Roughly a kilometre behind Mick and Jesse, Agent Moharic braked the Cherokee to a halt behind the quickly forming line of traffic.
‘What the goddamn…?’ he cursed.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Agent Coleborne.
‘It looks like an accident,’ said Agent Moharic.
‘I’ll have a look.’ Agent Niland got out and peered down the highway through all the people standing on the road with their VCRs and cameras. ‘You’re not going to believe this,’ he said, getting back in the car. ‘It’s a cattle drive. There’s hundreds of the suckers all over the road.’
‘What!’ exploded Agent Moharic.
‘It’s a cattle drive,’ repeated Agent Niland.
‘You mean to tell me,’ seethed Agent Moharic, ‘they’ve blocked off a friggin’ main highway so a herd of steers can cross the road?’
‘It sure looks that way, Floyd,’ said Agent Niland.
‘Jesus H. Christ!’ cursed Agent Moharic. ‘What kind of coon-ass, hillbilly country is this?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Agent Coleborne. ‘But with all these cars and cops around, it’s gonna screw things up trying to pop Vincent and his girl.’
‘Did you see their car at all, Steve?’ asked Agent Moharic.
Agent Niland shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Shit!’
In the line of traffic further back, Officer Ryman had the scanner on her lap, checking the distance between them and the Cherokee when Craig stopped the car.
‘What’s up?’ she asked Officer Cozens.
‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘I hope it’s not an accident.’
‘I’ll take a look.’ Kerrie got out of the car, walked around and stared down the road then came back to Craig’s window. ‘It’s a cattle drive. There’s blokes with big hats and whips and dogs running round all over the place.’
‘There is?’ Officer Cozens opened his door. ‘Give me a look.’
With no traffic and no cops and the radio playing good music, Mick was having a ball flogging the old Commodore along the highway. Before he knew it a sign flashed up:
SCONE, HORSE CAPITAL OF
AUSTRALIA,
and they were soon approaching Kelly Street, Scone’s main thoroughfare.
‘Hey Oz,’ said Mick. ‘We’re here.’
‘We are?’ Jesse looked up and saw a green and white motel sitting on the left in a landscaped garden of trees and flowers. A swimming pool sparkled blue amongst the greenery and a sign at the front said TUDOR MOTEL. ‘Mick, stop the car,’ ordered Jesse. ‘We’re booking into that motel before you find another mate who owns a pub.’
‘Okay,’ replied Mick. ‘I’ll just take a quick cruise up the main drag and find the library first.’
‘Good idea.’
Concentrating on his side of the road, Mick drove roughly a kilometre along a level boulevard with rows of trees and shrubs running up the middle. He noticed a supermarket, then a Subway franchise, the post office at a roundabout, more shops and a hotel. At a park entrance was a statue of a mare and her foal, then on the other side of the railway line Mick did a U-turn just past another motel.
‘Can’t see it so far, Oz,’ he said. ‘But not a bad town. What do you reckon?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Jesse. ‘All those trees and big houses with gardens. It’s got a nice feel to it.’
Mick started cruising back down the opposite side of the road past more buildings and a long brick hotel with a restaurant out the front and a parking area on the left. The hotel was called The Greater Scone.
‘Hey, Oz,’ said Mick. ‘That pub’s got a band playing tonight. You want to come up and have a look?’
‘If you want,’ replied Jesse. ‘The restaurant didn’t look too bad either.’
Mick drove back past a modern saddlery, more shops and a bakery-cum-cafe next to a hotel near an old art deco picture theatre. Another hotel sat at the roundabout, then just past the
Scone Advocate
office was a brick building with the windows facing the street from under a white facade. The entrance and a disabled access was round to the left and above the facade a sign read
UPPER HUNTER AND REGIONAL DISTRICT LIBRARY.
‘Here it is,’ said Mick. ‘Next to the ambulance station.’
‘Good,’ replied Jesse. ‘Let me out.’
Mick gave Jesse a dirty look. ‘When I’m good and ready, shithead.’
‘What?’
‘You heard.’
Mick cranked a U-turn then drove back up Kelly Street, did another U-turn and quickly parked in front of the old picture theatre.
‘What are you doing?’ demanded Jesse.
‘Shut up, you soapy moll, before I give you the back of my hand,’ said Mick, closing the door firmly behind him.
On the way back Mick had noticed an alcove next to the bakery where people were seated eating and reading. He stepped inside the bakery and picked up a menu from a glass counter crammed with tasty cakes and freshly baked bread. Several girls were busy behind the counter. A fair-haired girl in a pink T-shirt came over and smiled.
‘Yes. What would you like?’ she asked politely.
‘A takeaway latte, please. Two sugars. And can you put it in a paper bag?’
‘Certainly.’
While Jesse waited in the car, Mick watched the diners enjoying their eggs and coffee. The girl came back with his latte, Mick paid her then went back to the car and got in, resting the paper bag in his lap. Jesse gave him an icy stare as he drove off.
‘Are you all right, Boofhead?’ she said. ‘Or do you just like living dangerously?’
‘Hey,’ replied Mick, ‘I thought I told you to keep your big mouth shut. Well, do what I tell you while you’re still in front.’
Jesse shook her head. ‘Shit! You don’t just like living dangerously, pal, you’re on a death wish.’
Mick went through the roundabout then drove down and stopped outside the library. He got out of the car, opened Jesse’s door and handed her the paper bag when she got out.
‘There you are, my dearest, darling heart,’ he smiled. ‘Did I say I’d have you out the front of the library at eight-thirty with a latte in your hand, or what?’
Jesse felt what was in the paper bag and melted. ‘Jesus, you’re a turd, Mick,’ she said. ‘You really are.’ Jesse then wrapped her arms around him. ‘No wonder I’m crazy about you.’
‘Hey. You’re only a woman.’ Mick kissed Jesse on the forehead, then let her go. ‘I’ll meet you back here at twelve-thirty. If you finish early, just go down to the motel and ask which room Mick Vincent the love dog’s in. Owooohhh!’
‘I’ll do that. See you.’ Jesse gave Mick a quick kiss and with her coffee in one hand and her bag over her shoulder walked down the side entrance. The electric door opened, she gave Mick a big white smile, and stepped inside.
Right, smiled Mick once he got back behind the wheel. That’s the evil one happy for the moment. Now I’d better find a room at the inn. He started the engine then drove down to the Tudor and pulled up in the driveway.
The motel was big and had an olde English look about it. The office on the left faced a licensed restaurant and the rooms running down from the office had small trees and shrubs at the front, edged in with plots of healthy roses. Parked outside every door was a mud-spattered white Holden Commodore. Mick got out and walked across to the reception, where a stocky, dark-haired woman in a green and white dress was seated behind the counter. She stopped what she was doing and looked up at Mick.
‘Morning,’ replied Mick. ‘I’d like a room for the night if I could, please.’
‘You’re a bit early,’ said the woman. ‘The rooms aren’t ready till ten-thirty.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Mick. ‘I can go and have some breakfast and come back.’
‘You’re lucky too,’ said the woman, thumbing through a ledger. ‘We’ve got two groups of reps staying here at the moment. And there’s only one room left. A single with a double bed. Will that do?’
Mick gave the woman a smile. ‘Admirably.’
‘Good. So how will you be paying, Mr…?’
‘Vincent,’ said Mick, taking out his wallet. ‘Visa, credit.’
‘Thank you, Mr Vincent.’
The woman took Mick’s credit card details and gave him the key to room Number Five, just down on the left. She pointed out the swimming pool behind his room and the restaurant where room service was available if required. Mick said he’d probably want to stay Sunday, too. The woman said that was okay, just let her know the night before and he could leave his car outside his room till he came back. Mick took the key, thanked the woman, then drove the short distance down to the unit and parked the old Commodore.
Feeling like a stroll, Mick locked the car, picked up his backpack then headed towards Kelly Street and joined the other Saturday morning shoppers. At a newsagency near the roundabout, he got the Saturday papers and walked on to the cafe where he’d bought Jesse her latte. The same girl came to the counter; Mick ordered a toasted sandwich, a pot of tea and a croissant then took a number, found a table and settled back with the papers while he waited for his meal.
Jesse wasn’t hungry when she walked into the local library, but she was looking forward to her coffee. She stopped for a moment to check out the surroundings before she went across to the desk. The library wasn’t as big as Muswellbrook’s, and the furnishings had seen better days. But it was bright and airy with posters on the walls and plenty of books, and like the town, had a nice feel about it. Several people were sitting around reading and a pleasant-faced woman in her forties with swept-up greying hair, wearing jeans and a loose-fitting blue top, was behind the counter. The woman sensed Jesse meant business when the young bookshop owner walked over to the desk and gave her a knowing smile.
‘Hello,’ said the woman. ‘How can I help you?’
Jesse returned the woman’s smile. ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Could you tell me where all your reference books are, please?’
‘Just round there to the right,’ pointed the woman. ‘Would you like me to show you?’
‘No. That’s all right.’
‘If you need any help, just give me a call.’
‘Thank you.’
Jesse walked round and placed her bag on a wooden table with ‘SG loves HT’ carved into a heart on it. She stepped over to the reference section, ran her eye over the titles and returned to the table with a stack of books, including
Scone and Upper Hunter Historical Society Journal; Pioneers of a Great Valley; The Wingen Maid and the Wonnarua People
. Jesse opened her coffee and started with
The Hunters End: 1829–1979
.
Agent Moharic was seated in the Jeep Cherokee gripping the steering wheel and slowly butting his head against it in frustration. Earlier, Agent Niland had walked all the way to the cop holding back the line of traffic only to come back and report there was no sign of Mick or Jesse.
‘They got to be shittin’ me,’ Agent Moharic fumed at Agent Coleborne. ‘How long have we been sitting here now?’
‘It’s been a while, Floyd,’ replied Agent Coleborne.
‘And you say Vincent and his girl aren’t amongst all those cars, Steve?’
‘Nope,’ replied Agent Niland. ‘They must have snuck through.’
‘Christ! They could be anywhere by now,’ cursed Agent Moharic.
‘What’s the next town?’ asked Agent Niland.
Agent Moharic glanced at the map. ‘Scone.’
‘I reckon they could be headed there,’ said Agent Niland.
‘Yeah? Why’s that, Steve?’ asked Agent Moharic.
‘Well. They started off in Muswellbrook. The next town is Scone. And the next one after that I believe is Tamworth, which is a fair ways from here. I feel whatever it is they’re looking for is in this general area. And instinct tells me that’s the next town, Scone. Hey,’ shrugged Agent Niland, ‘I could be wrong. But I just got a feeling. That’s all.’
‘I tend to agree with Steve, Floyd,’ said Agent Coleborne. ‘I don’t know why they changed vehicles. But I do believe they’re not spreading themselves too far. And Scone makes sense.’
Agent Moharic thought for a moment. ‘Yeah. You could be right, guys,’ he nodded. ‘Okay. Scone it is. We’ll give the joint a good going over.’
Back in the ASIO Commodore, Craig had rung Officer Blessing to inform him of their situation. Now Officers Ryman and Cozens had a mini draughtboard between them and Kerrie looked to have another game won already.
‘So what do you think their story is now, Craig?’ Kerrie asked.
‘Well,’ replied Officer Cozens, moving a white piece. ‘I agree with you the NSA are looking for someone. That someone has left Muswellbrook this morning. But where they’re going we haven’t got a clue.’
‘No. And it wouldn’t surprise me if they slipped through this roadblock and stuffed up the Mormons’ plans.’
‘They could have,’ nodded Craig. ‘But whatever the Men in Black are up to, the only thing we can do is stay on their arse the same as before.’
‘Only now we got a bug.’ Kerrie smiled and moved a black. ‘Do you think they’ll stop at Scone?’
‘They might. I hope they do. It’ll make things easier for us.’ Craig moved a white. ‘One thing I do know, Kerrie. Whatever those wallys are up to, they’re not carrying all those guns to hunt rabbits.’
‘No. I’ve been thinking about that myself.’ Kerrie took two of Craig’s whites. ‘Crown me, will you.’
‘Shit! How did you do that?’
Mick enjoyed his long breakfast with the papers and would have sat there all morning, but after one last cup of tea he put the papers in his backpack then walked back to the motel and got their bags out of the car.
The air-conditioned room was very good. Mixed pastel colours on the walls, a TV and a table faced a comfortable double bed, and a window looked out at the pool. After last night, this should bring the sunshine back to sweet Ossie’s face, smiled Mick as he put their bags on the luggage stand. The bathroom behind him was bright and spotlessly clean; Mick unpacked his clothes and had a shower.
The thinnest of smiles appeared briefly on Agent Moharic’s face when he heard the driver in front start his engine. He peered out the window and saw that the cattle had all been moved and the police were starting to let the traffic through.
‘Looks like they’re moving, Floyd,’ said Agent Niland.
‘About goddamn time,’ cursed Agent Moharic, starting the engine.
‘So where do you want to start when we get to Scone?’ asked Agent Coleborne.
Agent Moharic began slowly moving along with the traffic. ‘Well,’ he replied, ‘assuming Vincent and his girl are there, I suggest we check out all the motels and hotels first. See if that white vehicle’s parked in front.’