Free Guns 'n' Rose by Robert G. Barrett

restaurant. Well, that was good timing, thought Les, as he paid the bill then walked back over to the car.
    Back at the house Les had a bit of time to spare so he turned the stereo on in the lounge and stared out the window through the trees behind the house at the glimpses of ocean beyond. Les was gazing at nothing in particular when he noticed what looked like a white soccer ball bobbing around by the edge of the pool. I wonder how that got there? he mused. Probably Carol. It’s either got a message on it or a bomb inside it. To kill a bit of time, Les thought he’d go down and take a look.
    It was a cheap plastic thing with a design on the side. Norton scooped it out of the pool and gave it a couple of bounces when he heard voices drifting up from behind Carol’s flat. That’s where it’s come from, nodded Les. The kids next door have kicked it over. He walked over to the fence to toss it back.
    The owner next door was wrestling around a red andblue tent with what must have been his wife and two children. He had dark hair, a moustache and glasses, and his wife was blonde. A boy about four had fair hair like his mother and the daughter about six had dark hair like Dad. They were all whooping and hollering around the tent as they tried to get it up, tried not to get in each other’s way and tried not to laugh at the same time. It was quite a funny scene and Les was trying to think of something it reminded him of. He was staring away, possibly a little rudely, and it dawned on him just as the husband looked up and caught his eye.
    â€˜I’ve seen this movie before,’ Les called out. ‘It’s the Griswolds.’
    The bloke looked at Les for a moment, then laughed. So did his wife. ‘Yeah, right,’ he answered back. ‘Hey, I’ve seen all those videos. They’re great.’
    â€˜Yeah, I don’t mind them myself,’ said Les. ‘Where are you off to? Wallyworld?’
    The bloke laughed again. ‘No, actually we’re going up to Myall Lake on the weekend. I just got this thing last night.’ He looked at the tent and shook his head. ‘I’ll get it together somehow.’
    â€˜You mean
we’ll
get it together, don’t you, dear,’ said his wife.
    â€˜Didn’t I just say that?’
    Norton thought he’d leave the Griswolds to it. ‘Hey, is this yours?’ he said, holding up the ball.
    â€˜Ohh, yeah, the kids must have kicked it up there. Sorry about that.’
    â€˜That’s okay.’ Les tossed the ball down to the kids, who immediately started kicking it around the backyard. ‘I’ll see you later.’
    â€˜Yeah, righto mate.’
    Norton glanced at his watch and went back inside the house. He poured himself a glass of orange juice and sipped that while he tidied up his room, then changed into a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt he bought in Montego Bay with Ire Jamaica on the front in red, green and yellow. After finishing his orange juice, he put the glass in the kitchen sink, got a tape, then climbed behind the wheel of the Berlina and headed for Kurrirong Juvenile Justice Centre.
    With ‘Big Man’ by Redneck Mothers bopping out of the stereo, the drive through Erina was a breeze and Les was past West Gosford and the Woy Woy turn-off and heading up the mountain road towards the gaol before he knew it. He turned right at the garage like it said on the directions he was given, and then past a football field or some kind of grassed oval dotted with trees and edged with a low white railing. There were more trees and blocks of old, colonial-style houses painted cream and blue with galvanised iron roofs, a boom gate and speed humps. Then Les turned right and went about another kilometre. This brought him onto a driveway set in nice bush surrounds with a fabulous view of Brisbane Water on the right and the gaol in front and on the left. There was a perspex or glass wall about ten metres