‘Youse are dead meat,’ he yelled at Mick and Jesse as he quickly backed away. ‘Dead meat. I’m gonna get youse.’
‘Ohh piss off, Ratso,’ yelled Jesse, ‘before I give you a good boot up the arse.’
‘Hey. What she said.’ Mick watched as the short hoon ran back to the hotel then turned to the three hoons lying on the road, particularly the two trying to hold their faces together. ‘Come on,’ he said to Jesse. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Yeah, why not,’ said Jesse, calmly picking up her bag. ‘I don’t think the Spice Boys will give us any more trouble for a while.’ As they were leaving she gave Blue T-shirt a kick in the ribs that made him yelp and spray more blood out of his shredded mouth. ‘Call me a moll. I’m a lady. I got class.’
‘No question about that,’ said Mick.
‘And I’m also beautiful. You just said so yourself, didn’t you, sweetheart.’
‘I sure did,’ said Mick. They were past the chiropractor’s when Mick held out his hand. ‘Righto, Oz. Give them to me.’
‘What…?’
‘Come on. Hand them over.’
‘Oh, all right.’
Jesse slipped the two hose clamps off her fingers and handed them to Mick. Mick wiped the blood and pieces of flesh from the tightening screw with his handkerchief, then wrapped them up and put them in his pocket.
‘Fair dinkum, Oz. One of these days you’re going to hurt someone with these.’
‘What do you mean, one of these days?’ said Jesse. ‘Didn’t you see what I just did back there?’
Mick shook his head. ‘You’re a deadset animal, Oz.’
‘You’re right,’ said Jesse. ‘I shouldn’t eat so much meat. Sorry, darling.’ She slipped her arm back inside Mick’s. ‘That was a good straight right,’ she smiled up at him. ‘The kick in the kidneys was a nice touch too.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Anyway,’ said Jesse, ‘they’ll be all right. They’re lying near an ambulance station.’
‘Yeah. And a police station,’ said Mick.
A monstrous Maori bouncer in a black polo shirt with a broken nose and dreadlocks was standing at the door when Mick and Jesse got back to the hotel. He gave them a friendly smile and opened the door. Inside, the bar was fast filling up. Every seat and table was taken, the pool tables were occupied and punters were pumping their money into the poker machines. Through a haze of cigarette smoke, Mick could see Og and the staff hard at work behind the bar. He propped with Jesse under the TV set.
‘What do you fancy?’ he asked her. ‘Jackie’s and Coke?’
‘Unreal,’ replied Jesse. ‘Make mine a double, will you Mick?’
‘Okey doke.’
Mick eased himself up to the bar and caught Og’s eye. The publican smiled and came straight up to him.
‘Mick.’
‘Hello, Og. Mate, can I have two double Jack Daniels and Coke in middy glasses, heaps of ice and a slice. If you don’t mind.’
‘No worries, mate.’
Og soon returned with two middy glasses brimming with ice and a wedge of lemon, and placed them carefully in front of Mick.
‘How much?’ asked Mick. Og shook his head and moved to the next customer. ‘Thanks, mate,’ Mick called out. He put five dollars in the tip jar and eased his way back to Jesse.
‘Ooh yes. These look all right,’ said Jesse, taking hers. She clinked her glass against Mick’s. ‘Cheers, Mick,’ she said.
‘Yeah. Cheers, Jesse.’
They took a slug on their drinks and rolled their eyes.
‘Bloody hell!’ said Jesse. ‘They not only look good, they taste even better.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Mick.
As the bar continued to fill up, Mick and Jesse sipped on their drinks, relaxed and checked out the punters. They were a rowdy bunch, not all that young and very casually dressed. Most of the men were wearing trainers, thongs, jeans, shorts, caps and T-shirts. A lot of the girls had tattoos and wore low-cut tops over jeans or denim skirts that showed off their ankle chains. And everyone smoked. A skinny, moose-jawed man with beady eyes rolling round under two bushy eyebrows stuck on a receding forehead was standing near the bar deep in drunken conversation with a skinny mate. He was wearing a blue shirt and an old baseball cap and looked like an extra from the set of
Deliverance
. Mick indicated him to Jesse.
‘Isn’t that your old boyfriend over there, Oz?’ he asked her.
‘Yes,’ replied Jesse. ‘He’s still wearing that cap I bought him for Christmas.’
Jesse indicated a table where a huge Aboriginal woman with greasy black hair and a low-cut purple top was sucking on a cigarette and a schooner with three other girls almost as big. She had a thick chunky chain around her neck, tattoos across her shoulders, and her ankles were that fat they could hardly squeeze through her tight black jeans.
‘I see your old girl’s here, too,’ remarked Jesse.
‘Yeah, I noticed,’ replied Mick. ‘If she comes over, you won’t say anything stupid or start a fight with her, will you?’
Jesse shook her head. ‘No. I promise. Though I’m a bit dirty on you buying her that gold necklace.’
Mick and Jesse stood back as more punters came in the door and the cigarette smoke slowly took over from what little air was left in the room.
‘Ohh, Mick,’ squinted Jesse. ‘This is punishing.’
‘Yeah,’ Mick squinted back. ‘I know what you mean. We might finish these and go.’
‘Suits me.’
Mick was getting to the end of his drink when he suddenly froze, grabbed Jesse and turned her away from the door.
‘What…?’
‘Jesse,’ said Mick, ‘Runt Spice just walked in with two monsters. Keep your head down.’ ‘Okay.’
Mick and Jesse looked down as the little hoon went past, accompanied by two older men wearing tight jeans and denim shirts. They had thick necks, big shoulders and huge arms, and there was no joy on their ugly, jowly faces as they morosely scanned the bar.
‘Come on,’ said Mick.
Mick and Jesse left their glasses on the nearest table and pushed their way through the crowd to the back door, then took the stairs and didn’t stop till they got to their room. Mick quickly opened the door, then slammed it behind them as soon as they were inside. He sat on his bed and stared at Jesse sitting opposite.
‘Jesse, call me a big blouse if you like,’ said Mick, ‘but Runt’s two mates were not refined.’
‘I saw them,’ said Jesse. ‘And don’t worry. Discretion is definitely the better part of valour at times.’
‘Reckon.’
Jesse yawned and stretched. ‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘I’m tired. It’s been a long day and a hard night.’
‘So am I,’ yawned Mick. ‘I might have a quick snakes.’
‘Me too.’
They went to the toilet then came back and started to get undressed. Mick got down to his jox and T-shirt. Jesse got down to her knickers, took her bra off and put her T-shirt back on. Mick was starting to get interested when there was a loud knock on the door.
‘Shit!’ Mick pushed Jesse behind him and walked across to the door. ‘Yeah. Who is it?’ he said.
‘Iz Vicky in there?’ a drunken voice slurred from the hallway.
Mick looked quizzically at Jesse. ‘What?’
‘Where’z Vicky? Iz she in there?’
‘There’s no Vicky in here,’ said Mick.
‘Ohh bullshit!’
Mick opened the door to find a tall, lean bloke standing there wearing a hat, jeans and a fluorescent green builder’s vest. He was unsteady on his feet and stared behind Mick into the room.
‘Where’z Vicky?’ the bloke demanded. ‘I know she’z in there.’
‘If you don’t mind, sir,’ said Mick. ‘There is no Vicky on the premises. I happen to be here with my wife, Meredith Smythe-Jones. The third Duchess of Shropshire. We’re on our honeymoon.’
‘Uhh?’
Jesse appeared at the door. ‘Hey, Boofhead,’ she said. ‘Do I look like bloody Vicky? Piss off.’
‘Oh. All right,’ huffed the bloke. ‘No need to get the shits.’
The bloke gave Jesse a quick once-up-and-down and stormed off. Mick shut the door and shrugged a silent comment to Jesse.
‘Vicky, eh,’ said Jesse. ‘So that’s who you invited back to the room. You’re not bad.’
‘I was waiting for you to go to sleep.’
‘Bastard!’ Jesse put her arms around Mick and smiled up at him. ‘Come on, handsome. Let’s go to bed. You tired?’
Mick wiggled his eyebrows. ‘Not that tired,’ he answered.
Mick was about to kiss Jesse when suddenly the room was filled with pounding house music and a non-stop, bass-driven doof, doof, doof came thumping through the floorboards. Jesse stepped back and stared at Mick in horror as Mick’s jaw dropped in disbelief.
‘What the…?’ said Mick.
‘It’s the bloody disco!’ howled Jesse, trying to make herself heard over the throbbing techno mix booming up from below.
‘Disco?’
‘Yes! The late night disco! It’s started downstairs!’
Mick gestured defensively. ‘Well, how was…?’
‘You moron, Mick!’ shouted Jesse. ‘You absolute Dubbo!’
Jesse started waving her arms around. ‘No. Don’t stay at the bloody motel!’ she yelled at Mick. ‘The trucks get too punishing! Stay at the hotel round the corner! It’s much quieter! And my mate Og will look after us!’
‘Jesse…’
‘So what do you do? Get us a room right above a rotten bloody disco. I hate this music at the best of times. Aaaaahhhhh shit!’
‘I’m sorry, Oz,’ said Mick.
‘Sorry?’ hissed Jesse. ‘I’ll give you sorry, you blockhead!’
Mick made a defensive gesture. ‘Hang on a sec, Oz,’ he smiled. ‘It’s all sweet.’
Mick went to his bag, took out a small plastic packet and offered it to Jesse.
‘What are these?’ she demanded.
‘Earplugs.’
‘Earplugs?’
‘Yeah. I got them at the pool today.’
Jesse glared at the packet containing the soft little yellow plugs then took two out and stuffed them in her ears. She waited a few moments then looked at Mick.
‘Hey!’ Jesse shouted. ‘They’re not bad!’
‘Good,’ said Mick. He jammed the other two in his ears and shouted back at Jesse, ‘Come on! Let’s go to bed!’
‘Okay!’ shouted Jesse. ‘Goodnight!’ She gave Mick a kiss then got into her bed.
‘Goodnight!’ Mick switched off the light and got into his.
The bed was comfortable, the sheets were clean and the pillows supported his head nicely. Mick closed his eyes, pulled the sheets around him and thought about the day. It was hardly worth thinking about. Between getting his car blown up and the fight with the hoons, he’d definitely had better. But the swim was good and they’d managed to avoid the two gorillas downstairs. Mick yawned and pushed his face into the pillows. Scone could be interesting. Before long, the murderous doof-doof-doof sounded like it was coming from far away. Mick was starting to drift off when he felt Jesse’s wiry body slide up against him under the sheets. Her arms went around his neck and her firm little boobs pressed up against his back. He turned round to find Jesse smiling at him in the soft light filtering through the verandah door. She placed a finger over her lips.
‘Don’t say anything!’ Jesse shouted. ‘Let’s just make sweet, silent love!’
‘Okay!’ Mick shouted back.
Mick held Jesse before kissing her passionately and Jesse returned Mick’s kisses with warmth and affection. Then, after a lot of very naughty this, that and the other, they made sweet, silent love. At least they thought they did.
M
ick woke up the next morning wondering where he was and what was going on.
When things fell into place, he took the earplugs out and sat up. A couple of kookaburras were having a set-to in a tree by the verandah, and Jesse was snoring softly in her bed. Mick stretched and yawned and watched her for a few moments, then reached across and gave her shoulder a gentle shake. After a few more shakes, Jesse woke up, turned around and blinked at Mick. Mick pointed to his ears and Jesse took her earplugs out.
‘How are you?’ said Mick.
‘Good,’ yawned Jesse.
‘Did you get home all right?’
‘Yeah,’ Jesse replied, sleepily. ‘I was going to catch a cab. But I decided to walk.’
‘You should have woke me up. I would have given you a lift.’
Jesse smiled at Mick. ‘Come here, mug,’ she said.
‘That’s not a very nice way to talk to the man that loves you,’ said Mick.
Mick slipped under the sheets and gave Jesse a kiss; their lips were dry and their breath could have been fresher. But it was still very nice.
‘What time is it?’ asked Jesse.
Mick looked at his watch. ‘A little after seven.’
‘A little after seven.’ Jesse’s eyes widened and she sat up. ‘A little after bloody seven! Shit! We have to be in Scone by half-past eight. Get out!’ she ordered. ‘Out! Get your hands off me, you filthy beast.’
Jesse pushed with her foot and Mick tumbled onto the floor. He got up and looked at Jesse, who was out of her T-shirt and putting on her bra.
‘You sure you wouldn’t like me to ring room service and order up some eggs Benedict and croissants before we leave?’ said Mick. ‘A couple of lattes perhaps?’
Jesse’s eyes narrowed. ‘Mick, the last thing I need now is your oleaginous sarcasm. All right? Now get moving.’
‘My sarcasm?’ said Mick. ‘Yeah right.’
Mick left the same T-shirt on and climbed back into his cargoes as Jesse threw a purple Ramones T-shirt over her jeans. Mick had time to clean his teeth, splash some water on his face and pack his bag before he found himself downstairs in the bar while Jesse took the bags out to the car. A cleaner was vacuuming near the dancefloor and a girl with a brown ponytail was re-stocking the fridge.
‘Is Pete around?’ Mick asked the girl with the ponytail.
The girl shook her head. ‘No. He’s still in bed. He won’t be in till ten.’
Mick placed the keys on the bar. ‘Will you tell him Mick Vincent checked out of Room Fifteen? I’m going to Scone, and I’ll see him on Monday.’
‘Okay,’ said the girl. ‘I’ll do that.’
‘Thanks.’
Mick left her, pushed the glass door open, and stepped outside to find the day warm and a little cloudy. There’d been a shower overnight and a puddle had formed in the car park where a turning car had splashed mud over the boot of the Commodore, obscuring the number plate. Jesse was sitting in the back, staring at him through the rear window; Mick left the mud and got behind the wheel.
‘The keys are in the ignition,’ said Jesse abruptly.
‘Thanks,’ answered Mick.
‘I’m going to read some more about Tesla.’
‘Terrific.’ Mick kicked the engine over, gave it a moment, then drove out of the car park towards Bridge Street.
Dressed in fresh white shirts, Agents Moharic and Coleborne were in the Bodega restaurant enjoying
a second coffee after an excellent breakfast. Agent Niland had drawn the short straw, so he was standing on the opposite side of Bridge Street in case Mick’s Buick happened to go past before the agents started their search in earnest. After the chill of Washington, Agent Niland already felt the Australian heat so he moved down to the trees outside the library and waited in the shade.
After ordering breakfast at the Olympic Motel, Kerrie and Greg were casually dressed and seated in Greg’s room reading the papers. Kerrie was wearing a purple Viacom T-shirt her boyfriend had found at a gig. They’d slept well and made sure the bugged Cherokee was still at the other motel. Now their bags were packed and in the boot of the Commodore, and sitting on Greg’s table was a scanner. Not much bigger than a cigarette packet, a red light on the scanner told you it was on and a small green arrow indicated which direction the bugged vehicle was travelling. An LCD display gave the speed and the bug was good for eight kilometres. Kerrie had rung Blessing to keep him informed of their situation. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the NSA agents to make a move.
After Jesse had bullied him out of the hotel room and all the way down the stairs before spreading herself across the back seat of the Commodore and virtually ignoring him, Mick felt a little peeved with her. Missing out on a cup of tea didn’t help things, either. So Mick decided it was time for a get square. They pulled up at the lights and while they were waiting Mick slipped one out. Mick knew from the heat as it slid through the cheeks of his backside it was going to be bad. But until it fully permeated the car’s interior, Mick didn’t realise just how bad it was going to be. The lights changed and they had started to move off when Jesse dropped what she was reading, closed her eyes and started to gag.
‘Ohh, Mick,’ she howled. ‘You rotten bastard.’
Mick caught Jesse’s eye in the rear-vision mirror. ‘What…?’
‘Oh God! The bloody window doesn’t work. Pull over,’ demanded Jesse. ‘I’ll have to open the bloody door.’
‘You do have a tendency to go on a bit, you know, Oz,’ said Mick, stopping the car in front of the library.
Jesse burst out of the back seat and stood on the footpath fanning the door. ‘Fair dinkum, Mick,’ she howled. ‘What have you been eating?’
‘It certainly wasn’t breakfast,’ replied Mick.
Jesse fanned the door a few more times then got back in the car and they proceeded on their way.
‘Jesus, you’re a dirty, low bastard of a man,’ said Jesse, taking up her book where she left off.
Mick caught her eye in the rear-vision mirror again. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘People tell me I’m nice.’
Standing beneath the trees, Agent Niland couldn’t believe his eyes. He was right. That was them he’d seen in the white vehicle at the garage the day before. Now here they were, directly in front of him, having an argument. He watched Jesse get back in the Commodore and, when it moved off, ran back to the restaurant where Agents Moharic and Coleborne were about to order more coffee.
‘Hey,’ he said, excitedly. ‘I just saw them.’
‘You did?’ said Agent Moharic. ‘Where?’
‘In that white car like I told you. They goddamn pulled up in front of me. They were arguing about something.’
Agent Moharic slapped the table. ‘They have changed vehicles. Did you get the number, Steve?’
Agent Niland shook his head. ‘No. It was covered in mud. But they were heading out
of town. Towards that milk factory we saw yesterday.’
‘Okay. Let’s go.’ Agent Moharic rose from the table. ‘Orrin, you fix the check. And we’ll meet you outside.’
‘I got it.’
Inside Officer Cozens’ room, Craig and Kerrie were still quietly reading when Kerrie noticed the arrow flickering on the scanner.
‘Hey, Craig,’ she said. ‘They’re moving.’
‘They are?’ Officer Cozens put his paper aside.
‘Which way?’
‘North-west.’
‘North-west. Okay. Let’s see what they’re up to.’ ‘I’ll ring Blessing when we’re in the car,’ said Kerrie.
Mick was making good time along the New England Highway. The road was long and straight with plains on either side edged by mountain ranges, and the old Commodore went well. It didn’t have the grandeur of the Buick, but it was easier to handle and had a lot more pick-up in second. Mick would have liked it better if the CD player worked. Nevertheless, he’d managed to tune the radio to some Newcastle
station where the ads weren’t too punishing and the DJ was playing reasonably good music. Rogue Traders came on thumping out ‘Watching You’ and Mick thought he’d see what the Commodore could do.
‘Hey, Oz,’ he said.
‘Yessss, Mick,’ she replied, half looking up from what she was reading.
‘This old banger goes okay. Watch this.’
Mick came up behind a blue Kombi wagon and tromped on the accelerator. The Commodore kicked back to second and Mick zipped round the Kombi like it was standing still.
‘Oh yeah,’ said Mick. ‘Old Holdens never die. They just go faster.’
‘Very good, Scotty,’ said Jesse. ‘But you’d better take it easy in warp drive. The lithium crystals might not handle it.’
‘Aye aye, captain.’
Mick slowed down and fell in behind a silver Mercedes moving along at a good clip. After a few kilometres, Jesse came to life in the back seat.
‘You know Mick,’ she said. ‘There’s something odd in this diary.’
‘There is, mate?’ replied Mick.
‘Yes. Either that, or Tesla had a strange sense of humour.’
‘Oh? How do you mean?’ asked Mick.
‘Remember when I told you how the media often referred to him as the mad scientist?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, on one page here he’s written, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the maddest scientist of them all?” And at the bottom of the next page he’s written something in Hebrew.’
‘Hebrew?’ said Mick.
‘Yes. Either Hebrew or ancient Celt. His handwriting’s hard to understand at the best of times.’
‘Okay.’
‘And on another page,’ said Jesse, ‘he’s written, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the sweetest-smelling scientist of them all?” And on the next page he’s written something strange again.’
Mick shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me, Oz. You’re the expert.’
‘It’s a funny one.’ Jesse closed the diary and looked at Mick in the rear-vision mirror. ‘You know what I reckon, Mick?’
‘What, oh jewel of the cosmos?’
‘Tesla’s definitely left clues in the diary about where he put the doomsday machine. But in case the diary got stolen or something, he made them
so ambiguous, he may as well have written them in Swahili.’
‘Well, that’s what happened, Oz,’ said Mick. ‘The diary did get stolen.’
‘Exactly,’ said Jesse. ‘So he covered his arse. And I can tell you one thing, Mick.’
‘What’s that, mate?’
‘He sure covered it well.’
Mick gave Jesse a thin smile in the rear-vision mirror. ‘Much better than we covered ours.’
A kilometre behind Mick and Jesse, the NSA agents were following a long line of traffic. Sitting in the back, Agent Niland rang Zimmer Sierota to inform him of the new development. Agent Niland listened intently then hung up.
‘So what did Zimmer say?’ Agent Moharic asked from behind the wheel.
‘He said to use our own discretion. But now the police have our number and the vehicle is damaged, take every precaution. He doesn’t want this turning into an incident. He suggested we do the job at night, then get back to Newcastle when it’s dark, ASAP.’
‘Nothing else?’ asked Agent Coleborne.
‘Nope. Just be careful. He doesn’t want any links.’
‘Then careful it is,’ said Agent Moharic.
Roughly a kilometre behind the away team, Craig and Kerrie were following them easily. Craig was driving, Kerrie had the scanner in her lap and the bug was working perfectly.
Officer Cozens gave his back a shake under his seatbelt. ‘I’d love to know what these dills are up to,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ replied Officer Ryman. ‘Do you think they might be heading for Tamworth? Do a bit of boot scooting?’
‘Maybe they’re going to shoot up the Big Guitar,’ said Craig. ‘Sierota might think it’s been infiltrated by Muslim terrorists.’
‘Out to destroy country music,’ suggested Kerrie.
‘Hey, Kerrie,’ said Craig. ‘What do you call a Muslim stand-up comedian after his first gig?’
‘What?’
‘Decapitated.’
‘Not bad,’ conceded Officer Ryman. ‘Did you hear about the Muslim walking down the street in Tehran, Craig? He sees his mate Mahmoud coming out of a micro-surgeon’s after getting his hand sewn back on. So he says to his mate, Hey Mahmoud, what happened to your hand? Did
you have an accident? And Mahmoud says, No. I got nicked for shoplifting. And I won my appeal.’
Further ahead, Jesse was steadily reading and Mick was having fun passing cars and zooming in and out of the traffic. On the other side of Aberdeen, George Thorogood was howling ‘Blues Highway’ and Mick had just slowed down after roaring past a fridgemobile, when a huge policeman wearing jodhpurs, long boots and a green safety vest stepped out in front of him and raised his hand.
‘Oh shit!’ cursed Mick.
Jesse looked up from her book. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s a bloody cop. I’ve been nicked for speeding.’
‘Oh, Mick.’
Mick slowed down and gave the police officer an oily grin. ‘Good morning, officer. Lovely day.’
‘It is.’ The police officer looked behind him and waved Mick on. ‘You’re right, driver. Keep going.’
‘Keep going?’
‘That’s right.’
Mick didn’t need to be told again. He drove off slowly as another big cop in a green safety vest
stepped out onto the opposite side of the road and stopped the traffic heading towards Muswellbrook.
‘What was all that about?’ asked Jesse.
‘I’m not sure,’ shrugged Mick.
‘Hey Mick,’ said Jesse. ‘Have a look behind you.’
Back from the car, a team of mounted stockmen and their dogs had driven a huge herd of black shorthorn cattle up against the fence running along the side of the road. One of the stockmen opened a gate and, with their whips cracking and the blue heelers barking, the men started herding the bellowing cattle across the road to more stockmen waiting at another gate.
‘It’s a cattle drive,’ said Jesse. ‘They’re moving the herd from one side to another.’
‘They are, too.’ Mick pulled the car over and stared out the back window. ‘I was watching that big cop and I never noticed. Good bloody thing he let me through. It’ll take them a month to get all those cattle through the gates.’
‘Reckon,’ agreed Jesse. They watched the men and cattle for a minute then Jesse picked up what she was reading and waved her hand forward. ‘Okay, Mick,’ she said. ‘Head ‘em up and move ‘em out.’
‘Okey doke.’ Relieved that he never got booked and guessing the local police were preoccupied,
Mick slipped the old Commodore into drive then winked at Jesse in the rear-vision mirror. ‘Next stop, Scone,’ he said, and stomped on the accelerator.