The Boys from Binjiwunyawunya (2 page)

Eddie Salita could only shake his head and shrug his shoulders helplessly in agreement. Price took another deep breath before slumping back in his seat.

‘Anyway,' he sighed again, rubbing his hand almost despairingly across his face. ‘Seeing as we're all here, I suppose I may as well give you boys the whole bloody story.'

It appeared Price owned a huge block of industrial land — about a hectare — in Lawson Street, Redfern, just across from the railway station. He'd picked it up years ago in a gambling debt. The previous owner, an old SP bookie, had got into Price for a fair bit of money and gave him the deeds as security till he could come up with the readies. Unfortunately for the old bookie, but fortunately for Price, he died of a heart attack at City Tattersalls Club about a week later, so Price finished up with the land. After the funeral he and his lawyer, Sheldon Drewe, checked it out and there wasn't much on it. An unoccupied smallgoods factory and an old clothing factory that was also abandoned. A couple of dusty, run-down offices were paying a minimal rent along with an old Greek who had an equally dusty, run-down flsh'n' chip cum hamburger shop. Price intended getting rid of the lot and left the deeds with his lawyer and the rent-collecting in the hands of a local estate agency; but with more important
things on his mind he ended up letting the matter slip. This was almost fifteen years ago, but G. J. Coles had recently approached Drewe with an offer, wanting to put a New World Supermarket and community centre on the site. Their offer was $1.5 million and Price couldn't believe his luck. It was money for old rope as far as he was concerned, so, absolutely jubilant, he issued instructions to sell immediately. There was, however, a snag. The land had to be untenanted and the contract signed no more than a month after Coles made their offer or the deal would fall through as the company was also negotiating for another site in Newtown.

At first this didn't seem like any problem. There were only two tenants in what was left of the building, and the old Greek couldn't believe it when Sheldon Drewe landed on his doorstep with an offer of $25,000 to get out. He was gone that quick he left three pieces of flathead and a battered sav still bubbling in the oil as he and his wife and six kids ran out the door. But the other tenant turned out to be a different kettle of fish altogether.

A half-caste Aborigine, Percy Kilby, had taken a ten-year lease on the remaining office calling it the Aboriginal Welfare and Entitlement Council or AWEC. In reality it was nothing more than a rort to get money and grants from the State and Federal governments and give Percy a legitimate cover for his illegal activities; which were mainly hot gear, bogus charities, and ripping the government off for whatever he could. Percy had the welfare of his people at heart about as much as Idi Amin cared for the citizens of Uganda. But he was cunning. A good talker and ex-organiser for the militant Builders' Labourers Federation, he knew just how to manipulate people and blend racism with his people's drinking and employment problems to suit his own needs. It hadn't taken Percy long to trace who the owner of his office was, and when he did he just smiled to himself and sat back biding his time. So when Drewe came along with his offer to leave the premises it was like finding that elusive pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Not that Percy was a completely unreasonable man. As soon as he found out about the Coles deal, and knowing that the party making him the offer to get out was rather on the shady side and owner of the biggest casino in Sydney, Percy couldn't get out fast enough either. Except that Percy wasn't going to take the offer of new premises for AWEC and $25,000 like the Greek bloke. Percy's travelling price? Half a million dollars — in cash.

‘So that's about it in a nutshell, boys,' said Price, making an open-handed gesture. ‘This Kilby's got me by the bloody short and curlies. And there's fuck-all I can do about it.' There was another silence while the boys mulled over what they'd just been told. Then George Brennan spoke.

‘What do you mean there's nothing you can do, Price?' he said, turning to Les and Billy. ‘What's wrong with sending our two nice doormen here over to jump up and down on his ribcage a few times. Percy'd soon get the message to piss off.'

Price just made another despairing gesture. ‘No way in the world, George. Can you imagine the headlines in the papers if I did that: “Casino Operator Sends Thugs in to Bash Aboriginal Welfare Officer”. Right next to a photo of him in hospital, covered in bandages with a couple of drips sticking out of his arms. It'd look terrific wouldn't it.'

George nodded his head and gave Price a look of glum approval. ‘Yeah. I see what you mean. But what about Eddie?'

‘Hah!' Price gave a short, scornful laugh. ‘Don't think I haven't thought of that. If there was half a chance I could use Eddie, Kilby'd be with his ancestors in the dreamtime right now. About five miles off Sydney heads. No, the bastard told Sheldon that if anything nasty happens to him or he disappears there's a letter left in his safe and another with his lawyer.' Price shook his head again. ‘The black bludger's done his homework all right.'

‘Shit! I see what you mean,' said George, walking over to the bar. ‘Anybody else want a drink while I'm here?' There was a general shaking of heads, then continued silence as George made himself a tequila and grapefruit juice and sat down again. ‘Well, what do you intend doing Price? ... What can
we
do?'

‘Ohh I'm buggered if I know,' Price replied wearily. ‘I'm buggered if I do. He's got me by the nuts.'

‘Why don't you just give him the half a million and be done with it?' said Billy. ‘You're still gonna finish another million in front. It's not a bad result.'

‘
What
' roared Price. ‘Give that dirty black shithouse 500 grand. You're kidding. I'd rather miss out altogether.'

‘Yeah but... aren't you just cutting your nose off to spite your face?'

‘Billy. It's not the money, mate. It's the principle.' Price paused to take in the looks he got from his last statement. ‘Well... maybe it is the money to a certain extent,' he added
offhandedly. ‘But that's still not the point. I absolutely refuse to let some bloody smarty shove it up me for half a million bucks. And I don't give a stuff whether he's black, white or purple with pink spots.'

‘So what do you intend to do?'

‘What do I intend to do? Billy — your guess is as good as mine.' Price looked up for a second, then buried his face in his hands in annoyance and frustration. ‘Ahh I'm buggered if I know.'

All eyes focused on Price, his head resting on his hands, his face a picture of abject misery. For all his millions and his occasional villainy, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He was too good a bloke to be turned over like that by someone who was nothing more than an out-and-out arsehole at the best of times. And like he said, there was quite a bit of principle involved. If the word ever got out that one of the most powerful men in Sydney had got shafted by an Aboriginal ex-builders' labourer from Redfern, Price'd be the laughing stock of the Sydney underworld.

The gloomy silence in the office continued, broken only by the faint ticking of an old cuckoo clock Price had put up on the wall as a novelty. It was almost ten to four. Then the silence was broken by another odd sound and all eyes switched to Les Norton, sitting on his seat with his eyes closed and his head tilted back slightly. From deep down in his throat was coming this low, rumbling chuckle. Every now and again his shoulders would quiver and his body would shake from the pit of his stomach up to his chin as tiny sniggers came from his nose. Billy, Eddie and George continued to stare at Les for a few moments as the rumbling seemed to get louder. Price took his hands away from his face and stared at Norton in open-mouthed amazement before turning to the others.

‘Is he laughing?' he asked, incredulous. The chuckles suddenly got louder as Norton's chest began to shake like a jelly. ‘Are you laughing, Les? He is. The idiot's laughing. Can you believe it? He thinks it's funny. Here I am being rolled for half a million bucks by some cunt and he thinks it's hilarious. You bloody big imbecile. I always knew you were a wombat — I'm bloody well convinced of it now.' Price waved his hands in the air and looked up as if he was pleading to a higher authority. ‘Jesus Christ! I don't believe it.'

Norton continued chuckling to himself for a while, then opened his eyes and gave a tight smile all around the room.

‘So,' said the big, red-haired doorman, nodding at each
of them including Price. ‘The big, bad Sydney heavies, eh? Some heavies. One poor, skinny spook from Redfern's put the bustle on you and you've all shit yourselves. Fair dinkum, you don't blame me for laughing do you? One lousy Abo — and he's got you buggered.' Norton got up out of his seat and all eyes followed him as he went to the fridge and collected himself a fresh stubbie of Fourex. ‘And you, Eddie.' Les turned to the wiry, dark-haired figure sitting in the corner. ‘You call yourself a hit man. Hah! You couldn't hit a bull in the arse with a shovel full of wheat.'

‘Oh yeah,' replied Sydney's deadliest killer, allowing a flicker of a smile to crease the corners of his ice-green eyes. ‘And are you going to tell me you know a better way of getting rid of this Kilby cunt?'

Norton removed the top from his Fourex and took a swallow. ‘As a matter of fact Eddie,' he said, belching lightly before dropping the twist-top in the rubbish basket with a rattle, ‘I do.'

There was silence once again in the plush office, and if anything it seemed to deepen at Norton's last remark. All eyes followed him back to his seat. Even Price's anger, especially after Les's erratic behaviour and the verbal he'd just given all of them, particularly Eddie, gave way to profound curiosity. Price stared intently at the big, red-headed Queenslander sitting, sipping smugly on his fresh drink.

‘What do you mean, Les?' said Eddie, after a few seconds. ‘You do?'

‘Just what I said Eddie. I reckon I know a sneak way of getting rid of this Kilby rooster.'

‘Are you fair dinkum, Les?' said Price, now sitting up in his seat with his arms folded across his chest. ‘You're not just talking through your arse are you? You dead-set reckon you know a way of getting this Kilby prick off my back?'

‘Yes, Price,' nodded Norton slowly. ‘I'm pretty certain I do.'

‘How?'

‘There's an old saying,' started Les.

‘Ohh here we go,' chuckled Brennan. ‘He's off with the Queensland bush philosophies again.'

‘Like I was saying,' continued Norton, doing his best to ignore the overweight casino manager, ‘there's an old saying. There's more ways of killing a cat than choking it with cheese. And there's another one. It takes a thief to catch a thief. Is that right?'

‘Yeah all right,' said Price. ‘That's okay if you're William
Shakespeare or something. But what's it got to do with this fuckin' boong over in Redfern?'

‘How long have you got before this Coles deal has to be signed and all that?' asked Les.

‘Three weeks from today. I might be able to squeeze another couple of days out of them — but no more.'

‘Righto. That should be enough. I'm gonna have to ring my brother back in Dirranbandi.'

‘Not Murray?' said Price, a smile forming on his face for the first time that evening. ‘Jesus you're not bringing him down again, are you? He's even madder than you.'

‘No. Murray won't be coming down. But he'll be organising it from up there. Or at least what needs to be organised up there.'

‘What do you mean — organising it from up there?' asked Eddie.

Norton smiled across at the wiry little hit man and took another swallow from his stubbie. ‘Remember when we necked that bloke from Melbourne, Rossiter, and you said you might show me a little trick or two you learnt in Vietnam?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Well this time, I might show you a little trick or two. And you can only learn these ones in outback Australia.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Yep. And this one's a ripper, Eddie.' Norton smiled cheekily around the room. ‘As you city slickers like to say, it'll really blow your mind.'

‘Well come on,' said Price. ‘Give us the drum. What's going on? What are you going to do?'

‘I can't explain it to you right now. But I'll ring Murray first thing Monday morning. He should have things sorted out up there by Tuesday, and I'll let you know if it's on on Wednesday. Okay? But I'd better warn you, Price. It's going to cost you.'

‘Oh hello. I knew it.' Price smiled derisively. ‘There's an ask attached. And how much is the bloody ask?'

Norton closed one eye and looked up at the ceiling for a moment or two. ‘Somewhere between fifty and a hundred grand. Closer to fifty. And I'm gonna need two or three weeks off from work to set it all up.'

‘
What
?' roared Price. ‘Give you a hundred grand
and
three weeks off from work.' Price turned to the others, then back to Les. ‘Can you believe this cunt? How are you off for socks and undies. Would you like the Rolls to run around in, too?
Bad luck I haven't got a nice seventeen-year-old daughter. You could have her as well. Go to the shithouse will you.'

‘Please yourself, then,' said Les, and shrugged. ‘Let this mug rip you off for half a million dollars — and make a complete dill of you at the same time. And then wait till the word gets out about it. They'll be running tour buses up here full of people wanting to laugh at you.' Norton drained his stubbie. ‘Makes no difference to me,' he added.

Price was stung by his last remark and he also knew that Norton had him in a corner. But he trusted Les completely and there was something in the doorman's confident attitude that suggested he just could have something up his sleeve that might be worth a shot. And Price, above all, was a gambler.