‘Sure, mate. No worries. I got a nice double available right now.’ The publican took a register
from the counter behind him and leafed through it. ‘Yep. Number Fifteen. Thirty bucks.’
Jesse and Mick exchanged glances. ‘Thirty dollars?’ queried Jesse.
Og shook his head. ‘Yeah. I can’t give it to you any cheaper. My wife blows up.’
‘Sounds all right to me,’ said Mick.
While Jesse watched him in silence, Mick took out his Visa card and paid for the room. Og then pointed to a glass door at the end of the corridor between the pool tables and the bar.
‘The stairs are off to the right near the bistro,’ said the publican. ‘But if you drive a couple of hundred metres down to the next pub and turn left, you can come round and park out the back.’ He held out two keys. ‘Any problems, you know where to find me.’
‘Okay, thanks Og.’ Mick handed Jesse a key then they walked out the front and got in the car.
‘Thirty dollars for a double room?’ said Jesse. ‘This I have got to see.’
‘Oz. This is the country,’ said Mick. ‘People are more hospitable out here.’
‘Yeah, righto.’
Mick hung a left at the corner as he was told, then came back through a small industrial area.
There was a large parking area at the rear of the pub where a cyclone-wire gate opened into the beer garden. A sign on the gate said
THIS GATE CLOSES AT NINE PM.
Mick pulled in nose-first against a wall on the right next to a large green Colourbond shed and turned off the engine. They got their bags from the car and, with Mick in the lead, walked through the gate towards their room.
A set of steps outside on the left led up to an open corridor where two older men were seated in the doorways to their rooms, drinking cans of beer. They mumbled a brief hello as Mick and Jesse went past; Mick and Jesse mumbled hello back. The steps stopped at two sets of carpeted stairs with an old wooden bannister running down the middle. The stairs led up to a short corridor running towards the verandah and two longer corridors running left and right. The toilets and showers were at the end of the corridor on the left. Number Fifteen was at the end of the short corridor. Mick opened the door and they stepped inside.
‘So this is where Versace have got their other resort,’ said Jesse, taking a look around. ‘They certainly kept it a secret.’
The narrow carpeted room had two single beds, a single wardrobe and a small dressing
table. An old chair sat in a corner, a fan hung from the ceiling and a frosted-glass door with a yellow check curtain opened onto the verandah. There was no TV and no sink. At thirty dollars, it was a backpacker’s dream. Jesse switched on the light and started poking around near a pillow on one of the beds.
‘What are you looking for, Oz?’ asked Mick.
‘My peppermint Lindt chocolate. The maid must have forgotten it when she turned down the bed.’ Suddenly Jesse gave a tiny scream. ‘Oh my God, Mick. I just saw a mouse.’
‘A mouse? Where?’
‘Over there. Look. The dust’s that thick he’s walking on stilts. Shit! There’s another one. And it’s a hunchback.’
‘Ohh, come on, Jesse,’ said Mick. ‘The room’s not that bad. And check out the view.’ Mick opened the door onto the verandah and pointed through the trees to the railway station. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘No. You’re right, Mick,’ nodded Jesse. ‘It’s good. In fact, if ever I should decide to marry you, I’ll insist we have our honeymoon here. I’ll get Interflora to fill the room full of roses and you can make love to me on my bed. After I’ve steamed the sheets apart.’
Mick shook his head. ‘Jesus, you’re a nark. Anyway. Which bed do you want?’
Jesse had a look, then tossed her bag on the one closest to the verandah. ‘This one.’
Mick threw his bag on the other bed and they started to unpack; neither had a great deal, so it didn’t take long. Jesse went to the toilet and Mick waited on the verandah till she got back.
‘So, what do you want to do now?’ he asked, stepping back into the room.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Jesse. ‘How about we ring room service, order a couple of Caesar salads and a bottle of Bollinger, then spend the rest of the afternoon watching movies on Sky channel?’
Mick stared impassively at Jesse. ‘Oz,’ he said. ‘There’s only one chair in the room. Don’t make me break it over your head.’
‘You’re right, dear,’ smiled Jesse. ‘I’m nothing but a churlish bitch.’
‘You got that right, horse face.’
Jesse picked up her carrybag. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’m going to spend the afternoon in the library. But before I do, how about following that road out the front to wherever it goes so I can get an idea of the terrain around here?’
‘You don’t want any lunch?’
Jesse shook her head. ‘No. I’ll grab a sandwich and a carton of milk later.’
‘Okay then,’ said Mick. ‘Let’s go.’
Mick locked the room and they took the stairs back down to where they came in. He fired up the old Buick, then they drove back round past the hotel on the corner and followed the road out of town.
The road rose steadily past a large garden centre, several machine shops and work sites, then narrowed as it continued to climb the surrounding hills. Before long any signs of life had disappeared. While the bush thickened, the road got worse and the potholes got deeper. With Jesse taking everything in, they bounced along for a few more kilometres then Mick could hear the old Buick telling him this wasn’t the loving treatment it was used to. They went a bit further before Mick eased his pride and joy into second and pulled over at a grassy patch by the side of the road.
‘Listen, Oz,’ he said. ‘I’ve just put a brand-new eighty-year-old pressure plate in the car. And it wasn’t meant for these kinds of roads.’
Jesse patted him on the leg. ‘That’s all right, Mick. I understand.’
They gazed through Jesse’s window out at the open-cut mines running to the mountain ranges
on the horizon, and across to the clouds of steam rolling up from the power stations at Lake Liddell.
‘Have you seen anything yet?’ Mick asked.
Jesse shook her head. ‘No. Not really. Have a look. Talk about trying to find a needle in a haystack.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Mick. ‘I see what you mean.’
‘Hang on while I get a couple of photos.’ Jesse took her digital camera from her backpack and snapped off a few photos from inside the car. ‘Okay,’ she said, putting the camera away. ‘Let’s go back.’
‘Good idea.’
Wincing every time he put the Buick into reverse, Mick slowly nudged the old car around then followed the road back to town. He went past the hotel, turned right at the roundabout, then after stopping for a set of lights, pulled up at the library.
‘How long do you think you’ll be?’ he asked Jesse.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, opening her door. ‘But it’ll probably be late in the afternoon before I’m finished.’
‘All right.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Go for a swim.’
‘Okay,’ smiled Jesse. ‘I’ll see you back at the hotel.’
Jesse gave Mick a quick kiss, then he lovingly watched her tight, denim-clad backside disappear through the plate-glass doors of the library, and drove off. He did a U-turn further up, then another at the roundabout across from the art gallery, finally pulling up near the Chinese restaurant. It was spacious, cool and almost empty when Mick stepped inside. He took a table near the wall and ordered curried chicken and rice and an orange juice.
Jesse felt at home the minute she stepped inside the air-conditioned comfort of the library. She stopped for a moment to take in the soft blue furnishings and the rows of books soaking up the sunlight streaming down from the ceiling windows, then walked across to a reception desk on the right, where a woman with short black hair, wearing a blue shirt, had just finished filing something away.
‘Hello,’ smiled the woman. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Could you tell me where all your reference books are, please?’ Jesse asked her.
‘Certainly. Just over here.’ The woman came from behind the counter and led Jesse round to
several rows of books. ‘They’re all there. If you need any help, come and see me.’
‘Thank you,’ smiled Jesse. ‘I will.’
Jesse placed her bag under a table with a monitor and a micro-film scanner on it and soon returned with a stack of books. Amongst them was
Wannin Thanbarran: a history of Aboriginal and European contact in Muswellbrook and the Upper Hunter Valley; Early Settlers and Connections, The First 150 Years;
and
The Seaton Family 1840–1990
. Jesse started with
The Hunter Valley: Geological Curiosities, Minerals and Fossils
, turning straight to a section titled ‘Carboniferous Fluvioglacial Deposits.’
Officer Blessing was sitting at his Canberra desk in a good mood. A tricky case several officers under his command had been working on in Melbourne had come to fruition sooner and more easily than expected, so he was looking forward to an early start to the weekend. He’d left a message with an old mate in the High Court Building inviting him for a game of squash. Then after a beer or three he intended to take the family out for a Thai dinner. The phone rang and he thought it might have been his friend returning his call.
‘Hello. Blessing.’
‘Boss. It’s Craig Cozens.’
‘Craig. How’s it going?’
‘All right. Listen. We’re tailing Sierota’s away team out of Newcastle. I don’t know where they’re going. But we’re on the New England Highway coming into Branxton.’
‘Branxton? I wonder what they’re doing out there?’ queried Blessing.
‘I don’t know,’ answered Officer Cozens. ‘But they’re in the Jeep Cherokee and they’re done up in their Mormon outfits.’
‘All right. Keep on them. And get back to me if anything develops. You know where to contact me.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What did he say?’ asked Officer Ryman, as Craig put his mobile phone away.
‘Just to keep on them and get back to him. That’s all.’
‘There’s not much chance of losing them in that big black Yank tank.’
‘No,’ smiled Craig. ‘All that’s missing is a sign on the back saying
WE ARE UNITED STATES SPECIAL AGENTS ON A VERY IMPORTANT MISSION.’
Kerrie returned Craig’s smile. ‘And Air Force One circling overhead.’
Further ahead, Agent Moharic and the others were cruising steadily along in the Jeep Cherokee enjoying the warm, sunny weather after the snow and cold of Washington.
‘Muswellbrook, Muswellbrook?’ said Agent Niland. ‘I’ve heard that name somewhere.’
‘Yeah. Me too,’ said Agent Coleborne.
‘I know,’ said Agent Niland. ‘That old Steely Dan song, ‘Black Friday.’
Yadda yadda yadda, I’m going up to Mus-well-brook,
’ he sang.
‘
Down to Mus-well-brook
,’ corrected Agent Coleborne. ‘Yeah. I remember it.’
‘It might be a fun town,’ suggested Agent Niland.
‘Yeah, it might,’ said Agent Coleborne.
‘I know what ain’t fun,’ said Agent Moharic. ‘This driving on the wrong side of the road. Every time some bastard pulls out on the right, I think he’s going to hit me. And when I go for the blinkers, I get the goddamn windscreen wipers.’
‘How long before we get there?’ asked Agent Niland.
Agent Moharic snatched a quick glance at the map next to him. ‘Two hours at the most.’
‘Can you pull over at the next garage while I get some cold water?’ said Agent Coleborne. ‘I’m dryer than unbuttered toast.’
‘If you want.’
Mick thoroughly enjoyed his curried chicken; for a restaurant in a small country town, it was one of the best Chinese meals he’d ever had. While he was eating, however, Mick had been doing some heavy thinking. He paid for his meal, then walked out to the Buick and drove straight back to the hotel, parking alongside the Colourbond shed behind the beer garden. The publican was standing where the bar cornered off, in front of the pool tables, talking to a blonde barmaid when Mick came in the glass door at the rear. He broke off the conversation and smiled as Mick approached the bar.
‘Mick. How’s things, mate?’ he said. ‘The room all right?’
‘Yeah. Perfect,’ replied Mick.
‘Good.’
‘Og. I was wondering if you might do me a favour?’ asked Mick.
‘Sure, mate. If I can.’
‘That big green shed out the back. Is anyone using it at the moment?’
‘Not really,’ replied Og. ‘My wife puts her car in there. But she’s in Brisbane visiting her family. Why?’
Mick explained how he’d just put a pressure plate in the Buick and he was worried about cracking it driving Jesse around. So he was going to rent a car. Could he rent the shed out the back till Monday? Og said not a problem. Give him a twenty-buck donation to the hotel football team.
‘Shit! Thanks a lot, Og,’ said Mick, exchanging the twenty dollars for the key to the shed. ‘That’s really good of you.’
‘No worries, Mick.’
‘So where do I go to hire a car?’ asked Mick.
‘Now that,’ smiled Og, ‘could be a bit of a problem.’
‘Oh?’
‘We don’t actually got a walk-up car rental in beautiful downtown Muswellbrook.’
‘You don’t?’
Og shook his head. ‘No. But just give me a minute. I’ll see what I can do.’
The publican turned to a phone behind the bar and dialled a number. He spoke, smiled, and nodded his big head for a short while, then hung up and walked back to Mick.
‘Any luck?’ said Mick.
Og nodded. ‘I got a mate’s got a garage just up the road. Go and see him. He can help you out. His name’s Ralph. But everybody calls him Ralphy Boy.’
Mick thought for a second. ‘Like one of those sheep dogs that’s always bashing up Wile E. Coyote?’ he asked.
‘Hey. You got it,’ beamed Og. ‘Hang on. I’ll tell you exactly where to go.’
The publican explained everything to Mick as well as writing the address on the back of a coaster. Mick thanked him then walked out the back and parked the Buick in the shed. After locking it securely, he walked up to Bridge Street.
Ralphy Boy’s garage was in a wide road divided by trees, halfway up on the right. There was a double driveway out the front, some cars inside with their bonnets up and an office on the right with RALPH’S
MOTOR REPAIRS
on the window in red. A skinny mechanic wearing a pair of greasy white overalls was standing under a hoist draining oil out of an old Table Top when Mick stepped inside; Mick left him to it and went straight across to the office. The door was open, so Mick gave a quick knock and walked straight in to find another skinny mechanic, with
thinning dark hair combed over an unshaven face, seated at a desk facing the door.