The Boys from Binjiwunyawunya (50 page)

‘She sounds it.'

‘In fact I've invited her up here for a weekend. I'm hoping she'll ring me.'

‘Good on you.'

‘Yeah. And thanks for tipping me into the ad Woz. I'd never been to Melbourne before.'

‘That's okay.' Warren took another sip of coffee. ‘So what are you doing tonight?'

‘I'm going round to Louise's. What about yourself? You going out?'

Warren shook his head. ‘No mate. Early to bed, early to rise. We've got another big campaign starting this week.'

‘Ohh bloody hell,' groaned Norton. ‘What is it this time?'

‘Ripple coloured zinc cream,' grinned Warren. ‘We've got to brainwash one million pimply-faced Australian teenagers into putting this shit on their rotten, acned little dials this summer. And we'll shit it in too, big Daddy,' he added with a wink.

Norton shook his head in disgust. ‘Fair dinkum, Warren, you're kiddin' aren't you. That agency you work for has got about as much principle as a Japanese whaling company.'

‘Now come on Les. We're not that fuckin' bad.'

‘No. I guess you're right,' conceded Norton. ‘Nothing's that low.'

‘But we are pretty rotten,' grinned Warren. ‘I've got to agree with you.'

‘Anyway, I've got to go.' Norton got up and put his cup in the sink. ‘I'll probably stay at Lou's tonight so I'll see you before I go to work tomorrow night.'

‘Okay Les. I'll see you then.'

Norton went to the front door leaving Warren in the kitchen reflecting thoughtfully into his coffee.

Around seven-thirty the following morning Warren was sitting in the kitchen having a cup of coffee when Norton came through the front door, a very disgruntled look on his face as he walked into the kitchen.

‘Hullo,' said Warren. ‘Look what the cat's dragged in. You're home a bit early aren't you lover boy?'

‘The rotten kiwi bitch kicked me out, didn't she,' Les replied. Despite the look on his face he was smiling a bit as he tossed the
Daily Telegraph
on the kitchen table.

‘Kicked you out?'

‘Yeah, the rotten moll. I was looking forward to a bit of a sleep in too.'

‘Well you can't actually blame poor Louise for wanting to give you the heave out of bed early, can you? I mean, your head's not that crash-hot at the best of times, Les. But right now it'd frighten a bulldog out of a butcher's shop.' ‘Listen mate. If you hadn't of sent me down to fuckin' Melbourne in the first place my melon wouldn't look like this. I ought to see Cameron and take a law suit out against your stinkin' agency. You skinny little prick.'

Norton switched on the electric kettle while Warren tried his best not to laugh too loud.

‘So what happened? Did you have a blue with her?'

‘No, just the opposite. The meal was the grouse. The two bottles of wine got Louise all fruity and we went for it hammer and tongs half the night. It was tops.'

‘Well what happened?'

‘Louise had to go to work early this morning — cleaning — and she didn't fancy leaving me alone with the new girl that's moved into her flat.'

‘Why's that?'

‘Ohh mate, you ought to see her. She's just come down from Surfers Paradise. She's the best sort I've ever seen in me life.'

‘Fair dinkum.' Warren's eye lit up noticeably.

‘She's twenty-two. Got a body that'd make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window.'

‘Go on. You ah... might be able to do a little something there for your old flatmate.'

‘I might, but you keep insulting me all the time. And hurting my feelings.'

‘Insult you?' Warren rose from the table and looked Norton straight in the eye. ‘Les Norton,' he intoned. ‘You are without a doubt one of the most ruggedly handsome individuals I've
ever seen. You are what advertising in Australia is all about. What it's crying out for. That classic Australian look. Les, with me guiding you, you . . .'

‘Ohh look, piss off Warren. You wombat.'

‘Yeah, you're right, Les. I never was much of a liar. Anyway I got to get cracking. I've got to take polaroids of about two hundred empty-headed surfies. And think up a slogan for Ripple Zinc.'

‘Yeah? How about this?' suggested Norton sarcastically. ‘Ripple Zinc, the little ripper for raving ratbags. Rip it up you and rip it into you.'

Warren paused at the kitchen door and pointed a finger at Norton. ‘Hey. Didn't I always say you should be in advertising? I like it baby. It's got a certain ring to it.'

‘Yeah. Just like your bathwater. Now fuck off Warren.'

‘See you tomorrow Les.'

‘Yeah hooray.'

Jesus I'm still tired he thought, and let out a cavernous yawn. Bloody Louise. I got plenty of bed last night, but she didn't let me get too much sleep. Crook head or no crook head. Oh well. I'm up now. I may as well do some training. He finished his coffee over the paper then got into his running gear and once again headed for Centennial Park.

It came over a bit cloudy by midday so that ruled the beach out in the afternoon. By the time Norton cooked himself a steak for lunch, put the cheque for $25,000 in his false account at Randwick, potted around the house and had a sleep in the afternoon, it was time to have a light tea, iron his shirt and go to work. Billy Dunne was already standing out the front of the Kelly Club when Norton came strolling down the street. Naturally the first thing he said when he saw him was,

‘Jesus, Les. What happened to your Rocky Ned?'

‘You should see it without all this Pinke-Zinke plastered on it,' Norton grinned. ‘It's a good story. Anyway, I'll just go upstairs and let everyone know I'm here, then I'll tell you about it.'

Price hadn't arrived yet and George was busy with the croupiers. Les gave him a call from the top of the stairs, got waves and smiles all around in return then went back down to stand in front of the club.

For a Wednesday night they were a little busier than usual. The spring weather seemed to have brought more people out of their homes and somehow they seemd to be drawn
towards Kings Cross like it was Mecca. There were no fights but Les and Billy had their work cut out turning away various off types and drunks who would be absolutely no use to anyone inside the club. The regular punters gave Norton's face a bit of a second look when they saw him standing underneath the pale blue light, but no one said anything. To the undesirables he just looked a little meaner than usual, and when he and Billy said no they quickly took it as ‘no and don't bloody argue'.

Price and Eddie arrived around ten, gave the boys a big hello and went upstairs. Before long it was three-thirty, most of the staff had gone home, the money was in the safe and the boys were sitting in Price's office enjoying their customary after-work drink.

Les had given Billy part of the story earlier but George and Eddie hadn't been told anything, so Les gave them pretty much the same tale he'd told Warren, elaborating a little about Mrs Perry and the girls back in the motel room and tossing in gobbing in the girl's face at Richard's, belting the bouncers on the tram and how it was on TV Sunday morning. He didn't mention anything about Mousey's map or blowing up the church, however. He'd tell them about that another time. As for the burns, he gave them the same lie about his old uncle in South Melbourne's heater blowing up in his face.

When he'd finished George, Eddie and Billy were laughing like drains. Price, although he'd heard the whole story earlier, didn't let on and was chuckling away over his Scotch and soda; more at the dry way Les was telling it than anything else.

‘And that was Melbourne fellas,' concluded Norton. ‘Although I'd rather live in Sydney, it's not that bad down there. And nowhere near as crook as you two made out.'

There was silence in the plush office as they all stopped laughing and reflected into their drinks for a few moments.

Finally George Brennan spoke. All the time Les had been talking George had been acting a little fidgety, like he was dying for Les to finish so he could put his fat head in about something. Norton had half an idea what it was.

‘So, movie star,' he said. ‘Apart from almost ruining your good looks, it sounds like you had a pretty good time down there.'

‘Yeah George,' nodded Norton. ‘It was okay. And the lazy five grand falling in made it even better.'

‘Five grand's not a bad earn for standing around in a pub drinking fizzy wine for a few hours,' said Price.

‘No,' agreed Norton. ‘And it'll come in very handy too.'

‘Yes. It certainly will come in handy — won't it?' said George. He had this sardonic grin on his round face and he was looking hard at Norton. ‘Have you had a chance to read the papers since you got back? The sports results?'

‘Yes. I've read them,' replied Les slowly. ‘Easts were a bit unlucky. They had four tries disallowed.'

‘Unlucky?' snorted George Brennan. ‘Unlucky my arse. And what paper said they had four tries disallowed? What have you been reading. The
Port Moresby TimesT

‘That's what it said,' shrugged Norton. ‘Balmain played offside all day and the referee didn't know what he was doing.'

‘Ohh arseholes. Listen bloodnut. I was there and it was a slaughter. Fifteen-nil. Easts were lucky it wasn't fifty-nil.'

‘Yeah, Balmain won all right,' conceded Norton. ‘But I still wouldn't say it was a slaughter.'

‘Get out. The Tigers shat on them. Smacked their red, white and blue arses. It was beautiful to watch. And while we're on the subject of football. You haven't forgotten something have you Les?'

‘What's that George?'

‘Our little bet. One thousand dollars I think it was, you red-headed wombat.'

‘Ohh yeah, that's right. We had a bet didn't we.'

‘Yes. We did. And where's my money?'

Norton eased back a little in his chair and took a swig of Fourex. ‘Well, George,' he drawled. ‘I haven't had a chance to get to the bank yet and I don't get paid till Saturday. But you needn't worry. Here it is. Right here.'

Norton took a small white envelope from the inside pocket of his tuxedo and handed it to George. ‘There you are mate. One thousand dollars. Good on you.'

George's eyes lit up almost in disbelief. He snatched the envelope from Norton's hand and waved it round the room at the others. ‘Have a look at this,' he said excitedly. ‘I got the big mug for a thousand dollars. How sweet it is.'

‘No need to rub it in George,' said Les.

‘Rub it in?' guffawed George, holding the envelope just under Norton's nose. ‘You know what I'm going to do with this? I'm going to shout me and the missus to the best restaurant in Sydney. Champagne, caviar, the works. Then I'm going to buy myself a grouse pair of shoes which I'm
going to wear everywhere. And when people ask me where I got such a grouse pair of shoes I'm going to say that big red-headed galah from Queensland bought them for me.' George was laughing and wheezing away almost fit to burst by now.

‘Oh well,' said Norton, a little sadly. ‘It's your money. Do what you want with it.'

‘I will. And I reckon I'd better bloody count it too. Make sure it's all there.' George started tearing open the envelope. ‘Boy am I going to have some fun with this. I might even shout myself...' Suddenly George's voice began to trail away as he pulled the money from the envelope. He screwed his face and looked at Norton for a second, looked over at Price, then looked back at Norton. ‘What the fuckin' hell's this?' he howled.

‘What the hell's what, George?' asked Norton.

‘This!' George fanned the money out and held it up towards the others in the room. ‘He's paid me in fuckin' pound notes.'

‘What's wrong George?' asked Price, peering up from his glass.

‘Have a go at this. The prick's paid me in pound bloody notes.' With his jaw almost sitting on his chest, George held the money out towards Price. There were 300 pounds in ten pound notes and 200 in five pound notes.

Price looked indifferently at it for a moment and shrugged his shoulders. ‘So?' he said. And went back to his drink.

Eddie and Billy just sat there blinking.

‘What are you blowing up about George?' said Norton. ‘Your money's there isn't it? Five hundred quid. One thousand dollars. Same bloody thing isn't it?'

‘Ohh you're fuckin' kiddin' aren't you.' George looked at the money, sniffed it then looked back at Norton. ‘Where the bloody hell did you get this?'

‘I told you George. I haven't been paid yet and I haven't had a chance to go to the bank. And rather than have you going around telling everyone I wouldn't settle I dug it up out of the backyard.'

‘You dug it up out of the backyard?'

‘Yeah. It's some money I brought down from Queensland with me.'

‘You brought it down from Queensland with you. And what did you do? Bury it?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Ohh no. I don't bloody well believe this.' George moaned
and ran a hand over his face. ‘You're the meanest man ever born, Les Norton. Ever.'

‘What are you going on about George?' asked Price again.

‘This!' George held the wad of old money up in the air like it was a time bomb. ‘The bludger buries his money in the backyard.'

‘Well what if he does?' said Price. ‘You can't blame him for that. Remember what he said when he first came down from Queensland and he won all that money.'

George had to think for a moment. ‘He said, something... something about how he didn't trust banks.'

‘That's right.' Price made a bit of a gesture with his hands. ‘So the answer's obvious, isn't it.'

‘It is?'

‘Of course it is.' Price finished his Scotch and dry, stood up and looked at Les for a second. ‘He still doesn't — do you mate?'