Trust a tart to give you the blues
Trust a tart to make you her fool
Trust a tart to take you apart, make you smart
Oh brother, use you for a horse and cart.
Trust a tart to give you the blues
Trust a tart to strip you all bare
Yeah, make you sing the careless blues
Your love is but a midnight ramble
Your love is but a money scramble
Take you up and do you in (blues)
Oh trust a tart to give you the lovesick blues
Trust a tart to give you the lovesick blues. (yeah).
Balga lay on his bed in the bungalow feeling glum. Tommy was gone and he felt so alone, so alone it hurt. Yeah, and then Jeannie bustled in not looking for dough, but to invite him up for a drink and he perked up. He grabbed her for a kiss then followed watching her behind moving this way and that way. With a glass of cold Vic. Bitter in his hand and some going down his throat, he thrust the blues away. After all he had been on his own since Clonny and even during Clonny for that matter and so he was used to solitude. He smiled at Jeannie wondering when he would get to shag her again. This seemed to be the last thing on her mind. It was filled by her new home plans. Next week, to be exact on the Friday, she would move to her new house, minus hubby. ‘He’s history,’ she said with a giggle lifting her glass and saluting the past.
‘And what about me,’ Balga couldn’t help asking.
‘You sweetie will be with me of course.’
‘How far away is the house from Fitzroy Street,’ Balga enquired.
‘You’ll see it next Friday and all we need to do is get together fifty quid for rent. Your pay day’s on Thursday, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, but I have to eat and all that.’
‘I’ll be there to cook for you and so no hunger. Hey, Bonny how about that, the kid’s moving in with me. I’m a land lady like you. Let’s drink to that, shall we?’
They all tossed down their drink and had a refill.
So on Friday afternoon, which he took off from work, Jeannie watched as he loaded his stuff into the taxi he had ordered. ‘Bye bye, Bonny,’ she called and they were off. Across Fitzroy Street and after a few streets there it was an ordinary house in an ordinary suburb that felt like Hawthorn or North Perth. He was frowning as he paid the taxi driver.
‘Well, nice and quiet which is what we want,’ Jeannie said brightly. ‘I had all of my stuff moved today and so there’s only arranging to do. There’s a nice little annex which will suit you fine.’
‘Yeah,’ Balga replied glumly.
‘Hey, you’re with me now, perk up. Let’s have a beer and get you ready for moving and shiftin,’ she said to him with that giggle of hers.
Balga followed her into the lounge room first which had all the furniture from her flat in it, as did the kitchen. She poured a beer for him and put on the radio. It was then that a small nuggety bloke looking the typical Melbournian appeared. ‘Hey, this is Pete, he’s taking care of the house,’ Jeannie told Balga.
‘How you going, mate,’ the short bloke said sticking out his hand.
‘As well as I can be,’ Balga replied wondering what other surprises were in store. Peter or Pete had been a shearers’ cook and now while they were guzzling beer he went to prepare a spread for them. While the tucker was cooking, Balga went to his annex. This was almost like the bungalow he had vacated except the walls were brick and it was half the size again. There was a single bed, a chest of drawers and that was it.
‘Tucker,’ Pete called and he went back to the kitchen for a feed of steak, chips and eggs. This cheered him up a little, but the next surprise didn’t.
There was a scraping at the back door and who walked in but the detective that had winked at him then hit him in the stomach. Balga scowled at him, not being able to change his expression to the blankness of Pete’s face.
‘This is my detective,’ Jeannie said with almost a squeal as she rushed to give him a hug. ‘Come in, come on to the lounge and have a drink.’
‘I’ll follow you in a minute,’ the demon growled staring at the lad. ‘Well, how did you like my introduction? Hope you got the message.’
Balga dropped his eyes and mumbled: ‘Yeah, I got the message.’
‘Well, me boy be my boy and we’ll get on,’ the detective snorted with what passed for a laugh.
‘What’s with this shit,’ Balga snapped at Pete.
‘Nothing, mate, he comes with the house. Just keep your gob shut around that geezer.’
‘That bastard whacked me in the guts the other night. Arsehole! First time I’ve met one of them without being arrested,’ Balga snarled hating the setup he had walked into.
‘Yeah, yeah, that’s what I mean about blabbin’,’ Peter retorted cleaning up the dishes as Jeanne called Balga to her. The lad went in slowly. The demon was ensconced on the sofa.
‘I’m Detective Phil Kingston as in Jamaica,’ the demon shot at Balga in what perhaps was an attempt at humour, or simply referring to his colour in an oblique manner.
‘Yeah,’ the lad replied.
‘Yeah, but we blokes well we’re in the same line of business so as to speak.’
‘For sure,’ Balga mumbled.
‘Doesn’t say much, just like Pete here,’ Kingston added as the man came into the lounge.
Jeannie poured them beers from a bottle she took from a full box.
‘No phone here,’ Balga said gesturing at the beer.
‘We don’t need one as its special delivery,’ she replied, smiling at the big detective who actually looked sheepish. Balga pulled himself together. He stared at the bloke’s drawn white face, his graying hair, his hard hands and his gray crumpled suit. Not much there except cop, he decided. He would ask Fast Eddy about him.
‘I have to meet a friend,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long,’ and with that he all but ran from the room. In his annex, he fixed himself up a bit, put on his new coat and rushed off. Friday night was a good night and Fitzroy Street was buzzing. Balga relaxed among the crowd and was in a better mood as he came to Eddy’s hangout.
He was in there too — with two new tarts: a hard faced little blonde and a dark counterpart, both of them could have been anything from sixteen to twenty. They aimed for the teens. Each wore bobby socks with flat heels, matador pants and long men’s shirts. Eddy was talking quickly to two blokes who after every second word or so darted glances at the girls. Balga went to the counter, ordered coffee and turned to watch the negotiations. Money was passed and Eddy escorted the men and his molls out. Balga strolled to the table he had vacated and sat down. There was a smell of perfume lingering and he wondered which chick would be the best, the dark or the light. While he was thinking this, perhaps with a smile plastered on his dial, he became aware that Eddy was staring down at him.
‘You look like a museum,’ the pimp declared.
‘Why,’ Balga asked huffily.
‘The coat, I wore one like that back in ’55.’
‘Well, I’m wearing one now in ’61.’
‘Yeah,’ he replied, closing the subject as he went to the counter and perhaps because he had scored more than the usual from the two marks, he got him a coffee.
‘So now you have Kim Novak, but who is the other one?’ Balga joked when he came back.
‘Jane Wyman.’
‘Can’t remember her in a flic.’
‘Nor can I, but I like the name and she was a small brunette.’
‘Well, which one is the best?’
‘Depends on what you want?’
‘The usual.’
‘One or the other, they are about the same.’
‘Uhuh, but I didn’t come about that. You see the other week I got picked up and one of the demons answered to the name of Phil Kingston. You know him?’
‘Listen, man, in this business you better know that, that bozo and watch out or you’ll be in deep shit. He’s vice and thus has a personal interest in me and my girls and any others in the same line of work. He’s competition he is and has stocked a couple of houses by grabbing up the best stuff off the street. The threat of arrest and then an offer of protection does wonders for the sluts who actually feel they are getting a good deal.’
‘A couple of houses, which reminds me, where do your girls go with their clients? It can’t be the wall for each and every one.’
‘Why do you want to know, you becoming one of Phil the Prick’s boys are you? Well, he already knows. I rent a couple of bungalows with a handy back gate and a bloke to keep an eye on things.’
‘And where do you live?’
‘That’s a state secret that is,’ he replied. ‘I don’t want anyone bugging me in my home. My private life is private, see!’
‘Okay, okay, just asking. You want to hide away, you can. Now back to that D. and his houses, I thought, well, brothels are illegal here and were just tolerated in Perth.’
‘Well, yeah whoring is illegal and the vice squad manages it as a business. They keep the trade quiet and they like their few quid and a free shag. Blokes like me keep them glad and with them happy so are we.’
‘And the houses,’ Balga prompted.
‘Well Phil Kingston moved from just getting a few quid from us into the business in a big way. You know there is a way to rub the law and keep it legal. As long as the molls only massage their Johns no law is broken and everything is fine and dandy — ain’t it? No! The vice squadies come down on your house and entrap you by getting one of your girls to give a hand job. A massage parlour is really a wanking shop. When you think of it the molls have it easy and don’t even have to open their legs.’
‘Uhuh,’ the lad grunted. This explained quite a lot of things, though Kingston seemed to fancy Jeannie as well. He supposed that this was why Jeannie had rid herself of hubby and his money. ‘Gee,’ Balga said, ‘you live and learn.’
‘Yeah,’ Eddy replied, looking at his wrist watch, ‘but time’s up and I have to go and pick them up. If you want one, it’s still a fiver for a wall job.’
‘Not tonight,’ Balga replied grinning as he drained his coffee. ‘I have to get back to my place. I’m in Middle Park now.’
‘Well, take care and watch out for that Kingston prick unless you want to be on his pay roll minding one of his houses. Not so bad, if you like having it steady, but he is a right bastard and can do you if you get on the wrong side or just because he needs an arrest.’
‘Yeah, Steady Eddy, but I just lost a mate and I’m getting his feeling that it’s time to cut out from this scene. I don’t want to work for a cop, no way!’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ and Fast Eddy was gone without a goodbye.