Let the Music Play - 32. Homegoing

Appearing to accept the explanation with a nod and a smile, ‘Jerry’ sat back in his seat to consider. The story made some sense, and it matched with what Helen had told him, but why, then, were the boys snooping around, and then leading him back to the container? That part made no sense, unless... the miserable twerps thought he was purloining their gear himself? With a heartfelt sense of relief, driven in part by wishing it were so rather than the logic in which he so prided himself, Jerry chuckled, “I should remind you that I have indemnified your equipment myself. If anything goes amiss at any point during shipping that your insurance does not cover, those costs will be immediately deducted from the shipping payments. Remember, my dear boy, I am only paid after each tour leg, and I am doing this at cost.”

Fueled by tequila, losing interest in Jerry, and with fun on his mind, Eric walked out the door, dimly aware that Jerry seemed very concerned about their snooping, which was accompanied by the gut feeling that he must be hiding something. He hoped he would remember later, but for now, there were other things afoot. Spying Brandon and Chase’s cottage ahead and hoping they were there, Eric crept towards it, pausing to listen near a bedroom window, wondering what they were doing in there and, more to the point, how he could best interrupt them. A soft creek of bedsprings confirmed his suspicions. An idea crept into his consciousness, fully formed, and he turned right, heading for the restaurant.

Jerry watched him go, and took care to hide the tequila bottle in his dresser before strolling out the door, fingering the sheathed knife in his pocket, content with the way his plan was coming together.

* * *

In the privacy of their bedroom, Brandon rolled with Chase, laughing, giggling, hands questing for the most sensitive of places, as their eyes met and they pulled together for a deep and furious kiss. One of the things that had most amazed Brandon about his relationship with Chase was how joyful he was in bed; happy, playful, yet in a way that Brandon found erotic beyond words.

Burning with passion, concentrating on his boyfriend, Brandon never noticed the door to their room inching open, nor the approach of stealthy footsteps. He had no warning as Chase’s yell came too late.

The sensation was all-consuming, the stab of cold, prickling over every inch of the back of his body, his chest contracting as if in an iron vice. He hugged Chase, more out of reflex than thought, fighting to breathe, trembling. The ice and frigid water cascading down his sides left him unable to speak. Chase, face-up below him, had been shielded from the bulk of the frigid cascade. It was now pooling along his sides, prompting him to find his voice as his eyes fell upon the cause. “You’re so fucking dead, bro!” Chase cried out, as his teeth began to chatter.

Rolling off his boyfriend, Brandon shuddered, looking up at Eric, who was at the foot of the bed with a very large bucket held above his head as he did a victory dance. The bucket, now empty, had been filled with ice and a little water. Eric began to whoop as he danced, celebrating what he considered a perfect prank. Brandon, naked and trembling, in part from the cold and another part in anger, stumbled from the bed, staggering, and slipping on the scattered ice cubes that littered the tile floor. Brandon fell with a crash, landing hard on his shoulder, letting out a gasp of pain.

“Brand, are you okay,” Chase asked through chattering teeth as he rolled to peer over the side of the bed.

Nursing his aching shoulder, Brandon mumbled, “I think so, but Eric won’t be for long...”

Brandon scrambled to his feet as Eric interrupted his victory dance to dash for the door. Brandon, wary of the ice, stumbled for a few paces, clearing the bedroom door to see Eric in the living room, again with the bucket held above his head, swinging his hips and whooping it up as he danced. Seeing red, Brandon charged towards his antagonist. Eric saw him coming, and tossing the empty bucket at Brandon, he dashed for the door, just out of Brandon’s reach.

His mind not quite clear after the shock of the fall and the ice, thinking of nothing but his target and craving some payback, Brandon sprinted in pursuit, with Eric remaining just out of reach. Twenty feet later, Brandon became aware of a very pronounced draft. Stumbling to a halt, he turned on his heel and dashed back for the cottage, as Eric stopped and yelled at Brandon, “Forget something, bro?” before doubling over and laughing hysterically at his naked, fleeing friend.

Racing back into his cottage, Brandon slammed the door and turned to see Chase, who had pulled on a pair of shorts, staring at him. For a long moment, Chase was trembling, clutching his sides, trying not to laugh at his boyfriend. Brandon dashed for the bedroom and grabbed a pair of shorts, tugging them on as he stumbled back into the living room to say, “You’ve gotta help me get Eric back for this.... Think up something really evil.”

Brandon found Chase examining a living room window, fingering a bent window screen. “Yeah, that was too much, even for him; the door was locked so he came in through the window and mangled the screen.” Thinking out loud, Chase added, “He only does stuff like this when he’s...”

Chase’s voice trailed off and Brandon completed the sentence, “Been drinking tequila. Oh, shit, not again. Helen made sure the resort bar wouldn’t serve him, and she confirmed it again yesterday. How the fuck did he get tequila here? Come on, we better find him fast.” Brandon opened the door, walking back outside as Chase followed behind, and they broke into a run, dashing off searching for Eric, heading in the direction of the beach.

Eric, peeking around the corner of their cottage, watched them go, stifling a laugh. He was about to follow to see what fun he could have when a movement out of the corner of his eye diverted his attention. With an evil grin, he spied an even better victim for some fun: Jerry.

With his back turned and walking towards the pool, Jerry, in Eric’s opinion, made a perfect target. Stooping to scoop up some mud from a drainage channel, Eric smiled, anticipating smearing it all over his victim before shoving him into the pool.

Eric crept closer, closing in behind Jerry, but never bothering to check his own back. Eric bolted upright in surprise as Chase charged past him, and then spun around to block him. Thanks to the tequila, Eric didn’t realize that where Chase was, so would be....

“Oomph,” Eric sputtered as Brandon grabbed him from behind, locking him in an iron grip and pinning Eric’s arms to his sides.

Chase closed in as Brandon said, “Now that we’ve got him, it’s payback time... Let’s get him back to the cottage and find out where he’s got the tequila, and then we’ll get some revenge.”

Breaking into an evil grin as he looked at his squirming brother, Chase said, “I think I know how to do both. He’s ticklish, remember?”

Brandon began hauling his squirming captive back towards the cottage he shared with Chase, just a few yards away, but changed course for Eric’s cottage after a few steps. Eric tried to break free, struggling, kicking, and gasping out, “I was only having some fun, let me go.”

“Paybacks are a bitch, bro,” Brandon replied with a snicker as he hauled Eric into the cottage. Brandon heaved Eric onto the couch, not letting go, pinning him from above, scissoring his legs to pin Eric’s, letting his body come to rest on top of Eric. Once Brandon was sure he had Eric pinned, he told Chase, “I got him, get to work.”

Chase immediately attacked the bottoms of Eric’s feet with his fingers, causing his brother to thrash and scream with laughter. Brandon had to struggle to hold his squirming captive and Eric gasped, “Stop, I give, let me go...”

“Not so fast, bro,” Chase replied as he continued his torment of Eric’s feet, “You can start by telling us where the tequila is.”

Eric squirmed and bucked, starting to sweat, and Brandon nearly lost his grip on his band mate’s bare, slippery torso. Tightening his grip as Eric twisted and giggled, Brandon told him, “Spill it bro, because I can keep this up all day.”

Sputtering between spasms of laughter, Eric replied, “Jerry has it. He offered me a drink when I got back, now stop!”

“Jerry isn’t here.” Chase said, chucking as he continued to tickle his brother.

Jon, coming back from jet-skiing, strolled in the door. He’d heard Eric’s laughing pleas from outside and figured Brandon and Chase were paying him back for something. Walking into the living room, he plopped down in a chair opposite the couch and laughed at Eric’s predicament. He became slightly less pleased when Chase glanced up to explain, “Tequila.”

Rolling his eyes, Jon asked, “Oh, shit. What did he do?”

“He got Brandon and me with a big bucket of ice, while we were, ah, in bed,” Chase replied with a slight blush, and then added, “We’re making him tell us where he got the tequila.”

Barely able to talk because he was so short of breath, Eric gasped between his laughs, “I told... you. Je... Jerry.... has it.”

“Jerry isn’t here, so tell us where you got it.” Chase said as he renewed his assault on his brother’s feet.

“Jerry arrived a few hours ago, and Helen had him bunk with us,” Jon said, wondering if Jerry had forgotten the scene Eric had made at the fundraiser back in Los Angeles, thanks to tequila.

Surprised at the news, Chase stopped tickling Eric and asked him, “Spill it bro, or I’ll start again.”

Catching his breath, Eric gave in and replied, “He asked for a soda, then got the bottle from his room. After a few drinks, he showed me a newspaper with the picture of us in the shipping container. He wanted to know what we were doing.”

Brandon eased his grip slightly as he said, “Jerry fed Eric tequila the last time he was here, too.”

“You guys deal with Eric. I think I need to go have a chat with Jerry,” Jon said as he stood up and walked out the door.

Eric began to squirm again, asking in a petulant voice, “I told you guys what you wanted to know, so let me up.”

Chase laughed the loudest. “You’re forgetting the payback we promised, bro,” and he again began to tickle Eric.

* * *

Jon found Jerry sitting by the pool with a snifter of brandy, and pulled up a chair to take a seat beside him. Jon wasn’t happy, so he got right to the point. “I know what you did.”

Jerry felt his gut clench, assuming that Jon was referring to the murder. Reaching deftly for side pocket and the knife within, Jerry decided to be certain first. “What do you mean, my friend?” he asked with an innocent smile.

Jon crossed his arms and replied, “I know you gave Eric tequila. I also remember telling you, at your party, that we need to keep Eric away from tequila because he goes nuts. He dumped you in the pool the day we arrived and you knew that was due to tequila. I also know that you bought Eric some tequila last time you were here. I think you’d better explain yourself.”

Relieved that the situation was not as he’d first feared, Jerry ignored the impertinent order and smiled apologetically, “I must confess, yes, I recall our conversation at my party and I certainly remember my impromptu dip. Simply put, I offer no excuses, I was quite wrong. I just wanted him to have some fun; I know how confined you all are, and that sweet boy did complain so about not being allowed his favorite drink. I merely felt sorry for him. I do have a taste for the fruits of the blue agave myself, and I’d hoped that here he could have a bit of fun. I shall never do it again, on that, you have my word.”

Jon stared impassively at Jerry as he considered the explanation. The part that seemed the most plausible was Eric’s complaining about being denied tequila. That, he had no doubt at all, was true.

The rest did not, in Jon’s opinion, add up. If Eric didn’t have misgivings about Jerry, Jon would have brushed it off but he was not so inclined, under the circumstances. Choosing his words with care, Jon said, “I just don’t get you. Your son has a substance abuse problem and you’re giving my brother something that makes him crazy. I can’t have it happening again. I need to get rid of that tequila, right now.”

With a meek shrug, Jerry said, “It is in the bottom of the dresser in my room. By all means get rid of it right away, and please accept my abject apologies, for I have acted reprehensibly, I see that now.”

Without another word, Jon walked away, heading for his cottage. Jerry watched him go; rolling the brandy around in his snifter before taking a sip, hoping that he could retain their trust for just a few more weeks. If not, he mused, he had other options for planting the bombs. Alternatively, he thought, if they indicated any further suspicion or any threat to his bomb-planting venture, there were always the sharks on the coming boat excursion.

Jon strolled into his cottage, listening to Eric’s frantic gasps and giggles as the payback proceeded. Returning to his seat, Jon said with a chuckle, “I’m not saying stop, but I think it’s been long enough that Eric is no longer in tequila mode.”

Brandon, deciding that Eric had been tormented enough, rolled off him and stood up, much to Chase’s dismay. Eric sat up, catching his breath, as Brandon and Chase took seats on either side of him, just in case he wasn’t quite over the tequila. Jon stood up and walked to Jerry’s room, returning with the bottle of Tequila, and making a beeline for the sink. Eric’s eyes widened in horror as he said, “Don’t do it bro, that’s alcohol abuse!”

“Keep him there for a bit,” Jon told Brandon and Chase as he poured the tequila down the drain. Eric made no attempt to get up, remaining seated, covered in sweat, with a scowl on his face.

Jon returned to his seat and said, “I just read Jerry the riot act. Eric, I think you were right about him all along. His actions don’t add up. He knows how you are on tequila and he keeps giving it to you, and he’s supposedly all broken up about his son’s drug problems? The whole reason he claims he’s giving us such a great deal on the shipping is so we’d help Lump if he shows up, but y’all ever notice that he hasn’t mentioned Lump the whole time we’ve been in Australia, not even to ask if we’ve heard from him?”

“Our gear is on its way to L.A. so it will get there no matter what. I say we fire Jerry’s ass,” Eric said, and then added, “But I want to be the one to tell him.”

Jon sighed. “I wish it was that easy. We’ve still got three concerts in the U.S. when our gear arrives, and the arrangements are tricky due to the timing and distances. We might be screwing ourselves if we can him now, and Helen would put up more of a fight for that reason. Look, it’s only for a few more weeks and then the tour is over. Let’s wait until then and let Eric fire him.”

“I just want him gone; I hate that guy,” Eric said, obviously disagreeing with any notion of waiting. The other three members of Instinct, however, were swayed by the practical considerations, and, after a short but heated discussion, decided to wait a few weeks as Jon had suggested.

The day drew to a close, and to everyone except Eric, Jerry seemed to be his usual happy self. To Eric, though, he seemed more suspicious than ever. It was very rare for Eric to hate anyone, but he hated Jerry with a seething passion. There was just something about Jerry that came across to Eric as wrong, and Eric dimly remembered Jerry’s probing questions on the two occasions the man had given him tequila. Just a feeling, but Eric trusted his instinct. Not wanting to be around Jerry, Eric spent the evening with Brandon and Chase in their cottage, where they were soon joined by Jon, and ended up playing video games late into the night.

After breakfast the following day, Eric led The Shadows, Instinct, and Jerry down to the beach to await the arrival of the charter yacht. At first, Helen had decided to pass on this excursion and spend a day by the pool. However, seeing the happy faces of her guys, and wanting to spend some fun time with them, she decided to tag along instead. She knew that Günter wanted to do some shopping so she gave him the day off, figuring that they would all be safe enough on a private yacht.

Eric shouted out in joy as the sixty-foot yacht – the same one that had taken them surfing before – hove into view, cruising parallel to the beach.

They all walked down to the surf line as the yacht’s inflatable Zodiac, its outboard rumbling, picked its way in through the breakers. After a few trips, everyone was aboard, standing beside the charter boat’s stern swim/dive platform.

Steve, Wilde, and Zeke, none of whom had ever been on a yacht before, stood on the teak deck, looking at the boat’s sleek lines and its white with black glass theme. Steve, who was meticulous by nature, noticed that every metal fitting was carefully polished to a brilliant sheen.

The captain, Carl, strolled out with confidence and nodded towards the members of Instinct. “G’day again, and welcome back,” Addressing everyone, he continued, “As some of you may remember, this here,” he said, flipping a thumb at his partner, “is Drake. He’s going to be giving surfing lessons again for those that want ‘em, and we’re also going to have a cookout.”

After giving his newer guests a brief tour of the boat and its facilities, the skipper said, “Due to the surf conditions today, the place we went last time is probably blown out. So, we’re going to try a sandbar break on Double Island Point.

Shoving the twin throttles forward, the skipper angled out to sea, navigating by sight for the distant profile offered by the hills of Double Island Point. The warm breeze across the decks grew stronger as the yacht sliced through the azure-blue waters, and Jerry sauntered forward to the front deck, where Instinct and The Shadows had gathered along the rails, enjoying the wind and the view.

Exchanging a friendly nod with Brandon and Chase, Jerry noticed some hesitancy, a slight edge of unease in his presence that had been previously lacking. He was concerned by it, and Eric and Jon’s even less-friendly, though cordial, greetings set his teeth on edge; did they suspect something? With ten people to dispose of, Jerry knew that it would be a difficult and risky task, one best avoided unless absolutely needful. When he had originally considered the option, he hadn’t known that The Shadows would also be on board. He judged his chances of success as remote against such numbers, even with his knife. He’d noticed the rifle the skipper used mainly against sharks, so his best plan, he decided, would be to wait until at least half the group was surfing or ashore, and make an attempt for the rifle. With it, he could pick them off one by one with ease, but that would likely involve the authorities no matter what he concocted as a cover.

Standing at the rail and exchanging somewhat strained banter with Brandon and Chase, ‘Jerry’ reluctantly decided to refrain from killing them all, for now – at least until his nuclear devices had been safely unloaded, two weeks hence. The risk in trying to eliminate all of them while on the boat was too high.

Anchored off the beach at Double Island Point, surfboards were deployed, and the members of Instinct, accompanied by Zeke, took to the five-foot waves under Drake’s tutelage. Returning to the boat for a snack break an hour later, Eric cornered Wilde and said, “I know you skate, dude, so why don’t you give surfing a try?”

Egged on by both Eric and Steve, Wilde agreed, and with only a little evident unease pulled off his shirt and followed Eric to the swim/dive platform and the waiting surfboard. With difficulty, Wilde paddled away for his first surfing lesson, heading for Drake at the lineup.

As soon as Wilde was out of earshot, Steve said, “He’d never have taken his shirt off in public like that before. You’ve worked a miracle on him, you know that?”

Smiling, Eric replied, “I just gave him a push, and dragged his ass out into the sun. I was right about one thing; he’s got a bit of a tan now and you can barely see those scars. Keep getting him some sun and he’ll be just fine. Besides, he looks a lot better now that he’s not deathly pale.”

Nodding, Steve turned to give Eric a grateful smile. “Will do. Thanks for doing this. Hell, thanks for all you and your group have done for us; this gig has made our name. If there’s ever anything I can do for you guys –”

Leaping at the opening Steve had given, Eric interrupted to say, “There is something you could help me with...” and proceeded to fill Steve in on the idea he’d been toying with.

Two hours later, Eric came back aboard after another round of surfing, grinning at having experienced his first time in the Green Room. The color of the light filtering through the sea gives the Green Room its name, and like so many surfers before, Eric had felt at one with the sea, part of it, the deep roar and the sensation of speed, and a feeling of peace, had convinced Eric that for him, surfing would become a regular part of his life.

Steve and Eric hung back, waiting while Drake returned in the Zodiac, having dropped off Helen and Wilde on the beach. The only others remaining aboard the yacht were Jerry and the Skipper. Eric and Steve had offered to help carry the food for the cookout, as per Eric’s plan.

Eric, carrying an ice chest, scrambled into the Zodiac first. Jerry clambered in, taking a seat beside him, and Steve, also carrying an ice chest, hesitated as he looked into the bobbing zodiac, asking Jerry and Drake,” Could you guys take this, I think I might drop it.”

Drake and Jerry stood up to help, both of them focusing on the cooler, just as Eric had intended. Sitting placidly with the cooler in his lap, Eric pulled his foot back a few inches, positioned it behind Jerry’s feet, and gave a quick but hard push.

Jerry, who was reaching for the ice chest, felt his feet sailing out from under him, and his arms flailed back in a futile but instinctive attempt to regain his balance. Jerry toppled backwards, falling ass-first onto the zodiac’s pontoon, as his momentum carried him backwards, over the edge and into the sea with what Eric thought was a very satisfying splash.

Flailing around under water, The Scar, furious ­– he’d felt the kick from Eric’s foot and had no doubt that it was intentional – put his hand on his head, hoping that the mild adhesive which held his toupee in place was still in place. Relieved to find that it was, he shot his other hand into his pocket, questing for his knife, momentarily driven by rage. Calming himself enough to slip back into his role of ‘Jerry’ as he broke the surface and kicked towards the boat, he forced himself, reluctantly and only in service to his greater plans, to forsake any immediate revenge.

Drake helped haul Jerry back into the zodiac, and the dripping man scattered a few drops on Eric as he clambered in. Sitting down across from Eric, Jerry gave him a momentary glare. Eric, still in just a pair of board shorts, didn’t mind that Jerry had splashed a few drops of water, but he felt chilled by the glare he received. Glancing up, Eric noticed that Jerry’s hair was badly out of place, and realized he was looking at a toupee. With a wicked grin, Eric told Jerry, “Dude, your hair is crooked, better fix it.”

Adjusting his hairpiece, Jerry, slipping slightly out of character, said in a low tone that belied his bemused smile, “My, I never thought I’d be going for a dip today. What a surprise that was.”

Arriving at the beach, the zodiac disgorged its passengers, and as Helen spied Jerry, still dripping and wearing a thoroughly soaked polo shirt and walking shorts, she blurted out the obvious, “Jerry, you’re all wet!”

With a nod, Jerry replied in a cheerful tone, “I took an unexpected dip in the sea while getting into the zodiac. No harm done.”

Helen cast a suspicious eye in Eric’s direction, and found him smiling innocently, holding an ice chest. She arched an eyebrow as she studied him, suspecting that he’d had a hand in Jerry’s plunge, but before she could say anything Drake announced, “We’ll need some driftwood for a fire, then we can get this cookout underway.”

An hour later, Drake and Carl had the steaks sizzling on an iron grid propped up on rocks over the flames of their fire-pit. The members of Instinct and The Shadows, along with Helen and Jerry, sat around the fire, staring out over the water at the gorgeous sunset, enjoying the end to the day, each lost in their own thoughts.

Returning to the resort later that night, Jerry, desperate to be anywhere else, retrieved his cell phone from his suitcase, and pretended to return a call. After having spoken briefly into the inactive device for the benefit of any eavesdroppers, he dashed out into the living room, suitcase in hand, and told Jon and Eric, “I’m afraid I really must be going. There has been a sudden development with my charity, and also one with dear Vlad. Thank you kindly for your hospitality, I shall see you when you return to Los Angeles, if not before. Do enjoy your stay.”

Without waiting for an answer, Jerry rushed out the door, and stopped by Helen’s cottage to bid her farewell. She answered the knock and Jerry gushed his apologies, repeating what he’d told Jon and Eric. Helen was not overly surprised, because she’d noticed that Jerry had a habit of rushing around, but the news of Vlad tugged at her heart. Motioning for the reluctant Jerry to come in she said, “I have something for him; I had Günter pick it up while he was shopping today.” Helen disappeared into her room, and emerged a few seconds later, struggling with an enormous stuffed kangaroo that approached six feet in height. Jerry gave her a genuine smile as he envisioned the engineer’s reaction, and as Helen passed by, tugging the kangaroo out the door, she said, “I’ll help you load it. If you put the passenger seat back it should fit.”

Five minutes later, and with not a little difficulty, Helen and Jerry had shoehorned the stuffed animal into the Land Rover’s left-hand seat. Turning to thank Helen, Jerry said, “Dear lady, I have no doubt that Vlad will be delighted with this. He was not well enough to attend your concert in Brisbane, and I’m afraid his condition is very grave, but all we can do is make him as comfortable as possible in his final weeks.”

Saddened, Helen offered, “If there is anything I can do, let me know right away. If there is anything he needs, and a donation would help...”

Jerry thought about it for a moment. He was quite tempted to accept the offer; it would be in keeping with his charitable image, after all. However, he knew that his remaining funds, though reduced by the project to slightly less than five million dollars U.S., were more than sufficient for any likely needs in the following weeks. He had almost decided to decline the offer, when a happy thought entered his mind; ‘Ah, yes, the irony would be delicious’.

“My dear,” Jerry said in his most gracious voice, “There are always expenses, and any donation that you could give would be most welcome, either for Vlad, or for the many other children my charity serves.”

Ten minutes later, pulling out of the resort onto the highway, The Scar patted his shirt pocket, smiling at the thought of the check – drawn on Helen’s personal account – contained therein. A grin crept across his face as he savored the irony he so loved; he’d use Helen’s donation as part of Mario’s retainer.

* * *

A few hours later, The Scar parked the Land Rover at his Toowoomba facility. A concerned Dimitri was there to meet him. After sweeping both the vehicle and the giant stuffed kangaroo, Dimitri asked, “How is the situation, Vohzd?”

With a relaxed and happy smile, The Scar replied, “The band seems to be suspicious of me, but they appear to know nothing. They expressed some concerns over the safety of their equipment, so I am still concerned over the unloading and planting of the devices, but I believe the situation will suffice, so long as Mario can eliminate them quickly after the devices have been planted. Their manager was even kind enough to give me a donation that I shall use towards Mario’s retainer.”

Sharing a laugh with The Scar over that thought, Dimitri angled his head at the enormous kangaroo. “Vladimir will be delighted with this. Shall we go give it to him? I would suggest that you present it to him; that should allay any concerns he has regarding your feelings in his regard.”

Entering the work area that had once been a cleanroom, they found the engineer pouring over a set of plans. He looked up to see the enormous stuffed kangaroo in The Scar’s arms, and beamed in heartfelt delight. With a smile, The Scar set the kangaroo down next to the engineer. “This is for your collection, Vladimir. I think we will need to get you a pickup truck for when you have been paid and leave us, so you can take them with you.”

The engineer took note of The Scar’s remarks, and he was indeed delighted with the kangaroo. However, his concerns, both for his payment and his safety, were not abated. He hefted the giant kangaroo onto a nearby empty bombcase, before turning to Dimitri and The Scar to thank them for the gift. His gratitude was heartfelt, and as they left and he returned to his work, he spared a moment to ponder the nuclear device, sitting on its palate a few yards away. Running his hand over the burnished metal of the case, he savored the product of his labors. In his mind, he’d achieved a wonder; crafting such a device with exceedingly finite resources. Its design was bulky, far larger and heavier than he felt could be achieved with a proper test program, but given the unknowns, he’d had no choice but to dramatically over-engineer the devices. Modern computer-controlled machine tools had made his task possible, achieving precision measured in microns, though his design had been the key. He had been surprised to find how much he enjoyed the work, pitting his skill and mental abilities against such a challenge.

Returning to his work, he again consulted his designs; his employer wanted more of the assembly jigs and cradles, along with non-reactive metal components of the core assembly. Checking his inventory notes, the engineer decided on which components to focus on, and their sequence. He’d need to go to the desert facility to supervise the metallurgical work, before returning to his Toowoomba workshop for the precision machining. He could afford no delays; the remaining work would keep him and the other workers very busy indeed.

* * *

At the Bunyip Beach resort, Helen had a surprise for the bands; after checking the flight schedules and checking with the resort’s owner, she’d decided that moving back to Brisbane for one night was rather pointless. Instead, they would stay an extra day at the resort, and then leave before dawn for their late-morning non-stop flight from Brisbane to Los Angeles.

Everyone, with the sole exception of Eric, was delighted with the news. He’d very much wanted to pay a surreptitious visit to Toowoomba and have a look at wherever Jerry had been going. He considered sneaking away and renting a car, but he didn’t know the area, nor, for that matter, whether a nineteen-year-old could rent a car in Australia. A quick check of the Internet indicated that he could not, and though the option of hiring someone to drive him did cross his mind, he considered the risks to the band that bad publicity could generate if his excursion went awry. He consoled himself with the thought that Jerry would be out of their lives soon enough, right after the tour, and that, he tried to convince himself, would be good enough.

The remaining days of their vacation passed all too speedily, as good times are wont to do. Days in the sun, and surfing at the beach, all too soon drew too a close, and it was time to leave the resort and head for home. Within hours, they were in their seats as the Qantas 747 roared down the runway, beginning its thirteen-hour non-stop flight. Their Australian sojourn may have been over, but the memories of which, would never fade.