Razorhurst (30 page)

“I’ll be back for you soon,” Snowy whispered.

Both Dymphna and Neal opened their mouths to speak, but he held up his hand.

“You have to be quiet.” He pointed at the back door. “I won’t be more than an hour. I’ll be back with a motor-car.”

Neal snorted. His eye was now swollen completely shut.

“You want us to wait here?” Dymphna said softly. Snowy and Neal leaned in to hear. “Why should we trust you?” She had no intention of waiting in this hole. She could hear pigeons cooing in the roof. She could smell them too; the floor was dotted with droppings.

“Why are you helping Dymphna,” Neal asked, “when you work for Davidson? I might not be one of your mob, but I know that much.”

Dymphna looked at Snowy. She wanted to know too. Snowy looked at Kelpie.

They were close enough that Dymphna could smell the tobacco on Neal’s breath. The faint mint on Snowy’s.

Jimmy snorted. “God. How long has it been? Last night we were going to run all this—her and me—King and Queen of Razorhurst! Now look at us.”

Kelpie didn’t respond. She’d become so much better at ignoring Jimmy. Dymphna was impressed.

“I’m not helping Dymphna,” Snowy said at last, his voice low. “I’m helping Kelpie … I knew her mother.”

“She’ll be safer with me,” Dymphna whispered. “I’m going to go back to Glory. She can protect us both. Bluey’s not her only muscle.”

“You’re not safe with Glory. None of you are.”

“You’re not safe with either of them, girl,” Jimmy said. “Tell her, Kelpie. She has to get out of this city. Out of this country.”

“I know Mr. Davidson’s trying to muscle in on Glory,” Dymphna whispered. “Break the truce, take over everything. But he won’t succeed. Glory’s too strong.”

Jimmy laughed. “She doesn’t believe that. We were going to take it all over because Glory was getting weak. She has to run!”

Dymphna wished Jimmy wouldn’t yell.

“Why should I wait here?” she asked.

“Because I might have to move on Davidson. He’s not fit to … He’s not what he was.”

Dymphna stared at him.

“Well, that’s the truth,” Jimmy said. “But I don’t see Snowy doing for his boss. He ain’t the type.”

“But I have to make sure the time is right. I have to keep his trust a little longer.”

“You want us to sit here until you get it all sorted?” Dymphna said, making it clear what she thought of Snowy’s plan.

“Are you looking to be Jimmy Palmer’s replacement?” Neal asked.

Snowy smiled. His lips didn’t just turn up; he smiled. Dymphna had never seen him smile like that before. It made his eyes brighter. She had to put her hand over her mouth to suppress a laugh.

“What?” Neal was annoyed.

“Snowy doesn’t want to be my man. It’s not like that. We’re friends. I’ve never seen Snowy with any woman.”

“I stay away from white women, is what I do,” Snowy said softly. “Not worth the trouble.”

Jimmy laughed. “But not white men.”

Neal looked sulky and angry at the same time. Dymphna squeezed his hand.

Kelpie looked mystified. “I saw you kissing a woman.”

“Did you?” Snowy ruffled her hair. “Can’t have been recently.”

“Old Ma was still alive. He did promise Old Ma,” Kelpie told Neal.
“Snowy’s been keeping an eye out for me for years. He’s saved me before.”

Neal looked at her. Kelpie returned the gaze, which was unlike her. Neal nodded briefly. He believed her. Dymphna did too. Snowy had always treated her well, but he would not go out of his way for Dymphna Campbell. Kelpie, it was clear, was another matter.

Dymphna found herself looking from Snowy to Kelpie and back again. They couldn’t be, could they?

“Why are
you
here?” Snowy asked Neal. “Are
you
looking to be Jimmy Palmer’s replacement?”

Neal’s fists clenched.

Dymphna sighed. They did not have time for the two of them to be squaring off against each other. Neal might know some boxing, but Snowy was twice his size and knew how to hurt a man. How to kill him too.

“He’s a writer,” Kelpie said quietly. “He’s here for an adventure. You saw him grinning, didn’t you, Dymphna? He’s going to write about everything that happened today.”

Now it took two hands to keep the laughter in. One of the worst days of her life and Neal Darcy thought it was an
adventure
?

Neal blushed, but his fists unclenched.

“Adventure?” Dymphna asked in a low voice. “Is that what you call this, Kelpie? Jesus Christ.”

“Makes sense,” Snowy said. “We all want to rescue the maiden.”

“I can rescue myself,” Dymphna said. If they’d let her.

“Maybe,” Jimmy said. “But not if you stay here.”

“I gotta get back to Mr. Davidson,” Snowy said. “Keep it down. Stay away from the windows, the door. I’ll be back soon.”

Snowy ducked past the curtain before Dymphna had time to object. She did object. She turned to stop him and say so, but Kelpie was faster, following him past the torn curtain.

Dymphna watched as Kelpie tugged Snowy’s arm, so that he bent all the way down to her level, and whispered something softly into his ear that Dymphna couldn’t hear.

“It’s July,” Snowy said, his words barely carrying to her. “You’ll be sixteen in two weeks. Sixteen. You wouldn’t think it to look at you, would you? Better find you more food.”

He tousled Kelpie’s hair and made his way out of the house.

For half a second, Dymphna thought she might throw up. She and Kelpie truly were the same age.

Cockatoos

It’s remarkable how many standover and razor men got their start as cockatoos, keeping an eye out for the cops. Or the boss while cards were played, after-hours grog was imbibed, or the sweet heaven from China was smoked.

A good cockie was keen eyed, fast, stealthy, with an earsplitting whistling technique. It was all about the lungs. Cooees emitted had to be loud and long. A cockie kept his eyes peeled, ready to give the alarm when the coppers or other ingressors showed and then scarper swift and loud as possible.

The best cockies were young. No more than twelve or fourteen. If you were standing cockatoo when you were a full-grown man, well, then everyone knew you weren’t ever going to amount to anything. Not in the straight world and definitely not in the bent. Might as well kill yourself and be done with it.

Both Palmer and Snowy had started as cockatoos. Both were done with it long before they turned twelve. They’d already grown to a man’s height and would only get taller. There were plenty of more profitable ways to use big, strong men than having them standing lookout.

Bluey had also tried to be a cockatoo. He lasted exactly one job.

He was keen eyed and swift, and a total failure as a cockie. He thought it was funny, at the age of six, to run in, kick a copper in the shins, and then scarper. Then there was his voice: he was hard pressed to speak too much above a whisper and could manage only the breathiest whistle. He was much better at thieving and smashing.

But Glory found uses for him. Even then she could see that Bluey’s evil would be useful.

KELPIE

Kelpie was sixteen years old. She’d been born in the month of July. She wondered why Snowy’d never told her before. She counted backward on her fingers. In 1916. That was right, wasn’t it? This was 1932. Sixteen years ago was 1916.

How did he know? Had Snowy known her parents? Had he seen her born? He must have been remembering what Old Ma had told him. He’d known when it was her tenth birthday.

“Wish I had a cigarette,” Darcy whispered. He looked funny with one eye red and purple and swollen shut.

Kelpie was glad he didn’t have a cigarette. Tobacco smoke made her eyes water.

Kelpie and Darcy stood in the middle of the room. Kelpie had hidden in worse places. There was plenty of light, not that many cockroaches, and no mould growing up the walls. The floorboards weren’t rotten.

Dymphna paced, the floorboards sighing and shifting and creaking under her weight.

“Why did you tell them about me writing?” Darcy asked Kelpie, watching Dymphna go back and forth.

“It was true, wasn’t it? If you wrote about what happened today, it would sell for sure, like that one that’s going to be read on the radio.”

“How’d you know about that?”

“I heard it somewhere.” She hadn’t heard that
somewhere
. Miss Lee had told her, proud as punch.

“Ma must’ve told people.” For a moment Darcy sounded as young as she was
—and Dymphna too
, Kelpie reminded herself.

“Would have been because she was proud,” Dymphna said. “How many people do you know who’ve had something they wrote on the radio? I don’t know anyone who has.”

“Hasn’t happened yet. But I got paid already.”

Outside there was a loud sound like a gunshot. Kelpie held her breath. Darcy and Dymphna reached for each other’s hands. Then there was the sound of a motor-car driving away.

“Motor-car backfiring,” Palmer said. He leaned against the back door, his head not far below where the ceiling used to be, watching
the three of them. Kelpie could tell he wasn’t happy with what he saw. But at least they were alive. “Hope that’s enough to get her arse in gear before Snowy gets back here with Mr. Davidson in tow.” For once he wasn’t shouting. “Doubt it. Starting to think she wants to die.”

“Backfiring,” Kelpie whispered. Dymphna didn’t want to die. Kelpie was sure of it.

Dymphna pulled her hand from Darcy’s. Her cheeks were pink. She resumed her pacing.

“Phew, eh?” Darcy said. He smiled at Kelpie. It was a lovely smile. Made his eyes seem brighter. She couldn’t help smiling back. Kelpie wanted to ask him more about his stories. How’d he know where to begin? Who to tell stories about? Were they only about real people? She thought of his Kitty Macintosh, who was a gangster’s girl and looked exactly like Dymphna Campbell and who died. Killed by her own man.

Dymphna kept pacing. She hugged herself with her gloved hands. “We should go,” she said. But Kelpie wasn’t sure who she was saying that to. She wasn’t looking at Darcy or Kelpie.

They hadn’t heard any yelling for a while. Just the wind, people passing by. It made Kelpie more nervous. It shouldn’t be this quiet.