The Punjabi Pappadum (7 page)

Finally, their headlights lit a blue “ROAD-HOUSE” sign.

“Here we go,” said Ron, veering off to the left.

Up the driveway they hurtled and pulled up at a pump.

“You can all straighten up now,” said Ron. “We've stopped.”

Slowly the boys lifted their heads.

“It's the ute!” shrieked Dexter.

Sure enough, pulling out of the restaurant car park was the hotted-up ute. A dopey-looking Mullet was finger-tapping a tune on the steering wheel.

Slowly he cruised passed the bowsers with an idiot grin looking for an audience. Besotted, he was, like a new father in a maternity ward. He let the tyres spin then disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

Ron opened his door and checked his pockets for coins.

“Quick lads, who's got some change?”

Desperately the boys went for their wallets, ignoring the rat-a-tat-tat on the front windscreen.

“Can I fill her up for you, fellas?”

The figure moved into view beside the Morris, breathing words smooth like river stones.

“What about the windscreen, it looks filthy?”

It was the voice of an angel.

“Sam!”

Inside the roadhouse, Ron took care of the orders while the gang cut through tables crammed with noisy truckers. Very carefully, they moved towards a vacant spot in the corner, past tattooed forearms lifting cups of steaming coffee to appreciative lips.

“Allow me,” said Dexter, sliding a chair out for Sam.

“Wow,” she squealed. “A girl could get used to that sort of treatment, you know.”

Before long, Ron returned with a tray loaded with milkshakes and an assortment of deep-fried roadhouse fare.

Sam noticed her fellow crime fighters waiting politely for her to start.

“Knock it off, you lot, I'm not the bloody Queen. Dig in.”

And they did.

Ron steadied himself with a mouthful, white and one.

“I'm really sorry, Sam,” he said. “That goes for all of you, actually. I don't know what I was thinking getting you kids involved in all this. Maybe it's time I put my name down for Happy Valley. I think I've lost me marbles.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” said Sam, patting his hand. “That was the most fun I've had in years.”

“What happened back there?” said Travis. “Why'd you get in the ute?”

“Call it a hunch,” explained Sam. “When I heard Grubby and Mullet talking I decided to run with Plan B.”

“Plan B?” protested Veejay. “How come no one briefed me about Plan B.”

“I made it up,” said Sam.

“And the two-way?” asked Dexter. “What happened?”

“I had to kill it when Mullet pulled in to the service station and parked the ute.”

“Well, at least no one got hurt,” said Ron. “And I suppose there's still the photos.”

“I think you'd better pour yourself a fresh cuppa, Ron,” said Sam, beaming.

“Why, what's up?”

Slowly Sam ruffled through her jeans pocket, straightened out a wad of hundred-dollar notes then placed them on the tray next to a bowl of dim sims.

“That's what's up.”

“Cripes!”

Shocked, the boys stared at the green notes in disbelief until Ron picked them up and pushed them under. the food tray, out of sight. All four heads swung towards Sam.

“In the back of the ute,” she explained. “Hundreds and fifties, mostly. Piles of it, stuffed into Burger Barn takeaway boxes.”

“No wonder Grubby was so nervous,” said Ron. “I wonder if it's the cash from the Citrus Growers robbery?”

“What do we do now?” asked Travis.

“Leave it with me,” said Ron. “I know exactly what to do. In the meantime we pay for this feed and get you all home.”

SHAHI KORMA .......... $10.00

A favourite of the Emperors of India! Cubes of chicken and cashew nuts cooked in a creamy sauce.

T
he next day, the four members of Deadly gathered nervously in the Macallister's garage, ready for their very first formal practice session.

“I don't know if resigning from Regional Boys was such a good idea,” said Veejay, worried. “What if we stink?”

“Don't worry,” smiled Sam. “I aired my runners overnight.”

“Even if we do stink, at least we can say we've had a go,” chirped Dexter. “Can't ask for more than that.”

“Yeah, s'pose.”

Theo Ryan and his jingle jangle of gold chains stopped for a breather at the roller door.

“Deadly, I presume?”

Today he was dressed down in white pants, a yellow polo shirt and blue jumper, which he had stylishly wrapped around his shoulders.

“Thanks for coming, Theo,” said Travis, sliding off a deck chair.

“Not a problem. Saturday's usually my baking day, but what the heck.”

“This is Sam,” pointed Travis.

“Hi Theo.” She smiled, offering her hand. “I'm the girl.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam. I've heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise,” she replied. “You're the lead singer of Burger Band.”

“Not anymore I'm not. I resigned — conflict of interest, shall we say.”

“So, you've retired then?”

“Not on your life. I'm getting a band together with a couple of guys from the car yard. We've had a couple of jams already and the lads are wailing. Got the name worked out too — ‘Only One Owner' — what do you think, clever huh?”

“You're a genius, Theo,” said Travis.

“Looks like we might have a gig, too.”

“Already? Where?”

“The Longwood Show, no less.”

“How'd you manage that?”

“Never underestimate a used car salesman, Travis.”

Undoing the knot in his blue jumper, Theo began clicking his fingers, herding the band together for a closer look.

“Enough about me, let's talk about you … Deadly hey? You look good together, I like that. Move to the middle, Sam, beside Dexter, I want some girl power in there. Now we're talking. Yep, that's the line-up, all right … Spread out a little … Perfect.”

Next up, Theo had them each sit on a stool in their positions an arm's length apart. The real test, of course, was the vocals.

“Have you had a chance to listen to the tape I gave you?” asked Theo.

The group went quiet.

“It's a compilation of songs that I thought might suit. What say we pick one then decide how we're going to tackle it vocally. What's important for now is the melody.”

“We've already decided on the song,” said Sam.

“Fantastic,” hooted Theo. “Which one? … Hang on, let me guess … It's the Kylie one, isn't it?”

“It's not off the tape, Theo. We hope you don't mind. We want to do an old Frank Sinatra song called ‘The Way You Look Tonight'.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“No,” said Veejay seriously. “We all love it. We found a really cool version on a movie soundtrack, by a guy called Tony Bennett. It's awesome.”

For a moment Theo sat there, running through the song in his mind, thumping out the rhythm on his knee and occasionally letting loose with some vocals.

“Okay, it might work. We'll have to play around with it, though. Any ideas on how you want to do it?”

The three boys looked at each other and nodded.

“We want Sam singing melody,” said Travis.

“We do?” croaked Sam, nearly falling off the stool.

“She's awesome, Theo. You should hear her. We'll do backing vocals.”

“Girl up front,” roared Theo, clapping his hands excitedly. “I like it, it's very ballsy. Have you got the CD? Let's hear it.”

Soon the garage was filled with the unmistakable vocals of Tony Bennett. Underneath them, a polished backing band played it slow and tight, and very, very cool.

“It's got potential,” mused Theo. “Way too straight though, we'll have to groove it up.”

“Can we do that?” asked Veejay.

“Of course we can. Wait till I've finished remixing it. I'll do something funky, then you guys can come in over the top. How's that sound?”

“Sounds good, Theo,” said Travis.

“Okay then. You'll have the tape before the next rehearsals. See you then.”

BARRA KEBAB .......... $8.95

Lamb loin chops marinated in a generous helping of ginger and a special blend of spices and grilled to perfection.

O
ver the next week, no one saw much of Ron. He was busy pushing buttons, … on the job, calling up favours and chasing contacts.

Theo Ryan too was like a man possessed. His new arrangement of “The Way You Look Tonight” had been mixed and delivered. You had to hand it to Theo. Obsessed as he was with gold chains and baking, he sure knew his stuff when it came to music. Somehow he'd managed to get it just right without losing the familiar melody of the original song. A strong drum beat, Hammond organ and guitar injected a new quality into the song. It sounded fresher and younger but not too boppy. It was, without a doubt — DEADLY.

“I thought you'd like it,” said Theo proudly. “Have you had a chance to play around with the vocals yet?”

“That's all we've been doing,” replied Travis.

“Okay then, let's hear it.”

Deadly took their positions on the stools and waited for Theo to hit “play”.

The song was so familiar now that Sam eased into her vocals like a pro, softly tapping her thigh with the palm of her right hand. Approaching the chorus, the music grew louder, the beat snappier. In came the boys with punchy harmonies, giving the song attitude. As they progressed, swinging between verse and chorus, Theo Ryan angled his good ear forward. Another crescendo accompanied all four voices until a wailing Hammond organ signalled the end.

Theo Ryan leapt off his seat and did the splits.

“Get down!” he wailed, over the jangle of chains. “That was brilliant.”

“You really think so?” asked Sam.

“I know so. There are a few timing problems and a bit of tidying up to do, but basically it's all there.”

The members of Deadly went completely nuts. Crashing around the garage with Veejay on his back, Dexter caught a glimpse of himself in an old mirror. Was he seeing things? Not likely. Plastered across his dial was the biggest happy smiling face he'd ever seen.

After another week of solid practice, Deadly, Longwood's best kept secret, were sounding slick. Theo Ryan stepped out of his new BMW and engaged the alarm. Blip! Up the driveway he danced, Michael Jackson style.

“I didn't know people actually wore cardigans any more,” said Dexter. “Not pink ones, anyway.”

With his back to them, Theo moon-walked his way into the garage then broke into a stiff robot dance. In his own words, Theo Ryan was vibing.

A hand shot inside his cardigan and pulled out a brochure.

“Surprise!” he roared.

“What is it?” asked Veejay.

“It's your first gig,” he explained, handing the brochure over.

It read:

EAST COAST SONGFEST

HEARTBEAT RECORDS AND THE CITY OF PORTSMITH ARE LOOKING FOR EMERGING ARTISTS TO COMPETE IN AN EXCITING NEW ROCK EISTEDDFOD.

SOLO ACTS AND GROUPS OF NO MORE THAN FIVE. UNDER 18 YEARS ONLY.

1 st PRIZE $500.00
2nd PRIZE $250.00
3rd PRIZE $100.00
CALL MICK MORGAN ON 45690943 FOR DETAILS.

“We're not ready,” blurted Travis.

“Too late,” smiled Theo. “I've already made the call. We're booked and we've got three weeks.”

“I don't feel so good,” croaked Veejay, patting his stomach.

The members of Deadly knew that one day they'd have to step out from the safety of the Macallister's garage and face the music, so to speak. But so soon?

“Any more good news?” asked Dexter.

“As matter of fact, I have,” said Theo. “It's time to lose the stools.”

Again, Veejay rubbed his stomach. “Now I feel really sick.”

“Let's boogie, people!”