The Story of Danny Dunn (64 page)

‘And someone to cop the shit when you go bankrupt?'

‘Ah, come on, mate. Every night the twins and I sing a song, have done since they were three years old, and the last lines go,
And can you possibly tell me why . . . You dream of ice-cream and apple pie?
You're the schemer and I'm the dreamer – that's why we're such a terrific combination.'

Franz smiled. ‘Maybe, but I've had a bit too much to drink. I'd like to discuss it with my parents. I'll talk to you tomorrow. But just so I know, who would be on such a board?'

‘Just the family – Helen, Brenda and Half Dunn.'

‘And you?'

‘No, mate; hopefully I'll be in parliament. Can't be seen to have a vested interest.'

‘I don't know, a vested interest in failure goes well with being an Independent, doesn't it?'

‘You'll keep, son,' Danny replied, smiling. But at least Franz was paying him the courtesy of getting a serious second opinion. Josef and Hester had worked hard and prospered. They were shrewd, practical people who, Danny knew, had put their money into various developments – what the Americans called shopping malls – that were just beginning to appear in Australia.

Danny was accustomed to getting his way, except occasionally with Helen, but he felt fairly certain Franz wasn't going to deliver tidings of great joy and future opportunity to Josef and Hester. And that wasn't the end of Danny's disappointing day. The phone rang and shortly after the ever-astute Keri called out, ‘Danny, I have a Mr O'Hearn on the phone. He has an unpleasant tone, no “please” or “thank you”, just your name as if it were a demand: “Danny Dunn!”'

‘Yeah, that figures, put him through.'

Danny waited for the click. ‘Hello, Danny Dunn?' he said in a neutral tone.

‘Tommy here, Tommy O'Hearn.'

‘That's what my secretary said. What ill omen presages this call?'

‘Eh?'

‘To what do I owe the pleasure, or is it business?'

‘Jack O'Shea and me want to see you, mate. Termorra!'

‘I'm booked out for tomorrow. How about Friday in my office . . . let me see, eleven o'clock okay? By the way, can you give me any indication of the reason for the call?'

‘Yeah, mate, righto, eleven o'clock.' The phone went dead.

Bloody charming. Presage was obviously the right word
, Danny sighed to himself.

When he got home, Danny unburdened himself to Helen about Franz's response, but she reacted calmly enough. ‘Well, what can you expect? I seem to recall you were not without reservations yourself, darling. Of course we'd love to have him as our chairman, but only as a true believer.' She sighed then added, ‘We'll muddle through on our own, I daresay. It's hard to see Josef and Hester giving it the thumbs up. But what do you think the odious Tommy O'Hearn wants?'

‘No doubt he's on a message from his masters in Macquarie Street, although the fact that he's bringing Jack O'Shea with him is interesting, given that he's the mayor elect of Balmain. Whatever it is, you may be sure it isn't good news and has something to do with my standing as an Independent.'

Franz rang Keri just after nine o'clock the following morning to say he wouldn't be in until lunchtime and couldn't be contacted, but that he'd see Danny after lunch. Danny had a brief appearance to make in court, but, as usual, instead of a hour it took three, two of them waiting to be called. He got back to the office just before one to be told that Franz and his parents were waiting for him in the boardroom and that Hester had brought a packed lunch.

Danny had a quick pee, washed his hands and then went straight to the boardroom. ‘Mr Josef, Mrs Landsman, how nice.' He glanced quickly at Franz for some sort of reaction but got none.

‘Chicken soup, Keri is makink warm, zen sandwiches – roast beef, cheese, tomato, Australian, togezzer on black bread, German,' Hester announced.

‘I thought it only fair to bring Mum and Dad,' Franz said, ‘that way you'll hear it from them.'

‘Oh dear,' Danny said sitting down. ‘Well, you were hardly ambivalent yesterday.'

To Danny's surprise it was Hester who spoke first. ‘Helen, she is liking this Brokinkdown Street, Danny?'

‘Yes, very much.'

‘Very goot, and she is working to make zose houses nice?'

‘Well, yes, that's the general idea, Mrs Landsman – to show people the potential, I mean, if the area is cleaned up.'

‘Danny, why you are turnink Mr Askin's offer away?'

‘Mr Josef, me being a Liberal politician would be like you turning into a gentile. I couldn't do it.'

Josef sniffed. ‘Lots of Jew they are becomink gentiles when comes the war, also before zat, the Spanish Inquisition . . . sometimes we got to do, life is precious.'

‘Yeah, well, I don't know what I'd do if it meant the lives of my family, but that's not the case here.'

‘Ja, your answer is goot.'

Josef looked at Hester and they nodded slightly. ‘We are goink this morning with Franz to see zat Brokinkdown Street. We would like very much to buy in this project, Danny, but only when I can be chairman,' Hester said.

Danny could hardly believe his ears. ‘Buy in?' he asked, caught off guard, his surprise clearly showing.

‘My mother makes all the financial decisions; she learned to do so when my dad was in the internment camp.' Franz smiled. ‘Her track record is pretty impressive.'

Danny was lost for words but eventually said, ‘Of course. But didn't Franz explain?'

‘Mate, I gave them the full cesspool theory, the whole bloody disaster!' Franz said. ‘But my mum loved it, she says it's the perfect investment.'

‘Huh? She said that?'

Franz turned to his mother. ‘Ask her.'

‘Danny, for Brokinkdown Street, ven you look, everysing is bad, terrible, terrible! But zen you look again, only one change and everything is goot now. When zose factories by the harbour is taken away and no more bad things zey are putting in zat water, zen everysing is goot.' She clapped her hands. ‘Twenty-eight properties, harbour-front, oi vey! Mein goodness!' Her laughter almost sounded like a mischievous giggle. ‘Maybe I talk to Helen and Brenda, three womens togezzer.'

Danny glanced quickly at Franz, who shrugged. ‘I'm not a woman, mate, what would I know?'

‘Well, will you be part of it?' Danny asked.

‘No way, José! In business with my mum, are you crazy?'

Danny turned to Hester Landsman. ‘This comes as quite a surprise, Mrs Landsman, and, of course, it's not my decision. Can I arrange a meeting with Helen and Brenda?' He looked at Josef. ‘Will you be included, Mr Josef?'

Josef put his hand up in a gesture of surrender. ‘Hester only, one is enough. Two Landsmans, zat is too much,' he chuckled.

And so, to cut a long story short, Brokendown Street Property Investment Pty Ltd was formed, with Helen as managing director, and Brenda and Hester as the other two directors, taking turns month about at being chairman. The Landsmans, through their investment company, owned forty-nine per cent, Brenda forty-nine per cent, and Helen, for political reasons, owned only two per cent, though carried the deciding vote in any disagreement. They all shared equally in any profits. All that was needed now was for Danny to be elected, and somehow get the zoning for the Balmain foreshore changed to residential. Two very big
ifs.

The visit from Tommy O'Hearn and Jack O'Shea, or, as it became known, the visit from the two Os, duly began on the dot of eleven o'clock on the day following the Landsman family meeting. Tommy O'Hearn, fat as a pig from feeding at the political trough, and Jack O'Shea, president of the local Labor branch, would-be mayor, and beanstalk slim, were announced by the switch and ushered into the boardroom by Keri, who took their order for, in both cases, tea with three sugars. Danny entered and both men remained seated, neither offering to shake his hand.
‘I see,' Danny said, smiling, ‘you've come on business.'

‘Too right, mate,' Tommy O'Hearn said, tapping the fingers of his right hand on the boardroom table.

O'Hearn was wearing a cheap, badly fitted, grey Terylene suit, with the collar button of his white shirt undone behind a red tie (Labor colours), pulled down an inch or so to give him room to breathe. O'Shea, equally in uniform, but in his case, working-class dressed up, sported a short back and sides with a quiff that was heavily Brylcreemed (a little dab will do ya), brown slacks, brown shoes and a yellow shirt with the collar turned over a brown sports jacket. Pineapple Joe, Danny silently observed, was going to be called upon to do a severe makeover if Jack O'Shea were to pass muster as the new mayor.

This reminded Danny of a story Lachlan had told him. Tommy O'Hearn had ordered a new suit from Pineapple Joe and when it was ready he'd asked him to send it around and not to bother with the bill; it was to be Joe's contribution to the local Labor party. Tommy added that he required two more contributions to the party every year. Joe had delivered the suit in one of his famous Pineapple Joe suit packs with a pineapple stencil on the outside. When O'Hearn unzipped it, he discovered that the suit was held together with pins. Pineapple Joe had added a note that read,
You are tryink to stitching me up! Try now stitching up your own suit, big fat Nobody Smarty Pants!
Not only was Joe's English improving, but he was probably the only person on the peninsula who was totally bulletproof. He didn't owe anyone anything and, until Tommy O'Hearn came along, he had no enemies.

Keri entered the boardroom with tea and a tin of Arnott's Assorted, offering it to them. Jack O'Shea picked carefully, like a kid not accustomed to treats, finally selecting four, all with some sort of filling. Tommy O'Hearn simply took two handfuls without looking and deposited them on the table beside his teacup. Neither bothered to register Keri's expression as she departed.

Danny sat on the opposite side of the two Labor officials. ‘Well, obviously you're not here looking for a good lawyer. What can I do for you, gentlemen?' he asked.

‘Danny, you done the wrong thing by the party,' O'Hearn began.

‘A matter of loyalty,' O'Shea added.

‘Oh, and why is that?'

‘You know why, mate!' O'Hearn spat.

O'Shea, a biscuit filled with bright pink cream halfway to his mouth, paused. ‘Brokendown Street, them boarding houses, getting all them poor people evicted,' he accused.

‘Oh, I see, exploiting the poor, is that it?'

‘Yeah, you got it in one, mate. Poor buggers had nowhere to go. We was trying to make sure they was took care of.'

‘Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think the court proved fairly conclusively that there were several others who were taken care of, and it wasn't the old and the poor.'

Tommy O'Hearn, mouth crammed full of biscuit, simply shook his head, while Jack O'Shea looked at him as if to say, ‘Shall I tell him or will you?' O'Hearn nodded to his partner in crime.

‘We seen where your mother bought them houses – them boarding houses. I always took her for a smart woman.'

‘We all make mistakes,' Danny grunted.

O'Hearn dipped a biscuit into his tea. ‘Yeah, well, never can tell what stupid things people will do, can ya?'

‘Meaning what?'

‘It could be that the council is thinking of condemning the lot, eyesore on the beautiful harbour,' Jack O'Shea ventured.

Danny paused, then started to clap. ‘Now you're talking! Good on ya, Jack, bloody excellent move. Get rid of the factories and warehouses, buy my mum out – I'm sure she'd be happy to accommodate the council for a small profit – and that'll give you a mile of harbour-front to turn into a park and plant trees; kids can play, sail boats, fly kites, race billycarts.' He turned and leaned over the table towards O'Shea. ‘Jack, mate, you'll be the most popular mayor ever and you'll have my own and everyone else's support!'

‘Whoa! Steady on! Factories mean workers' jobs,' O'Hearn said, spitting biscuit crumbs, totally taken aback at Danny's unexpected reaction. ‘Not in the party's interest, mate. Can't condemn a perfectly good factory, now, can we?'

Danny put on a disappointed face. ‘Jesus, for a moment there I thought you were fair dinkum, that things were going to happen at last. I should have known better,' he said, playing it for all it was worth.

‘We're not into stealin' the bread out of the workers' mouths, mate; we leave that to the fuckin' lawyers. But them houses, that's different. Court said they was slum dwellings. They're empty – only two things can happen to them: pull 'em down or renovate. Like Jack said, they's an eyesore.' He looked at O'Shea. ‘Can't have that now, can we, Mr Mayor?'

Jack O'Shea shook his head. ‘They're rubbish, mate. Can't have rubbish on the foreshore. Gotta clean it up. Be me first job as the new mayor, I reckon.'