The Day of the Gecko (19 page)

‘Yeah. It's all right,' said Coral. ‘I don't know about that green shit though.' She dug her elbow into Norton's ribs. ‘What d' you reckon, Les?'

‘Yeah, terrific,' grunted Norton. ‘Makes you want to go and live in Japan.' Les sucked on his bourbon and
wished he was somewhere else while the others wolfed into the raw fish. Then he noticed something. So far that night, the major only had eyes for Doreen; he'd been all over her like a cake of soap and it wasn't half obvious what the Town Clerk from Ballina was after. Doreen was more than likely thinking the same thing. Between dunks of sushi, The Gecko took a brief look round the bar and for a moment it was almost as if he'd seen a ghost. He turned back to Doreen, who was talking to him and, although he was listening and trying to smile, it was obvious he was taking absolutely no notice and his mind was somewhere else. They dunked some more sushi and slurped some more Margarita when Coral decided she wanted to go for a pee. And Doreen, being a good Australian girl, decided there was no way she was going to let her mate pee on her own. They both left, taking their handbags with them. Les thought this was as good a time as any to tell the major he was on his own — Les was beating a retreat. Laying down his arms. Surrendering. Call him a coward if you will, sir, but if he had to look at the mole on Coral's face anymore, and her moustache, he'd bring up the one piece of sushi he'd had, all over the mess they'd made on the bar. Les was about to say something when the major leaned across to him, his back turned slightly towards the bar. The Gecko smile wasn't there either. Some other look was.

‘Les, listen to me for a minute,' he said quietly and possibly a little urgently. ‘Did you say the bloke that owns this place is called Marty and he made his money flying helicopters during the Gulf War?'

‘Yeah, something like that,' answered Les. ‘Why?'

‘You see those two blokes sitting at the bar, next to that big bloke in the white suit?'

Les looked over at Joe Heets, who was still chatting happily away to the two models. He was standing, and sitting this side of him were two stocky, fit-looking men around thirty in jeans, T-shirts and loose-fitting cotton jackets. One had dark hair, the other more ginger; both looked foreign in some way. They were laughing over their drinks, but Les noticed their eyes were as hard as ball-bearings and every now and again, one of them would look towards the front door.

‘Yeah, what about them?' asked Les.

‘They're two agents with Mossad.'

‘They're what?'

‘They're an assassination team with the Israeli Secret Service. I know them — Zin Moise and Leo Glazer. I saw Leo's brother in that club earlier this evening.'

Les remembered The Gecko looking around in the Hakoah Club earlier. But he half had the shits now, being lumbered with Coral, and he wasn't quite in the mood for anymore ASIO, KGB, MI5, Mossad or whatever bullshit. ‘So? They're probably only in here having a drink. Same as everybody else.'

The Gecko drew his face almost up to Norton's. ‘Les, have a look what's hanging off the bar in front of them.'

Norton glanced over again. Hanging from the bar by their handles were two spring-loaded, fold-up umbrellas. ‘Okay, so they brought their brollies with them.'

‘Les, what was the weather like outside tonight?'

Norton shrugged. ‘Warm. Bit cloudy maybe. That's about all.'

‘It definitely wasn't raining, was it?'

‘No.'

‘Les, they're not quite umbrellas. They're submachine guns with silencers. I've used them. They're in here to hit the owner. I know who he's been working for.'

‘You do?'

‘Yeah, the Syrians. Anyway, it's got nothing to do with us. And I don't give a stuff who they kill. But as soon as those two sheilas get back, we're out of here.'

Norton was still a bit sceptical and wondering if this wasn't some ploy just to get Doreen back to the flat for the giant porking. ‘Garrick, you are fair dinkum? This isn't just . . .'

‘Les, as soon as the sheilas get back, I'll find some excuse and we make tracks.'

‘Why not leave them here and just get on the toe ourselves,' Les suggested.

The Gecko gave Norton a very heavy, close-quarters once-up-and-down. ‘Les, what do you take me for? Some sort of a cad?'

Norton was about to say something when who should come bowling through the front door in a pair of Levis and a plain white shirt, casually smoking a cigarette, but Marty the owner.

He had a quick word with Jee, said hello to some people seated near the door, shook a couple of hands, then moved along the bar, stopping to have a word with Joe Heets, before going behind the bar and stopping again next to the till. If Les had any doubts about the
two men the major pointed out being killers, he needn't have bothered. As soon as they spotted Marty, their faces turned to stone and you could almost see their antennae go up. In almost one movement, they pulled a forty-round magazine out from each of their jackets, grabbed their umbrellas off the bar, jammed the clips in and rose to their feet — just as Coral and Doreen came up the steps from the toilets. Marty's instincts as a combat helicopter pilot were still with him. Just as the two Israelis started blazing away, he jerked his tall, gangly frame to one side, shoving the barman to the floor as he did.

The silenced Mini-Uzis didn't make a great deal of noise, just this burping, rattling cough, along with the smoke and sparks coming from the barrel. However, there was plenty of other noise and confusion. The hail of bullets smashed all the liquor bottles on the shelves, tore through the wooden closet, smashed the blender to pieces, along with the bowl of fruit, scattered the paper money pinned to the shelves, ripped up the muppet doll and tore shards of wood, concrete and plaster from the walls. Bullets were ricocheting and whining all over the restaurant amidst the clatter from the empty casings hitting the wooden floor. How they never cut Marty in two or injured anybody else was a mystery. After shoving the barman to the floor, Marty was jumping and jerking around behind the bar like Ben Turpin in an old silent movie, while the bullets kept zipping and whining all around him. Women were screaming now and half the restaurant had made a beeline for the front door. Doreen and Coral were frozen up against the wall behind the two Mossad
assassins with bullets smacking into the wall above them sprinkling their hair with dust, concrete and plaster. Marty made a dash for the exit at the end of the bar as the two Israelis opened up on him again.

‘Shit!' cursed The Gecko. ‘I'd better do something before somebody gets hurt.'

He grabbed one of the unopened sets of wooden chopsticks, ripped them apart and scampered down behind the bar in a kind of running crouch. He crept up behind the red-haired Israeli, rose slightly and jammed the thin, wooden chopstick straight into his ear canal. The Israeli howled with pain and made a grab for his ear with one hand while his other hand flew up and emptied the machine gun across the ceiling, gouging out lumps of plaster and chopping the rotating fan to pieces. The other Mossad killer turned round just in time for The Gecko to ram the other chopstick into his eye. He roared with the agony and shock, dropped his weapon and grabbed at his face. The major then turned and grabbed the bewildered Doreen and Coral and herded them towards the front door, leaving the two Israelis cursing and groaning as they tried to pull the chopsticks out of their heads. Norton thought this might be as good a time as any to make a move too; one ricocheting bullet had missed his head by about a foot and shattered the glass in the T-shirt cabinet. He got up from his stool and joined the others. Jee was standing inside the door, his eyes bulging out like ping-pong balls, wondering what to do, when Les and his team shoved past him along with the rest of the crowd surging out into, then scattering up, Campbell Parade.

‘Jesus bloody Christ!' said Doreen. ‘What the hell was that all about?'

‘It seems somebody wasn't happy with their sushi,' suggested The Gecko, herding the two girls towards Hall Street.

‘I told you up at the Cock 'n' Bull not to come here,' said Les. ‘The place has always had a dud rap on the food.'

‘I dunno,' said Coral, ‘I thought it was nice.'

‘Yeah, well you know how it is,' said Les, ‘some people are very fussy when it comes to sushi.'

The Gecko showed great concern over Doreen, asking her if she was all right, and dusting flecks of plaster from her hair while he slipped his arm around her. She was too drunk and stupid to know any different when the major suggested that a nice, strong cup of coffee would be the thing now for her nerves. That was quite an experience she'd just been through for an unsuspecting young country girl. Doreen smiled, put her arm around the major and kissed him on the cheek as they headed up Hall Street towards Susie's flat, with a reluctant Les and an equally drunken and heavy-breathing Coral bringing up the rear. The major kept himself busy putting work on Doreen. Les wasn't in the slightest bit interested, so the conversation between him and Coral was limited to the excitement of life in the typists' pool at the oil company and the exciting life she led in Lithgow before moving to Sydney. She tried to get close to Les, but after running up and down those steps with the major earlier, it was easy to keep a couple of steps in front of her. It wasn't all that long before they were there. Les fumbled the keys from his
pocket, hit the buttons and the light switches and they were all standing in the lounge room. Doreen and Coral gave Susie's unit the once-over and the first thing they both said at once was, ‘Shit! Look at all those bloody CDs.'

‘Yeah,' said Norton quickly, ‘but the CD player's stuffed. So if you want any music it'll have to be tapes or the radio.'

‘Oh, what a bummer,' said Doreen, putting a B52's CD back with the others.

The major turned to Norton. ‘Les, I hate to impose, but do you think you could rustle up another plunger of your fabulous coffee? You're much better at it than me.'

‘Yeah, righto,' answered Les. At least while he was in the kitchen he could avoid the Klingon.

‘Whereabouts is the loo?' asked Coral.

‘In there,' pointed Les.

‘I'll go when you're finished, Coral,' said Doreen, and settled down on the lounge next to the major.

‘I might put on one of the tapes I made up, Frank,' suggested Les.

‘Yeah, good idea, Les,' replied the major.

Les put a tape on, turned it down a little, and, with Larry Boone twanging his way through ‘Hotel Coup de Ville', he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Norton had absolutely no intention of putting any work on Coral. If anything, he felt shitty having her back at Susie's unit in the first place. It was a situation Les would have preferred not to be in, but it was the major's call and there wasn't a great deal he could do. However, he'd be polite and not say anything for the major's sake. And here I am, mused Les, as he got the
cups and spoons and whatever together. The polite little maid again. He heard the toilet flush, then voices in the lounge room and the next thing Coral was standing behind him in the kitchen.

‘Do you want a hand, Les?' she purred.

‘No, it's quite all right thanks, Coral,' said Les. ‘I've got it all together. The kettle's almost boiled, the coffee has to draw, and that's it.'

Coral edged a bit closer. ‘I'd like to draw you, Les.'

‘What with? Oils?' Les forced out some laughter at his own weak joke. ‘I mean, you work for an oil company. It's a . . . I say it's a gag, boy.'

‘Don't go on silly, Les. I meant I'd like to do a sketch of you. I have been to art class, you know.'

‘Really. I've never met an artist before. We don't have many in Ballina.'

Coral moved closer again. ‘You'd make a great subject, Les.'

‘Depends what you want to subject me to,' said Les. ‘Oh goodness, is that the kettle boiled already? Coral, would you take that stuff on the table out to the others while I get this together.'

Coral breathed back from Les, giving him a very heavy once-up-and-down. ‘Okay,' she said.

Les didn't know what to think while he waited for the coffee to draw, so he didn't think about anything. Just punt high and follow through and hope for the best. He'd get out of this somehow, without stuffing things up for the major. But no matter what, he wasn't porking Coral. No bloody way. The major could bayonet him, blow him up, shove chopsticks down the eye of his dick — a man can only not do what a man can
only not do. Or words to that effect. Les took the plunger of coffee and placed it on one of the coffee tables where Coral had put the tray containing the cups and things. Susie had two double lounges set against the wall. Garrick and Doreen were intertwined at the end of the one on the left. Coral was seated on the other. Oh well, thought Les. He poured coffee into all the cups, then sat down on Coral's right facing the stereo.

‘Ahh, well done, Les,' said the major. ‘Good on you, mate.' He released himself from Doreen and picked up a spoon. ‘Wait till you taste this, Doreen. My driver brews the best coffee in Australia.'

The two girls stirred in their milk and sugar and took a sip.

‘Ooh, yes. It's really lovely,' said Doreen.

‘Mmhh, great,' breathed Coral.

‘Well, I do my best to please,' said Norton, taking a sip himself.

They settled back, sipped their coffee and listened to the tape Les had playing. Nobody said if it was good; nobody said if it was bad. The conversation was again very limited. The Gecko was too busy blowing in Doreen's ear and she was giggling and tittering away like a little budgerigar, or a long, skinny one. Coral was eyeing Les over the top of her coffee cup, giving him her oily, sweet Klingon smile, biding her time.

‘So how do you like working on the council up in Ballina?' she said. ‘It looks like it keeps you fit.'