The Boys from Binjiwunyawunya (23 page)

They were all up and showered and dressed by not long after eight the following morning. Although a little stiff at first, Norton felt good after all that uninterrupted sleep. But everyone was in high spirits. It was the relief, more than anything else, that the job was finally over and almost like a great burden had been lifted from all their shoulders. Especially with the boys. Where they had been noticeably tense and strained, especially the last day or so, now they were positively jubilant. What they'd come all this way to accomplish had been done, they'd soon be paid and in a few hours they'd all be home with their loved ones. Norton made a pot of tea and they drank that while they gave the room a bit of a tidy and the boys carefully packed up their Tjuringa boards and the bone, etc. Norton made a quick trip downstairs to ring Kingsley Sheehan to confirm they'd be out there about eleven or so. The cheerful pilot said that suited him as he had a bit of bookwork to catch up on and he'd see them when they got there.

‘Well. Everything's arranged,' Norton said happily when
he got back to the room. ‘You fly out around eleven and you should be home in Binji by four.'

‘That's good Les,' smiled Tjalkalieri.

‘The girls know what time you'll be there?'

‘We let them know last night before we went to sleep,' winked Yarrawulla.

‘Saves the price of a phone call,' nodded Norton.

The room was cleaned up now and the boys were standing next to their bags sipping the last of their tea while they waited patiently to leave.

‘Well,' said Norton, smiling at the three of them. ‘I suppose you're going to miss room 9 eh?'

‘Yeah,' replied Mumbi. ‘Like you'd miss Johnny Holmes belting you over the head with his cock for a couple of hours.'

‘It was starting to get like a prison,' added Yarrawulla. ‘And those bloody beds. You'd be more comfortable sleeping on a sheet of corrugated-iron.'

‘Yeah. You're pretty right,' smiled Les. He jangled his car keys in his hand after he slipped off the key to the door. ‘Anyway. What about breakfast? How about we slip up to the San Francisco Grill at the Hilton. Or the New York Deli at Double Bay. Have some eggs benedictine and hash browns. Tell you what. We'll go down to Pancakes on the Rocks. Have some blintzes and pancakes with maple syrup. What do you reckon?'

‘Les,' smiled Yarrawulla. ‘You know what we'd like for breakfast?'

‘No. But name it Yarra baby and it's all yours.' ‘McDonalds.'

‘McDonalds?'

‘Yeah. Too right Les. That's just what I feel like.'

‘Bloody oath,' added Tjalkalieri. ‘Quarter pounder with cheese. French fries. Coca-Cola. And one of those grouse chocolate fudge sundaes. Les, I can taste it now.'

Norton smiled at them almost in disbelief. Fancy wanting to go to McDonalds when he would have taken them anywhere in Sydney they wanted to go. And hang the expense. But actually McDonalds suited him. There was one at Bondi Junction just down from the bank. He could kill two birds with the one stone, so he wasn't going to argue.

‘Come to think of it Yarra. That's not a bad idea. I might even have a Big Mac myself.'

‘Have a nice day. Enjoy your meal,' grinned Mumbi.

The boys picked up their bags. Les took his, plus the big
black one, and they walked down the stairs to the foyer. Norton asked the girl in the bottle-shop where Bailey was; she said he was out in the parking area washing his car. When they got out there, Ross was running a hose over a green Ford Station-Wagon parked two down from Les's old sedan. He smiled as soon as he spotted the four of them.

‘Hey. How're you goin' there George? All right?'

‘G'day Ross,' replied Norton. ‘How's things?'

‘Pretty good.' The hose had one of those little plastic guns for a nozzle; Bailey dropped it and walked over to where Les was unlocking his car. ‘So how did the ad go. Everything sweet?'

‘Yeah. Good as gold,' replied Norton easily. ‘I'm just taking the boys out to the airport now. Fellahs,' he said, turning to the others. ‘This is Ross. The owner of the hotel.'

The boys nodded briefly and gave Bailey a half smile.

‘Nice place you've got,' said Tjalkalieri.

‘Yeah. Just bonzer,' nodded Yarrawulla.

‘Great view,' added a po faced Mumbi. ‘Pity we've got to go home so soon.'

‘Yeah,' winked Bailey. ‘She's a beaut little pub the Thames. I thought you blokes'd like it.'

‘Anyway Ross,' said Norton. ‘We'll just shoot our swags in the car and I'll fix you up.'

‘When you're ready George.'

They put their gear in the boot, being especially careful with the bag containing the bone and the Tjuringa boards. Then Tjalkalieri got in the front and the others in the back, winding all the windows down quickly because although it was quite sunny now, after five days being locked up out the back of the pub in all kinds of weather, the inside of Norton's old Ford smelt like bath night in an English boarding house.

‘Righto Ross,' said Norton, dipping into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘This should make us square.' He handed the hotel owner $500 plus the key to the room.

Bailey slipped the money straight into his own pocket without bothering to count it. ‘Thanks George. I hope everything suited you.'

‘Couldn't have been creamier,' replied Norton, climbing in behind the wheel. ‘They've never had it so good.' He smiled at the others, whose faces reflected about as much expression as the statues on Easter Island.

‘Well, make sure you have a safe trip home.' Bailey leant
his hand on the roof above Les and absently tapped it. ‘And take it easy. I lost one of my good customers last night. I don't want to lose any more,' he added, with a bit of a chuckle.

‘How was that Ross?' asked Norton, starting the motor and giving it a gentle rev as it idled.

‘One of my regulars had a heart attack just up the road last night. Poor bastard. He was only forty-three too.' Bailey peered into the car at the others. ‘You blokes might've known him. Percy Kilby? He ran the Aboriginal affairs office just over the road.'

Tjalkalieri shook his head. ‘Can't say as I have. What about you blokes?'

‘Never heard of him,' said Yarrawulla.

‘Me neither,' added Mumbi.

‘Oh well, doesn't matter. Funny thing though. He was only in here on Saturday having a drink. Said he had the flu bad but he'd managed to shake it.' Bailey shrugged his shoulders. ‘Just goes to show, eh. You're drinking with a bloke on Saturday. Then you're going to his funeral on Thursday.'

‘Yeah. That's the way it goes Ross,' nodded Norton. ‘You're a rooster one minute, a feather duster the next. Anyway. We've got to go. We've got some more filming to do.'

‘Yeah? What are you doing now?' asked Bailey.

‘An Aboriginal kung-fu movie' replied Norton.

‘Fair dinkum. What's it called?'

‘Enter the Flagon.'

‘Oh. That sounds all right. Anyway, I'd better let you go. I might see you again George. See you fellas. Nice meeting you.'

The boys smiled thinly back at the owner as Norton reversed out then drove over to the entrance of the parking area. ‘Don't suppose you'll be wanting to stay for the funeral,' he asked as they waited for the traffic in Regent Street.

‘Not particularly,' replied Tjalkalieri.

‘Funny thing,' said Norton slowly. ‘I only just saw an Aboriginal funeral going past the balcony this morning. I thought it might've been his.'

‘How did you know it was an Aboriginal funeral?' asked Mumbi unsuspectingly.

‘The first four garbage trucks had their lights on.'

Cracking up inside at his two corny jokes and the stoical looks on the faces of the others, Norton laughed like a drain all the way to McDonalds.

Les sat the boys down against the window facing Oxford
Street, then got them everything they wanted. Big Macs. Quarter pounders with cheese. McFeasts. French-fries — stacks of them. Gallons of Coca-Cola. Ice cream sundaes. Apple pies. Anything they wanted and more. Even Les had a Big Mac and a thick shake and some French-fries. The boys were laughing and giggling like three little kids as they tore into all the fast food. They were equally fascinated at what, to them, were some very strange looking people walking past and getting on and off the bus just in front of the window.

‘You sure you wouldn't like some party hats?' asked Les, as he watched a giggling Mumbi rip into his second quarter pounder with cheese. ‘Maybe the manager might find some little cakes with hundreds and thousands on them for you.'

‘Good thing you mentioned hundreds and thousands honkey,' said Tjalkalieri. ‘Because you're just about to fork out fifty big ones.'

‘Plus the 17.5 per cent loading,' laughed Yarrawulla.

‘The only loading you three cheeky little pricks'll be getting is when I load you onto that bloody plane out at Mascot.' Norton washed the last of his hamburger down with orange juice. ‘Anyway. The bank's only over the road. I may as well go and get the money, then I can piss you off.'

‘Grab us another chocolate sundae each before you go,' said Mumbi.

Les did; then walked up to the bank.

Norton only had to wait a couple of minutes before he was ushered into Mr Sturgess' office. The manager didn't ask too many questions, Norton signed a couple of documents to close the account, there was a brief handshake, and before long he was back out in Oxford Street with the remainder of the cash in his overnight bag, holding onto it tighter than a rope-ladder. Before he went back to get the others Les took a small note pad and biro from a side pocket in the bag and did a bit of quick adding and subtracting.

After taking out Murray's $10,000, the pilot's $9,000, the hotel bill, the AWEC sling and various other expenses, there was around about $75,000 left. Of which the boys were to get $50,000. Leaving $25,000 — Norton's whack if he wanted it. Not a bad earn for being stuck in a hotel room with three cheeky Aborigines for five days. And he thought it would take closer to three weeks. Not that it had been the best five days in his life. Far from it. But in that time he'd developed
an affinity with the boys that had never been there so completely before. And at one stage the three cheeky little bludgers had laid their lives on the line for him. He was convinced they were sincere about that. Norton absently tapped the biro on the pad for a few moments before putting it in the bag and walking back to McDonalds.

The boys were still at the window, surrounded by paper cups and food wrappings and laughing like drains at two punks arguing over something just out the front. A pimplyfaced girl in an oversize leather jacket, tartan miniskirt and holed black stockings tucked into a pair of boots that looked like they belonged to Mammy Yokum. Her boyfriend, or whatever, looked pretty much the same except that the rips in his trousers were held together by thin chains. Both their acne-riddled faces were topped by gelled up, spiked red hair that made them look like a couple of floating mines.

‘Jesus, Les,' said Mumbi as he walked in and noticed what they were laughing at. ‘What bloody tribe do they belong to?'

‘They don't belong in a tribe, Mumbles,' smiled Norton. ‘They belong in a zoo.'

‘A circus'd be more like it,' said Yarrawulla.

‘You wouldn't have to worry about buying them a clown's outfit,' added Tjalkalieri.

They watched the two punks arguing till they were eventually joined by another pair; just as pimply and just as ugly. Finally Les spoke.

‘Well. If you've had enough to eat and you've seen enough of the sights in beautiful downtown Bondi Junction, we might get cracking, eh.'

‘Yes. I think that might be a good idea, Les,' said Tjalkalieri. ‘We've certainly eaten enough. And we've certainly seen enough to last us for a long time.'

‘Binjiwunyawunya's never looked so good, eh?'

‘Never,' the three of them chorused.

They walked down to the car and headed for the airport. Norton took his time driving out to Mascot. The weird five days, with their bantering and roasting, were over now and soon it would be time to say goodbye to three old friends he'd known and respected all his life. When he'd seen them again Les didn't know. But he hoped it might be soon and in more comfortable, relaxed circumstances. A week or two out at Binjiwunyawunya after the smog and noise of Sydney would be unbelievable to say the least.

‘If you blokes want to wait here, I'll race up and get the pilot. I won't be a minute.'

‘Righto Les.'

There was a general nodding of heads and the boys waited in the flight facilities hangar with their bags while Norton rattled up the stairs to the Boomerang Aviation office. Sheehan was in his usual position, sitting beneath the window at the end of the office. He must have finished whatever bookwork he had to do because he had his feet up on the table and was reading a copy of
Hustler
. He looked up when Norton knocked and walked straight in.

‘Well, if it isn't me old mate George,' he grinned cheekily, dropping the magazine on the table. ‘How are you?'

‘Not too bad squadron leader,' replied Les just as cheekily. ‘We ready to scramble are we?'

‘We certainly are boss. I'll just grab my logbook.'

Kingsley picked up a leather briefcase and followed Norton down to where the others were waiting in the hangar.

‘Hello fellas,' he said cheerfully. ‘How's it going? Looking forward to going back home?'

The boys nodded and smiled.

‘Well, if you want to grab your gear, you can follow me and we'll get on board.'

Les took the big bag and they followed Sheehan over to the plane. Kingsley climbed aboard and let them hand the bags up to him. He figured they'd all want to say goodbye, so when what little there was was loaded he left them on their own.