites, with big heads, big guts and big arses. If they weren't eating ice creams, they were chewing pizza or hot-dogs with their heads once again stuffed in a plastic bucket of soft drink. They nearly all wore Elmer Fudd caps, shuffling around with their hands in their pockets and their shorts hanging down round their fat arses. Families would walk past, Mum, Dad and the kids all wearing matching floral or checked outfits. Then Les noticed the parochialism in the clothing. All the T-shirts either had something to do with Florida on the front or Siestasota or the United States. This struck Norton as a little odd. You'd barely see locals walking around Sydney wearing Sydney T-shirts, or Bondi Junction wearing Bondi Junction T-shirts. Maybe in the football season you'd see a few with ‘Roosters' or ‘Parramatta' or whatever on the front. And you'd rarely see an Australian walking around Australia with ‘Australia' splattered all over his T-shirt or jacket. Australians went more for T-shirts from other countries; either as souvenirs or to let their friends know where they've been. Maybe you were judged as a ‘pinko commie faggot' if you didn't walk around the US wearing a T-shirt with ‘USA Basketball' or ‘I Love America' on the front and a flag stuffed in your date. And they all seemed to have these sing-song voices like they were reciting poetry. ‘Hi there. How are you? You're looking really great. I love your hair.' Hickory-dickory-dock. The-mouse-ran-up-the-clock. ‘Ahm leavin' on vacation tomorrow. We're goin' to awrheegon. Bekkie-Sue wants to see her folks.' Little-Bo- Peep-has-lost-her-sheep-and-doesn't-know-where-to- find-them. But it was their skin. That was the thing that had been sticking in Norton's mind from the time he got
on that plane in Los Angeles. It was smooth, sort of oily- looking, and they all looked as if their faces were covered with Glad-Wrap. Even the freaky-looking kids about fourteen and fifteen running around with their Elmer Fudd caps jammed on their heads back to front. Les stared and sipped his coffee. It was fascinating, boring, humorous and ridiculous all at the same time. The yanks all ate takeaway food, had takeaway bodies and lived takeaway lives. All wrapped up and ready to go. Have a nice day. Miss you already. Then two security guards walked past doing their rounds, wearing guns, clubs, handcuffs and bullet-proof vests. Ahh yes, thought Norton. Welcome to America. You have a good one, and freeze, motherfucker, or
bang-bang-bang
, I'll shoot.