You didn’t need a job at the Bureau of Meteorology to know it was going to be a very ordinary Tuesday night in Sydney. The sky was black with not a star or a glimpse of the moon to be seen, the temperature was dropping and a cool, brisk southerly blowing in off the ocean was pushing a fine mist of rain over the city, funnelling it down Kelly Street in Kings Cross. The two stocky men standing outside the Kelly Club, wearing black bomber jackets and matching trousers, were idly discussing the weather; the shorter of the two was standing by the gutter squinting up at the sky
‘Yes,’ said Billy Dunne, ‘we’re in for an extremely dud night, I’d say.’
‘You can say that again, Billy,’ agreed Les Norton. ‘Have a look. There’s not a punter in sight. There’s hardly a car on the road. There’s not even half a good sort anywhere we can perv on.’
‘Hey. You might have spoken a bit too soon there, old mate,’ smiled Billy, nodding to their right. ‘Look who’s coming down the road.’
Walking out of the darkness towards them was a tall, leggy blonde and an almost as tall, leggy brunette; both wearing crutch-tight denim shorts, high heels and tight leather jackets that emphasised their ample cleavages. The blonde, Amanda, was very attractive. But the brunette, Charmaine, was a head-turning glamour with a sweet face and a tight little rump that would make a devout Muslim reach for a shot of Jack Daniels and a schooner chaser. Both were working girls and both were very good at their chosen careers.
‘Hello Les. Hello Billy,’ chirped the girls as they went past.
‘G’day Charmaine. Hello Amanda,’ Billy Dunne smiled back.
‘Not much of a night to be wearing shorts, ladies,’ Les commented cheerfully.
Charmaine stopped, did a little bump and grind in front of the boys and thrust out her pussy. ‘Well Les,’ she cooed, ‘like any small business person, you have to display your merchandise the best way you can.’
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right, Charmaine,’ Les smiled back. ‘Anyway, you stay safe out there.’
‘We will,’ she replied.
‘You know where we are if you need us,’ said Billy.
‘Thanks, Billy,’ Amanda smiled back over her shoulder.
The boys watched the girls disappear into the night then Billy turned to Les. ‘Look at the arse on that Charmaine,’ he said. ‘She is seriously fuckin good-looking.’
‘Yeah. You’re not wrong,’ agreed Les. He gave his head a brief shake. ‘You know, Billy, it’s a dead-set shame,’ he said, ‘to see a girl as beautiful as that flogging her lamington round the Cross. I’d marry her.’
‘So would I,’ answered Billy. ‘If I wasn’t already living a life of happily married bliss.’
‘Half your luck mate.’
Billy stared at Norton for a moment. ‘You know, Les,’ he said, with a slight smile. ‘There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.’
‘Go for your life mate,’ answered Les.
‘You manage to get your hands on a few sheilas,’ said Billy.
‘Ohh yeah,’ drawled Les. ‘I have a bit of luck with the girlies now and again. But I mostly seem to be in the right place at the right time. And if you’re not a poser and you lighten up, you always seem to get on okay.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Billy. ‘So then, who’s the best sort you’ve ever rooted?’
‘I say, William,’ admonished Les. ‘That’s a little chauvinistic, isn’t it? Don’t you mean, who is the most attractive young lady I’ve ever made love to?’
‘Yeah all right. Whatever,’ replied Billy. ‘So go on. Who’s the best-looking potato you’ve ever thrown up in the air?’
Les smiled at Billy for a second. ‘George,’ he quietly replied.
‘George?’
‘Yeah. Gorgeous George. I fell in love with her. And got a broken heart for my trouble.’
‘When was this?’ asked Billy.
‘Not that long after I started work here. Around when I got the house and Warren moved in.’ Les looked at Billy. ‘I never said anything, because at the time I was doing a bit of pimping on the side.’
Billy was aghast. ‘You? A pimp? I don’t fuckin believe it.’
‘Believe it mate,’ said Les. ‘I was a hoon. A dirty low-life egg and spoon. A bludger living off immoral earnings. A pimp.’
‘Les Norton a pimp,’ said Billy, still shaking his head. ‘What’s the bloody world coming to?’
‘It’s the truth, Billy,’ said Les. ‘And believe me mate, the chicks working for me got paid peanuts.’
Billy had a quick look up and down Kelly Street. ‘Right that’s it,’ he said seriously. ‘There’s no cunt around. I want the full guts on this. Come on, big fellah. Open up.’
Les thought for a moment. ‘All right, Billy,’ he sighed. ‘If you insist. Now let me see. It was during the summer. A Sunday. I was …’
The Sunday afternoon drink in the Full Moon Lounge at the Oceanview Hotel in Coogee was always a big go. Overlooking Wedding Cake Island, the big white hotel, affectionately known as the ‘Oashey’, had a long bar downstairs, a gambling area and chairs and tables placed along the terrace, and steps that led in from the street. A wide set of stairs on the left led up to the Full Moon Lounge and above were the guest rooms.
The Lounge was quite large with plenty of chairs and tables placed around a decent-sized dance floor and stage set against the wall behind it as you came up the stairs. A row of bay windows left of the dance floor overlooked the ocean and also faced a long bar opposite, and at the back of the chairs and tables, a small entry led to a sneaky little bar that served great cocktails; rum boxcars, high balls, margaritas, etc. All the waxheads and young blokes from around the Eastern Suburbs flocked there, along with no shortage of good-looking girls from the local beaches. A lot from Bondi. Which was where the old saying. ‘You can always tell a Bondi girl, but you can’t tell her much,’ came right into play. They were all very good-looking with lovely hair and stacked like timber yards in their tight blue jeans and tops. But they had the meanest, smart-arsed dispositions of any women in Australia. Their favourite trick was to sit at a table looking all seductive and sophisticated while they sipped their drinks and whenever some poor unsuspecting bloke would come over and ask one of them for a dance, she’d look at him like he was some malignant growth forming on the floor, then flatly tell him to go shit in his hat. A minute later, after a good laugh with her girlfriends, the same girl would then get up and dance with one of them to rub it in. The girls from the other local beaches weren’t quite as bad. But fortunately a lot of girls from the western suburbs went there. And after being harassed by swarthy, macho creeps with as much personality as a mud brick driving hotted-up cars, the local waxheads with their suntans, blond hair, good builds and nutty surf patter seemed like better value. Les and his mates had more fun hitting on the westie chicks.
Les used to go there a lot with Warren who often referred to the Sunday afternoon drink as ‘Going over to match wits with the smarties.’ However, when Les started at the Kelly Club, he had to work Sunday nights and going over the Oashey and getting half loaded before going to work didn’t go down too well; unless Les wanted to drink mineral water or unleaded beer, and that didn’t appeal to the big Queenslander one bit. So if it came to a toss-up between matching wits with the smarties on Sunday afternoon and an easy, well-paying job, Les chose work at the Kelly Club any day.
However, this particular bright, warm Sunday afternoon, Les was behind the wheel of his trusty Holden wearing light sunglasses, a pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt heading to the Oceanview after a phone call he had got the day before. Actually it was one of two unexpected phone calls he got that Saturday. The phone call that sent him to the Oashey was from a skinny, dark-haired landscaper named Alan Pearson who did a bit of work for Les and lived just up the road from the hotel. Besides being a capable landscaper, Alan was also a very good photographer and got a fair bit of work on the side. He rang Les to say he was going through some old photos and found six he’d taken of Les when Norton was playing second row for Easts and they beat Manly 34–6. Why not come over the Oashey on Sunday and pick them up? Les was stoked.
‘Shit! I remember that day,’ he laughed into the phone. ‘We belted them. I scored two tries and topped the tackle count.’
‘You also hit Big Harry Hamilton with a shoulder charge and nearly killed him,’ said Alan. ‘I even got a photo of that.’
‘Yeah,’ chuckled Les. ‘Poor Big Harry. They took him off in a wheelbarrow. So where will I find you over there?’
‘I’ll be at the top of the stairs as you come in,’ replied Alan.
‘I won’t be able to have a drink with you, Alan, because I got to go to work later.’
‘That’s all right.’
‘So what do I owe you for the photos, Alan?’
‘Nothing,’ answered Alan. ‘It’s all sweet.’
‘Okay. Thanks mate,’ said Les. ‘I’ll see you over there about three o’clock.’
‘Righto Les. See you then.’
Well, what a good bloke that Alan is, smiled Les as he hung up the phone. I can’t wait to see those photos of my illustrious football career in Sydney. I haven’t got a real lot. Mainly the ones in the paper when Easts booted me out of the club. Unappreciative bastards, Les sniffed. He got up, had a nap then got ready for work. Which turned out to be a very easy night for both Billy and himself.
Now it was Sunday afternoon and Les was at the bottom of Hall Street turning into Campbell Parade on his way to Coogee. Unexpectedly he spotted a nuggetty, fair-haired man he knew, standing down from the bus stop. It was a fork lift driver named Buzzy Mathis who Les once shared a flat with near the beach.
Buzzy was wearing blue cargoes and a blue Hawaiian shirt and Les couldn’t mistake his happy face and square chin. Les also shared the same flat with a wharf labourer named Ronnie Dickson, whose nickname was The Hog. Where Buzzy was a good style of a bloke who liked to surf and meet girls, Ronnie was a little different. Dark-haired, thickset and carrying a little weight, Ronnie didn’t surf and was one of the ugliest men the good Lord put on the planet. However, Ronnie wasn’t born completely ugly. He just had the extra ugly bashed into him playing football, hence the nickname Hog. Les played park football alongside Ronnie and although he was a very willing player and never walked away from a fight on or off the field, Les couldn’t help notice Ronnie would gladly take ten punches to land one. Consequently, Hog had no front teeth, a smashed nose in the middle of his leathery face and scar tissue round his eyes like an old tent fighter. But he was a happy-go-lucky bloke who liked a laugh and his only fault, if any, was that he was an exuberant drunk. Not in a nasty way that would cause any harm, he just liked to dance wildly and horse around cracking corny jokes and pulling faces. Les, Buzzy and Hog all got on well in the flat and had a few good parties till the flat broke up and, still very good friends, they all went their separate ways. Les pulled up in front of Buzzy and wound down the passenger side window.
‘Hey. The Buzz,’ Les called out. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Hey, Les.’ Buzzy smiled and stepped over to the car. ‘I’m waiting for a cab. I’m going over the Oashey.’
‘Well, ain’t this is your lucky day, Buzzy boy. So am I. Jump in and I’ll give you a lift.’
‘Ohh. Fuckin unreal. Thanks Les.’
Buzzy climbed in the front seat, buckled up and they continued on up Campbell Parade to turn left at Silva Street then cut down behind Tamarama and Bronte.
‘So how’s things, Buzzy?’ asked Les.
‘Not bad, Les. Getting plenty of work,’ replied Buzzy.
‘You seen much of The Hog lately?’
‘Actually I’m meeting Ravishing Ronnie over there.’
‘Yeah? I might stop and say hello. How’s he going?’ inquired Les.
‘Good. He’s living up in Bondi Junction with two girls.’
Les chuckled. ‘Some girls have all the luck, don’t they.’
‘Yeah,’ laughed Buzzy. ‘How come you’re going over there? I thought the place was off limits for you.’
‘I’m just going to pick up some photos,’ said Les. ‘I won’t be there long.’
‘Fair enough.’
Les and Buzzy chatted away about old times at their flat and different other things. Tamarama and Bronte fell away and before long Les was heading down Arden Street then up the hill, fluking a parking spot almost opposite the hotel when a young girl pulled out in a grey SUV.
‘I got to duck into the TAB for a minute,’ said Buzzy as Les locked the car. ‘I’ll see you up there.’
‘Righto mate.’ Les left Buzzy to do his thing and walked across to the stairs leading up to Full Moon Lounge.
Les could hear the band belting out their version of Dragon’s ‘April Sun in Cuba’ as he started up the stairs and when Les reached the top he found the place was going off. Everybody had a drink in their hand, the dance floor was almost full and the four-piece band was right on the money. Les stopped then smiled as he let his eyes wander over the chairs and tables. There were all the Bondi girls he’d got to know. All seated around looking lovely and like butter wouldn’t melt in their sweet little mouths. And sure enough, a bloke walked over to one table, asked a girl in yellow for a dance, and just as sure, she looked at him like he had tarantulas crawling all over him and waved him away. Les looked at his watch, counted roughly twenty seconds and sure enough, the girl in yellow got up and headed for the dance floor with a girlfriend in blue. Les smiled, shook his head and was about to go looking for Alan when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned round expecting Alan. Instead it was a tall skinny waxhead in a pair of white jeans and a white T-shirt — Greg Waldrum.
‘Hello Les,’ the waxhead said a little nervously.
‘Well, well, well,’ Les smiled mirthlessly. ‘If it isn’t my old mate Gregory Waldrum. Long time, no see, Waldo.’
‘Yeah. I’m sorry about that, Les,’ said Greg. ‘I really am.’
‘So you should be, the Walds. Taking advantage of my kind and gregarious nature. With not so much as a fond farewell.’
Roughly six months previously, Les had been full of drink one night at the Bondi Hotel and somehow Greg had put the snip on Norton for two hundred and fifty dollars to get him out of some trouble. Les knew Greg through some other people and liked and trusted him. Then after loaning him the money, never saw him again until today. Les wasn’t all that happy.
‘I know, Les,’ admitted Greg. ‘I did the wrong thing. But I was in deep shit at the time and I had to sneak out of town in a hurry.’
‘You certainly managed to do that, Waldo,’ said Les. ‘Along with my two fifty.’
‘Yeah. But it’s all sweet,’ smiled Greg. ‘I’ve been working on my brother’s oyster farm up the north coast. We had a terrific year. And …’ Greg fished in his jeans and came out with a wad of money. He peeled off three hundred dollars and handed it to Norton. ‘There’s your money, Les. Plus another fifty bucks interest.’
Norton took the money, counted, it then looked at Greg and gave him fifty back. ‘You don’t have to pay any extra, Waldo. I’m not the bloody Mafia.’
‘Oh? Okay.’
‘And you can afford this? I’m not actually broke at the moment,’ said Les. ‘Another time will be okay. Fuck. I’d just about written the money off anyway.’
‘No,’ Greg shook his head. ‘Take it, Les. And I’m sorry it took me so long.’
Les pocketed the money and shook Greg’s hand. ‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘Thanks mate. Anyway,’ added Les, ‘I came over here to meet someone.’
‘Okay Les. I might have a drink with you before you go.’
‘We’ll see what happens,’ replied Les, turning away.
Well, that’s not a bad way to start the afternoon, Les smiled to himself, patting the money in the front pocket of his jeans. Now where’s Alan and I’ll get out of here before I get tempted. I’ve got a kick full of dough and there’s some bloody good sorts here. Les gazed round the crowd at the top of the stairs as the band slipped into ‘Rock Lobster’. It didn’t take Les long to find Alan’s bushy dark hair among the crowd. He was wearing a green check shirt over a pair of jeans and carrying a white envelope. Les walked over to him.
‘Hey Alan,’ smiled Les. ‘How’s things?’
‘Les. How are you mate,’ Alan smiled back. ‘Here’s those photos I was telling you about.’
Les took the sealed envelope. ‘Shit. Thanks Alan,’ he said, slipping them down the front of his jeans. ‘I won’t open them here. But I might have a soda water with you. Can I get you a drink?’
Alan shook his head. ‘No. I just got one thanks.’
‘All right. I’ll be back in a sec.’ Les turned and started along the wide aisle where the chairs and tables ended before the dance floor. He hadn’t gone far when he noticed some strange movements on the dance floor. He had a closer look and laughed. It was Ronnie Dickson in a pair of blue shorts and a white T-shirt, drunk and dancing around as usual like Yogi Bear falling out of a tree. He was with a couple of girls Les knew, who were laughing at his antics and even though Ronnie would bump into a few people on the dance floor he’d apologise and they’d take no notice except to smile at his strange, boisterous antics. However, watching Ronnie intently from near the bar corner was a solid, sour-faced bouncer with fair hair wearing the usual white shirt, bow tie and black trousers. He watched Ronnie bump into someone else then stormed over to him through the dancers. They weren’t far from where Les was standing and even over the band, Les could hear the bouncer shouting in Ronnie’s face.
‘Hey fuckin you,’ roared the bouncer. ‘Behave yourself. Or get off the dance floor.’
‘What are you talking about, you dill,’ Ronnie answered a little belligerently. ‘I’m only having a dance.’
‘Yeah. Leave him alone,’ said one of the girls, wearing a denim skirt and top. ‘He’s not doing any harm.’
‘You shut up,’ the bouncer snapped at the girl. ‘And you,’ he said, giving Ronnie a shove. ‘Don’t call me a dill. And get off the fuckin dance floor. Or I’ll fuckin throw you off.’
Ronnie was that drunk he was flat out walking let alone trying to dance. ‘Oh, in your arse,’ he slurred, giving the bouncer a harmless push back.
That was enough for the sour-faced bouncer. He stepped back and king hit Ronnie with a solid straight right fair in the face. It lifted Ronnie completely off his feet and if Ronnie hadn’t bumped into a few people on the way down he would have hit his head hard on the dance floor and probably fractured his skull. As it was he did bump his head on the floor and between that and the bouncer’s punch, Ronnie was left lying on the dance floor with his eyes open, out like a light. Several girls screamed while the other dancers stepped back in shock.
‘Ohh what did you have to that for, you arsehole,’ yelled the girl in denim. ‘He wasn’t hurting anybody.’
‘You shut your fuckin mouth, bitch,’ snarled the bouncer.
‘Ohh, big man,’ came a voice from the crowd.
‘What a fuckin hero,’ came another voice.
‘You’re good at bashing up drunks, aren’t you, you dopey big prick,’ came another voice, this time a girl’s.
Norton winced as he stared at Ronnie lying out cold on the dance floor. What the fair-haired bouncer did was brutal, vicious and inexcusable. Les and Billy were as tough as any other blokes getting around and they would no sooner king hit a drunk than fly in the air. If someone at the club got a bit out of it and started playing up, they’d carefully take him under the arms and escort him to the stairs. If he got a bit shirty on the way, Billy would sink a short rip into his liver and that would be it. They would then let him down gently to rest somewhere till the pain wore off and tell him to come back when he was sober. But not this bully boy. Instead of getting another bouncer and carrying Ronnie off the dance floor, putting the incident out of people’s minds, he jumped back and shaped up to the crowd like he was Mike Tyson.
‘All right, come on,’ the bouncer shouted, all puffed up from his easy victory. ‘Anybody else fancy themselves? Come on, step up. Come on. Anybody else want to have a go?’
Les looked at the ranting bouncer, looked at the startled girls, looked at all the blokes keen to do something but shuffling their feet then looked again at his old mate Ronnie out cold on the floor. He straightened his shoulders and stepped up in front of the bouncer.
‘Yeah, righto,’ nodded Les, and let go a short straight right into the bouncer’s face with all his shoulder and weight behind it.
It made the punch the bouncer had thrown look as hard as a honey bee landing on a flower. He flew back over the chairs and tables and landed in an awful mess against the wall around from the bar. Still seeing red, Les was about to step over and do a bit of Balmain folk dancing along the bouncer’s ribs, when another bouncer with dark hair nervously stepped in front him.
‘It’s all right mate,’ said the bouncer. ‘He’s a mug. We’ll take care of him.’
At the sound of the bouncer’s voice Les settled down. ‘All right,’ he said evenly. ‘Then take care of my mate on the dance floor. And he’d not better be hurt too bad either.’ He glanced towards the people standing around the unconscious bouncer. ‘The fuckin prick.’
‘No problem,’ assured the bouncer. ‘We’ll sort it all out. Don’t worry.’
‘Good.’
Les thought for a moment then while the band finished their snappy version of ‘Rock Lobster’ turned and made a beeline for the stairs, quickly weaving his way through the people coming up as he went down. He trotted across to his car, got in and started the engine when he noticed Buzzy jogging across the road towards him. Les wound down the window.
‘Yeah Buzzy,’ said Les. ‘What’s up?’
‘Hey, did you just flatten a blond-headed bouncer upstairs?’
Les hesitated for a moment. ‘Yeah. Why?’
‘I just saw them carrying him out,’ said Buzzy. ‘Christ! You should have seen his face. He looked like some kind of monster.’
‘Was he breathing?’
‘More like snoring,’ smiled Buzzy. ‘But he was definitely alive.’
‘Okay,’ said Les. ‘But will you do me a favour, Buzzy?’
‘Sure.’
‘If anybody asks, say it wasn’t me. Someone that looked like me.’
‘No worries,’ assured Buzzy.
‘Thanks. And will you give me a ring and tell me how Ronnie is?’
‘Okay.’ Buzzy could see that Les was keen to make himself scarce. He tapped the roof of the car. ‘See you, Les.’
‘Yeah. See you, Buzzy.’ Les put the Holden in drive and headed for Bondi.
On the way home Les was sweating a little. What he’d just done was an assault, no matter how you looked at it. In fact after what Buzzy told him, it would be — assault to occasion actual bodily harm. Plus one bouncer had lamped him up close and you could bet the incident would be on surveillance TV. It didn’t look good. On the other hand, the bouncer had no right to assault Ronnie like he did, then stand back and challenge the crowd. Les was just … just defending himself. If anything Ronnie was entitled to sue the hotel over what happened. Les looked at the rear-vision mirror to check the traffic behind and his face broke into a grin. He only just noticed that the whole time he was there he’d forgotten to take his sunglasses off. The lenses weren’t that dark, but they would cover his eyes and that would throw a nice Spaniard in the works if the hotel wanted to carry on. By the time he pulled up out the front of Chez Norton, Les was smiling again. He took the photos from his jeans, went inside, tossed his sunglasses in the kitchen and made a cup of coffee. With his coffee in his hand, Les sat down in the loungeroom and started going through the photos.
The photos were even better than Les had expected and Alan had also enlarged them a size. There was one ripper of Les crashing over the line with four Manly players holding him and Norton’s big arm stretched out putting the ball down. The hit on Harry Hamilton looked like a train wreck and the photo of him getting carted off on a stretcher almost sent a shiver up your spine. All up, they were great photos and well worth the trip over to the Oashey, stupid bouncer or no stupid bouncer.
‘Shit! These are fantastic,’ chuckled Les. ‘I’ll get a couple of them blown right up.’
Then the first thing I’ll do after that, Les told himself, is go over to Alan’s house with a slab and a bottle of Jackies. I’ll also see if I can sneak him a bit of Warren’s home grown. I’m sure Alan still likes a hot one. Les went through the photos again and decided which ones he’d get enlarged, then put the photos aside and made himself another cup of coffee. He took it back into the loungeroom and was about to listen to some music when he started thinking about the other phone call he received on Saturday. It didn’t quite fill Norton’s heart with joy.
The call was from Richard McNee, a medium-built plumber with neat brown hair on top of a happy-go-lucky face who Les had got to know from around Bondi. Richard McNee naturally got nicknamed Dicky Knee, which in the inimitable Bondi style was soon shortened to just plain ‘The Knee’. Actually, The Knee was a bit of an enigma to Les. He was definitely a plumber. But the word was about that he did a bit of pimping on the side and had a small stable of girls working for him around the Eastern Suburbs. One thing for sure, Dicky never seemed to work that much, drove a nice new car as well as his plumber’s van and owned two home units in North Bondi. Les wasn’t surprised or concerned that much about anything people got up to around Bondi. But he did draw the line at pimping.
Les had met Dicky down the Rex and found him a cheerful bloke with a throaty laugh who loved getting young ladies and trying to throw them up in the air, something at which the good-natured plumber was fairly successful. Over time, Les finished up owing The Knee a few favours. The first time was when Norton’s Holden shit itself in Bondi Road. Dicky was going past. He stopped, got his jumper leads out and soon had Les on his way again. Another time, when Norton’s trusty Holden threw in the towel at Rose Bay, Dicky was going past again and this time Norton’s car was beyond a jump start. So Dicky got a rope out of his van and towed Les home.
The third, and most important time, was when Les got into fight with a big Samoan at the Rex over a spilt beer that wasn’t even Norton’s fault. The Samoan got all full of boozy threats and warrior courage, so Les put a quick left hook on his jaw. Just as Les was about to follow up with a nice short right, one of the Samoan’s girlfriends jumped up on Norton’s back and put a stranglehold on him. Fighting a 195 kilogram Samoan around 200 centimetres high is extremely difficult at the best of times, but when a woman almost as big is trying to choke you, it’s near impossible. The big Samoan cleared his head just as Dicky ran across and dragged the woman off Norton’s back. The big Samoan went to tackle Les, only to charge straight into Norton’s right knee, which smashed his nose and relieved him of several teeth. After that and with his hands now free it was no contest and the big Samoan finished up out cold on the cigarette-burnt carpet looking like he’d just fallen into a reaper and binder. Les never forgot Dicky’s quick thinking and told him if he ever needed a favour, all he had to do was ask. And ask The Knee did. About twenty minutes after Les had received the call from Alan Pearson the day before, Les had been fiddling around in the laundry when he heard the phone ring. He walked into the lounge room and picked up the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘Les. It’s Dicky Knee,’ came the reply.
‘The Knee,’ said Les. ‘How are you mate?’
‘Not bad.’
‘That’s good,’ smiled Les. ‘So what can I do for you, old fellah?’
‘Well,’ answered The Knee. ‘You know when you told me if ever I needed a favour, all I had to do was ask?’
‘Yeah. That’s right,’ said Les.
‘Well, I need one, Les. Bad.’
‘Okay.’ Les sat down and made himself comfortable. ‘What’s your problem, Dicky?’
‘I got a big mug wants to bash the shit of me,’ replied Dicky forlornly.
‘Does he now?’ said Les. ‘And if I might ask, Dicky, why does the party concerned wish to administer this severe beating upon your person? You always seemed like a pleasant enough fellow to me, young Richard.’
‘Ohh, I threw his girlfriend up in the air. And he also wants to take over my run.’
‘Your run?’
‘Yeah. My pimp run. I take it out every second Monday.’
This made Norton’s ears prick up. ‘Your pimp run, Dicky? As in hooking? Or prostitution?’
‘Yeah. Sort of like that,’ admitted Dicky.
‘Shit, Dicky. I’m not so sure I want to help people involved in such low-life activities.’
‘It’s not as bad as you think, Les,’ pleaded Dicky.
‘Not as bad? What do you think I see around me every night at work, Dicky? It’s fuckin disgusting.’
‘Yeah. Fair enough, Les,’ replied Dicky. ‘But you did promise me.’
‘Mmmhh.’ Norton’s mouth tightened. ‘So when’s this brutal assault supposed to take place?’
‘Tomorrow. During my run,’ said Dicky. ‘All I want you to do, Les, is come out on my run with me and keep an eye on things. It only takes me about four or five hours. And I’ll give you a couple of hundred dollars.’
‘Forget about the money, Dicky,’ said Les. ‘It’s just …’
‘Yeah. I know what you mean, Les,’ said Dicky. ‘But fair dinkum, Les, I’m desperate. This bloke is an absolute drop kick. And I’m a lover. Not a fighter.’
‘True,’ Les nodded into the phone.
‘And I’ve seen you go off. You’d fuckin eat him without raising a sweat.’
‘Mmmhh,’ muttered Les, stopping to think for a moment. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll help you out this time. So what do you want me to do?’
‘Ohh, good on you, Les,’ breathed Dicky. ‘Look. Just be at your place tomorrow morning. I’ll call round at nine in the van. Then come out on my run with me.’
‘All right, I’ll see you here at nine.’
‘Ohh, fair dinkum, Les, I can’t thank you enough.’
‘Yeah all right. I’ll see you in the morning.’
Les hung up the receiver and stared at the phone for a moment. The Knee was a good bloke and Les did owe him a favour. But driving around town in a van full of hookers didn’t appeal to the big Queenslander one bit. Be nice if somebody sprung him. Oh well, thought Les. Just this once won’t hurt. And I don’t particularly like the idea of some gorilla beating up poor Dicky and stealing his run. Then again, it isn’t quite the done thing to go porking young women behind their boyfriend’s back. Though in The Knee’s defence, it does take two to tango.
Les had the house to himself as Warren was up in the Blue Mountains with his current squeeze and wouldn’t be back till Monday night. Which was good because the fast-moving, advertising executive wouldn’t see him driving off on Monday morning in a bus or whatever full of poor scrawny-looking molls. Les finished his coffee then had a nap before cooking something to eat, ironing a shirt and going to the club. He said nothing to Billy or anyone else about the fight at the hotel and he certainly didn’t mention what he was doing in the morning for The Knee. Fortunately for both Les and Billy, it was another easy night at work. Les had a couple of beers with the team after work, then drove home, got changed, watched TV for a little while and went to bed.
Monday morning dawned bright and clear over beautiful Bondi again and Norton was up at eight. After cleaning himself up, he strolled down and bought the paper then came back and got some eggs and coffee together. After a second cup of coffee, Les changed into a pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt to hide any blood that might get splashed around and his tan R.M. Williams Santa Fe’s in case he had to take out a knee cap or three, then settled back in the kitchen and re-read the paper. At two minutes past nine there was a knock on the door. Les put his sunglasses on, strolled down the hallway and answered it. Standing on the porch was a very relieved-looking Dicky wearing a crisply ironed grey button-down collar shirt tucked into a pair of neatly pressed black trousers, over a pair of shiny black casuals and he was marinated in Calvin Klein Obsession.
‘Holy moley, The Knee,’ said Les. ‘You look like you’re ready to take out Elle McPherson. And you smell like a drag queen’s bedroom.’
‘Well, what did you expect?’ said Dicky. ‘A pink suit with leopard-skin lapels and a red fedora?’
‘Actually I did,’ replied Les, noticing a white transit van double parked alongside his Holden. ‘Isn’t that what all the good pimps are wearing these days?’
‘Not this one,’ smiled The Knee. ‘Anyway, come and meet the girls and boys.’
‘Boys? Ohh Christ,’ howled Les. ‘You’re not running gigolos too, are you?’
‘Come on, you big prude,’ said Dicky. Les locked the front door and Dicky led Norton over to the transit van where he opened the back doors.
‘What the fuck!’
Norton expected to find the van full of slaggy Filipino hookers and slicked-down, buffed-up young men in tight trousers and shirts. Instead, the back of the van was full of square-shaped bird cages, each with a neat pink cover with a name and address written on a small piece of paper pinned to it. They were on the floor, round the walls and hanging off the roof. There had to be at least thirty.
‘Hello girls and boys,’ said Dicky. ‘Meet Les. Our minder for the day.’
‘I don’t believe this,’ spluttered Les. ‘They’re fuckin bird cages.’
‘Right on, Les baby,’ said Dicky. ‘That’s what I do.’
‘Do?’
‘Yeah. I got all these old socialites and widows around Rose Bay and Dover Heights got birds in cages. And I take mine around and service them.’
‘Service them?’ said Les.
‘Yeah,’ nodded Dicky. ‘I leave one of my birds with theirs for a week. They root themselves silly. I get paid, the bird gets a root, the old sheilas are stoked that their little birds are having a good time. I get to keep any eggs. And everybody’s happy.’
‘And these old girls,’ said Les, ‘are happy to pay you for the loan of a canary or a budgerigar for a week?’
‘Too right,’ replied Dicky. ‘And plenty of chops, too. I run a high-class service mate.’
‘Be buggered,’ said Les, staring at the cages and noticing them rocking slightly.
‘And they’re not all budgies and canaries, Les.’ Dicky drew back one of the coverings and inside the cage was a beautiful little bird with white and black markings around its wings and a yellow crescent. ‘This is a yellow crescent cockatiel,’ said Dicky. He covered that cage and uncovered another little bird with a pretty little face and pink and black markings. ‘This is a rose coloured burke. And over there is a crimson-crested scarlet and a white-faced cinnamon cockatiel.’ Dicky covered the cage up. ‘The rest are pretty much budgies and lorikeets and that.’
‘They look frisky enough in their cages,’ said Les.
‘Yes,’ grinned The Knee. ‘The secret is peanuts.’
‘Peanuts?’
‘Yeah. I put ground-up peanuts in with their birdseed. It works like aviculturalistic Viagra.’
‘Unbelievable,’ muttered Norton.
‘So you could say, Les,’ laughed Dicky, ‘I’m a low-life pimp with a bunch of hookers and gigolos who work for peanuts. How good’s that? And you’re my offsider for the day, which makes you no better than me.’
‘Unbelievable,’ repeated Les.
‘Now you know why this prick wants to steal my run. It’s not just about knocking off his dopey girlfriend. It’s the easy money.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Les.
The Knee stood back and closed the doors of the van. ‘Anyway Les,’ he said, ‘let’s get going. We’ll start at Watsons Bay and work back. It shouldn’t take us more than four or five hours. Even after dealing with this idiot.’
‘Okay,’ said Les. ‘Let’s get it over and done with.’
They got in the front of the van, Dicky started the engine, then slowly and carefully drove up to Old South Head Road and on to Watsons Bay.
Les didn’t say much on the way over. He was still a little shell-shocked at what The Knee was up to. Besides that, Les was watching for any cars making suspicious movements around them or trying to cut them off. Eventually they were past the old lighthouse and Dicky turned left. Halfway down the street he pulled up in front of a big old brick house with a brick fence out the front and a garden full of roses. A set of steps ran up to a frosted glass front door.
‘I might be better off waiting in the car,’ said Les.
‘Yeah. Not a bad idea, Les,’ replied Dicky. He got out and opened the back doors. ‘Now. What have we got here? One crimson-crested scarlet named Ramos for dear old Mrs Leibowitz.’ Dicky took one of the cages out and closed the doors. ‘I won’t be long, Les,’ he called out, before stepping over to the front yard and opening the gate.
‘Take your time, mate,’ said Les.
Les watched as Dicky took the stairs and knocked on the door. It was soon opened by a beaming white-haired Jewish mother wearing a light blue apron round her waist. Dicky went inside and the door closed. Less than ten minutes later he was back in the van.
‘How easy was that, Les?’ Dicky smiled as he started the engine.
‘Beautiful,’ replied Les. ‘If the cage is a-rockin’, don’t come knockin’. So where to now?’
‘Next street on the left,’ said Dicky.
They drove down to another big old house much like the other, only with small trees and native shrubs in the front yard. Dicky got out and opened the back doors again.
‘So what have we got this time?’ said Dicky. ‘Ahh yes. A plain yellow canary called Rose for sweet Mrs Antoniadis.’ Dicky took one of the birdcages, closed the van doors walked across to the gate and took the stairs to be greeted at the front door by another beaming woman, this time dressed all in black.
After that Dicky would pull up in front of either a big house or an expensive-looking block of home units, take in another bird and come back. Eventually there were only ten cages left and Dicky had pulled up in front of a large block of home units in Dover Heights, not far from Military Road.
‘Fuckin Mrs Lanzinger,’ grumbled Dicky. ‘I got to go right up the top. And she rang me earlier to tell me the lift’s fucked. Great.’
‘You can do it, The Knee,’ said Les.
‘I got to.’ Dicky sniffed the air. ‘Dunno where stupid is, though. I thought he would have shown up by now.’
‘We’ve got a little while yet, Dicky,’ said Norton.
Les waited in the van while Dicky repeated his usual procedure. Les was about to turn on the car radio when a dark blue Holden utility with a solid tow bar at the back pulled up in front of him. The utility went into reverse then backed straight into the front of Dicky’s van with a solid bump that jerked Les into his seatbelt. The utility went forward then backed into Dicky’s van again, this time a little harder, startling the birds in the back and rocking their cages. The utility went forward then stopped.
Well, mused Les, I’d say this is our man. Better see what his problem is. Les got out of the car, stepped round the front and stood in front of the driver’s side. A moment later a dark-haired man wearing jeans and a grey T-shirt got out from behind the wheel of the utility. He was tall and sinewy and reminded Les of Vinnie Jones, the English ex-soccer player turned movie heavy. The passenger side door opened and a solid fair-haired man carrying a bit of beef got out wearing khaki shorts and a sleeveless green shirt. Both men looked at Les as if he had no right to breathe the same air as them, let alone be seen near them.
‘Hello,’ said Les cheerfully. ‘Having a bit of trouble parking your car, mate?’
‘No,’ replied the tall man, turning to his mate. ‘I thought I parked pretty good.’
Les pointed to Dicky’s crumpled number plate. ‘You could have fooled me.’
‘Maybe you’re just easily fooled,’ laughed the man in the khaki shorts.
Just then, The Knee appeared out the front of the home units. ‘Oh shit!’ he said, when he saw the two men.
‘Well, look who’s here,’ sniggered the tall man with dark hair. ‘Just the little tit I want to talk to.’
‘Hey Knackers,’ Les said directly to the tall man. ‘If you want to talk to him, you talk to me first.’
The tall man’s face darkened. ‘And why the fuck would I want to talk to you, Shithead?’
‘Because I’m nice,’ Les smiled warmly. ‘And I’m a great conversationalist with an abundance of wit and charm. And just looking at you and your fat-arsed mate in the daggy shorts, I’d say if you two ever ran half-a-dozen intelligent words together, it’d set a record-paying quinella.’
That was it. The stage was set, the insults had been exchanged. Now it was time for drama. The tall man nodded to his mate and they both advanced towards Les. Norton figured the best course of action would be to take the shorter man out first, then concentrate on the tall one. Les stood his ground and as the two men drew nearer, balanced on his left leg and with his right foot flicked out possibly the best front snap kick Les had ever thrown in his life. The toe of Norton’s Santa Fe landed perfectly in the shorter man’s liver, instantly crippling him. His eyes bulged out off his head, his mouth gaped open and he collapsed on the ground, barely able to believe the pain as the poison squirted out of his liver and pumped into his bloodstream. In almost one movement, Les belted the tall man with a left hook that tore open his mouth and caused a spurt of blood to drip all over his T-shirt. Les followed the left hook up with another, then another, then ended it with a punishing, short straight right that sat the tall man on his backside seeing stars, and plenty of them. Les looked at him for a moment and to make sure he wouldn’t cause any more trouble, slammed a Muay Thai kick across his jaw that almost took his head off. He sprawled out on his back, spattered with blood, totally unconscious. Satisfied the Vinnie Jones lookalike was out of the picture, Les turned to the man in the khaki shorts lying nearby and grabbed him by the front of his sleeveless shirt.
‘Okay, Boofhead,’ said Les menacingly. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Get fucked,’ was the tortured reply.
‘Get Fucked, eh,’ replied Les. ‘That’s a funny name. Your parents must have had a great sense of humour.’
Khaki Shorts spat on the ground. ‘In your arse,’ he muttered.
‘I wish you were,’ replied Les. ‘I’d shit all over you.’ Les gave Khaki Shorts two quick punches in the face that had blood flowing from his nose in an instant. ‘Now listen Get Fucked, or whatever your name is, and I’m only going to say this once. Both you and your mate keep the fuck away from Richard. If you don’t, I’ll be back next time with a mate. And we’ll leave both of you in wheelchairs. You got that.’
‘Fuck you,’ Khaki Shorts sputtered through the blood and pain.
‘Fuck me,’ said Les angrily. He gave Khaki Shorts another two smacks in the mouth which made him howl with more pain. ‘Look. I don’t know what it takes to get through to you, Get Fucked. But I can keep this up all afternoon.’ Les gave the fair-haired man another quick smack in the mouth.
‘All right, all right,’ moaned Khaki Shorts. ‘I got the picture. We’ll keep away from him.’
‘See, Get Fucked,’ said Les, ‘I knew you were a reasonable sort of bloke. So now I’m going to do you and your mate a favour.’ Les picked the fair-haired man up and shoved him into the passenger side of the utility, then closed the door. He did the same after picking up the tall man and propping him behind the steering wheel. Satisfied they wouldn’t draw any attention by being left lying in the street covered in blood, Les removed the keys from the ignition and jangled them in front of the fair-haired man’s face. ‘Seeing as you’re in not in the best condition to drive, I’ll put these where they’ll be safe.’ Just in front of the utility was a grate covering a stormwater drain. Les dropped the keys down the grate and returned to the fair-haired man. ‘They’ll be safe in there,’ said Les. ‘Get them out with a coat hanger. And in the meantime,’ Les smiled, ‘do have a nice day.’ He caught Dicky’s eye. ‘Righto, The Knee,’ he said. ‘Let’s get the fuck out of Dodge.’
‘Yes let’s,’ replied a stunned Dicky.
After a quick check of the two men bundled into the utility, Les got into Dicky’s van and they proceeded on their way.
‘Fair dinkum,’ said Dicky as they turned into Military Road. ‘I’ve never seen anything like that. You’re not a man, Les, you’re a fuckin android.’
‘Whatever, Dicky,’ said Les. ‘But all the froth and bubble’s over now. So you might as well take me straight home.’
‘Righto, Les. Your place it is.’
Dicky drove off and before long they were parked outside Chez Norton.
‘Honestly Les,’ said Dicky, ‘I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve saved my bacon.’
‘That’s all right mate,’ replied Les. ‘It was a hoot. And I’m only too happy to return a favour.’
The Knee pulled two hundred dollars out of his jeans and offered it to Les. ‘Here mate,’ he said. ‘If that’s not enough, just tell me.’
‘I don’t want your money, Dicky,’ said Les.
‘Well, at least take a hundred,’ pleaded Dicky.
‘All right,’ said Les. ‘You can shout me a bottle of Gentleman Jack.’
‘Beauty.’ Dicky handed Les two fifties as Les opened the door and stepped outside.
‘Well, you’re sweet now, Dicky,’ said Les. ‘But if there’s any trouble, give me a call.’
‘Okay. But thanks, Les. I really appreciate it. And if there’s anything I can do for you, bit of plumbing or whatever, just let me know.’
‘I will. See you, The Knee.’ Les closed the van door and went inside, leaving Dicky to drive off and finish his run.
Once inside, Les got out of his blood-spattered T-shirt and jeans, tossed them in the laundry and climbed into an old blue tracksuit. He got a bottle of mineral water from the fridge and stepped into the lounge. He was about to sit down when he noticed the answering machine was blinking. He turned it on and it was Buzzy.
‘Hey Les. It’s Buzzy. Give me a ring as soon as possible will you. It’s urgent.’
Shit, thought Les, taking a good mouthful of water. I don’t like the sound of that. He had another sip of water, found Buzzy’s phone number and dialled.
‘Hello.’
‘Buzzy. It’s Les. I got your message. What’s up? It’s not the fuckin hotel, is it?’
‘No,’ answered Buzzy. ‘The pub’s all good. No one knows it was you and they sacked that bouncer. Apparently he’s a complete fuckin mug. In fact there’s a good chance Ronnie can sue the hotel.’
‘Unreal,’ smiled Les. ‘That makes me feel rather excellent.’
‘That’s the good news though Les.’
‘Yeah? What’s the bad?’
‘Ronnie’s got a cracked vertebra in his neck. It’s an old injury the hospital picked up when they X-rayed him.’
‘Shit!’ exclaimed Les.
‘Ronnie never knew. And if that bouncer hadn’t pinged him, he could have gone on playing football and finished up in a wheelchair with a broken neck.’
‘Holy fuck!’
‘Yeah,’ said Buzzy. ‘So, Les, I suppose sometimes things happen for the best.’
‘They did in this case,’ agreed Norton. ‘So where is the poor, ugly bastard? I’ll go and visit him.’
‘He’s in the War Memorial in Birrell Street. Room 331.’
‘Okay. I’ll go up and see him in about …’ Les looked at his watch, ‘about an hour or so.’
‘Good on you, Les,’ said Buzzy.
‘No worries. And thanks, Buzzy.’ Les hung up the phone and stared at the floor.
Shit! thought Les, poor bloody Hog. A cracked vertebra in his neck. How lucky was he they picked that up? Fate sure works in mysterious ways. Les nodded to the sky. Nice one Boss. Ronnie’s a good man.
Les spent more than an hour cleaning up and putting some clothes away in his room. He had a shave and a shower, hit himself with a little Eau Sauvage then changed into a pair of Levis and a clean grey Jimmy Buffett T-shirt. There was a box of Lindt chocolates in the fridge that Warren was going to share with his latest squeeze. Les purloined the chocolates, promising to replace them before Warren got back, then went out to his car and headed for the War Memorial Hospital in Birrell Street.
A smile flickered around Norton’s eyes as he drove in the front and remembered the last time he was there, when Detective Mooney got shot. That was certainly a day, that was. But the old hospital was still as lovely as ever with its white courtyard, neat landscaping and marble statues. Les found a parking spot between a statue of a woman holding a ball over her head and the same blue and gold sign saying AND HE HEALED THEM. He took the chocolates, locked the car, then strolled across to the double glass doors and stepped inside.
A dining room was off to the left, the rooms ran off to the right and in front of him a receptionist and a nurse were glued to a computer screen behind the front desk. A woman in white was pushing a tea trolley along the grey carpet towards the dining room and a nurse walked past towards the rooms, staring intently at a clipboard. Les didn’t bother to ask where Ronnie was. He noticed a room to the right was 334, so he figured room 331 wouldn’t be far away. It was three doors down on the right. Les knocked softly and stepped inside Ronnie’s bright air-conditioned room overlooking the gardens.
Ronnie was propped up in a bed next to the window, wearing a blue hospital gown, his neck in a brace and a drip taped to his left hand. His hair was brushed back neatly, but his lack of good looks was further emphasised by a fat lip and a swollen jaw. However, seated on Ronnie’s left, wearing Nikes, pink jeans and a pastel blue top that clung to her hour-glass figure was one of the most beautiful women Les had ever seen. Jet black hair curled around her sweet pixie face, her eyes were a smouldering, seductive hazel and a tiny pair of pink lips with ‘kiss me’ written all over them sat under a dainty nose. She had a perfect tan and Norton surmised she was in her late twenties. Holding the chocolates, Les could hardly take his eyes off her, the woman’s beauty was absolutely intoxicating. Finally, before making a total fool of himself, Les dragged his eyes away and turned to Ronnie.
‘Hello Michael Jackson,’ smiled Les. ‘How are you moonwalking these days, me old China?’
‘Hey Les,’ Ronnie smiled back. ‘How are you mate? Crikey, it’s good to see you.’
‘You too, Ronnie.’ Les placed the chocolates on a table next to Ronnie’s bed. ‘Here mate. I brought you some chocolates. For that sweet little tooth of yours.’
‘Shit! Thanks Les,’ said Ronnie. ‘And thanks for sorting out that dopey bouncer for me. Buzzy told me what you did.’
Les gave a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. ‘That’s okay, Ronnie. He was just a mug and got what he deserved.’
‘Yeah. But thanks anyway,’ said Ronnie.
Les turned back to the beautiful brunette. ‘Hello,’ he smiled tentatively. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ the girl smiled back, showing a set of perfect white teeth.
Norton started to stare again. Not only was the girl beautiful in looks, she had a voice like the tinkling of a crystal chandelier. Les felt his heart racing. He had never been so smitten or captivated by a woman in his life.
‘Hey Les,’ said Ronnie. ‘This is my sister, Georgina.’
Les couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Your sister?’ he said.
‘That’s right,’ said Ronnie. ‘Georgina. This is Les. Les, meet my sister Georgina.’
‘Nice to meet you, Les.’ Ronnie’s sister smiled and offered Norton her hand. ‘Ronnie’s been telling me a few things about you.’
Les took Georgina’s small hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, getting a surprisingly firm handshake in return. Up close Ronnie’s sister not only looked beautiful, she felt beautiful and had a beautiful aroma about her from some exotic perfume. Les also noticed a tasteful amount of expensive gold bling around her neck and on her fingers, and on her left wrist was a gold Longines quartz watch. Georgina had an abundance of class to accompany her loveliness.
‘Yeah … yes,’ stammered Les, finally letting go of Georgina’s hand. ‘Nice to meet you, too, Georgina.’ Les had a quick glance around the room. ‘I might get that chair in the corner and sit down.’
‘I’ll move along a little,’ said Georgina.
She moved her chair and Les sat down beside her, facing Ronnie but making sure he could still get a good view of Georgina. Les knew he was going to have to be careful what he said and did because Georgina had bowled him for a six and it wouldn’t be hard to make a fool of himself.
‘So where do you live, Georgina? I’ve never see you anywhere before,’ Les asked.
‘I live in Wollongong,’ she replied. ‘I drove up this morning when I heard what happened. I’ll go back early tomorrow.’
‘Right,’ nodded Les.
‘I’m staying at a girlfriend’s house in the same street as the hospital. Just near Centennial Park. In fact it’s such a lovely day I walked up for a little exercise.’
‘I don’t blame you,’ said Les. ‘It is a nice day outside.’
‘I’d like to be out in it,’ said Ronnie.
‘Yes. Well you just stay in bed, you big dill,’ ordered Georgina. ‘And keep off any more dance floors too.’ She turned to Les. ‘Have you ever seen him dance?’
‘Yeah. Many a time,’ replied Les, laughing at the way Ronnie’s sister rebuked him. ‘Like an orang-utan with a club foot.’
‘Exactly,’ chuckled Georgina. ‘You’ve certainly got a way with words, Les.’
‘Ohh bullshit,’ said Ronnie. ‘I’m a very swivilised, swelegant dude. The chicks love me.’
‘Yeah right,’ smiled Les. He caught Georgina’s eye. ‘So what do you do in beautiful downtown Wollongong, Georgina? If you don’t mind me asking.’
Georgina smiled at her brother for a moment. ‘I’m a sales representative,’ she replied.
‘Cool,’ nodded Les. ‘Me, I’m just a low-life bouncer,’ he shrugged.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Georgina. ‘Ronnie tells me you’re a lot more than that.’
After the introductions and whatever the afternoon went wonderfully. They chatted about this and that. The tea lady brought them some tea and biscuits. A very petite Asian nurse came in and took Ronnie’s blood pressure and checked his heart. Finally, and more than a little reluctantly, Les thought it might be best if he left Ronnie and his beautiful sister to themselves.
‘Well gang,’ said Les, getting ready to stand up, ‘I might leave you to it. I’m sure you’ve both got a lot of things you wish to talk about.’
‘All right Les,’ said Ronnie, reaching over and shaking Norton’s hand. ‘Hey, thanks for coming in mate. And thanks for everything else.’
‘That’s all right mate,’ smiled Les. ‘I’ll come back and see you through the week. And I’ll bring you some more chocolates. These’ll be gone by tonight, knowing you.’ Norton was about to say goodbye to Georgina and leave happy that he hadn’t had a chance to make a dill of himself, when she spoke first.
‘Les,’ enquired Georgina, ‘Ronnie tells me you live in Bondi.’
‘Yeah. Cox Avenue. I got a house there I share with a smartarse advertising executive named Warren.’
‘What are you doing tonight?’
‘Tonight … me?’ answered Les. ‘Well, nothing. Why?’
‘How about we go out to dinner? I’ll shout. You know somewhere nice?’
Les couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. ‘I sure do,’ he replied. ‘And I’d love to take you to dinner. I’m not so sure about you shouting, though.’
‘Whatever,’ smiled Georgina. She took a piece of hospital stationery, along with a biro, then wrote quickly on the small piece of paper and handed it to Les. ‘There’s my friend’s address and phone number. What time suits you?’
‘I don’t know. What time suits you?’ Les replied dumbly.
‘How about seven-thirty?’ said Georgina.
‘Seven-thirty it is then,’ nodded Les.
‘Oooh, you’re a smoothie, Les,’ smiled Ronnie. He looked at his sister. ‘They don’t call her Gorgeous George for nothing.’
‘Gorgeous George,’ smiled Les. ‘I’ll go along with that.’
‘I’ll see you tonight Les,’ said Georgina.
‘Okay. See you then. See you Ronnie.’ Still half dazed, Norton left the room, walked back to his car and drove home.
Once inside, Les got a bottle of mineral water from the fridge, took it out to the backyard and drank it in the sun. Well, that ugly bastard certainly kept that to himself, he thought. And is this really happening, Les asked himself. That woman is absolutely beautiful, yet she asked me out. Les raised his bottle to the sky. Don’t know what I did to deserve this one, Boss. But thanks heaps. And as for Wollongong, I don’t care if she lives out on the Nullarbor, if I get the chance I’ll be seeing her again. Les drank the remaining water, then went inside and started sorting out a few bills and other things.
By the time Les had finished, the day was over and it was time to get ready for his dinner date. He changed into a pair of brown jeans, a yellow, button-down collar shirt and a tan Yves St Laurent sports jacket he’d bought from a thief. After topping up the Eau Sauvage he went out to the fridge. Inside was a bottle of Cloud Valley chardonnay Warren was also planning to share with his girl. Promising himself he’d replace that too, Les took the bottle, locked up the house, then walked over to his car and drove to Bondi Junction.
Where Georgina was staying wasn’t hard to find. It was a single-storey brick house on the left with a white brick fence out front, next to a locked garage. Parked next to the driveway was a silver Mercedes Cabriolet. Les pulled up on the driveway and as he got out off the car he noticed the first two letters of the Cabriolet’s number plate were GG. If that belongs to who I think it does, Ronnie’s sister’s doing all right for herself. Les opened the gate, stepped along a neat pathway and knocked on the polished wood front door. A small dog yapped inside, then the door opened and Georgina was standing there in a simple, very short, very low-cut black sleeveless dress, black stockings and red stilettos. Over her shoulder was a small red handbag.
‘Hello Les,’ she smiled.
‘Hello Georgina,’ Les smiled back, his heart racing a little.
‘Well, I’m ready to go,’ she said, closing the door behind her.
‘Then go we shall,’ said Les. He ushered her over to his car, opened the door for her then went round and got behind the wheel.
‘I like your dress,’ said Les. ‘It’s very … ethereal,’ he smiled.
‘Thank you,’ Georgina smiled. ‘And that’s a particularly nice jacket you’re wearing too.’
‘Are you hungry?’ Les asked as he started the engine and began to do a U-turn back up Birrell Street.
‘I am actually,’ replied Georgina. ‘But I’m not a very big eater.’ She gave Les a quick once up and down. ‘I’ll bet you can put it away.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Les. ‘I am known as a man of substantial gustation.’
‘Something else I also noticed about you,’ said Georgina. ‘Up at the hospital you were wearing a Jimmy Buffett T-shirt. You’re not a parrothead are you?’
‘Hey Georgina,’ whispered Les, slipping into a reasonable American accent. ‘Do you know somebody can get me a passssport, real quick?’
‘Why sure,’ said Georgina, slipping into a better American accent. ‘I got a cousin works out of a payphone in Miami.’
‘How many of his CDs have you got?’ asked Les.
‘Most of them.’
‘Have you got the DVD Scenes You Know by Heart?’
‘Have I ever,’ smiled Georgina. ‘That rocks.’
‘Does it what,’ Les smiled back.
‘So where are we going for dinner?’ asked Georgina.
‘A little place over in Clovelly called Gringos.’
‘Gringos?’
‘Yep,’ said Les. ‘It’s not too far away, it’s not too pretentious. And the food’s not too bad at all.’
‘What kind of food?’ enquired Georgina.
‘Kind of Tex-Mex, old-style American. The place hasn’t been open long. And I can’t see us having any trouble getting a table tonight.’
‘Sounds good,’ said Georgina. ‘And this wine looks quite nice too.’
‘It better be,’ said Les. ‘Or my flatmate will be looking for somewhere else to live.’
Les took a right at Bronte Road and they chatted away, mainly about music and movies. Before long Les pulled up in Clovelly Road, did a U-turn and parked outside some home units opposite the restaurant.
‘There it is,’ nodded Les.
‘I like it already,’ said Georgina.
The restaurant wasn’t all that big. The front window was painted white with crossed Confederate and American flags in the corners. Painted red and blue in the middle was a Mexican sombrero and a ten-gallon hat, and beneath that in red was GRINGOS.
Inside it was exactly like Les said, not too pretentious. Plain wooden floors and plain wooden tables with red-and-white check tablecloths. The kitchen and counter were at the rear and hanging on the walls were posters of America: the Golden Gate Bridge, Manhattan, the Alamo, etc, along with several framed photos of old movie stars: James Cagney, Jane Russell, Peter Lorre and others. There were eight couples eating plus a table of four. Les and Georgina walked through the tables down to the counter, where Les asked a smiling, red-haired girl in black could they have a table for two. The girl led them to a table by the wall beneath a photo of Humphrey Bogart, handed them a menu each and took the wine to open it, leaving Les smiling inside at the looks Georgina was getting from the other men in the restaurant.
‘Gee. Some of the dishes in here look quite tasty,’ commented Georgina.
‘They were pretty good last time I was here,’ said Les.
The red-haired girl brought back the wine and poured them each a glass, then they ordered. For starters they decided to share a gnocchi primavera, Georgina ordered chicken and corn tacos for a main, Les opted for the turkey burgers with cranberry glaze. Plus a bowl of steamed vegetables and two bottles of sparkling mineral water. They clinked glasses and settled back.
‘So how did you spend the day earlier, Les?’ asked Georgina. ‘I imagine you went down the beach.’
Les shook his head. ‘No. Never had a chance,’ he replied soberly. ‘I was too busy out pimping.’
Any expression drained from Georgina’s face. ‘You were what?’ she said.
‘Pimping,’ answered Les. ‘You know. Procuring. I had to take some little chicks out and get ’em on the job.’
‘I don’t think I want to hear this,’ said Georgina, looking at Les, her face a mask of pure disgust.
‘Fair enough,’ shrugged Les. ‘But a man’s got to earn a dollar. Anyway. Hear me out. You did ask me how I spent the day.’
With Georgina looking like she wanted to get up and leave, Les told her about his day and how it all came about. He started off with having to help The Knee because some big thug wanted his run, which didn’t go over very well at all. But when he got to the part where Dicky opened the van and it was full of cages and what his pimp run consisted of, Georgina’s jaw dropped, then she started a throaty chuckling which soon turned into a howling fit of laughter that had her coughing into her hand and wiping tears from her eyes. She even laughed uproariously when Les told her how he beat up the two thugs. Shit! I’ve struck a nerve here, mused Les, thinking Georgina was about to have an asthma attack. Suddenly, she got up from her chair, reached over and punched Les in the chest.
‘Oh, you stupid bastard,’ she howled, getting odd looks from everybody else in the restaurant.
‘Well, you did ask,’ shrugged Les again.
Georgina sat down and tossed back her beautiful head. ‘Oh my God!’ she said. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t say nothing,’ said Les. ‘Here comes the food. Let’s eat, drink and … try to be merry.’
‘Try to be merry,’ echoed Georgina. ‘How can anybody try to be merry with a nutter like you around?’
‘Sorry,’ apologised Les.
The gnocchi was delicious, with just the right amount of pesto, cream and shaved parmesan. Georgina said her tacos were great and Les couldn’t possibly fault the turkey burgers. Nor could he fault Georgina’s company. Not only was she beautiful, she made you feel fantastic just being with her. They finished the wine, then split a serving of blueberry pancakes and ice-cream followed by two percolated coffees. Les drank the last of his mineral water, went to the toilet and paid the bill on the way back. After he sat down, he smiled at Georgina.
‘So how did you like Gringos?’ he asked.
‘It was lovely,’ Georgina replied, reaching for her handbag. ‘Now I’d better attend to the bill. Remember. I said it was my shout.’
Les shook his head. ‘You’re too slow, you poor old thing,’ he said. ‘I’ve already paid it.’
‘Oh Les,’ admonished Georgina.
‘Oh Les,’ mimicked Norton. ‘Hey, I just got a big earn on the pimp today. Remember?’
‘Oh don’t start on that bloody pimping again,’ she said, trying not to laugh.
‘Okay,’ nodded Les. ‘So what would you like to do now, Georgina? Go for a drink somewhere or something?’
Georgina looked evenly at Les. ‘Why don’t we go back to your place?’ she said. ‘I’d like to see where you live.’
Les could hardly believe what he’d just heard. ‘Okay. I’ll throw a bit of Jimmy Buffett on the stereo.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
They got up to leave. Les gave the red-haired waitress a smile and a wave. The girl, after getting a fifty-dollar tip, not only smiled and waved back, she hurried over and opened the door for them. They thanked her, got in the car and headed for Bondi.
Les put the radio on softly, when Georgina reached across and put her hand on his leg. Les swallowed, smiled at her and tried to concentrate on his driving. It wasn’t easy, because the beautiful Georgina had knocked him for a loop. Les hated to admit it, but it was love at first sight. He’d fallen in love with Georgina. And deeply. They pulled up at Chez Norton and went inside. Les had left the light on in the hallway and they walked down to the lounge. Les switched the light on and Georgina looked around.
‘This is really nice,’ she said. ‘I like your posters. And I love your bar with that funky little ceramic lamp at the end.’
‘Thanks,’ said Les. He rubbed his hands together. ‘So can I get you something?’
‘I wouldn’t mind a bourbon and soda.’
‘Ice and slice?’
‘Lovely.’
‘Okay. I might just have a beer. But first, I’ll see what Jimmy’s got to offer.’
Les put Volcano on, and with ‘Fins’ plying quietly in the background, made Georgina’s drink and opened a Carlton longneck for himself. He took the drinks out to the loungeroom and sat down next to Georgina, just as ‘Fins’ cut out and ‘Volcano’ started bopping out of the speakers.
‘I like this track, “Volcano”,’ said Georgina.
‘So do I,’ replied Les. ‘The next one’s even better — “Treat Her Like a Lady”.’
Georgina smiled and looked at Les. ‘You’ve certainly done that tonight, Les Norton,’ she said softly.
‘What else could I do, Georgina?’ Les smiled back. ‘That’s what you are.’
Georgina shook her head at Les. ‘Why did you have to go and say that, Les? You big dill.’
Georgina put her drink down on the coffee table, reached across and, with her left hand on Norton’s cheek, drew his face towards her and kissed him. Les waited till his heart stopped pounding and started to return the kiss. It didn’t take long before the kissing heated up and Norton could hardly believe it when Georgina slipped a very ‘ethereal’ tip of tongue into Norton’s mouth. Les felt as if he’d just been strapped into an electric chair and copped the full voltage. Next thing they started groping each other between all the torrid kissing till Georgina stood up, slipped her dress up over her head and placed it on the lounge. Les openly gasped. Underneath she was wearing the skimpiest black lace underwear and a tiny suspender belt. Georgina took Les by the hand.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Where’s your bedroom?’
‘Down the hall. Front room facing the street,’ answered Norton.
‘Well come on,’ repeated Georgina. ‘Are we going there? Or do you want to sit on the lounge all night like a battery hen?’
‘Holy mother of the Lord,’ said Les, jumping to his feet. ‘Let’s go.’
By the time they got to Norton’s bedroom, Georgina was out of her underwear, stockings and suspender belt and lying back on Norton’s big comfortable bed. Les was about half a minute behind her and by now Mr Wobbly was a gibbering, foaming-at-the-mouth nutcase. The angry little chap had never been served up anything as good as this before. Les lay down on the bed next to Georgina, kissed her, ran his tongue over her firm, tiny nipples, then caressed the warm magic between her legs. Finally he rolled over and entered her. Georgina gave a delighted sigh of ecstasy and started riding with Les as the big Queenslander began pumping away.
Les tried to control his emotions. But found he couldn’t and started giving it to Georgina. Yet the harder Les banged away, the more Georgina seemed to like it. She kissed his neck, put her tongue in his ear and drew him into her. Eventually Mr Wobbly could take no more. Les lifted Ronnie’s sister’s beautiful legs up over her head and emptied into her. When he’d finished he got off, slipped his arm around Georgina’s shoulders and held her to him.
‘How are you feeling, Georgina?’ he asked her quietly. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Am I okay?’ said Georgina. ‘You bet I’m okay. I’m just fine. How about you?’
‘How am I?’ replied Les. ‘I’m a bit better than okay. I’m in love.’
‘Now don’t go saying things like that, Les.’
‘I can’t help it,’ said Les.
‘Well don’t.’
‘Hang on while I get a towel.’
Les got a towel from a drawer then got back into bed and gave them both a wipe. He dropped the towel on the floor and cuddled Georgina.
‘Mmmh,’ sighed Georgina, wriggling up against Les. ‘You cuddle nice.’
‘So do you,’ said Les. ‘And I’m particularly glad you’re feeling okay.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because I’ve got an awful feeling I might have to attack you again.’
‘Might?’ said Georgina. ‘We’ll soon see about might.’
Georgina moved her head down the bed and began giving Les a polish that brought tears to his eyes. In less than a minute Mr Wobbly was a raging monster again, wanting to rape and pillage. Georgina came up with a big smile on her face and gave Les a long smouldering kiss. When it finished, Les rolled Georgina over on her back.
‘Might, eh?’ she chuckled as Les entered her again.
The second round of lovemaking was even more torrid than the first and went longer. Georgina squealed and wriggled around while Les kissed her and pumped steadily away. Finally Mr Wobbly could take no more and pumping his little chest up, blew his brains out in a bigger explosion than the first one. Les got the towel again, then they lay on the bed together not saying a great deal. Finally Georgina spoke.
‘I’d better get going, Les,’ she said. ‘I’ve got an early start in the morning.’
‘Okay.’ They got out of bed and Les started looking around. ‘Christ!’ said Les. ‘All we gotta do now is find our clothes.’
‘Yes,’ said Georgina, picking up her stockings. ‘Thanks to you, you ravenous beast, mine are scattered from one end of the house to the other.’
‘Sorry,’ apologised Les. ‘Hey Georgina,’ he asked, ‘do you mind if I just throw a tracksuit on to drive you home?’ I’m buggered if I can find my pants.’
‘No. That’s all right. I wish I was getting into a tracksuit myself,’ said Georgina adjusting her suspender belt.
Les put his blue tracksuit and trainers on, Georgina got into her dress and high heels. They had a glass of water each and a bit of a kiss and a cuddle, then both walked out to the car.
Not a great deal was said during the short drive home. Georgina seemed lost in her own thoughts. Les was trying to keep himself together. Inside he felt his heart was going to burst. He had truly fallen deeply in love with the beautiful brunette from the South Coast and didn’t want to leave her. He had to see her again, no matter what. Finally they pulled up outside Georgina’s friend’s house and Les turned off the engine. They both smiled at each other for a moment or two.
‘Well, I guess this is it, Georgina,’ said Les. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Yes Les. I guess it is,’ replied Georgina.
‘Georgina,’ said Les. ‘You remember back at my place when I said I was in love? Well, I meant it. I am in love with you. Up to my eyeballs in it with you. And I want to see you again.’
Georgina shook her head. ‘No, Les. It just can’t be.’
‘Why not?’ asked Les. ‘Wollongong’s not the end of the earth. And I won’t pester you. I just want to see you. It’s not just your looks. I love you for your company. You’re great to be with. You’re the best woman I’ve ever met. I mean it.’
Georgina looked at Les with a sad smile on her face. ‘Oh Les,’ she said, taking his hand, ‘you’re probably the sweetest man I’ve ever met. You’re honest, you’re funny. And you’ve got these old-fashioned values you don’t see in many men these days. I like you a lot. But as for anything else. I’m sorry, Les. It is what it is. And it just can’t be.’
‘Why not?’ pleaded Les. He drew back a little. ‘You’ve already got someone. That figures,’ he added with a despondent shrug.
‘No. It’s not that,’ said Georgina.
‘Then what?’
Georgina looked at Les and tried to smile. ‘Les. Do you know what I really do for a living?’
‘You said you were a sales representative.’
‘I’m an escort,’ said Georgina.
‘An escort?’ said Les. ‘You mean like …’
‘Like an escort. A call girl. A hooker, for want of a better word I suppose. But hey Les, I’m not just some moll working up the Cross to support her habit.’
‘Christ!’ grimaced Les. ‘I couldn’t even imagine that.’
‘I run a high-class little agency in Wollongong, called Georgie’s Girls. “Our Legs Never Close”. And there’s eight: two cheerleaders from a rugby league team, three of the most beautiful Ukranian girls you’ve ever seen in your life, a French girl who used to model in Paris, a Dutch girl, Antji, who wears braids and looks about twelve in a school uniform. And an ex-Las Vegas chorus girl who’s six feet tall. I tell you, Les. We’re flat out keeping up with the demand.’
‘And you as well.’
‘And me, Les,’ nodded Georgina. ‘And they all want to bonk the boss.’
‘I can understand that,’ remarked Les.
‘Which is why I let you go without any protection tonight. I’m on the pill and I knew you’d be all right.’
‘Thanks,’ said Les, without any hint of sarcasm.
‘Would you believe, Les, as well as clients on the South Coast, we’ve got a long list of rich old dudes who come down from Sydney to be with a beautiful girl and get away from anyone who might know them. And a lot of these rich old dudes will happily pay three thousand dollars to take me out to dinner, fill me full of French champagne then get their rocks off without a condom.’
‘Well Georgina,’ said Les. ‘I’m certainly not going to say they’ve got more money than sense. I think they know real value when they see it.’
‘Nicely put, Les,’ smiled Georgina.
Les nodded at the windscreen. ‘So that Mercedes with the GG number plates, I imagine that’s yours.’
‘Yes. I’ve also got a Jeep Cherokee, a Duccati and two home units overlooking Wollongong Harbour. And another one I live in at Warilla. I’ll do this for a few more years, set Ronnie up in his own home and look after Mum and Dad and my sister. Then …’ Georgina patted between her legs. ‘I might close up shop for a while. And just kick back with all my ill-gotten gains. In fact they’re not ill-gotten gains. I’m a registered company, I pay my taxes and a woman doctor checks the girls out every fortnight.’
‘Well,’ said Les, shaking his head. ‘Even though on one side you’ve broken my heart, on the other I can only wish you luck and happiness. But I still love you.’
‘Thanks, Les,’ Georgina replied with a kiss.
Les could sense Georgina wanted to go inside. ‘Well, I suppose you better get going mate,’ he said reluctantly.
‘Yes. I suppose I better mate,’ replied Georgina.
‘Georgina?’ asked Les. ‘After the few more years roll by, do you think I might still be able to see you then?’
‘You never know, Les. You never know,’ said Georgina. ‘I have to admit, you’ve sent my little heart aflutter tonight too.’
‘Well, if ever you want to find me, Georgina, just whistle,’ said Les. ‘Hey,’ he added with a grin, ‘you know how to whistle don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ smiled Georgina. ‘Just like one of those little canaries in your friend’s cages.’
‘I wondered why you cracked up so much when I told you about that.’
‘Cracked up. Oh God. I can’t wait to tell the girls when I get home. That’s pure gold.’
‘Anyway lady,’ Les said evenly. ‘I don’t care whether you scratch my eyes out, kick me in the Jatz Crackers or step on my blue suede shoes. I’m going to walk you to the front gate and kiss you goodnight whether you like it or not.’
‘Ooooh. Into a bit of domination are you, Les?’ said Georgina. ‘I think I can handle that.’
Les got out of the car, walked round and opened the door for Georgina, then they stepped across to the gate. Les took Georgina by both hands.
‘Well, goodbye Georgina,’ said Les, holding back a tear. ‘Thanks for a fantastic night.’
‘Thank you too, Les,’ smiled Georgina. ‘Yes. It was a fantastic night.’
Their hands tightened round each others’ and they had a long soft kiss.
‘Goodnight, Les.’
‘Goodnight, Georgina.’
The gate opened and Georgina went inside. Les got back in the car and drove home.
Once inside Chez Norton, Les made himself a bourbon and soda and sipped it silently in the loungeroom. He didn’t quite know what to think. Though deep down, he knew it was all too good to be true. Women like Georgina don’t just turn up out of the blue and everyone lives happily ever after. Life is never a fairytale. Les raised his glass to the sky. But thanks anyway, Boss, he smiled. It was great while it lasted. Les finished his drink, cleaned his teeth and without bothering to change, went straight to bed.
Lying back in the darkness of his bedroom, Norton still felt awfully empty. But before long a heavy tiredness enveloped the big Queenslander and his eyes started to close. Nevertheless, before he fell asleep the tear Les had managed to hold back when he said goodbye to Georgina silently rolled down his face and disappeared amongst the sweet memory of her perfume, still fragrant on his pillow.
The skies had opened up by now, sending chilly rain tumbling down over Kings Cross while the wind stiffened and the temperature dropped steadily. Les Norton absently kicked an empty cigarette packet lying on the footpath into the dirty water flowing along the gutter.
‘So Billy,’ he said, watching the empty cigarette packet float off into the night, ‘that’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever been to bed with. And probably the loveliest woman I’ve ever met.’
Billy Dunne slowly shook his head and flicked a little rain from his jacket. ‘Shit! What a story, Les. That’s something else mate.’
‘It is. Isn’t it?’ agreed Norton.
‘And did you ever hear from Georgina again?’
‘She sent me a card at Christmas. All the girls signed it. I was rapt.’
‘That was nice of her,’ said Billy. He gave Les a quiet smile. ‘So do you think she still might whistle, Les?’
‘Don’t know, Billy,’ answered Norton. ‘But I do know one thing mate.’
‘What’s that, Les?’
‘If ever she does. She won’t have to whistle very loud. That’s for sure.’