Read Online And De Fun Don't Done by Robert G. Barrett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert G. Barrett
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something but changed his mind, deciding to take another tack. As well as being a twenty-five-carat prick, Hank was obviously mentally unbalanced. Why not knock the flip off balance altogether? And without having to risk hitting him on the chin. Captain Rats could be broken: unmercifully. Les let them get about a mile or a kilometre or whatever it was down the road â with the Americans not into the metric system Les didnât know where he was half the time â then asked Hank the question he knew Hank was dying to be asked.
âJeez, this is a top car, Hank. You sure donât get âem like this in Australia. It goes like the clappers. What kind is it? You had it long?â
After that it was easy. Hank vroomed through the traffic, exactly like a would-be, good olâ boy from the South, driving a black pick-up truck, should, while he showed and told Les how good his pick-up was. Even with Laurel Lee playing Smokey and the Bandit and theconstant stream of cigarette smoke, Norton was just about able to switch completely off. They zoomed in and out of the traffic along these monstrous roads, surrounded by monstrous cars driven by monstrous seppos with equally monstrous heads; generally about one seppo to an air-conditioned vehicle. On either side of the road it was all fast food restaurants and drive-in stores, each with more parking space than Bondi Junction bus depot. There were no buses, no pushbikes, and scarcely a pedestrian in sight. Now and again a pick-up with wheels twenty feet in diameter would pull up alongside, driven by some gum-chewing seppo in an Elmer Fudd cap, and naturally Hank would have to have a go. They turned left onto a bridge across a wide strip of water and came off into narrower roads now surrounded by houses, trees and blocks of flats. Hank turned left again and through the flats Les could see a shining expanse of water, which he recognised from the map he had in Australia as the Gulf of Mexico. A row of touristy shops and restaurants appeared that reminded Les a little of Rose Bay in Sydney. He was looking at the shops when Hank pulled up at a 7-11.
âI want to get a pack of cigarettes and a Coke.â
âRighto. I might have a quick look in that shop there. I need a pair of thongs.â
Hank locked his precious car and took the keys. Beauty, thought Les.
The shop Norton had spotted was a typical surf-dive shop; air-conditioned inside and full of T-shirts, board- shorts, diving gear, etc. Nothing was cheap, especially the silicone facemasks with side vision and the latest snorkels that didnât let water in. Norton paid cash for one of each and left with his receipt and a, âYou have a good one.â Hank was seated in the car, opening a packet of Winston, with what looked like a plastic bucket of Coca- Cola and ice sitting on his lap, when Les climbed inside. âDid you get your thongs?â he said, with half a sneer on his face.
It was then that Les noticed Hank was barefoot. It wasat least ninety-five outside and the roads were hotter than stove lids. Poor Laurel. As well as being filthy on the world, he was filthy on himself. âNo. They didnât have any in my size.â
âSo whatâs in the bag?â Les opened it up. Hankâs face twisted up even more. âYou bought a snorkel?â
âYeah, they were on special. Anyway, if I donât need it I can always throw it away.â
Hank shook his head in disbelief. He muttered something without looking at Les and they drove off. Les gazed impassively out the side window. Yes, Iâve sure got a live one here.
Hank turned off down some side street surrounded by blocks of flats and trees, then pulled up at the bottom where the road running along the water stopped at some houses. There were no natural rocks, just granite blocks sitting on a narrow strip of sand. In front of the blocks, a broken concrete pier jutted out about twenty metres. The sea road to the left had
âJeez, this is a top car, Hank. You sure donât get âem like this in Australia. It goes like the clappers. What kind is it? You had it long?â
After that it was easy. Hank vroomed through the traffic, exactly like a would-be, good olâ boy from the South, driving a black pick-up truck, should, while he showed and told Les how good his pick-up was. Even with Laurel Lee playing Smokey and the Bandit and theconstant stream of cigarette smoke, Norton was just about able to switch completely off. They zoomed in and out of the traffic along these monstrous roads, surrounded by monstrous cars driven by monstrous seppos with equally monstrous heads; generally about one seppo to an air-conditioned vehicle. On either side of the road it was all fast food restaurants and drive-in stores, each with more parking space than Bondi Junction bus depot. There were no buses, no pushbikes, and scarcely a pedestrian in sight. Now and again a pick-up with wheels twenty feet in diameter would pull up alongside, driven by some gum-chewing seppo in an Elmer Fudd cap, and naturally Hank would have to have a go. They turned left onto a bridge across a wide strip of water and came off into narrower roads now surrounded by houses, trees and blocks of flats. Hank turned left again and through the flats Les could see a shining expanse of water, which he recognised from the map he had in Australia as the Gulf of Mexico. A row of touristy shops and restaurants appeared that reminded Les a little of Rose Bay in Sydney. He was looking at the shops when Hank pulled up at a 7-11.
âI want to get a pack of cigarettes and a Coke.â
âRighto. I might have a quick look in that shop there. I need a pair of thongs.â
Hank locked his precious car and took the keys. Beauty, thought Les.
The shop Norton had spotted was a typical surf-dive shop; air-conditioned inside and full of T-shirts, board- shorts, diving gear, etc. Nothing was cheap, especially the silicone facemasks with side vision and the latest snorkels that didnât let water in. Norton paid cash for one of each and left with his receipt and a, âYou have a good one.â Hank was seated in the car, opening a packet of Winston, with what looked like a plastic bucket of Coca- Cola and ice sitting on his lap, when Les climbed inside. âDid you get your thongs?â he said, with half a sneer on his face.
It was then that Les noticed Hank was barefoot. It wasat least ninety-five outside and the roads were hotter than stove lids. Poor Laurel. As well as being filthy on the world, he was filthy on himself. âNo. They didnât have any in my size.â
âSo whatâs in the bag?â Les opened it up. Hankâs face twisted up even more. âYou bought a snorkel?â
âYeah, they were on special. Anyway, if I donât need it I can always throw it away.â
Hank shook his head in disbelief. He muttered something without looking at Les and they drove off. Les gazed impassively out the side window. Yes, Iâve sure got a live one here.
Hank turned off down some side street surrounded by blocks of flats and trees, then pulled up at the bottom where the road running along the water stopped at some houses. There were no natural rocks, just granite blocks sitting on a narrow strip of sand. In front of the blocks, a broken concrete pier jutted out about twenty metres. The sea road to the left had
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