Les blinked his eyes open the next morning to the delightful sound of magpies whistling in the trees alongside the verandah. He felt great after an exceptionally good night’s sleep and was pleasantly surprised to find he had no bruises or aches and pains of any description. Les stared up at the ceiling and reflected on the previous night, but soon put the unnerving events out of his mind. He rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom. After flushing the toilet, he stepped across to clean his teeth and abruptly stopped in front of the sink. Someone had taken the soap and written something across the mirror in beautiful, old script. It was just one word.

Thankyou.

‘That’s all right, Edward,’ said Les. ‘Thanks for not killing me.’

There was one photo left in his camera. Les got it from the bedroom, angled it across the mirror so the flash wouldn’t mask the writing and took the last shot. The camera started to wind back and Les reached for his toothbrush. After freshening up, he went back to the bedroom and changed into his blue cargos and the same T-shirt he had on the night before, then walked into the kitchen where another surprise was waiting for him. Sitting on the kitchen table was the horseshoe with the bear standing in the middle. Les smiled again and pushed the little bear in its fat stomach. Straight away it started singing ‘Livin’ La Vida Loca’ and waving its arms around. Les waited till the bear finished then switched it off and sorted out some tea and toast. While he was waiting, he opened the front door and walked out to his car. His T-shirt was folded up on the roof of his car and the hand was gone. Les picked up his T-shirt and took it inside.

‘Well Edward. I think you finally got what you were after,’ smiled Les, closing the door behind him. ‘Say hello to Gwendolyn for me.’ He put the T-shirt into his room and went back to the kitchen.

Les got his tea and toast together and walked out onto the verandah. Unfortunately, the day didn’t match his good mood. The sky had clouded over, it was cooler, and the southerly was blowing again. Not much of a day for the beach, figured Les, as he sipped his tea and watched two boats pass each other in the channel. He strolled along the verandah nibbling on a piece of toast, checking things out for the last time. I’m going to miss this old house, he thought. I hope Clover’s parents don’t sell it now that Edward’s gone. I’d like to stay here again. Actually, they don’t even know he’s gone. I should keep quiet about it and make them an offer. Les laughed to himself. Knowing my luck though, another ghost would move in and take over from Edward. Les finished his tea and toast and rinsed his mug in the kitchen.

After checking everything was packed and ready to go, Les got his diving gear together and put it it the car with his overnight bag. He then took the two containers of Ozone Accelerator out of the bathtub and stowed them carefully in the boot. After locking the house, he put his cap and sunglasses on, climbed in the car and headed south, past the turn-off to Mystery Bay and on to Tilba. Apart from one or two people outside the garage, there was no one around and not much happening in Tilba. A few minutes later, Les pulled up in front of Grace’s house and got out of the car with his overnight bag.

A pretty young girl was seated across the top of the front steps wearing a white, Stussy sweat shirt over a pair of yellow tracksuit pants and trainers. Her hair was long and lighter than Grace’s and her face a little pointier. But she had her mother’s eyes. Morticia was standing next to her rolling out a low, menacing growl, as if to say ‘Yes. I know who you are and all that. Just don’t try anything with the kid.’ Les walked almost to the top of the stairs and stopped.

‘Hello Morticia, you little dag,’ he said, then turned to the girl. ‘Hello. You must be Ellie.’

‘That’s right,’ replied the girl. ‘Are you George?’

‘Yeah. That’s me,’ answered Les. ‘Gorgeous George.’

Les offered Ellie his hand. She gave it the softest shake and giggled.

‘You’re even bigger than mummy said you were.’

‘Big and ugly,’ smiled Les. ‘But I like dogs and I’m environmentally friendly.’

The girl looked evenly at Les. ‘Mummy said you’re from Sydney.’

‘That’s right. I live in Bondi,’ said Les. ‘Have you ever been there?’

‘Once. When I was really little. Where do you know Mummy from?’

‘Where? Oh, your mummy knows some friends of mine in Sydney. They like your mummy’s T-shirts. We were down for the long weekend and we all had lunch together. I’m on my way back to Sydney now, and I just called in to say goodbye.’

‘Are you going to stay for breakfast?’

Les shook his head. ‘No. I’d like to. But I won’t have time.’

Ellie put her arms around the dog’s neck. ‘Do you like Morticia?’

‘I sure do,’ said Les. He reached across and patted Morticia on the head. ‘She’s beautiful. Aren’t you Morticia?’ The dog half-closed its eyes and lolled its tongue around.

‘I think she is,’ said Ellie. The young girl stood up and smiled at Les. ‘We’re going round the back to play.’

‘Okay,’ said Les. ‘Nice talking to you Smelly. I mean Ellie.’

The girl giggled again. ‘You’re funny. Come on Morticia.’

Les watched them run off around the verandah then looked across as the door opened and Grace stepped out wearing a tracksuit and her hair in a ponytail.

‘All right, George,’ she said. ‘What lies have you been filling my poor, innocent, young daughter’s head with?’

‘None really,’ replied Les. ‘Just covering my arse as usual. And mum’s. Actually she’s a bit of a sweetheart.’

‘I know.’ Grace gave Les a quick kiss on the lips. ‘Come inside.’

Les followed Grace down to the kitchen and placed his bag on the table.

‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ she asked.

‘I just had a mug of tea,’ answered Les.

‘Okay. How about a smoothie?’

‘All right. Thanks.’

Grace took a jug from the fridge and poured Les what looked like a pink milkshake. ‘Try that.’

Les took a mouthful and raised his eyebrows. ‘Holy smoke! How good’s this? What is it?’

‘Custard apple and strawberry. I have to make them for the blonde or she starts whingeing. Good, aren’t they?’

‘Reckon!’ Les swallowed some more and smacked his lips.

‘So sit down,’ said Grace. ‘Tell me about yesterday. Surely you’re not in that big a hurry.’

‘Forget about yesterday,’ said Les. ‘Wait till I tell you about last night. I’m lucky to bloody be here.’

Les sat down at the table. Grace got her coffee and sat opposite while Les gave her the lowdown on everything, except finding all the cocaine in the cave. Grace had one sip of coffee and sat gobsmacked. When Les was finished, Grace’s coffee was cold and she was shaking her head with a blank look on her face.

‘Yeah,’ said Les. ‘I left the hand on the car. And there was the thank you on the bathroom mirror. I took a photo with the last shot left in the camera. As soon as I get them all developed, I’ll send you some copies.’

‘My God!’ exclaimed Grace. ‘What you told me yesterday was fantastic enough. But this on top of it.’ Grace shook her head again. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Yeah. It’s totally bizarre all right,’ said Les. ‘But I think I did the right thing. I’m sure that’s all Edward wanted.’ Les pointed above. ‘Now he and Gwendolyn are out there somewhere on their honeymoon.’

‘Yes. They probably are,’ agreed Grace. ‘Unbelievable.’

‘Exactly,’ nodded Les. ‘That’s why I think we should keep it between us for the time being. I’ll tell Clover when I get home. And Warren. And that’s it. Maybe one day, we’ll sell the story to a magazine.’ Les laughed into his glass. ‘But I doubt if even a magazine’d believe me.’

‘You know, Les,’ said Grace. ‘Even though it’s a weird, crazy thing, it’s also quite beautiful. The love between Edward and Gwendolyn. Don’t you think?’

‘I agree,’ nodded Les. ‘But there was no need for him to bring her around last night and let her sit on me.’

Grace threw back her head and laughed. ‘God you’re a bastard.’ Grace settled and looked evenly at Les. ‘So what’s happening now, George? You’re off back to Sydney, leaving me and Ellie behind like a couple of chattels?’

‘Chattels? Jesus you’re good,’ protested Les.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Grace. ‘But I got you something to take back with you.’

‘You have? Oh.’

Grace stood up and went to the loungeroom. She returned holding a white paper carry bag with Tilba Fashions printed on the side and handed it to Les.

‘There you go, George,’ she said.

Les opened the bag and took out a dark blue T-shirt. There were two parrots cuddling up on the front and a smaller one on the back with its wings spread. They had beautiful, soft blue faces, a hint of red on their green and blue wings and striking, gold breasts. Grace had captured their colours perfectly.

‘Ohh Grace,’ said Les. ‘That’s unreal. They’re the same parrots I saw when I was tripping out yesterday too.’

‘Turquoise parrots,’ said Grace. ‘Neophema pulchella. You don’t see many around these days. Check out the one on the back.’

Les turned the T-shirt back over and peered at the open wings. Very, very subtly, Grace had printed his name along the feathers in blue and gold.

‘Fair dinkum,’ blushed Les. ‘I don’t know what to say. That’s the nicest present anyone’s ever given me. Thanks Grace.’ Les reached over the table and planted a kiss on Grace’s lips.

‘That’s all right,’ she smiled.

Les looked at the T-shirt and shook his head. ‘Honestly Grace. What did I do to deserve this?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Grace. ‘Because you’re an absolute bastard.’

‘I am too,’ agreed Les. He carefully folded the T-shirt up and put it back in the bag. ‘Anyway. I got something for you too. It ain’t much. Just your winnings.’ Les opened his overnight bag, took out an envelope and handed it to Grace. ‘There you go, mate,’ he smiled. ‘Don’t spend it all at once.’

‘Thank you. This will come in very handy too. Believe you me.’ Grace took the envelope, felt it and frowned. ‘What …?’ She opened the envelope and her jaw dropped. ‘My God! How much is here?’

‘Twenty grand,’ answered Les.

‘Twenty thousand dollars!’ Grace stared at Les. ‘What? Are trying to tell me, you were … four hundred to one?’

Les nodded. ‘I told you I’d get you the best odds.’

‘Bullshit! No.’ Grace shook her head and pushed the envelope back across the table. ‘I can’t take this.’

‘All right. Don’t,’ shrugged Les. ‘And you can take your T-shirt and stick it in your arse too.’

They both looked up as Ellie came running into the kitchen.

‘Mummy. Mrs Hillier’s outside on Apples.’

‘Okay,’ flustered Grace. ‘Tell her … tell her I’ll be out in minute.’

‘All right.’ Ellie ran out the same way she ran in.

‘Mrs Hillier?’ asked Les. ‘Is that …?’

‘Yes. The old girl from next door,’ said Grace. ‘She’s ridden up to see Ellie.’

‘Well, that could be my cue to get going.’ Les stood up and placed the T-shirt in his overnight bag. ‘Now if you’ll walk me to the door. I’ll take my beautiful T-shirt and be on my way.’

Grace looked at the envelope full of money sitting on the table then turned to Les. ‘You are a bastard, Les. I hope you know that.’

‘Grace. I told you before,’ smiled Les. ‘I’m not really. I just keep meeting people who bring the bastard out in me. You just happened to bring out a bit extra.’

Les followed Grace down the hallway and she stopped just inside the flyscreen door. Les imagined she wanted to give him a goodbye kiss. But not in front of Ellie or the neighbours. Les definitely wanted to give her one. And a good one at that. He dropped his bag on the floor as Grace put her arms around his waist and looked up into his eyes.

‘So when are you fixin’ on riding into town again, stranger?’ she said.

Les put his arms around Grace and looked at her wistfully. ‘Don’t rightly know little lady,’ he answered. ‘But I reckon, between your eggplant parmigiana, your mineral water, your custard apple smoothies. All the this, that, and the other, not to mention you saving my neck … I reckon I’ll be a hankerin’ to ride through here again real soon maam.’

‘Do that stranger.’

Grace gave Les a long, lingering sweet kiss. Les held Grace tight and if her kiss had lingered a second longer, Les would have had trouble getting away. Finally, he reluctantly let Grace go and picked up his bag.

‘I’ll ring you tonight,’ he said. ‘After I get home.’

Les followed Grace out onto the verandah. His car was parked on the left, and over to the right Ellie and a woman in sunglasses were standing next to an old pinto mare with a sway back. The woman was as straight as a gun barrel and suited the denim shirt, old jeans and brown RM Williams she was wearing. A thick head of long, grey hair tumbled down from beneath a big straw hat. The horse had its head down nuzzling at Morticia who was playing with it.

‘So that’s your next door neighbour,’ said Les. ‘I wish I had some film in my camera. They’d make a great photo they way they’re all standing there.’

‘She’s not bad for eighty-two, eh,’ said Grace.

‘No,’ agreed Les. ‘I love her old horse.’ He held out his hand. ‘Well, goodbye Amazing Grace,’ he said formally. ‘Thank you for everything.’

‘Yes. You too, George,’ replied Grace, shaking Norton’s hand. ‘Thank you for everything.’

Les pointed his finger at her. ‘I’ll ring you tonight.’ He turned and walked across to his car.

Les caught the woman’s eye and smiled at her as he waved to Ellie. The woman smiled back. Ellie smiled and waved back, Morticia barked and the horse whinnied. Les got in his car, tooted the horn and drove off. In the rear-vision mirror Grace was waving from the verandah. Minutes later, Les was driving under a leaden sky through empty Tilba, past the Hemp shop.

That’s what I meant to get too, he regretted. Some hemp shirts. Grace looked great in hers. Impassively, Les turned left towards the highway. Grace looked good in anything, he thought. And I should be having lunch with her and Ellie. But no. Not me. I have to be a complete fuckin idiot. And then I have to get out of town because I can’t mind my own fuckin business. Fair dinkum. When God was giving out heads, I think I was at the end of the queue and he gave me a pumpkin. Les turned left at the highway and in what felt like too short a time, pulled up in the car park near the camping area at Mystery Bay and cut the engine.

Compared to when it had been calm and clear before, today the water looked murky and the southerly had stirred up the ocean. The tide was higher also and choppy swells were breaking against the rocks and around the little islands. The only sign of life was an old bloke fishing at the other end of the bay and a woman walking a small, grey dog. Les shook his head at his own foolhardiness and got out of the car.

As soon as he opened the back door and started taking his clothes off, the butterflies started kicking around in his stomach again. He looked up into the camping area and couldn’t see anybody. Les climbed into his rubber vest and his old shorts, put a hanky and his clasp knife in his pocket then opened the boot. He tied the necks of two containers together with a short piece of rope, then closed the boot and buried the car keys behind the front right tyre. Carrying his diving gear in one hand and the two containers of Ozone Accelerator in the other, Les set off along the beach with the southerly whipping at his ears, towards the ridge of jagged rock sticking out from the sand.

The shelf on the other side was covered over by the tide and waves were pushing into the inlet and up against the mouth of the cave. Les clambered over a narrow pinch in the ridge and rinsed the facemask in a small rock pool. He had another look around while he got into his diving gear, but apart from the two people at the opposite end of the bay he couldn’t see anybody. Les picked up the two containers and shuffled to the water’s edge, took a breath, then bit on his snorkel and plunged in.

The water was gloomy and the swells had stirred up the bottom. Huge beds of seaweed growing amongst the rocks swirled in the white water and visibility was down to barely a couple of metres. Clutching the two containers to his chest, Les kicked furiously towards the cave, waiting for a killer whale or something to appear from behind the seaweed rolling around in the white water and grab him. But apart from the odd kale swimming amongst the seaweed and a few rock cod moving around their caves, there were no other fish, let alone any sharks or killer whales. He bumped against some rocks just below the surface and got a snorkel full of water as a swell washed over him. Les swooshed it out, then the rocky, sandy bottom turned to pebbles washing against each other in the undercurrent and he was at the front of the cave. He saw a swell coming, went with it, swam straight up the rocks into the mouth and got to his feet.

Les hurried inside the cave, whipped off his mask and flippers, then carried the two containers over to the mound. He untied them and started brushing rocks from the tarpaulin. Once he’d removed enough, Les dragged the tarpaulin back to one end and the amount of cocaine sitting in the cave momentarily took his breath away. He took his hanky from his pocket, wrung it out and tied it around his face, then climbed up in the middle of the mound and made a hole amongst the sacks of cocaine. When it was big enough, he opened his clasp knife and started quickly slashing open the surrounding sacks and plastic bags. Soon cocaine was going everywhere, coating him in a thin, white crust. Les slashed open some sacks along the side of the mound and watched the fine, white powder tumble to the floor of the cave like flour. Satisfied he’d slashed open enough sacks, Les picked up the two containers, unscrewed the tops and started pouring Ozone Accelerator into the hole in the mound. The pool cleaner reacted to the cocaine in a flash, immediately turning the hole into a boiling, bubbling crater just like the one in his backyard. In seconds, clouds of smoking cocaine were rising up from the intense heat into the cave. Les climbed down and slashed open the sides of both containers then dumped them in the middle of the mound, letting the liquid pour out into the cocaine. He watched in astonishment as the two containers buckled and melted before his eyes. He folded up his clasp knife then grabbed the tarpaulin, running it back over the pile of sacks to keep the heat in, and tossing some heavy stones back on top for good measure.

It wasn’t long before smoke started spewing up from under the edges of the tarpaulin and Les could see the mound moving and boiling underneath. Suddenly the ghastly, acidic fumes started seeping through Norton’s wet hanky. Shit! Time I was out of here, he told himself. Les whipped off the hanky, held his breath while he hurried into his snorkelling gear, then flip-flopped over to the mouth of the cave and plunged straight into the water; he broke all records swimming back across the inlet to where he’d jumped in. Puffing a little, Les pulled himself up onto the rocks then took off his face mask and looked back to see clouds of steam rising from the mouth of the cave before they disappeared into the wind. Well, I reckon that’d have to be the world’s biggest crack pipe, he smiled.

Les took off his flippers, walked back to the car and retrieved his keys. He was too excited to worry about the butterflies in his stomach as he took off his wet shorts and vest and wrapped a towel around his waist. But there was no one around and this time Les smiled at his good fortune. He put his T-shirt on, got behind the wheel and before long he was on his way back to Narooma.

Lee Kernaghan was twanging ‘Texas QLD 4385’ when Les pulled up in the driveway. Well that’s that, he chuckled. Bad luck I won’t be around when Serina and her gang put their heads in the cave. Try chopping that up on a mirror and shoving it up your hooter. That’s if it is Serina, of course. But, too fuckin bad if it’s not. Les turned off the engine and grabbed his gear. Now. Let’s get the fuck out of Dodge.

Without wasting any time, Les had a quick shower, changed into the same clothes he’d had on and started packing everything into the car. What do I need for a souvenir, he thought? The horseshoe. That’ll do. I’ve already got the bear and about half a million photos ready to get developed. Les put the horseshoe in the bag with his diving gear and put it in the boot along with everything else. He placed his overnight bag on the seat next to him and his tapes, then went inside and had a last look around the house. Yeah, I’m going to miss this old house, he told himself again as he walked along the verandah. Even allowing for Edward nearly killing me. It was fun. And what about that view? Les closed the door to the verandah and walked into the bathroom. He looked at the message on the mirror and decided to leave it. I’ll tell Clover what happened when I get home and her parents can come round and take a photo in case my one doesn’t turn out. Les had a last look in the kitchen, made sure all the lights and everything were turned off, then stepped outside and locked the front door. Now, all I have to do is take the key back to the op-shop. What were those two old girls’ names again? Edith and Joyce. That’s right. Jiggling the solid brass key in his hand, Les walked down to the op-shop.

The only other car in the side street was a white, dual cabin truck with ropes in the back, parked outside the cake shop. The op-shop was open for business. Les stepped inside. Edith was standing with her back to the door, wearing a pair of grey, woollen slacks and a black cardigan, and dusting some bricabrac when Les walked in. She didn’t hear him, so Les called out cheerfully.

‘Good morning! Is that you, Edith?’

Edith turned around and peered at Les through her red-framed glasses. ‘Oh good morning, Mr Norton,’ she smiled. ‘How are you?’

‘Good thanks,’ replied Les. ‘Where’s Joyce?’

‘She’ll be in later.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Les. ‘Anyway, I just called in to return the key. I’m on my way back to Sydney.’ Les handed Edith the key. ‘There you are.’

‘Oh, thank you, Mr Norton.’ Edith put the duster down, pocketed the key and straightened an imaginary knot in her grey hair. ‘So did you enjoy your stay in the Merrigan house?’ she asked, smiling congenially.

‘Yeah, it was a blast,’ replied Les, happily. ‘I’ve never had such a good time in my life. Especially listening to that radio station that plays all the old songs.’

‘Season FM,’ said Edith.

‘That’s the one,’ nodded Les. ‘I can never get enough of Fred Upstairs and Ginger Rogers.’

‘Yes. I like them too,’ beamed Edith. ‘And tell me, Mr Norton. Did you sleep all right at night in the house? Were the beds comfortable?’

‘Comfortable? Edith, my bed was that comfortable, I was asleep the minute my head hit the pillow. I slept like a baby.’

‘Oh isn’t that nice,’ said Edith.

‘It was funny though,’ said Les. ‘One of the old tenants called in and stayed with me a couple of nights.’

‘One of the old tenants, Mr Norton?’ enquired Edith.

‘Yeah. He used to live there. Nice bloke too. Edward Ruddle.’

‘Edward Ruddle?’ gasped Edith.

‘Yeah. Not a very big bloke,’ said Les. ‘Wore a beard and funny little glasses. Said he was a surveyor.’

‘Edward Ruddle the surveyor?’ Edith put a hand over her mouth.

‘That’s him,’ nodded Les. ‘He said he’d been working down at Mystery Bay. He’s getting married next week out at Bodalla to a girl named Gwendolyn Monteith. He showed me a photo of her. Big woman. A little plain. But nice.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘He invited me to the wedding too,’ said Les. ‘If didn’t have to go home, I’d be out there with bells on. I love a bush wedding.’

‘Mr Norton, I might have to sit down for a moment.’ Edith plonked herself down in a cane chair near a rack of clothes.

‘Anyway. I’d better get going,’ said Les. ‘Goodbye Edith. I’ll see you next time I’m in Narooma.’

‘Goodbye, Mr Norton.’

Les smiled and left the shop. As he did he noticed a white porcelain teapot near the door, with Narooma written on the side and a sketch of the jetty. He didn’t really need it. But it was only three dollars and it’d make another good souvenir. The bell had just rung above the door to the cake shop and Les was standing on the footpath going through his pockets to see if he had the right change. He didn’t notice a group of people standing outside the cake shop until he heard a familiar voice.

‘Well, well, well … If it isn’t Bondi playboy and big shot underworld figure, Les Norton.’

Les looked up in the direction of the cake shop and didn’t blink an eye. ‘Oh, hello Serina,’ he smiled.

‘Hello, Les,’ she said, deliberately.

Serina had stepped out of the cake shop followed by three swarthy, unsmiling men with unkempt black hair and thick moustaches. Like Serina, they were all wearing dark tracksuits and gym boots and carrying white paper bags and boxes from the cake shop. With her mane of orange hair, Serina stood out like a beacon.

‘So what brings you to Narooma, Serina?’ asked Les. ‘Family?’

Serina exchanged glances with the three men. ‘We’re down here for a yacht race,’ she replied.

‘Oh, of course. The one from Bermagui to Ulladulla,’ nodded Les. ‘You’re right into that sort of thing, aren’t you.’

Two of the men said something to Serina and got into the white truck, leaving one man standing next to Serina.

‘So what are you doing down here, Les?’ asked Serina.

‘I came down for the Blues Festival,’ he answered. ‘The Blues Festival?’ Serina twisted her face up. ‘That was over days ago.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ answered Les.

‘So what’s a big, swinging, city boy like you doing still hanging round a dump like Narooma?’

‘I dunno, Serina,’ answered Les. ‘It’s got me beat. But I was just on my way home when you saw me.’

Serina nodded to the op-shop. ‘And did I just see you coming out of an op-shop counting your money?’

‘Yes Serina,’ Les nodded slowly. ‘You did.’

Serina turned to the man next to her then gave Les a caustic once up and down. ‘Well, we all know you’re tight with a dollar, Les. But what’s a guy who owns a home in Bondi, and works at the Kelly Club helping old Price Galese wash piles of money, doing in fucking op-shops?’

Les thought for a moment. ‘I’m fucked if I know Serina, to be honest,’ he replied. ‘It’s a dead set fuckin mystery to me.’ Les gave her an oily smile. ‘Anyway. If you’ll excuse me. It’s a long drive back to Sydney. And I have to get on the road. See you, Serina. Nice talking to you as always.’ Les nodded to her friend. ‘See you, mate.’ Without waiting for a reply, Les turned and walked back to his car.

Les started the car, drove up the side street, then did a U-turn at the lights and stopped at the garage opposite the hotel. He got out and proceeded to fill the tank. Fuck it, Les cursed to himself as he stared at the numbers going round on the bowser. They’ve sprung me. Well, that’s fucked that, hasn’t it. And that’s them behind the coke all right. The truck and the rope proves that. But fuck it. How’s my bloody luck. Les kept looking at the bowser and out the side of one eye watched the white truck go past. Serina and her friends never gave him a second look. He followed the truck as it disappeared down the hill towards the park and unexpectedly the sun appeared from behind the clouds. On the other hand, thought Les, why has it fucked things? They don’t know that I know about their coke. And I doubt if they picked up on my little innuendos outside the op-shop. I’m just a goose as far as Serina’s concerned. And when they do find all their coke looking like a giant pile of steaming seal shit, what are they going to do? They’re not going to race into the hardware store asking if somebody just bought ten litres of pool cleaner. They won’t have a clue what happened. They’ll just cut their losses and get to the shithouse out of Narooma. They could even think it’s another drug syndicate trying to put them out of business.

The meter stopped running when Norton’s tank filled and he replaced the nozzle on the bowser. In fact, smiled Les, I’m glad I bumped into Serina and her friends. I reckon they’ve just done me another favour. Les screwed his petrol cap back on and walked across to the office.

While the young bloke in the blue denim shirt was swiping his Visa card, Les searched his pockets again for change. He signed the receipt and pointed to a yellow pay phone near the door.

‘Is that phone working all right, mate?’ asked Les.

‘Yeah. No problems,’ replied the young bloke, handing Les his receipt.

‘Thanks.’

Les walked over to the phone, dropped some coins in the slot and dialled. It didn’t take long to get through.

‘Hello?’

‘Grace. It’s Les. How are you?’

‘Les? What …?’

‘Grace. You’re not going to believe this. But I just rang home. And everything’s sorted itself out at the club. Do you and the other chattel still want to have lunch?’

THE END