Just like the old days, how blue (how true)
Now I’m playing them again, how weary
Now I’m just living those old day blues (again)
They sent me to the clink, caged me like a rat (raging)
Doing simple things just like stealing a car
Doing the simple that got me doing time
And gave me just like the old day blues
A cop comes up, I know the score (his score)
Click go the handcuffs, clickety, clickety clink
The days slip around my wrist, old day blues
Got to change my ways, got to keep so clean
Give up the road and the smile of my whore
Oh yeah, no more old day blues for me, oh no more, no more.
Tommy was as good as his word even though it was a work day. Balga met him as soon as he reached St. Kilda and took him to his bungalow. Tommy took a loan of his long striped cardigan while the lad flashed his modified car coat at him. The tailor had done a good job and it was such a well fitting garment that Balga had even spent some of his small cash stash on getting a new pair of strides at a discount of course from his new friend. These were the new thin straight legged ones and he had to admit they went well with the coat making him look like the Frankenstein monster but sharp and even better than Fast Eddy. Indeed, he was tempted to go and show off to him later and maybe score one of his girls to celebrate his birthday.
‘Where will we go to celebrate? What about a feed first,’ Balga suggested.
‘Good, I’m starving. Hey, you know there’s a grouse fish and chip shop in Barkly Street. We can have a great feed there for less than a couple of beers.’
‘Okay, I’m with you. I haven’t had a good feed of fish and chips since I left Perth.’
‘Let’s go, it’s not far,’ Tommy said and they sashayed out to reach the shop. It was run not by the usual Greek but by a friendly Aussie who they found out was second generation Greek.
‘Well, what will you Sharpies be having, cod or whiting?’ he asked cheerily.
‘Flake because we’re a couple of sharks,’ Balga replied, ‘with two bobs worth of chips and a happy birthday thrown in for nix.’
‘Same I suppose,’ Tommy added, ‘but hold the happy birthday.’
After they got their tucker with a happy birthday free for Balga, they walked along a bit and came to a tram stop bench where they quickly demolished their fish and chips. As they were wiping their greasy mouths and thinking of getting a drink, a city tram trundled up.
‘Hey, how about the pictures,’ Balga exclaimed.
‘I wanted a drink,’ protested Tommy.
‘We’ll have time for a couple at that pub just opposite the station. What’s it called?’
‘The Melbourne I think, that’s the pub with the Cloe painting in the public bar.’
‘Yeah, I think that’s the one, but I thought it was The George.’
‘Well, whatever,’ and the two mates went on arguing about the pub’s name and thus forgetting that public bars in Victoria closed promptly at six and so when they got off at the station and crossed to the pub, which they found was called Young & Jacksons, it was completely dead so not only didn’t Balga and Tommy get to see the famous nude painting over the bar but had to cross over to the station for a coke with which Tommy ironically toasted his mate.
‘Let’s see what flic’s on at the Regent,’ Balga suggested.
‘Yeah,’ Tommy answered not very enthusiastically.
Balga felt his birthday was turning out a bit of a dud and all the enjoyment he had had so far was when Nancy at work had given him a kiss not on the cheek, but on the mouth. They reached the Regent. The show was Blackboard Jungle which must be a gas as it was about juvenile delinquents. ‘Remember those days when we were rebels without a cause,’ Balga grinned at Tommy.
‘Yeah, I remember them well as I was locked up for far too long.’
‘Yeah, but look they’re made a picture about us. We’re famous.’
‘Maybe, but I can give that sort of fame a miss.’
‘I can’t and maybe one day someone’ll get around to Aussie Delinks and do a whole picture on us and when that happens will you still be saying: “Oh, it’s a bit late, ain’t it?” Well, it’s the time to say a last goodbye to my kiddy life so let’s get in and see this flick,’ Balga retorted with a shrug of his padded shoulders before checking his pockets for money to find that he had forgotten his wallet which held all his notes. He tried to borrow from Tommy.
‘Hey, you still owe me a couple quid and I’ve just got enough cash for my ticket,’ his mate retorted.
‘Okay, but I’m going to see this movie even if I have to steal for it. Come on let’s walk along a bit,’ Balga said suddenly angry.
Just a short way up from the theatre was an alley passing through to Flinders Lane. Balga turned with his mate and began walking down it. In front of them was a bloke an office worker from the looks of him. ‘There’s my ticket money,’ Balga said with a grin to his mate. He hurried and caught up with the bloke. ‘Hey, Bodgie, it ain’t worth it,’ Tommy began; but Balga wasn’t listening. He felt big and tough in his coat and dangerous so he called: ‘Hey, Bud, hold on a minute. Yeah, just a minute! You know me and me mate here are a bit short of cash. Can you spare a quid?’
The square stood still. His eyes flickered from Balga to Tommy and back again. What would these louts do if he didn’t come through, he must have thought? Balga looked mean and nasty. He grinned like a wolf as he stared at the mark’s right hand coming up to sneak inside his jacket to his pocket. He made out the bulge of the wallet and watched the man fumbling to get out the note. He felt like taking the lot, but Tommy had his hand on his shoulder. The bloke brought out a note. Balga gave a giggle. A nice blue blue fiver. Balga snatched it and said softly ‘That’ll do nicely, thank you.’
The man hurried off. Balga watched him and then with Tommy hurried back to Collins Street.
‘Bodgie that was stupid, what if he goes to the cops,’ Tommy protested.
‘How can he, all we did was ask him for some dough and he gave us a fiver. Let’s get into the theatre anyway and hide out. A joke, but we’ll be off the street.’ He laughed harshly.
God Save the Queen came on but they stayed sitting while everyone else stood. A Tom and Gerry cartoon flickered out its old story of cat chasing mouse and they laughed loudly. This was followed by a newsreel. Some war was going on in an Asian place called Vietnam and then there was Eisenhower swinging a golf club as he said that it was a communist plot. Balga yawned and suddenly out belted the opening bars of Rock Around the Clock. Their feet banged on the floor to the beat. Balga’s birthday was being celebrated. The Delink gave it to the squares playing as hard as Balga had with his life and future. Of course, he ended up in prison; but this was what happened to those who rebelled against what society flung at them.
‘Eh,’ Balga overcome by the film whispered to Tommy when it was over, ‘that was the grousest flick I’ve seen since ever, Let’s go and pinch a car and get some kicks. Who wants to ride in a bloody tram when there’s lots of cars just sitting idle.’
‘What,’ Tommy asked.
‘That one! I worked on the same model as a mechanic. I can get into it easily.’
He did. Tommy hesitated and then got in. They blasted up Collins Street and Balga gunned it through Richmond to Hawthorn. ‘This was the square place they put me in,’ he shouted and roared through the deserted streets, zoomed back across the Yarra and charged up Punt Road.
He ditched the car at the big face of the Amusement Park and as he got out shouted to Tommy: ‘Yeah, that was a great beginning wasn’t it, the theatre silent then Rock Around the Clock slamming in. Nothing like a driving beat, man, such a buzz, hey, hey!’
‘But…’ Tommy began.
Balga was speeding in his mind, still hyped up from the film: ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘let’s go and see Fast Eddy. We can do his chicks.’
‘Not tonight, I have to go on duty early tomorrow.’
‘Ah, come on, it’s on the way home.’
Tommy was about to protest then went quiet. A car slowed to move along with them. ‘Bloody pavement crawlers,’ Balga said angrily; but it wasn’t. The bloke sitting in the passenger seat released the catch on the back door and gestured at them. He was just a blur of a white face in the darkness; but they knew that cop voice that brooked no denial. ‘Get in!’
They got in. Balga flashed a look at Tommy. His face had gone pale. He was shaking so Balga had to put some spirit in him. ‘Come on,’ we haven’t done nothing,’ he said to the big bloke beside him!
‘Shut the fuck up,’ the driver growled.
‘Yeah, shut the fuck up,’ his mate backed him up with a similar growl.
The car pulled up in front of what appeared to be a block of flats and the two lads were ordered out. One of the demons went before them and the other behind. In between like the meat in thick crusts of bread they were carried up stairs and into what turned out to be a police station.
‘What the heck,’ Balga began.
‘Welcome to the station, kids,’ the first D. growled. ‘My God don’t these two look right nongs. Ey, you come and sit with me at that desk,’ he ordered Tommy.
‘And I’m to go with the other bloke,’ Balga exclaimed suddenly aware that there was something familiar about the detective.
‘Keep your gob shut,’ the demon spat out. He winked and then blam his fist came out in a short jab into Balga’s belly.
It was then he learnt the uses a thick coat had. He fell back in surprise or double surprise for the heavy fist sunk into the cloth and he wasn’t even winded. The bloke shoved him into a chair and he recognised the detective as the man that had been with Jeannie. He hoped that this might be to his advantage as questions came: name, date of birth, address and work.
‘How come they got you working there,’ the detective queried.
‘I have to work somewhere if I don’t want to be a crim,’ Balga retorted.
‘We’ll see about that crim bit,’ he said and picked up a phone and got onto records. He got Tommy’s name as well from the other demon and gave it in.
The two lads waited in silence, well, almost silence as Tommy suddenly began to snivel as if he was a little kid. Gee, what was wrong with him, Balga thought. He would never give those bastards the satisfaction of crying in front of them. Not on your Nelly and then the phone rang.
‘Christ, they both got records as long as your arm,’ the phone bloke exclaimed, ‘and this bloke’s an Abo.’
‘I’m not, my father was an American from New Orleans and I’ve only got a juvenile record,’ Balga protested refusing to be intimidated. ‘It’s supposed to be destroyed when you reach eighteen too.’
‘Tell that to the judge when he reads it,’ the demon sneered, ‘and as for you, you ain’t no juvenile delinquent are you? And I’ve seen you around St. Kilda. Trying to get a racket going and without my sayso.’
‘Not me, I just want to remain straight. We were only out celebrating my birthday,’ Balga whined.
‘By stealing a car -?’
‘No sir, not me, I can’t even drive. I ain’t got no license.’
‘And this one is working at the Wales. God knows what he’s up to there,’ broke in Tommy’s cop.
The only answer from Tommy was a sob that made Balga feel sorry for him. No wonder he wasn’t a Saint. Well, not everyone could make the grade.
‘So, you two better stay clean and now that we’ve been so to speak formally introduced, I’ll see you around,’ said Balga’s cop. ‘Go on, get out of here. Scat and consider yourselves lucky that we don’t book you for being you and not us.’
Sardonic laughter followed them downstairs and outside where Balga told Tommy: ‘You know they were just bluffing, just trying to make us scared of them. Notice, they didn’t even bother to search us. Just cops doing something to fill in a boring night.’
‘Yeah, but what if they get onto my boss, he doesn’t know that I’ve been inside.’
‘Arrh, they won’t do anything, besides I know one of them.’
‘You do?’
‘Well, almost.’
‘Yeah almost and you nicked that bloody car. I’m off to Sydney tomorrow. I’ve been here too long already. This is what happens if you stay in one place for too long.’
‘Arrh, don’t take on so.’
‘I’m off, happy birthday, Bodgie,’ said his friend quietly and walked off leaving Balga alone and scared about what might happen to him.