The Godson (31 page)

Norton glared up at the crowd staring down at them. ‘Well, don't just stand there like a bunch of fuckin' sheep,' he snarled. ‘Give him a hand. He's broken his fuckin' leg.'

The fat woman took over as Les stood up. ‘There, there, Emmett,' she said soothingly. ‘Don't worry. You'll be all right.'

Norton took a last look down at Gorgo as Peregrine came up next to him. ‘Come on,' he said. ‘Let's get out of here.'

The crowd parted as they turned and walked through the smashed and overturned tables and broken glass towards the door. Standing in front of them ashen-faced was the publican.

‘I remember you two, now,' he shouted. ‘You're the ones that started all the trouble in here on Friday night. Get out — and don't ever come back. You're both barred.'

Norton gave him a quick once up and down and they went past. ‘Suits me,' he said. ‘It's a fuckin' shithouse anyway — and your beer's off.'

Peregrine gave the publican a quick once up and down too. ‘I wholeheartedly agree,' he sniffed. ‘Damn your impertinence! And you needn't worry, my good man. We've been thrown out of much better establishments than this.'

‘I say,' said Peregrine, as they got onto the road out of town. ‘I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like that. You almost wrecked the back of that hotel. There were bodies lying everywhere.'

‘Yeah, terrific,' grunted Les.

‘And as for that Gorgo, or whatever they called him, you
tossed him around like he was a bag of onions.' Peregrine shook his head. ‘Where did you learn that? And then that fat woman fell on his leg. Poor Gorgo — he's gorgonzola now.'

‘The poor bastard didn't really deserve that, Peregrine.'

‘Well, maybe. But God, he was a giant.'

‘And if you'd have kept your mouth shut, you dopey prick, nothing would have happened.'

‘Oh come on now, Les. They were a bunch of twits. And I saw the look on your face when you had to apologise to that oaf with the beard.'

‘Yeah, fair enough,' conceded Norton. ‘But I still didn't like seeing that poor, simple goose get hurt like that.'

Peregrine smiled at Les in admiration. ‘I don't know a great deal about you, Les. But you would have to be the best fighter I've ever come across. How would you like to come back to England with me for a while? I'll pay for everything, and give you a wage.'

‘Peregrine,' replied Norton. ‘How would you like to get well and truly fucked. You're bad news. Every time I go out with you, you get me into a fight. And now we're barred from the fuckin' pub. Christ! It's a good thing I bought all the piss before we went in.' Norton shook his head emphatically. ‘No, that's fuckin' it, Peregrine. Get used to life on the farm, pal, 'cause we're not leaving it again until it's time for you to go back to England. And that's final.'

‘What if you run out of Fourex?'

‘That's different.'

‘What about the dance on Saturday night?'

‘Fuck the dance on Saturday night.'

They drove on in silence. But by the time they got to the front gates of Cedar Glen Norton had lightened up a little and had to agree with Peregrine that apart from Emmett breaking his leg it was a funny afternoon, especially the look on the publican's face. They got cleaned up and Les got the barbecue going. After a couple of cans of Fourex he was in a better frame of mind again. After a steak and half a bottle of Jacobs Creek he was laughing out loud.

‘So what time did you tell those two witches you were coming out to settle for that horrible clobber?'

‘About seven.'

‘We might leave around six-thirty. I've got to ring Sydney and see if there's any messages. And let them know that you're all right. Hah! That's a fuckin' joke.'

Peregrine glanced at his watch. ‘Well, we've plenty of time. It's not yet five o'clock.'

‘Yeah. I might make some coffee.'

The bazaar had well and truly finished and Yurriki was as quiet as a cemetery when Les pulled up outside the town's one phone-box. He rattled the coins into the slot: this time Eddie was home.

‘Les,' he said brightly. ‘How's it going, mate?'

‘Good, Eddie. Life in the country's not too bad at all.'

‘How's His Royal Highness?'

‘Safe as a bank. I think he's getting used to it, too. Any news from England?'

‘No. Nothing yet,' lied Eddie. He figured what Les didn't know wouldn't hurt him. And there was no real point in upsetting Peregrine. With any luck this could still be over by the end of the week. He'd tell Les then no matter what. ‘But I'll let you know as soon as there is.'

‘Okay.'

‘So what are you both doing?'

‘Actually we're on our way out to a couple of sheilas' house.'

Les gave Eddie a bit of a rundown about Peregrine buying the clothes at the bazaar. He didn't mention the fight. They chatted for a while and then Les hung up, saying he'd ring again on Wednesday.

‘Still no news from England, Peregrine,' he said, getting back into the car.

‘That's understandable. There probably won't be any until Lewis gets it all sorted out.'

‘Probably. Anyway, next stop Stokers Siding. We'll get that rattle sorted out then get back home. I wouldn't mind getting pissed tonight.'

They didn't have to drive as far as Stokers Siding; the instructions Coco had given Peregrine were to drive about fifteen kilometres out of Yurriki, cross two little bridges next to each other and two kilometres past them, opposite the sawmill, there was a red house on the right. Les couldn't miss their house, not even at night: it was a brilliant, boiling red with a red roof. Built high up off the road, it was like one of those old wooden, Federation houses you still see in parts of Sydney, but with a lot more character. A vine and pot plant covered verandah surrounded the old house, there was a white picket fence at the front and what appeared to be cow sheds at the side. Les went up a steep driveway and parked behind
an old green Kombi covered in mainly environmental stickers. A small set of steps ran up to the front door, which was open with the fly-screen shut. Peregrine gave it a quick ‘shave and a haircut, two bits'.

Coco came to the door wearing a smile and a dark blue tracksuit. ‘Hello,' she said. ‘You found the place all right?'

‘No trouble at all.'

‘Come on in.'

She creaked open the fly-screen and they followed her down a threadbare, brown-carpeted hallway. Inside it was a typical old country house: wood panelling, high ceilings, brass light switches and floorboards that creaked under your feet. Marita was in a nicely appointed kitchen wearing a mustard coloured tracksuit like Coco's.

‘Hello,' she said pleasantly.

There were more greetings and smiles all round. Peregrine handed Marita two bottles of Great Western which she put in the fridge. They exchanged pleasantries while the girls made them coffee. Then Coco asked Peregrine if he'd like to come out to the cutting room and see what he'd purchased.

The old cow sheds Norton had seen from the road turned out to be their work room. Marita hit a switch near the door and about half a dozen fluorescent lights suspended over two long cutting tables lit up the room. Sitting on the table, neatly folded next to two large packing cases was what Peregrine was getting for his four thousand dollars.

‘Well, there it all is,' said Marita. ‘You want to have another look at it?'

‘If you wouldn't mind,' replied Peregrine. He had a bit of a browse through the weird array of dresses, tops and tights. ‘Excellent,' he smiled. ‘Excellent. Now here's what I'd like you to do.'

Peregrine took a piece of cardboard and a texta colour and wrote down the address of Stephanie's boutique in The Kings Road. He gave Marita the remaining two thousand dollars plus another thousand which would be more than enough to ship the clothing to England. He said not to worry about a receipt. He gave the girls his business card and told them they could rob him if they wished, but if they did the right thing and the dresses sold they could both be on a nice little earner for years to come. From the surprised, slightly hurt looks on the girls faces when Peregrine spoke about robbing him Les didn't think there was much chance of that.

‘So, that's about it, ladies,' smiled Peregrine. ‘I think you'll
agree that's a reasonably fair way to do business?'

‘I couldn't agree with you more,' replied Marita, blinking at the wad of money in her hand.

‘Now what do you say to a glass of champers to cement the deal? Then my associate and myself will be on our way.'

‘Okay, fine.'

Marita switched off the lights and they followed the girls back into the lounge room. While Coco was getting the champagne Les settled back on an old blue Chesterfield and had a bit of a look around. There was the usual women's brica-brac on the walls and sideboards plus a Picasso and a couple of Monet prints. A TV and a fairly modern stereo sat against one wall and in a corner an old lampstand threw muted light over a poster of Mae West. Coco returned with the champagne and four glasses, poured them all a drink and there was a quick ‘cheers' all round.

It turned out the girls had lived in the Tweed Valley for seven years and owned the house which was once an old dairy. They originally came from Narooma on the South Coast, but had worked in Sydney for a while before moving north. At the mention of the words ‘work in Sydney' Coco and Marita seemed to exchange fleeting smiles of amusement. They each had five-year-old daughters who were presently with their fathers and grandparents in Byron Bay. But that was another story. They hated city life and found the Yurriki area one of the last places left with a village atmosphere that the politicians and the Alan Bonds of the world hadn't yet managed to stuff up. Mata Hari's Waterbed was ticking over slowly, especially now thanks to Peregrine, and here they would remain until they were old and grey.

‘I can't say I blame you,' said Peregrine. ‘It's certainly a delightful area around here.'

‘It sure is,' nodded Marita.

‘Gee, this champagne's nice, Peregrine,' said Coco, draining the last of her glass. ‘Okay if I open that other bottle?'

‘Of course. That's what I brought it for.'

While Coco was in the kitchen, Marita reached towards a small, carved wooden box sitting on an old coffee table in front of her.

‘You guys fancy a smoke?' she asked.

‘What… pot?' said Norton.

‘Yeah.'

‘Sure. What about you Peregrine? You have a smoke, do you?'

‘Well… I've had a bit of hash in London now and again,'

‘Wait till you try this,' said Marita. ‘This is our own Yurriki yippee grass. This'll really clear your woofers and your tweeters.'

Les and Peregrine watched intently as Marita pulled some very dark, very sticky looking marijuana from a plastic bag, mulled it with a little tobacco and began rolling a couple of joints.

‘Could you sell us some of that?' asked Les. Drinking Fourex back at the farm was pretty good, but a little number at the same time would make it heaps better.

‘I'll give you some.'

‘No, I'll pay you. In fact, can we buy a bag somewhere? We're gonna be here for another week.'

‘Puff's pretty hard to get now, Les.'

‘Up here? You're kidding.'

‘I wish I was. They used to grow a bit up here once. But it's too hard now. They've got helicopters going over every day. Pricks riding 'round on trail bikes. You've only got to have a Save The Rainforests sticker on your window and they pull you over and search your car.'

‘Shit!'

‘Are we talking about our heroes in the drug offensive, are we?' asked Coco, walking back into the lounge room.

‘Yeah,' laughed Marita. ‘I was just telling Les what it's like up here.'

Coco refilled their glasses. ‘You guys have got to see it to believe it. There's squads of these idiots running around in full combat gear. Fatigues, boots, flak jackets, peaked caps. Armed with machine guns, shotguns, pistols, Christ only knows what, trying to bust a few hippies with a bit of pot. They must spend half their lives watching Sylvester Stallone movies on TV.'

‘What about that day out at Raewyn's, Coco? This friend of ours has got an eight-year-old daughter and a fifteen-yearold mentally retarded son. Fifteen cops in combat gear hit her house one day. Kicked her door in, poked loaded guns in their faces. Nearly frightened poor Matthew to death. Halfwrecked her house, and got nothing. Fifteen would-be Rambos.'

‘They're idiots running around with guns,' said Coco. ‘They raided some people's farm we know near Nimbin. Couldn't find anything so they shot up the house and machine-gunned their water tank. This is after some other idiot's gone about two feet over the house in a helicopter and killed all their Angora goats. But these people were a bit smart. They sued
the police department and finished up with half a million dollars. It took a while, but they got it.'

Even Peregrine had to laugh at this. ‘What about that cop that gets on TV?' said Norton. ‘He looks like a director of some bush RSL. I think he's a superintendent. He reckons they're growing pot up here to finance heroin deals.'

The girls both shook their heads in disbelief. ‘If you want to see some millionaire heroin dealers,' said Marita, ‘come to the dance this Saturday night. You won't find a car there worth more than five hundred dollars. If a pickpocket went through the place all he'd get would be exercise. Heroin dealers! I don't believe it.'

‘There used to be a heroin dealer in Yurriki,' said Coco seriously. ‘They burnt his car twice. Then told him to piss off or the next time they'd burn him in it.'

‘It's all politics and corruption, Les,' said Marita. ‘Come down hard on anyone with a bit of pot so they look like they're doing something while there's tons of rotten heroin and cocaine out on the streets.'