‘You seem to be in a pretty good mood tonight, Les,’ said Billy Dunne, looking curiously at his broad-shouldered partner. Les was whistling happily to himself as he leant nonchalantly against the wall of the Kelly Club, its pale blue neon sign flickering softly just above his mop of scrubby red hair. ‘Considering it’s Wednesday night,’ added Billy.
Les Norton smiled back at his nuggety, dark-haired workmate. ‘I got a date tomorrow with a little blonde sheila I met at a party on the weekend. A hairdresser from Double Bay.
‘Double Bay!’ Billy nodded his head and gave Les a bemused sort of look. ‘Jesus, that’s steppin’ up in the world a bit for you, isn’t it? A hillbilly Queensland bouncer taking out a Double Bay hairdresser.’
Norton grinned and gave Billy a wink. ‘She’s half a good sort, too.’
Warren Edwards, who shared Norton’s house in Bondi with him, had taken Les to a bit of a quiet party the previous Sunday. It had been at a house in Clovelly owned by some friends of his who worked in another advertising agency.
There were quite a number of girls there and, somehow or other, with his suave Queensland charm, Les had got a bit of a mag on with a skinny, wide-eyed blonde named Georgina who worked in one of the salons in Double Bay.
Les must have fancied the skinny blonde a bit because he didn’t tell her he was a bouncer. He said he was a fireman and did a lot of night shifts; figuring a nice government job sounded better than someone who stands outside an illegal gambling casino in the Cross crushing people’s heads for a living.
Georgina must have fancied Les a little too because, although she had to leave the party early with her girlfriend, she gave him her phone number and said to call her. Les did, and arranged to take her to lunch on Thursday afternoon as that was her afternoon off work.
‘So,’ said Billy Dunne, ‘a nice little lunch date for Thursday afternoon. That should be all right. I suppose you’ll whip her over to Doyles for a bit of Lobster Newburg or the John Dory fillets in lime and mango. Couple of bottles of chilled ’63 Moët to wash it down with too, eh?’
Norton looked at Billy like a gigantic carbuncle had just burst all over his face. ‘Doyles!’ he said almost in horror. ‘You’re kiddin’, aren’t you? That joint costs an arm and a bloody leg. What’s wrong with some fish ’n’ chips in the park and a couple of cartons of Orchy?’
Billy smiled at Les and shook his head slowly, knowing the big Queenslander was fair dinkum. ‘Diamond Les Norton, eh? The last of the big spenders.’
Les returned Billy’s smile and shrugged his shoulders. ‘No good spoilin’ ’em first time out,’ he replied laconically.
Wednesday night, the first night back at work for the boys, was always quiet compared to the rest of the week. The only drama was when two priests, who had come to the club with a bishop friend of Price, the owner, had a bit of a win on the baccarat, and between the euphoria of the win and Price’s free grog, one fell down the stairs and twisted his ankle.
Billy and Les put them both in a taxi and joked that if they came up there again playing up, they’d get not only the last rites, but a few lefts as well.
Apart from that the night went quicker than two Methodists having sex. They had all the punters out early and by 3 a.m. were sitting in Price’s office having a couple of staffies while the owner and the manager, George Brennan, finished cramming all the money into the already overflowing safe. It wasn’t long before the conversation swung around to Norton’s date with Georgina.
‘So, you’ll be all dolled up, swanning around Double Bay tomorrow, eh?’ said Price, a hint of something else on his mind besides an interest in Norton’s love life.
‘Yeah,’ nodded Les.
‘Good. I might have a little job for you while you’re down there.’
‘Oh?’
Norton looked up cautiously from his can of Fourex at the smiling, silvery-haired casino owner. Whenever Price said he had a little job during the day for either him or Billy, it nearly always entailed cashing IOUs or collecting other money from recalcitrant punters, a chore Norton didn’t actually relish. Although whoever it was that owed the money generally coughed up pretty smartly as soon as either Billy or Les walked in the door, occasionally one or two would try to get a bit clever and renege; in which case backhanders and strangle-holds had to be dispensed or applied fairly smartly.
Not that Norton was worried about violence or the sight of someone else’s blood. It was just that having to put the bustle on people for somebody else’s money wasn’t exactly the big Queenslander’s cup of tea. But it was part of the job and he accepted it; besides, if they didn’t have the money, they shouldn’t be gambling in the first place.
‘What is it, Price?’ Norton asked slowly.
‘This.’ The casino owner opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a slip of paper which he handed to Les.
Norton studied it carefully for a moment. ‘A cheque for a thousand dollars,’ he said, then looked back up at Price. ‘No good?’
‘Oh, it’d be all right if you wanted to play squash with it or have a game of handball down the back of the surf club.’
‘Flying dud kites in the Kelly Club is not a go,’ chimed in Brennan.
Norton turned the cheque over and read out the name and address Price had written on the back.
‘Godfrey Samuels, Samuels Gentlemen’s Outfitter, Knox Street, Double Bay.’
‘That’s our boy,’ said Price. ‘Got a clothes shop directly opposite The Cosmopolitan. He’s a real smarty, too, is Godfrey, so you might have to outfit him with a left hook. I wouldn’t mind either, to tell you the truth. This is about the third time he’s pulled this rort.’
‘Mmhh,’ Norton continued to study the worthless cheque. ‘What’ll I do if he hasn’t got the money?’
‘Break something,’ replied Price casually.
‘Like what?’ shrugged Norton. ‘The front door or the window?’
‘Not the bloody front door,’ roared Price. ‘His bloody arm.’
‘If you can’t get hold of an arm, a leg’ll do nicely,’ chuckled George Brennan.
Norton looked at the cheque and stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Yeah — whatever you say,’ he nodded.
Norton was up reasonably early the following morning. He jogged a few laps of Bondi, had a swim, then went home and got cleaned up. The afternoon with Georgina, Les definitely was looking forward to; the confrontation with the smarty Godfrey Samuels, he definitely was not.
Oh well, he shrugged, glancing at his watch as he finished shaving and patted a few dabs of Warren’s Van Cleef and Arpel aftershave across his craggy face. It’s just after twelve. If I get going now I can get this rattle with Samuels out of the road early and have plenty of time to pick up Georgina when she knocks off at one. It’s a bit of a pain in the arse though. He ran a plastic bugrake through his hair and dabbed on just a smidgin more aftershave. Ah well, I s’pose sometimes a man’s just got to do what a man’s just got to do. He gave himself one last detail, then locked up the house and headed for Double Bay.
Ironically enough, as he drove the back way into busy Knox Street, a huge gold Mercedes pulled out leaving a parking space almost right outside Godfrey Samuels’ shop, so that Norton was able to reverse straight in.
He switched off the motor and sat in the car for a few moments, listening to the radio and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, while he peered through the windscreen at Godfrey Samuels’ store window.
The name was written across the top, and staring blankly through the glass were a couple of dummies clad in bright checked shirts, skinny leather ties and huge-shouldered, padded jackets. Displayed neatly around the window were trousers, shoes and various other items of trendy clothing that Double Bay yuppies and their ilk are apt to wear.
To the right of the window, next to the till, Norton could make out the slim, shadowy figure of what was probably Samuels. He seemed to be the only one in the shop. Oh well, sighed Les, reluctantly switching off the radio, the sooner I get this bloody over with the better, I s’pose.
Les was just about to cross the footpath to the shop when he heard a woman’s voice calling out his name.
‘Les, Les. Over here.’
He turned in the direction of the voice, which was coming from outside The Cosmopolitan Inn. Standing in front of several clusters of Hungarian Jews — seated drinking coffee and arguing, each one wearing enough gold chains and rings to look like they owned Johannesburg — was Georgina.
She caught Norton’s eye, then crossed the street to him. Skipping carefully through the traffic, she looked quite horny in an extra crotch-tight pair of pink jeans and a colourful tank top which emphasised her flat stomach and a gravity-defying pair of firm boobs.
‘Hello, Les,’ she said happily, as she caught up to him. ‘You’re a bit early, aren’t you? I wasn’t expecting to see you around the salon till one o’clock.’
Norton stood there blinking at her for a moment, not quite knowing what to say. ‘Well I … I was… I mean. Well, how come you’re not at work anyway?’
‘My last client cancelled her appointment and I got off early. I was doing a little shopping before I went back to the salon to meet you.’ Georgina gave Norton a big smile and put her hand on his arm. ‘But now that you’re here I won’t have to bother.’ She then looked at Norton curiously for a moment. ‘Anyway, how come you’re down here so early?’
Norton leant back against his Ford sedan, still blinking at Georgina. ‘Well, ah … I, ah. I was going to do a bit of shopping myself to tell you the truth,’ he blurted. ‘I was going to buy a shirt.’
‘Yeah?’ Georgina gave him a quizzical look then nodded behind her to Samuels’ shop. ‘Not in Godfrey Samuels — surely?’
‘Well — yeah,’ grinned Les sheepishly. ‘As a matter of fact I was.’
‘Oooh,’ cooed the skinny blonde hairdresser. ‘I didn’t think firemen bought their clothes at Godfrey Samuels. He’s got the most expensive menswear in Double Bay. Everything’s imported from Europe and Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles. Plus he charges like the Light Brigade.’
‘Well, I don’t mind paying for a bit of good clobber now and again,’ shrugged Norton magnanimously. ‘Besides, I won a bit of dough at the punt yesterday.’
Georgina hooked her slender little arm through Norton’s massive forearm. ‘All right,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll come in with you. I’d like to see what sort of taste you’ve got.’
Norton froze in his tracks like he’d just stumbled across a minefield. Shit! this is gonna be nice, he thought. If I go in there and have to start cuffing this Samuels rooster around to get Price’s money, she’s gonna smell a rat straight off.
Yeah, you’re a fireman all right, she’ll say. And if my grandmother had balls she’d be my grandfather. I’ll go over like a strippergram at Fred Nile’s wedding anniversary. On the other hand, if I don’t go in, she’s gonna say, Oh what a tightwad. You’re all full of bullshit. Christ! This is gonna be nice.
‘Well, come on, Lord Snowdon,’ said Georgina, tugging on Les’s arm. ‘Let’s go see what you’re going to buy.’
Les swallowed hard and gave Georgina an absolutely stupid grin. ‘Look, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Georgina,’ he said awkwardly. ‘But it’s just that … just that I get all ballsed up with women around me when I buy my gear.’
Georgina wrinkled up her nose and stared at Les while his face began to colour noticeably.
‘No, I mean it, Georgina. I get all undergaflumbled. I do.’
Georgina closed one eye and looked at Norton slightly sideways out of the other. ‘Oh don’t be so bloody chauvinistic,’ she sneered.
‘I’m not, honest. I’m just shy, that’s all. I’m from the country.’
She shook her head and started laughing. ‘Oh all right then, you big sheila,’ she said, slapping him daintily on the arm. ‘Go in on your bloody own. You’re probably only worried that I might see you in your knickers or something.’
Norton grinned sheepishly at her again.
‘Is it all right if I sit in the car and watch through the window?’
‘Yeah, of course. Look I’m only gonna be a few minutes.’
Georgina gave Les a quick once up and down. ‘Go on, you big sheila. Hurry up.’
Les couldn’t help but be impressed when he walked into Samuels’ shop: neatly stacked shelves and racks of beautiful but expensive clothing, emphasised by subtle lighting and luxurious indoor plants, with soft music playing in the background.
There was no one in the shop except one man standing behind the counter — probably Samuels — folding silk ties from a Gianni Versace carton next to the till.
Norton took a look at him and hoped he wouldn’t have to put the bustle on too much as there wasn’t a great deal of him. With his pouty little lips, unsmiling dark eyes and auburn hair, blonded on the top with a blond rats-tail hanging down the back, he looked almost androgynous. Even in the massively padded black jacket and baggy checked trousers he was wearing, he still looked like he’d have to run backwards and forwards under the shower to get wet. Norton approached him slowly.
‘Are you Godfrey Samuels?’ he asked evenly, but without too much menace.
The guy continued to unpack the ties for a moment without glancing up. When he did, he looked at Norton in his faded jeans, sneakers and blue denim Amco shirt like he’d just escaped from an infectious disease ward.
‘Yes, why?’ replied Samuels in a nasal, flat voice.
‘Well it’s about this, mate.’
Norton placed the cheque on the counter next to the carton of ties. Samuels looked at it indifferently for a second or two and continued unpacking ties.
‘So, what about it?’ he sniffed.
‘What about it?’ replied Norton. ‘It’s no bloody good. That’s what’s about it. And Mr Galese wants his thousand dollars.’
‘Well, I just haven’t bloody got it,’ replied Samuels slowly, like he was talking to some little kid.
Norton stared at Samuels for a moment. ‘Well, matey, it’s not a matter of you not having it. I was told by Mr Galese not to leave here without it.’
Samuels narrowed his eyes and gave Norton a look of bored contempt. ‘Oh, you’re not threatening me, are you?’
‘Mate, I don’t want to be threatening anybody. But your cheque’s no good and Mr Galese wants his money.’
‘Well your Mr Galese is just going to have to wait for it. And tell him when you see him not to bother sending his goons around either. Okay? Now would you mind leaving.’ Samuels waved one hand contemptuously at Les. ‘I’m busy.’
Norton took in a deep breath as little wisps of steam almost began forming around his ears. Price was certainly right about Samuels. He felt like taking him by his narrow, pink leather tie and running a bowline around his skinny neck. But through the shop-front window he could see Georgina looking at him through the windscreen of his car. She caught his eye and gave him a tiny wave and, although he was seething, Les was forced to smile and wave back.
Samuels must have sensed Norton was reluctant to do anything violent and blissfully continued unpacking the carton of ties.
‘Did you hear what I just said?’ he sneered. ‘You do understand English, don’t you?’
Norton nodded sourly. ‘Yeah.’
‘Well go away, will you. There must be other jobs you can do for Galese. Go and throw a widow out of her home — or drown a batch of kittens or something.’
Norton continued to boil quietly, while through the window he could still see Georgina smiling at him.
‘Well, boofhead — what’s your story?’ went on Samuels. ‘Are you just going to stand around here like a battery hen all day? What do I have to do to get it through that big wooden head of yours that I’m busy? Write it down in Braille and shove it up your arse?’
Norton sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right, matey,’ he hissed, folding up the cheque and putting it back in his pocket.
Sensing he’d had a victory, a hint of a smile flickered around Samuels’ eyes as he ignored Les and began unpacking a new carton of ties. Instead of leaving, however, Norton hooked his thumbs in the top of his jeans and started looking around the shop, admiring the clothes and checking out the brands — Biscote, Najee, Uomo Confar, Valentino — and the atrocious prices: $750 jackets; $150 shirts; $200 shoes; even the socks were $75 a pair.
‘I got to admit, mate, you’ve sure got some nice gear,’ he said. ‘I might have a bit of a look around while I’m here.’
‘Please yourself,’ shrugged Samuels, continuing to fold the ties. ‘But I don’t think there’d be anything in your price range. Where do you buy your clothes? The Smith Family? You look like a Polish used car salesman.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind buying a bit of good gear now and again.’
‘Yeah, I’ll bet.’
Norton ran his hand along a rack of beautiful wool and mohair jackets, finally pulling out an exquisite Calvin Klein number in dark blue, with padded, quilted shoulders, zippers, straps and various other little doo-dads hanging off it everywhere. The price tag was $800.
He removed the coathanger and with some difficulty managed to get it on; it looked like something belonging to Michael Jackson going onto The Incredible Hulk.
With a strange smile on his face he checked himself out in the nearest mirror, took in a huge breath and hunched his shoulders. The shoulder pads popped straight out and the entire back seam split open with a crack like a rifle going off.
Samuels’ head jerked up to see his expensive jacket hanging off Norton in tatters. His eyes stuck out like a stomped-on cane toad.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he shrieked and came running over as Les removed what was left of the jacket and dropped it casually back on the rack. ‘What do you think you’re doing, you idiot? That’s a bloody Calvin Klein original from Rodeo Drive. It cost $800.’
‘Yeah?’ shrugged Norton. ‘Well you’d better tell Calvin to put some decent stitching in his gear. I think he’s getting it made up in Taiwan.’
While the horrified Samuels looked at what was left of the blue jacket, Norton picked another one off the rack. A Pierre Charbonnier number this time, pink and grey in silk and brushed camel hair: $750.
Before Samuels had a chance to do anything, Norton had it on, raised his arms over his head and brought them together. The jacket split with another audible crack, from the cuffs, through the armpits and half-way down the sides.
‘You bloody great oaf,’ screamed Samuels again. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Just trying to find something that fits, mate. That’s all,’ replied Norton casually. ‘Bloody hard in here, though. Who do you cater for, jockeys?’
Next to go was a pure silk Lubiani shirt: $165. Les jammed his arm straight into the sleeve; it burst open like a wet paper bag.
‘Tch, tch, tch,’ he clucked, taking it off then picking up a $30 silk handkerchief and blowing his nose on it. ‘Gee, it’s hard to find anything I like.’
Samuels’ face was slowly turning grey as he looked at his ruined stock while Norton continued to run his hands along the racks of clothes. Suddenly Les stopped at a rack of full-length leather and suede coats. He turned around and flashed Samuels a positively diabolical grin.
‘Now this I do like,’ he said removing an absolutely beautiful Ermenegildo Zegna, double-breasted, calf-skin coat in light tan with what looked like gold buttons. He paused and checked the price tag. ‘Jesus, $5000 for a bloody leather coat. Oh well, it’s only money, I s’pose. It’s not an arm or a leg.’
He was just about to try and put it on when Samuels ran over and literally tore it out of Les’s hands. Cradling it lovingly, he stormed back to the till and rang up the ‘No Sale’ sign.
‘Here you are, you bloody great oaf. Here’s your thousand dollars. Now get out of the damn shop.’
Norton strolled casually over, took the money from the quivering Samuels and quickly counted it. He was about to leave when a sudden thought occurred to him.
‘Hey. You’re forgetting something, aren’t you?’
‘What?’
‘The 12½ per cent.’
‘What bloody 12½ per cent?’
‘Mr Galese’s new rule. Any debts: 12½ per cent interest.’
Samuels stood there, open-mouthed. ‘Go to buggery.’
‘Okay. Suit yourself,’ shrugged Norton, turning towards the rack of leather coats.
Abruptly the till rang once again. ‘Here you are,’ called out Samuels bitterly. ‘You … you …’
‘Thanks, mate.’ Norton took the $125 and pocketed it along with the other thousand. A pile of shirts in cartons on the counter suddenly caught his eye. Why not, he thought. He picked up the first one he found with XL on the collar — a small red and black check with a button-down collar and something monogrammed on the pocket — then reached over the counter for one of Godfrey Samuels’ exclusive black, silver and maroon plastic bags and dropped it in. ‘Charge it to me care of the Kelly Club, will you Godfrey, old mate.’
Norton turned towards the door then abruptly stopped and turned around. ‘Oh, shit!’ he said seriously. ‘I almost forgot.’ He took Samuels’ worthless cheque out of his pocket, opened it, licked the back and slapped it onto Samuels’ forehead.
‘There you go, mate,’ he winked. ‘Don’t let anyone tell you you haven’t got a good head for business.’ With a last grin he finally turned and left the shop.
‘Well, come on. Show me what you bought,’ said Georgina, almost snatching the bag from Norton as soon as he climbed in the car. ‘Ooh, it’s beautiful. A Charles Jourdan original. $110. God, you do buy the best, don’t you?’
‘It was about the only bloody thing in there that fitted me,’ shrugged Norton.
‘It’s really lovely.’ Georgina put the shirt back in the bag and placed it carefully on the seat.
‘Anyway,’ smiled Les, looking at his watch. ‘What about a bit of lunch. Are you hungry?’
‘I am a little, to tell you the truth.’
‘Would you like to go to Doyles? Over at Watsons Bay?’
‘Well … yes. That’d be lovely.’
‘I’ve heard the Lobster Paella is excellent over there at the moment. And I was also told that fresh mud-crabs and barramundi fillets have just arrived from Cairns this morning. Do you like French champagne? Moët all right?’
Georgina looked at Norton and blinked. ‘God! You are the last of the big spenders, aren’t you?’
‘Georgina,’ grinned Les, slapping her lightly on the knee, ‘when you’re out with Diamond Les Norton, money is absolutely no object.’
Les started the car and they headed happily for Watsons Bay. The meal and the afternoon were absolutely delightful. And just quietly, the evening didn’t turn out half bad either.