And De Fun Don't Done (19 page)

‘Yeah, I guess you're right,' answered Norton, slowly shaking his head. ‘But it'll have to do till something better comes along.' He half smiled at Hank. ‘Of course if I get sick of it, I can always come back to your place — can't I?'

Back at Greenwood Estate Hank actually helped Les with his overnight bag while Norton got the other one and wrestled his bike out of the pick-up and onto the enclosed verandah. Within a few minutes Les had his orange juice in the fridge, his bags on the floor in the lounge and Hank standing next to them like a stale bottle of piss. Just outside the back door the swimming pool was sparkling in the heat.

‘Well, what's doing, Hank?' he finally asked.

Laurel's eyes spun around as if he was still full of his own importance and Les would be stuffed without him. ‘Well, I have to get going. I've got things to do.'

‘Good,' answered Les. ‘So have I.' Like have a swim, have a feed, play my tapes and hope to Christ you find where you left your flying saucer and fuck off.

‘So what are we doing tonight?'

We? Les shook his head. ‘I don't know,' he shrugged.

‘I'll call back and we'll go for a drink.'

‘Yeah righto,' answered Les reluctantly.

‘I'll see you about eight-thirty.'

‘Half past eight?!! It doesn't get dark till fuckin' near ten.'

‘We'll go to a dark bar,' smirked Laurel.

‘Yeah alright,' answered Norton slowly. Hank turned to go and had his hand on the door knob. ‘Hey, Hank. Aren't you forgetting something?' Hank blinked round the room as Les held out his hand. ‘The keys.' Hank's eyes spun round again for a moment before he fumbled the two keys out of his pocket. ‘Thanks,' nodded Les. The door slammed and he was gone.

Norton stared at the door for almost half a minute, then fell down on his knees with this delicious grin on his face and started praying towards the swimming pool. He still couldn't quite come to grips with the good fortune that had just landed in his lap. It was like getting out of some gaol and having a giant carbuncle lanced at the same time. A pall of absolute, miserable gloom had been lifted from him and now he had this as well. Gratis. It was that good Les didn't know where to start. The first thing he did was get his two bags and empty them out, throwing the whole lot all over the bedroom floor. Then, after planting his wallet, passport and traveller's cheques, he stripped down to his Speedos, grabbed a towel and almost tore the back flyscreen door off as he charged out to the swimming pool.

Between the condo and the pool was the cabana, with an outdoor shower, toilets and more signs on it than Parramatta Road. No eating, drinking, smoking, splashing, laughing, rubber floats, swim flippers, etc, etc, etc. Shower before swimming, pool hours 10 to 10. Doesn't say anything about guns, thought Les. I'm allowed to go shooting. The shower was on the opposite side to the pool. As he splashed around under it Les noticed about an acre of well-kept park, with a large pond and a fountain in it, running off towards the walls of the next
estate. Several lizards and the smallest frogs Les had ever seen scampered round the rocks and gardens and a couple of turtles dived into the pond, disappearing beneath the murky water in a tiny cloud of even tinier bubbles. On the opposite side of the cabana one of the signs said NO DIVING. Fair enough, nodded Les approvingly as he dropped his towel onto a table; then he ran and somersaulted into the pool, landing with a splash like a depth charge exploding.

After sitting in the heat all day, the water wasn't cold or even all that refreshing, but it was beautifully clean and it was definitely wet. Les dived down to the bottom of the deep end and swam underwater to the shallow end, dived and splashed around and just plain dug it as the water seemed to wash away the sweat and any troubles he might have had. The water wasn't over-chlorinated and didn't sting your eyes that much. Les started doing laps, a few freestyle, a few breaststroke before just lying on his back and floating. He could still hardly believe it; this was the last thing he was expecting. He spat some water up in the air and winked a quick smile of thanks towards the sky. How does that song go? he smiled to himself. ‘If my friends could see me now.' All huddled round their heaters and I'm in a swimming pool. How droll it is.

Les floated and swam about for what seemed like hours, then got out and went back to the flat, where the first thing he did was turn off the air-conditioner. They're alright in shopping centres, but you get too dependent on them. Besides, Florida in summer couldn't be any worse than Dirranbandi. Fifteen minutes after the air- conditioner stopped it was pretty much like Darwin. Oh well, who gives a stuff? thought Les, as he hung his Speedos on the verandah and wrapped a towel round his waist.

Coors Cutter. Non Alcoholic Beer. Norton took one from the fridge and sampled it out. It tasted okay and went down very easy; just left you feeling sober and a little cheated somehow. Norton glanced up at the bottles of bourbon. Mmmhh. A little early in the day to start
getting out of it. Walking round the flat with his bottle of Coors, Les was like a kid in a toy shop; he didn't know where to start first. After Swamp Manor and putting up with Captain Rats, it was a quantum leap into luxury and idyllic seclusion. The stereo wasn't all that big and the speakers sitting on top of the cabinet that held it and the TV weren't all that big either; but they were big enough. Among the mess in his bedroom Les found his tapes. They were mostly Australian bands, some were rock, some a bit more laid back; number five was laid back, if Les remembered correctly. He slipped the tape on and smiled to himself as he adjusted the graphic equaliser. Right again. ‘Send the Divers Down', an oldie but a goodie by Australian Crawl.

Norton got another bottle of Coors, sat on the lounge and sipped it as that track ran into ‘When the River Runs Dry' by Hunters and Collectors, then ‘Have You Ever' by the Moonee Valley Drifters. Ahh, how sweet it is. Les wasn't getting anywhere near drunk or even a glow up, but he was getting relaxed and thinking it wouldn't take all that many Coors Cutters to get you bloated up. That side of the tape finished, leaving Les staring into space feeling very, very pleasant indeed. Now what to do? Well, I could tidy up that mess in my room. Or, better still, I could lie back on that big comfortable bed and just close my eyes for a few minutes. Maybe even have a little nap till Prince Charming gets here at half past eight. Yeah, he'll be here at half past eight, thought Les, as he walked to the bedroom. That's just to have me sitting around all dressed up, and he'll lob about ten. He must think I'm as dopey as he is. Norton laid his head back and couldn't believe how soft the pillows were and how comfortable the bed was; just behind him the slightest breeze was coming through the half-open window. Then a much happier thought occurred to him. If he was right, he had half a chace to meet Lori, the daring young girl on the flying trapeze down at Club BandBox tonight. But with Boofhead in tow? Maybe he could sool him onto her cousin? Doubtful. There wouldn't be a sheila in the world
that desperate. No. Les was going to have to get rid of Hank. But how? Norton had a little chuckle to himself as he started to drift off. Somehow he didn't think it was going to be all that hard.

An horrendous clap of thunder rattling across the sky woke Les. He blinked round the room for a few moments before he realised where he was and what was going on, then looked at his watch; it was well after eight. It was just as hot as ever and still light outside, although despite the rain pelting down it didn't appear as heavy as yesterday's storm. Norton watched the rain splattering into the swimming pool and figured that was the place to be, especially with all that lightning around, and with a mask and snorkel on so you could watch yourself being crisped. Still feeling a little groggy he climbed into his Speedos, walked out to the pool and just fell straight in. The facemask fogged up with the heat, but it was fun flopping around in the pool, watching the rain drops hit the water and doing a few laps while he woke up and got a little exercise at the same time. He rolled over on his back and watched the rain splattering into his facemask, duck dived around, having a good time in general for a while, then got out.

Back inside, he showered and shaved in the sparkling clean, fresh-smelling bathroom, got into a pair of jox, then made a cup of coffee and a sandwich and almost tap- danced happily around the kitchen while he played the other side of the tape still sitting in the stereo. It cut out about the same time as the storm eased and after cleaning up what little mess there was Norton once again found himself looking up at the bottles on the shelf. Bourbon and Coke, Mr Norton? Bubbly not flat? Certainly, garçon. Next thing Les was standing in the loungeroom with the biggest glass he could find — half full of ice, half full of George Dickle and Diet Pepsi — staring down at the TV set. It wasn't as big as the one at home and sitting on top was a kind of box with buttons on it that he guessed must be for Cable TV, whatever that was. He switched on the TV, pressed a button on the box and a
red, digital display lit up. Les pressed some more buttons, numbers appeared and things started coming up on the screen. He got a movie in Spanish, a yank politician being interviewed by some dude in a pair of braces, the weather in Skunk Gut Missouri, a doco on fly-fishing in Haemo- tosis Nebraska, and, lo and behold, the Budweiser fights. Two Mexican lightweights getting into it hammer and tongs.

‘Ohh yeah! Go the boys,' exhorted Les. He took a giant slurp of his drink then settled back comfortably on the lounge to watch the fights.

If the fights were good, the Budweiser Girls were even better. Ten of the best sorts Norton had ever seen in his life. They porked around the ring in high heels and cutaway bikinis, shaking their boobs and throwing up more growl than a pride of lions, vying to see who was going to be Miss Budweiser Ring Girl. The last one off was a tall, horny blonde, stacked like a timberyard.

‘Hi. I'm Lori. I'm from New Mexico. I like tropical fish and I want to be a brain surgeon.'

‘Yeah, I'll bet you do,' cackled Norton. ‘As soon as they can find one small enough to fit inside your silly bloody head.' The George Dickle was starting to go down well.

The next fight finished early. Some Mexican calling himself the Fighting Clown, because he also worked in a circus, flattened some tall skinny bloke from Idaho. He didn't just knock him out, he poleaxed him, and they were showing the replay. Les was watching one of the most sizzling, short rights of all time when there was an abrupt knock at the door. Now I wonder who this might be? smiled Les. Has Prince Charming arrived? It must be half past eight already. Les sipped his drink while he watched the replay again and took his own sweet time answering the door. It was Hank alright, wearing jeans, a half-ironed floral shirt and desert boots; he looked almost tidy. Les gave him a brief smile, he looked positively irate when he saw Les still in his jox, then got worse when Norton sat back down on the lounge, casually took another mouthful of bourbon and resumed watching the television.

‘Well, what are we doing?' demanded Hank.

Norton sort of shrugged. ‘I don't know what you're doing. But I'm watching the Budweiser fights. They're alright too.'

‘Well, are we going out?'

Les sort of shrugged again. ‘Ohh yeah. Watch the fights for a while. There's no mad hurry, is there?'

Hank stood there, his eyes spinning somewhere between Les, the TV and outer space. Norton kept watching as the next fight started. Out the corner of his eye he saw Hank go to the kitchen and return with an ashtray. He was about to plonk his arse down and light up when Norton looked up from the lounge. When he spoke, his voice was very slow, extremely polite but very calculated.

‘Oh, Hank, would you mind doing me a favour?' Boofhead blinked at Les. ‘Would you wait till you get out to the car before you have a cigarette?'

Hank's face coloured, his eyes went totally spare this time and the wooden cogs inside his head seemed to be disintegrating. It was one of the strangest sights Les had ever seen. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like ‘weird' then stormed straight out the door, slamming it behind him. Well, how about that? smiled Les. Looks like sookums didn't like being told to eat his vegies. That was easier than I thought. Les took another slurp of bourbon and resumed watching TV.

The first round finished, Les was about to get another drink when the door opened and in burst Hank. Norton looked up, a little surprised. From across the other side of the room he could smell cigarette smoke on Hank's breath. Rather than wait a few minutes, he'd run outside like a big silly sheila and had a smoke just to show Les he sort of would if he wanted to. Les could hardly believe it.

Captain Rats stood glaring at Norton, his face almost purple with outraged disbelief. Norton couldn't have looked more comfortable lying back on the lounge sipping his drink, completely absorbed in the fight. Hank could have been in another galaxy.

‘Well, what are you doing?' he almost shouted. ‘Are we going out or what?'

‘Ohh yeah. S'pose so.' Les sipped his drink without looking up from the TV.

‘Well, I'm going now.'

Norton slowly turned around and replied just as slowly. ‘Well, fuckin' go.'

That was it for poor Hank. His eyes spun around crazily as his circuits completely overloaded. He glared at Les for about half a second then turned round and raced out the door, slamming it behind him once again. This time Les got up and locked it.

Well how easy was that? smiled Norton. I knew the goose would come in. But what a dill. I've met hundreds in my time, but he's got to be the best by a country mile. The outlaw from the South. Wish I'd have booted him fair up the arse. Anyway, the idiot's gone and I suppose while I'm up I'd better get myself another delicious. And I might make this one a celebratory one.