The Godson (45 page)

‘Yeah, I got to agree with you there,' said Les. ‘But you'll feel heaps better in the morning.' He made the Englishman another rum and Coke and got himself another beer. Well, I reckon another fifteen minutes or so and those pills should start working, thought Les, checking his watch as he smiled at Peregrine staring moodily into his drink.

Peregrine took a mouthful then morosely shoved it out on the table in front of him. ‘God, I wish my Stephanie was here.'

‘Your girl back in England?' replied Les. ‘Well I'm sorry but she ain't mate. There's just me. Stephanie doesn't even know where you are.'

‘She knows where I am.'

Les took a mouthful of beer and looked at Peregrine over the bottle. ‘How would she know where you are?'

‘I sent her a card.'

Les thought for a moment. ‘That was at Coffs Harbour. When you weren't exactly being faithful to her, I might add.'

‘I sent her a card from Yurriki.' Peregrine gave a drunken laugh. ‘I sent them all a card.'

‘You sent her a card from Yurriki. When?'

Peregrine had to think for a moment. ‘Friday before last.'

Les had to laugh. ‘Well she'd be bloody lucky to get it by now. In fact, knowing Australia Post, she'd be bloody lucky if she ever gets the thing at all.'

‘Oh, she's got it all right. I had it especially couriered.'

‘You what?'

‘When one has absolutely scads of money, old boy,' replied Peregrine, ‘it's amazing just what one can do.'

Peregrine explained the deal he'd worked out with the local postmaster's son and his courier service. Actually he'd been meaning to send more, but they never seemed to get into Yurriki during the day. And when they did he had other things on his mind. When he'd finished Les did a little adding and subtracting of the days in his mind. He wasn't real rapt in the end result.

‘You're a bloody dill, Peregrine,' he said seriously. ‘If she or any of your mates start telling people where you are, and the bloody IRA find out, it'd take them five minutes to send someone up here. They might even fly out themselves. Jesus, Peregrine, I wish you'd use your head at times.'

‘Oh, bloody stupid Irish. Bugger the Irish. Half the time those paddys wouldn't know what day it is.'

‘Yeah? Don't you believe it,' said Les. ‘Where did you send the card? The boutique? Her place? Where?'

But it was too late. In Peregrine's weakened state and drunk on rum, the Normisons started taking effect quicker than Norton had expected. The Englishman's face suddenly started to look like one huge smile button. He grinned at Norton, raised his glass then started to slump down in his seat.

‘Cheers, Les,' he mumbled. The glass fell out of his hand and he pitched forward onto the table.

‘Peregrine.' Les gave his shoulder a shake. ‘Peregrine.' Norton was wasting his time. Sir Peregrine Normanhurst III was completely out of it.

Shit! Norton cursed to himself. He looked at Peregrine face down on the table snoring. Oh well. He picked the Englishman up over his shoulder, carried him up to his room and placed him gently on his bed.

Les removed his dressing gown then rugged him up in all the clothes he could find: pullovers, jackets, tracksuit pants. There was an extra couple of blankets near the bed so he threw them over him as well. I reckon that should make him sweat, thought Les. He'll be lucky if he doesn't dissolve. I'd hate
to smell his breath in the morning. Oh well. Goodnight, sweet prince. He turned off the light and left Peregrine dead to the world with
Portrait Of A Chinaman
by Ernest Norman Toejam for company.

Back in the barbecue area over a fresh beer, Les began to think he may have overreacted a bit to the postcards. Even if the Irish did find out where he was, they wouldn't get out here that quickly. Then there was Peregrine's cousin Lewis to take into account. Still, maybe towards the end of next week, things could be a bit different. I'd better slip into Yurriki and ring Eddie. Les looked at his watch. I'll wait till seven. He usually goes out with Lindy and the kids on Sunday afternoon.

‘G
OD, BUT THESE
are a good weapon, Liam,' said Robert, holding the still-smoking bullpup to his shoulder. ‘You can scarcely miss with them, once you get the knack of it.'

‘Aye,' replied Liam. ‘It was truly decent of the British army to let us have them. We'll see that they're put to good use.'

It was a delightful little spot they'd chosen to test fire the bullpups. A quiet bend in the river with the water flowing past, no houses, plenty of trees and a few hundred metres away the rattling of any cars going over the old bridge covered the staccato blast of the sub-machine guns.

‘Here,' said Liam. ‘Have one more shot then we'll clean them and start loading some magazines.'

He tossed a piece of wood mid-stream. Robert sighted on it and pressed the trigger. There was a flash of flame, a chattering bang and the piece of wood disintegrated in a spray of water and a shower of splinters and bark.

‘Nice shooting,' said Tom Mooney.

Robert nodded in acknowledgement and brought the weapon down. ‘How can you miss?' he smiled. ‘I certainly prefer these to the AK-47s. They're lighter too.'

‘Good,' said Tom. ‘Now you other lads know what to do? Magazine in here. Safety catch here. Cocking mechanism here. Now let's start loading those magazines.'

‘Then we'll get a bit of rest,' said Liam, ‘before we go out and visit our British friend and his Aussie mate.'

The six Irishmen walked back to their separate cars and started cleaning their weapons.

* * *

T
HERE WAS A
scattering of people in and around the hotel, but apart from that Yurriki was like a ghost town when Norton pulled up outside the town's only phone-box around seven. He rattled some coins into the slot. Eddie answered.

‘Les, how are you, mate?' he said at the sound of Norton's voice. ‘I only just walked in the door.'

‘Not bad,' replied Les. ‘Still hanging in up here.'

‘Good on you. How's his nibs?'

‘He's all right. He got bit by a tick and I put him to bed early.'

Eddie laughed momentarily. ‘Listen mate. I've got a bit of bad news for you. And for Peregrine.'

‘Yeah? What's that?'

‘His cousin Lewis got blown up by a landmine in Ireland. He's all right. But the army's going to have to send another team in to get that Frayne brother and his mates.'

‘Shit! That's nice.'

‘Yeah. So you might have to stay up there another week or so. Can you handle it?'

Les thought moodily for a moment then smiled. An extra week at Cedar Glen. He could get young Alison to join him. He'd pay her to take the time off work. Yeah, he could handle it all right. Don't know about Peregrine. But that Colleen reckons she's coming back out. Sweet.

‘I suppose I'll have to, Eddie,' replied Les.

‘Yeah. But I reckon they'll get that shit sorted out in Ireland before long. If they don't, I'll bloody well go over and do it myself.'

‘I reckon you would,' chuckled Les. ‘Listen, Eddie. There's a couple of things I've got to tell you.'

Les told Eddie about how Peregrine had the postcards couriered to Stephanie and his mates in London. He also mentioned about the three blokes inquiring about buying Cedar Glen. The place
was
on the market, but it just struck him as curious that they were English.

‘Jesus! The stupid prick,' cursed Eddie. ‘He still thinks this is all a lark. Fuck him.'

‘Yeah. But we'd only been here a day. He mightn't have been thinking.'

‘Does he ever? The fuckin' goose. Anyway, don't worry about it. But if anything looks a bit suss up there, or you're a bit uneasy about anything, give me or Price a yell straight away.'

‘Okay.'

They chatted for a while longer then Les hung up telling
Eddie he'd ring him every day from now on. He sat thinking in the car for a few moments then drove back to Cedar Glen.

Les was right earlier when he said it would be a quiet and lonely night on the farm. As he sat in the barbecue area sipping a beer he found his thoughts constantly drifting back to Alison. Jesus, wouldn't it be grouse to have her out there with him right now? He was even missing Peregrine for someone to have a mag to. He fiddled with the radio dial to try and find some better music. Anyway, look on the bright side. Another two weeks in the fresh, clean air and Alison was a big chance to come down for the weekend. Things weren't all that bad. It was just the mood he was in. He finished his beer and switched to bourbon and Coke. A bloody TV would go well though.

Headlights off, the two Holden sedans cruised quietly up to the gates of Cedar Glen. Liam gave the property a quick but thorough peruse through the binoculars; the house was in darkness but he could just make out the light coming from the barbecue area at the rear. He nodded to Logan who got out of the car and with a large screwdriver easily snapped the lock holding the chain to the main gate. As quietly as possible they turned the cars around and reversed down the driveway, ready for a quick get away if something should go wrong. Logan shut the gate behind them. They switched off the engines then opened the boots and began removing the weapons.

‘Now, remember what I told you,' said Liam, shouldering the RPG-7. He had the two remaining shells in their webbing holders and the bullpup in his right hand. ‘Patrick, you take your lads and go left of the house. We'll move to the right. They're still out the back drinking or whatever and we'll get them in a crossfire. Don't mess about. Just chop the bastards to pieces.' He looked up at the sky. There was very little moonlight, nearly all clouds with a patch or two of stars here and there and no wind. ‘We've got everything in our favour. There's bugger all light. They're not expecting us. And we've got the firepower.' The others nodded silently. ‘You right then?' The look in Liam Frayne's eyes answered that question for them. ‘Okay then, lads. Let's go.'

Liam slipped on his balaclava and so did the others, then after a last quick check of their weapons they split up into two groups and began walking along the driveway towards the house, Liam and his cohorts from Belfast on the right, Patrick and the Irish from Stanmore on the left.

The fourth bourbon and Coke put Norton in a bit of a better mood and he was sitting down chuckling to himself about Peregrine. Poor bastard. For all the fun they'd had on the trip he'd still done it pretty tough at times. Almost getting involved in a pub brawl. Going that close to drowning it didn't matter. Getting attacked by leeches. Not to mention that awful prank he'd played on him with Carrots. Now he was as sick as a dog with tick poisoning. I was a bit rough on the poor bludger too when I come to think of it. But you have to be to get that shit out of your system. Be interesting to see how he brushes up in the morning, though. He took a sip of his drink. Yeah, when it's all boiled down he's not a bad bloke, young Peregrine. I could think of a lot worse blokes to spend two weeks on a farm in the middle of nowhere with. Norton's gaze wandered from his drink to the edge of darkness around the barbecue area. Funny. The possums are a bit late getting here tonight. The little pricks are generally around by now looking for a handout. I'd better get them another bag of apples tomorrow too. He took a larger swallow of drink. I know what I'll do. I'll go and feed those silly bloody owls. Bunter and his mates; as Peregrine calls them. They're always good for a laugh. Les picked up some scraps of sausage and steak and still carrying his drink walked around to the front of the house.

Bunter and his two mates were in their customary position in the pine tree not far from the second gate. They spotted Les and their comical, round orange eyes blinked audaciously. Ahh yes, you're here, you pie-eyed wombats, Les chuckled to himself. Sorry your old china Peregrine can't be here to feed you. Les placed the meat scraps on the ground and waited for the three fat birds to swoop down and grab them. They watched him for a while but didn't move. Les was about to say something to them when unexpectedly all three birds took off with a startled flapping of wings to quickly disappear into the night sky. That's funny, thought Les. I didn't do anything to frighten them. Wonder what's wrong? He looked angrily and suspiciously beneath the surrounding trees. Jesus, there better not be another one of those bloody feral cats around.

Suddenly it seemed very quiet. The crickets had stopped, so had the frogs; even the calling of the nightbirds had tapered off. Then Les heard it. The faint, but unmistakable sound of footsteps carefully crunching on gravel. It seemed to be coming from where the driveway crossed the small billabong down from the second gate. Les listened through the trees. There seemed to be more than one set of footsteps. He bristled
slightly. What the —? Revved up a little from the bourbon, and not really thinking, he moved across to the gate. Better see what's going on. Might only be Ronnie and a mate come round for a drink. At this time of night, though?

Les stood at a pole supporting the gate and called out. ‘Hey! Anybody down there?'

The footsteps suddenly stopped and it was deadly silent. This really made Les suspicious. ‘Hey! Who's there?' he called out again.

Logan gripped Tom Mooney's arm and motioned for the others to stop. ‘Christ!' he whispered urgently. ‘The bastard's spotted us.'

Norton peered down the driveway thinking he could hear whispers. Something told him to stay on that side of the gatepost.

‘There he is,' whispered Tom Mooney. ‘Standing next to that gatepost. What do you want to do?'

Liam thought for a moment. ‘Fock it. Let the bastard have it.'

Les strained his eyes into the darkness. Christ, he cursed. How would you know what's going on? It's blacker than three feet up an Hassidic Jew's arse down there. ‘Hey,' he called out again. ‘Is there somebody down there? What do you want?'