Chapter 3

Gordy

I woke up with Weena literally all over me and an urgent need to rid myself of last night's beer. I looked at the clock. It was 7:10. Time to get up anyway. I eased myself out of bed — Weena mumbled something unintelligible. Once in the bathroom, I figured I might as well get ready, so I started to shower, too. About 90 seconds later, someone joined me.

"Need help?" the voice asked.

"O-o-o-h boy!" I responded. And turned around to hug and kiss my mate. After a few minutes, I said, "I'm going to shave, OK?"

"M-m-m-m."

So I did. I was just drying off when Weena, beautiful and shiny, became visible in the foggy mirror. "Is there a hair dryer?"

"To the left." I finished up and left her to the heat and noise. I was dressed when she emerged.

She pulled on a bikini and asked: "Do I need a bra?"

"My guess is that it'll be sunny and 30-plus. Would you want one? But wear long sleeves."

She pulled on a shirt, jeans, sox, and real shoes. "Let's go eat. I need coffee."

We were nibbling and chit-chatting when she said: "What about Charlie?"

"We'll see what develops. As they say, 'go with the flow'. How about getting up early tomorrow and going to Uluru?"

"Wonderful. Will we climb up?"

"I won't. All the tribes consider it sacrilege. And I think it's just wrong. Anyway, it should take about four hours or so to get there. If we leave here around 4:30 or so, we'll catch the morning light. We'll get to bed before 10 tonight. OK?"

"I guess so. I'll sleep in the rover."

Just then Charlie appeared, followed by a man in uniform. "Mornin' Weena, Gordy. This here's Sergeant Reynolds."

"G'day, sir, marm. It's Inspector, though most folks call me 'Spector John.' May I sit down?"

Weena said, "Of course," and I waved at the teenaged waitress, who immediately brought cups and a pot of coffee.

"Eaten yet?"

"Jes toast an' bacon or ham fer me," said Charlie.

"Coffee's fine, thanks," said John.

"Bring him an order of chops and fried bread," I told the girl. "Well, what's up?" Charlie nodded at the inspector.

"Well, sir, marm, I'm both Territorial force and Springs. Yesterday morning we were called because there was a dead man in a hotel room — not this hotel. Man named Stephen Vincent." He paused, pulled a notebook from a pocket and drank some coffee. "He seems to have been a businessman, big balance at the Commonwealth Bank here and investments in Adelaide. Lease down in the Petermann subregion. We got a medical report; he seems to have had a stroke or an aneurysm. So the Springs police have no problems with Mr. Grant. But I do, wearing my other hat."

Charlie's chops had arrived and he was consuming them as though we'd not eaten our fill a dozen hours ago. Worry makes you hungry, I guess.

Weena jumped in. "What about his family?"

"We've not located any. The Adelaide force has helped. But there's no 'next of kin' on his bank documents. He volunteered for the Royal Australian, but they put him at a desk job up in Palmerston because of his health. He was there for three years an' moved to Cumberland Park. ["That's a suburb of Adelaide," Weena said. "There's a tram stop there."] He seems to have been a quiet bloke. No known marriages. The bank here has no box in his name; the one in Adelaide does. We've faxed them a death certificate, so they can open it. They'll let us know what's in it."

"So what's your problem with Charlie?" Weena prodded.

Reynolds sighed. "OK. It's an immigration thing. He's here as a tourist with a job offer of sorts. But the offer came from the deceased. And there's no documents filed with Immigration and Citizenship."

"So?"

"So we're supposed to make sure he doesn't work and that he leaves Australia. And 'herdsman' isn't on their OCCUPATIONS IN DEMAND list."

"So he's trapped in the red tape?"

"No, it's worse. We've got 573 beeves in the pens at the freightyards consigned to Vincent. They're eatin' about a thousand dollars a day and drinkin' a lot o' water." Charlie snorted. "It's not funny. We've had two stockboys hurt in less than two days." Charlie was laughing so hard, tears were running down his cheeks.

Weena sparkled at Reynolds: "Well, then, I guess you need to tell the ministry that you need an expert herdsman. And he's here. And you're sending him back to the states."

There was dead silence. Weena said: "Otherwise you're in bullshit up to your boottops. And red tape won't keep it out."

"Jeesus, marm. You're a dandy! You folks married?" I nodded.

Weena said: "Just under two weeks. This is our honeymoon."

"Damn it all. You've got a live one, sir."

"Yeah. I know. Now, we're planning to visit Uluru tomorrow morning. We'll take Charlie with us. OK?"

"I can parole him to you, but I need your IDs and stuff."

"Just show him your government and university cards, Gordy. I need to get mine from our room." And she got up. Charlie was staring as though he was at a tennis match. I got my wallet out of my back pocket and found my CSIRO and UWA photo IDs and handed them to Reynolds. He looked at them and straightened up.

"Thank you, Doctor -- uh -- Professor Hollister. This is fine." He started transcribing data into his notebook. Weena came back with a plastic card and handed it to him. He looked at it. "Oh. Thank you, sister." He started writing again.

Charlie looked up. "Sister?"

Weena smiled. "Senior nurse. And my prescription for you, Mr. Reynolds, is that you see what more you can find out and what to do next."

"Right-o. Thanks, marm. Thanks for the coffee. I'll try to get some word to you in a few hours. OK?"

"Fine." "OK." "Ayup." He left. Charlie looked at us.

"Now, I know I'm a dumb cowboy, but could you tell me what just happened?"

"Weena got me to pull rank on him."

Charlie

"These people here are strange!" I told myself, as I listened to the conversation between the three of them. For the life of me, I couldn't understand half of it.

I'll be damned if I heard Weena, or Gordy, for that matter, take control. Just how did they Pull Rank? I had no idea, so I asked, "Well, yah could of fooled me; sounds to me like I'm still up the creek without a paddle."