“We haven’t got much fuel left,” said LP.
“Don’t forget the fuel on the roof,” Mason reminded him.
“Yeah, we’ll keep that for an emergency. Let’s start heading back to the coast; we’re past all that flooding and rain now. George, look up the map and see how far it is to the next town.”
“It’s twenty miles, and we won’t make it without more fuel,” George reported.
“I’ll take bets on it. This Kombi could run on the smell of an oily rag,” said LP.
“Anyway, we’ve still got fuel up top.”
“Don’t forget, we don’t have any cash until the banks open on Monday morning,” Bear reminded everyone.
“Just find another phone box, and I’ll make a withdrawal.” Red laughed.
“We’ll have enough coin for petrol, and we still have enough time to make it to Bells for the contest on Sunday morning.”
“You did pay the entrance fee for the contest before we left Brisbane, didn’t you?” Cassa asked LP.
“No, they said to pay at registration on arrival,” LP replied.
“Well, where are we going to get a hundred dollars to register?” asked Bear.
“We could try getting more coins out of telephone boxes,” Red replied, “but there aren’t enough truck stops out here in the middle of nowhere to find the right silver phone booths.”
“It would be a lot simpler if banks made it easier to withdraw money on weekends. Like if you could press the right code and it would spit money out of the bank wall.”
“Red, you’re completely off the wall with your ideas. There’s no way that will happen. That bloody IT mag. you’re reading sounds more like a comic book. You’d be better off using it as toilet paper,” said Bear.
“Mark my words; it won’t be only getting cash out of a wall. Unless it’s plastic, the only thing you’ll be able to buy is lollies with your loose change.”
“You mean paper money is going to be plastic?” Bear sounded unconvinced.
“Yes,” Red replied adamantly.
“I’ll say it again: the only thing that mag. is good for is wiping your ass! I don’t want to hear any more about that crap. Let‘s keep rolling; we’ve a contest to win, and I won’t be accepting plastic money when we collect the winnings. I want only paper money…. Red, you’re dreaming, mate; that will never happen.”
“Talk to me about it in thirty years. It’s called technology.”
“Now let’s get back to the problem of how to raise a hundred dollars to enter the contest.”
“My flatmate, Willie,” Red said. “The geek who told me about the code for the telephone boxes; he said he did the same thing with pokie machines. He designed and programmed the chip and circuit boards for the new pokie machines.
“The new machines have no handles to pull; you just press a button to play. He told me that, if you find the latest machines without handles, press ‘1 x 1’ till the free spins come up, then ‘1 x 1’ forty-eight times, and then hit ‘maximum bet’ and the maximum pay line will come up.”
“All right, Red, that’s a plan. Keep an eye out for a sports or footy club; they’ll have pokies.”
The next town they came to was Eden. There was a footy club with pokies across the road from the surf beach and camping area.
Bear and Brownie decided to go surfing.
“I’m going nowhere,” said George. “My rolled ankle is still swollen.”
“I still feel pretty weak from that bloody king brown,” said Mason. “But I’ll go with you, LP, and have a go at those pokies. Let’s see if the geek was right.”
Mason and LP signed in as visitors at the footy club, and went straight through to the pokie room to look for the right machine.
“Yep, that’ll do,” said LP.
Mason dropped twenty twenty-cent coins through the machine, pressed ‘1 x 1’ several times, and the free spins came up.
“We’re halfway there; now hit it forty-eight times.”
On the forty-ninth hit, LP changed to maximum bet, pressed down hard, and the free spins came up, paying out the maximum amount – five hundred dollars.
“We could make a living out of this, LP!”
“How long will this last?”
“Not long. The club will remove any machines that are not returning a profit.”
“We’re ahead of the game. We robbed them before the bastards robbed us.”
“These things are nothing more than false idols that people will stand and worship at in expectation of a greater gain,” said LP.
“Well, it’s bullshit. There’s no way to win in the long run, unless you beat them at their own game.” Mason thanked LP for the lecture. “Let’s collect and get out of here.”
LP collected the five hundred dollars, and they headed out of the club and over to the Kombi. By this time, Bear and Brownie were back out of the surf.
“Hey guys, we’ve got no problem with money now. Red’s flatmate’s theory on winning on those poker machines was right. LP hit the jackpot at the footy club.”
“Great. We’ll stay the night here and head off at daybreak. That'll give us enough time to register and win the contest,” Bear said. “Let’s take the Kombi over to that camping area, and we’ll set up. LP, you’re cashed up; go grab three pizzas and go back to the footy club and buy a couple of six packs of XXXX beer.”
“I’m coming, too,” said Cassa.
LP returned with two cartons of Resches beer, and Cassa carried the three pizzas.
“That’s southern beer. We’re not drinking that stuff!” Bear yelled.
“The bloke over at the bottlo said that it would taste like XXXX after you down a couple. He said they don’t sell XXXX beer in this town because no one drinks it. He reckons its foreign beer.”
“You should have told him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Everyone up north drinks only XXXX or they’re not a Queenslander,” said Bear.
“All right! Throw over a beer and pass the pizza around.”
Most of the guys agreed that it the first decent feed in days.
“Well, I thought the roast was pretty good back at the Bora Ring,” said LP.
“Yeah, but takeaway is better,” said Red.
“Yeah, sure, if you like standing in a line to be served, and waiting another twenty minutes before it’s cooked.”
After downing another beer, Bear said, “I’ve got an idea. If you had a takeaway food outlet, where the pizzas are already cooked and ready to go, and there was no waiting, you would make a fortune.”
“Bear, if you think that’s a goer, let’s do something about it when we get back over the border,” Red said.
“I’m putting the billy on for a cuppa,” said Red. “Anyone else for tea?”
“Nope,” everyone else replied.
“Cold beer is going down better than a hot cup of tea.”
“Damn, there’s no milk. I’m going over the road to get some.”
Cassa said, “I’ll come with you.” He was quick to change into his favourite floral, chick-magnet shirt. He put on his Levi jeans and slipped on a pair of moccasins. With a couple brushes of his long blonde hair, he was ready, mumbling his best pick-up lines.
They all figured that Cassa’s charm came from his Irish heritage.
As Red walked into the shop, Cassa called out, “I’m going into the club to see if I can pick up some women. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Cassa walked off down the road to the footy club.
Red went to the shop’s fridge cabinet, grabbed a pint of milk, placed it on the counter, and searched through his pockets for loose change. He pulled out a twenty-cent piece, placed it on the counter, took the milk, and left.
As he walked out, he was confronted by two coppers.
“We haven’t seen you in this town before. Where are you from?”
“It’s a free country. I can go where I like.”
“Are you alone or here with some others?”
“What does it look like? I’m standing here alone. It’s pretty obvious.”
“So you’re a bit of a smart ass, too. Show us some ID.”
“I don’t have to.”
“Do you have any money on you?”
“Why, do you want to roll me?”
“You’re under arrest!”
The officers grabbed Red, and the milk spilt over the coppers as they tried to handcuff him.
One officer said to the other, “This guy will be a nice little earner for the magistrate on Monday: resisting arrest, assault and vagrancy. Walk him over to the station and lock him up.”
As the officer walked Red to the station with his hands handcuffed behind his back, Bear said, “Bugger, check that out; the coppers have got Red.”
“What are we going to do?” George asked.
“Well, for a start, go get another bottle of milk, and we’ll have a cuppa. Then we’ll figure out what to do.”
As he sipped on his cuppa, George asked Bear, “How did you get a name like Bear?”
“George, you almost got your head knocked off back at Red’s place for asking questions like that, so don’t go there.”
“Come on, tell me.”
“All right. My grandfather’s family escaped Russia during the Bolshevik revolution in 1917. They got on a train in Moscow and travelled through Siberia all the way to Vladivostok. There, they managed to catch a steamer going to India. After that, my grandfather joined the Indian army. He couldn’t join the British army, because he wasn’t a citizen of Britain. His son, my father, joined the Indian navy when he was old enough, and rose to commander of the Indian fleet. The ships he commanded during World War Two were both sunk. After the war, he migrated to Australia. That’s why I’m here today.
“And the question you asked, why am I called Bear? I’m nicknamed Bear after the Russian Bear – Stalin. I’d rather be called Bear than Stalin, thank you.”
After all had finished their hot tea, Bear decided that the best thing to do was to go surfing again. They hoped, while out surfing, they could come up some ideas to get Red out of jail before they left for Bells in the morning.
Bear and Brownie picked up their surfboards and walked from the campsite, over the dunes and down to a perfect reef break. They paddled across a deep ocean gutter. Fishermen with lines cast out made it an obstacle course to reach the surf break. Within thirty seconds they were waiting for their first barrelling waves to come in.
Bear and Brownie rode their last waves right in to the beach. The sun was setting behind the mountains in the distance as the guys walked up the beach to the camping area.
They dried off and changed into some dry boardies.
“Did anyone come up with a bright idea to get Red out of jail?” asked Brownie.
George answered, “I’ve got an idea. You know when we were all around the campfire at Red’s place? Well, those idiot bikies were passing around their latest toy. It’s a silencer for a .22 rifle, and guess what?”
George walked over to the Kombi, searched through his backpack, and pulled out what looked like a small metal barrel. He said, “I’ve got the silencer. Those bikies were too drunk to notice. I slipped it into my pocket.”
“I like your thinking,” said Bear. “We take out those streetlights. We’ll use the winch, pull out the jail bars, and we’re all out of here, first up in the morning.”
George said, “I think we need a little more planning than that.”
“Yeah, but it’s a start. We can work out the rest later.”
That night, the guys discussed in detail how they would break Red out of jail.
“Set your watches for 4 a.m.,” said Bear.
They all settled into their sleeping bags to get some shuteye.
* * *
As Red lay on his hard bed bunk in his cell, Johnny Cash’s immortalised words echoed through his head: ‘I hear the train a comin, it’s rolling round the bend.’
* * *
The Bad Meadows bikie gang had taken a punt that the surfies would turn up at the surf break in Eden.
Rather than ride into town and attract attention, they stopped at a rest stop just out of town. There was a large, weathered building across from where they were standing.
Nutter gave the orders, “Tiny, go over and see if the door of that hall is locked.”
Tiny walked up a couple of stairs, ducked to go under the large balcony overhang, raised his foot, and kicked the door in. He yelled, “It’s open; no one’s here; come on over.”
Nutter and the rest of the bikies kick started their bikes in a thunderous roar, and rode over to the building.
“Tiny and Jimbo,” Nutter said. “Go into town and look around the beaches for those idiot surfers. When you find those guys, come back, and we’ll all go sort them out and get our bloody coins back.”
Jimbo and Tiny rode out onto the main highway, leaving their bikie mates at the building. They rode into town and checked out all the beaches, but found no sign of the Kombi or the surfers.
As Cassa walked from the footy club with a blonde under each arm, heading back to the campsite, one bikie said to the other, “Well, look over there; aint that one of those surfies?”
“Yep, let’s get him and take him back to Nutter and Porky.”
“We are supposed to find all of them and the Kombi, not just one.”
“Just get him, and we’ll make him talk.”
Jimbo and Tiny pulled up and jumped off their bikes, and Tiny tapped Cassa on the shoulder.
“We’ve been looking for you.”
“I don’t know who you are.”
“We know who you are. Get on the back of Jimbo’s bike. You’re coming with us.”
“And if I say no?”
“Well, pretty boy, you won’t be so attractive after we finish with you.”
“Well, that’s a reasonable request.”
Cassa climbed onto Jimbo’s bike, turned to the two blondes, and said, “I’ll see you soon back at the footy club.”
The bikies rode out of town with Cassa.
Ten minutes later, they arrived back at the hall with Cassa.
Nutter asked, “Well, where are they?”
“We’ve got someone who can tell us where the rest of them are,” Tiny replied.
“Okay, tie him up on that chair,” Nutter ordered. “Well, pretty white boy, tell us where your stupid surfie mates are.”
“Get stuffed; I’m telling you nothing.”
“Tiny, work him over, but don’t kill him.”
Tiny gave a left and right punch to the head. Cassa’s head fell forward as he was knocked unconscious.
“I wanted him alive,” Nutter said.
“I barely touched him.”
“You idiot, you don’t know your own strength.”
The bikies walked away and continued drinking. Tiny said, “When he wakes up, I’ll find out where the rest of them are.”
“I don’t think so,” Nutter replied. “I’ve got another idea. When he’s conscious and can talk, I’ll let Gena have her way with him. He’ll tell her everything. This guy’s a sucker for a beautiful woman.”
A little after midnight, Cassa started to come around. Nutter and the other bikies were pretty pissed by this time. Nutter yelled to Gena, the bikie group’s girl, “See what you can find out from this asshole surfie.”
Gena walked in red, high-heeled stilettos from the back of the hall, wearing a long, flowing, dusty, dry-as-a-bone waistcoat. The only other clothing she had on was the tiniest red polka dot bikini.
As Cassa looked up, he thought: Evil eyes don‘t look at me, don’t play your games with me.
His heart started pumping a little harder. Gena walked towards him, placed her legs over his, and sat. She was as close as she could get to his face. Cassa looked down and liked what he saw.
“Tell me where your friends are. Nutter only wants to ask one question of them, and you can be on your way.”
“Is the question ‘did we call the cops and rat you guys out about the fire’?”
“I’m asking the questions, not you. Now tell me where they are. Where is the Kombi?”
There was no answer from Cassa. Gena grabbed his long, blond hair and pulled his face into her bosom.
Cassa mumbled, “We're camped on the other side of town at a rest stop.”
Nutter yelled to Jimbo, “You guys couldn’t have looked too hard. Next time do as I say, or you won’t be wearing the Bad Meadows colours.”
“Let’s go get em,” said Porky.
“No, we’ll wait a while. We’d better sleep off this grog, and we’d make too much noise for this time of the night. The cops will be on our case, and we’ll all end up in the lock up. We’ll get an early start at sunrise.”
Gena was finished with Cassa. As she walked away, she asked, “What are you going to do with him?”
“Well, he's coming with us, just in case he's bullshitting.”
* * *
At 4 a.m., the guys woke and quietly packed up. LP climbed into the driver’s seat. Bear and Brownie pushed the Kombi over towards the police station’s back wall.
The old jail had been built of stone back in the 1800s. Bear figured that the mortar holding the bars into the stone wall would have been a weak cement mix, because it had been built by convicts. They weren't fools. They had known their days were numbered, and they could end up behind those bars, for no reason other than the constabulary mood of the day.
George and Mason were the walking wounded, and weren’t much help with pushing.
Bear and Brownie pushed the Kombi up against a large gum tree; the bumper bar wedged tightly against it. George pulled out the .22 rifle, attached the silencer, and handed it to Bear.
Bear rested the rifle on the back of the Kombi, took aim, and fired. Pop, pop, pop; three streetlights were taken out quietly.
“LP, run and attach the winch to the jail bars.”
LP signalled the ‘all okay’ by raising his hand.
He stood back from the stone wall as Bear started the winch. Seconds later, the bars were out, taking half the stone wall with them. As though nothing had happened, Red walked casually out through the rubble and dust, as if he was taking a walk in the park.
“Get over here; there’s no time to waste. Let’s go,” Bear said.
Kat ran over to Red and gave him a hug. “Don’t ever leave me like that again,” she said as she helped him into the Kombi. “I’ll need to re-dress your wound, or it’ll get infected. That bandage isn’t red from blood; its red from dirt. Where have you been walking?”
“You don’t want to go there. Just re-dress my toes, and see if they’re still stitched onto my foot!”
George piped up, “I’m next. Kat, can you look at my ankle? It’s all swollen and bruised.”
“Shut up, George; Kat’s looking after me,” said Red.
“Well, she won’t be able to help you, because I’ve got the key to the first aid kit.”
“Hand it over.”
“No.”
“Hand it over, or you’ll have a broken leg, too. Anyway, George, how come this Kombi is fitted out with these extras? We’ve got a first aid kit, winch, auxiliary battery, floodlight, bulbar, long-range fuel tanks…”
“I bought it from Shannon’s Car Auctions. It was an ex-PMG vehicle from out bush. It was fitted with heaps of extras, because it was used by the government to lay telephone lines in the remote areas.”
“That’s great; just give me that bloody key,” Red replied.
George handed it over, and Kat unlocked the first aid kit. She pulled out a white bandage, and re-dressed Red’s wound.
George said again, “Can you do something about my ankle?”
Kat picked up the remainder of the bandage, and wrapped it tightly around his foot and ankle. “Are you sure that’s not too tight?”
“Its fine; you need to restrict movement.”
Mason called from the front seat, “Have a look at this.” He pointed to two puncture holes on his leg. “Can you do anything about this infection?”
Kat handed the Dettol to Mason. “Just dab it on and around the infected area. Take this bandage and wrap it up, and keep it on for a few days until the swelling goes down.”
“Have we all finished Days of our Lives back there?” LP asked. “We need to figure out which is the quickest way to Bells. I want to put some distance between us and this bloody town before the cops arrive and we all end up in jail.”
“Do a head count; are we missing anyone? Damm! Cassa didn’t come back last night. He must be shacked up with some bird.”
“That’s bloody great!”
George said, “We haven’t got time to look for him; we’ll have to leave him behind.”