Guns 'n' Rose (28 page)

‘You know who you remind me of, dressed like that, Jimmy?' he said, half having a little dig at Jimmy about his clothes.

‘No. Who?'

‘Michael Douglas in
Falling Down
.'

‘Yeah? Well, I haven't seen the movie,' he replied, not sounding very interested. ‘I've got to see a couple of blokes while I'm over there. Just some business, that's all.' Jimmy took a mouthful of water. He was talking softly, yet he seemed agitated or nervous. Les couldn't see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but he almost looked like he was speeding.

‘Whatever.' Les shrugged and before he could say anything else there was a polite knock on the door.

‘Righto,' said Jimmy, picking up his overnight bag, ‘Let's go to the bike show and see the band.'

‘Sounds good to me.'

They walked outside, Jimmy said something to the limo driver and they got in the back.

Not used to being driven around much during the daytime and especially in a nice, comfortable limousine, Les sat back and enjoyed it. Next to him Jimmy still seemed on edge, tapping his foot on the floor, fiddling at his bag sitting on his lap while he stared straight ahead working his jaw muscles. Les watched him out the side of his eye and tried to suss him out. He was going over to this hotel for two reasons besides
the band and the old bikes. The stockwhip was just for some friend or whatever, but he also had to see some bikie or bikies about unloading the machine guns and you could bet they'd be as nutty as fruitcakes and a bit unpredictable. So naturally he was nervous. They were just as likely to shoot him and just take the things. Maybe that's why he brought Les along. To look like he had a backup of some description. It was doubtful the swap would be that afternoon. They'd come back in the limo and it would be later that night, when it was quite dark. The bikies would get a surprise when they came round and found Jimmy in the kitchen mopping blood from his face for a change and his red-haired backup nowhere in sight. Les might even piss the fuckin' machine guns off. Price didn't need that sort of shit going down in his house. As for Jimmy's outfit, you could bet the punters at the hotel would be pretty much pie and peas, and getting around looking like a Stuart Membery model, Jimmy would stick out like the proverbial dog's knackers. Yes, mused Norton, these evil webs of deception we weave. Where do they get us? All webbed up and no place to go. He looked at Jimmy and smiled. It was a bit of a buzz watching young master James squirming around, trying to act cool and all the time Les knowing exactly what the little shit was up to.

They cruised along in spacious, air-conditioned silence. Les watched the trees and valleys go past and picked out a couple of places he remembered from when he first got to Terrigal; like a fruit stall on the side of the road and the turn-off to where he and Jimmy went linedancing. Next thing they turned right
at a roundabout and Les thought he recognised the corner with the little church on it that they visited when he drove Jimmy down from the gaol. Jimmy had mentioned where they were going, but not being familiar with the area Les had forgotten it was on the way. The limo pulled over in the driveway.

‘I won't be long.' Jimmy took his bag and got out as the driver opened the door.

‘Take your time,' said Les, not feeling he was invited along this time. ‘I'll wait here.'

Les watched Jimmy go through the gate and mellowed out a little towards him. Yes, mused Norton, it's only natural that he'd want to visit his mother's grave. It's on the way and it is Sunday. And I suppose you can't really blame him for a life of crime; he does come from a broken family. That's why I won't break his rotten little neck.

About twenty minutes later Jimmy returned and got back in the limo.

‘How are you feeling now, mate?' said Les. ‘Everything okay?'

Even from behind his dark glasses, Jimmy's infectious smile seemed to almost light up the back of the car. ‘Everything's fine, Les,' he said. ‘Everything's just great.'

‘That's good, Jimmy.'

Jimmy's smile seemed to radiate a little more. ‘In fact, I think it's going to be a fantastic day, Les. I really do.'

‘Like I said, Jimmy, that's good. I'm glad.'

The limo eased back in amongst the Sunday afternoon traffic and a few minutes later the driver turned
left at another roundabout near a McDonald's and a KFC and they were there.

The hotel was on the right-hand side of a short, sealed road that was all bush and trees on the left before it turned into dirt and disappeared into more bush and trees about two hundred metres or so down the end. It was a single-storey building with a wellkept median strip out the front and two tarred parking areas split in the middle by a driveway that led to an outdoor bottle shop. At the end towards the bush was an Asian restaurant called the China Doll and next to a tree near the median strip was a sign saying Broadwater Hotel Resort. The limo pulled up just before the bottle shop. Les and Jimmy got out, then the driver headed back towards the roundabout. Both parking areas were full of cars with the odd motorbike here and there and a few people walking around who gave them a glance or two as they got out. A short set of steps ran up past the bottle shop into a tiled courtyard with a bistro lounge on the left, an enclosed area full of video machines and a couple of bars on the right. The courtyard was nicely laid out with trees and plants, a barbecue in the middle and palm trees at the far end. Quite a few people were seated or standing around a smattering of white plastic chairs or tables and a flash of chrome amongst some people milling around beyond the palm trees at the end suggested to Les that this was where all the vintage motorbikes were. More people were coming out of the bars on the right carrying drinks and Les was about to say something when Jimmy hoisted his bag over his shoulder and nodded towards the bistro lounge. Les followed him across.

A row of glass windows and doors covered with posters advertising coming bands ran down the side. There was one for Zipper Mushrooms that day from three till six which meant they'd missed the first bracket. Inside it was bright and roomy with a high, white angled ceiling, a colonial brick bistro on the left doing a brisk trade as you entered and on the opposite side a long, wooden bar with brass poles supporting a wooden canopy full of indoor plants and signs for Millers Draught, Big Red and Crown Lager. Behind the bar was a long open verandah and beyond that a large, grassy area that led to a wide bay that Les guessed was the Broadwater. A smattering of chairs, tables and stools led to a dance floor and a low stage at the end with stage lights on scaffolding above and a thick, black curtain for a backdrop. Sitting on the stage were the band's instruments and some kind of rock music was playing softly through the speakers. The hotel in general was bright, clean and modern and looked like quite a pleasant venue to have a drink, a meal or whatever. And as Les had predicted earlier, the punters were dressed pretty casual, mainly jeans, shorts and surfing T-shirts. Some girls wore denim skirts or cotton dresses, but mainly dressed the same as the men. Jimmy appeared to be searching the faces, nodding a hello here and there and getting a hello nodded back in reply. Norton thought he might as well have a beer or two while they were there.

‘You want a drink, Jimmy?' he asked.

Jimmy nodded. ‘Yeah, get us a delicious, will you.'

The bar was three deep, but it didn't take long and Les was back with a Tooheys long neck and a Jack Daniels and Coke.

‘Why don't we go outside and have a look at the old bikes?' said Jimmy, taking a sip of his drink. ‘The band doesn't start for a while yet.'

‘Good idea.' Les followed Jimmy back into the courtyard and out the end past the palm trees.

Outside was a large, grassy area that led down to the water's edge. A wall of pine logs faced the courtyard and behind that was a tennis court surrounded by trees. Solid wooden tables and benches were spread around another covered barbecue near a pine-log cubbyhouse for the kids to play in and near the log wall was a row of coloured, plastic slippery-dips. People were wandering around everywhere, pennants fluttered in the breeze and a sign above the barbecue saying ‘Welcome to the Broadwater Classic Motorbike Rally' added to a carnival atmosphere. Spread around the place were scores of vintage motorbikes and tables surrounded by people selling or swapping parts. Les took a sip of his beer and was about to start looking over the vintage motorcycles, when Jimmy stopped a tall, fair-haired bloke walking past.

‘Hey, Stu, have you seen Ian Stanley?'

‘Oh, g'day, Jimmy. No, I haven't seen him,' said the bloke.

‘Okay. Thanks anyway.' The bloke continued on his way and Jimmy turned to Les. ‘Come on, let's go and check out the old bikes.'

They wandered about the mums and dads and kids with their faces painted, checking out the old motorbikes. Norton was impressed—they were absolute classics, beautifully cared for, the paint and chrome sparkling in the balmy, afternoon sun. BSA. Goldstars.
AJSs. Vincents, Indians, old Harley-Davidsons, a 1928 American Excelsior, Vincent Rapides, Triumph Bonnevilles, Matchless G80s, Ariel 500s. There was even a 1927 Cleveland 4. Name a classic bike and it was there looking like it had just come out of the showroom. The owners were just normal people, and it was like Jimmy said, just because you own a powerful bike, you're not necessarily some nutty gang member. Les wandered around taking it all in and thinking about his brother, Murray. He had a couple of old motorbikes and although Les wasn't that mad about them, he used to help Murray with them and take one out for a burble around Dirranbandi now and again. In the course of their wanderings Jimmy would stop and ask people the same question and always get the same answer; they'd shake their head.

‘Your contact not here, James?' asked Les, a little derisively.

‘No, it doesn't look like it.' Jimmy took another look around, then added quietly, ‘I'm not really surprised.'

‘What was that?' said Les.

Jimmy shook his head. ‘Nothing.' Then looked at his watch. ‘Come on, let's go and see the band.'

The bistro lounge was quite crowded by now. Les got another two drinks and they found a spot towards the front where the bar angled off towards the verandah. The music coming out of the speakers stopped and the band got on stage behind their instruments. They looked pretty much your average five-piece band in Tshirts and jeans, except for the singer and the bloke on the keyboards. He was tall and gangly with glasses and black hair and looked like Quentin Tarantino. The
singer was just as tall, very surfy, very good-looking, with red hair and a perfect white smile almost as good as Jimmy's. He was wearing a black T-shirt with WEB across a spider web on the front and squinting across the room Les managed to make out Wamberal Express Boardriders. The singer flashed his smile, said a few words to some friends in the audience then the band ripped into a howling version of Counting Crows' ‘Mr Jones' and in about two chords the dance floor was almost full of young girls drooling over the singer. The band blitzed that, did a song of their own, then ripped into a hot version of Billy Idol's ‘White Wedding'. The band was tight and hot, the singer had a crisp, clear voice that held the notes perfectly and a stage presence all his own. He'd bop across the stage, then do a few rap moves, then bend his knees, put his arms out and surf the music. There were some little kids dancing down the front of the stage. The singer jumped down and started singing to them and dancing with them and the kids loved him along with the crowd. He jumped back on stage and the band cut into The Rolling Stones' ‘Mean Disposition' and Norton could have sworn it was Charlie Watts on the drums and the singer was Jimmy Morrison, Mick Jagger and Jesus all rolled into one. They did a couple more of their own then ripped into Confederate Railroad's ‘Bill's Honky Tonk Bar and Grill', followed by Gina Jeffreys' ‘Girls Night Out' which sent the girls in the audience just about crazy. Next thing the dance floor was honky tonk pickin', linedance kickin' and Norton left Jimmy holding his bag and joined in.

Whatever the band did they could do no wrong and,
like everybody else in the hotel, Les was having the time of his life. He got off the dance floor as the singer handed the mike to the Quentin Tarantino lookalike on keyboards and said, ‘Righto, everyone, let's hear it for Gritty.'

Everybody applauded, Les got another two drinks and Gritty cut into a howling, chord-thumping version of AC/DC's ‘Gaol Break', jumping all over the stage and rolling around on the dance floor like a man possessed. Les wondered how he was going to top this when Gritty got hold of a tambourine, the singer jumped behind the keyboards and they tore into Sleepy La Beef's ‘Standing in the Need of Prayer', complete with the banging tambourine and honky-tonk, pumping piano just like a holy rolling, happy clapping, revivalist meeting. Norton waved his hands in the air, stomped his feet and couldn't ever remember seeing anything like it. They did another two songs of their own, then finished with Hoodoo Gurus' ‘Like Wow, Wipeout' and left to thunderous applause. A moment or two later music came through the speakers again and the punters resumed drinking and talking.

‘Well, what did you think of the Mushies, Les?' said Jimmy.

‘Fuckin' unreal,' said Norton. ‘What about Quentin Tarantino on the keyboards?'

‘Gritty? He's something else, isn't he?'

‘Reckon.' Les looked around and wiped his eyes. ‘Shit. They don't mind a cigarette in here, do they?'

‘Yeah, it's punishing all right. You want to go outside for a while?'

‘Good idea,' nodded Les, and followed Jimmy out to the courtyard.

A few other punters had drifted out and were standing around amongst the other people there having a drink and talking, and after the heat and smoke inside it was literally a breath of fresh air. Les shook his shirt and noticed out the back the vintage bike rally appeared to be packing up. He was about to say something to Jimmy when Jimmy turned and stared after some bloke walking past the bottle shop out the front.