The Story of Danny Dunn (65 page)

‘What, pull them down and build new ones – new houses?' Danny asked.

‘Nah, shouldn'ta been there in the first place. Prime industrial site that,' Tommy O'Hearn said, adding, ‘Close to the city, deep waterfront – need a bit of dredging for the big ships to come in, that's all – lotsa new jobs for the workers.'

‘What if my mother decides to renovate? Using union labour, of course,' Danny added quickly.

‘Of course, don't want no troubles with the union, mate,' Tommy O'Hearn said complacently.

‘But then the unions wouldn't be able to find anyone prepared to work on the project. Council fines for non-compliance would follow.' Danny paused. ‘That it?'

‘You know you always did catch on pretty quick, Danny,' O'Hearn said, enjoying himself.

‘And what do I have to do to avoid this, Tommy?'

‘Simple, comrade,' O'Hearn said smiling. ‘You don't stand as an Independent.'

‘And everyone backs off?'

O'Shea spread his hands and smiled. ‘Simple, ain't it, mate?'

‘And if I do stand?'

‘Well, Jack here is on the council and he's gunna be the next mayor. The land on the foreshore is both residential and industrial; they done that way back in the 1890s when the workers lived next to the factories. It's high time it were changed, only it's harbourside property, so it's both state and council. We reckon it should be classified industrial – jobs for the workers. Me being the member for Balmain, and Jack here the next mayor, shouldn't be too hard to get that legislation through parliament and council. We'll give 25-year leases for the factory owners already there, the same for newcomers. Won't be any houses left standing, mate. Maybe your mother could build warehouses after she's pulled down what's there, that's if she can get any union labour to work for her, and as you know we don't let no scab labour into Balmain. Looks like a rock and a hard place, Danny, don'tcha reckon?'

‘What? You scared I'm going to kick your arse at the next election, Tommy?' Danny said.

‘Nah, mate. Balmain's always been Labor, always will be, but why make trouble for yourself if it ain't necessary?' O'Hearn shrugged.

‘Yeah, you're scared all right, Tommy.' Danny smiled. ‘Oh, yes, and Jack, with an Independent in, it might give people the idea that the council could benefit from a change as well. What do you say?'

‘Bullshit!' O'Shea said. ‘That'll be the fuckin' day!'

Danny reached over and picked up the boardroom phone. ‘Keri, can you bring in the lists on my desk, the copy we made? Thanks. Oh, Keri, bring in a toilet roll as well, will you?'

Tommy O'Hearn looked at Jack O'Shea and couldn't resist: ‘What, you've shit yer pants, have yer, mate?'

Keri brought in a roll of toilet paper and a copy of Riley's list on which were underlined all the names of everyone on the council, and on the Labor councils where the boarding houses had been, as well as public servants, police and politicians, right up to the Minister for Housing. Among them, of course, were the names of Tommy O'Hearn and Jack O'Shea, together with the date and amount of every payment, going back five or more years. The names of the witnesses were not included.

‘Perhaps you'd like to find your name and verify the amount you received as a bribe,' Danny said. ‘I have a list of twenty-two witnesses who are prepared to testify in court.'

He handed the sheets over to the two men and watched as O'Shea's hands began to shake, and O'Hearn's face darkened two shades of apoplectic scarlet and a bright trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face into where his neck would once have been.

‘Now, please, gentlemen, I am a criminal lawyer, and one not without some reputation. I know how to use this information if I have to. But then, of course, you'd know that. I'm not asking you to do anything, because if I did, it would be the same as the blackmail you have just attempted to use on me. Whatever decision my mother makes about the Brokendown Street houses must be processed in the normal manner through council; whatever workmen she hires to help her must be allowed to work and we will use union labour whenever there is a union man qualified to do the job. If the foreshore is reclassified as an exclusively industrial zone, I will act immediately. I intend standing as an Independent and I expect a clean fight, so please don't disappoint me. Of course, if in the meantime anything should happen to me, or to anyone close to me, there are instructions left on how to act and where to send this information. Now, I think you should leave.'

Both men rose, then O'Hearn said, ‘How do we know you won't use this list anyway?'

‘You don't, mate. You don't,' Danny said quietly. ‘Oh, Jack, I wonder if you'd do me a small favour?'

‘What?' O'Shea demanded, not happy.

‘In your next council meeting, could you please gazette the name of the street where my mother has the houses, changing it from Gull Street to Brokendown Street? That's what most people have come to call it.' O'Shea nodded, and headed for the door. As they reached it Danny called out, ‘Hey, Tommy, you forgot the shit paper!'

After dinner that evening, while the twins did their homework in their room, Danny and Helen retired to the upstairs verandah with a glass of wine and a pot of tea, and he told her the details of the meeting with the Two Os, omitting the toilet-roll incident. It was a very Balmain boys thing to do, but he knew she wouldn't see the joke – only the cheap shot it so obviously was. Helen then told him about the meeting she and Brenda had had with Hester Landsman.

‘Do you reckon you and Brenda can work with her?' Danny asked. ‘You've got all the bases covered in one sense – Catholic, Jew and Protestant.'

Helen rolled her eyes. ‘Well, Brenda liked her and I've always liked her. She isn't aggressive, but she certainly knows her onions. The only really serious question she asked was, did we think you'd win the election? I told her I'd never seen you give up on anything you'd made up your mind to do. “Ja, Franz says also the same,” she said, and that seemed to satisfy her.'

‘She didn't have any hints on how I might change the zoning if I did manage to get in as an Independent, did she?'

‘No, not exactly, but when I told her about your determination, she said, “Ja, such a man will win, zen from the inside comes za changes.” I guess she meant you can't make changes standing outside looking in. By the way, she couldn't believe what Brenda had paid for the entire street.' Helen laughed. ‘She wanted to write a cheque out for her share on the spot, in case we changed our minds.'

‘Well, the sooner Franz puts the deal together the better,' Danny advised. ‘It would be very wise to start renovating at least your first house as soon as possible – show the Two Os you mean business and put their integrity to the test.'

‘Their survival instinct, don't you mean? Neither of them would know the meaning of the word integrity.'

And so the first year of renovations got underway, and Tommy O'Hearn, with Labor back in power, made no move against them. Union labour was plentiful. Leichhardt Council, now under Mayor Jack O'Shea, did nothing, beyond the usual bureaucratic trials, to obstruct progress, and Helen, largely in charge day to day, was not only learning a great deal from the trusted workmen Half Dunn was sending from the pub, but loving it. Much to the disgust of the twins, she'd traded in her Mini Minor for a Holden ute and sometimes even wore blue King Gee overalls and workmen's boots.

Danny and Brenda shared responsibility for the twins' care, and Helen somehow managed, with Brenda riding shotgun, to run the pub during the day and also be on site when she was needed. Fortunately, Brokendown Street was only five minutes away from the Hero, and Half Dunn took over the pub in the evening, allowing Helen time with her girls.

Late one night, when Danny and Helen were about to go to bed, the phone rang.

Helen answered, slightly alarmed by a call at that hour. ‘Hello?'

‘Hi-ya, Helen. It's Billy calling ya'all from N'awlins. How yer doin', honey?'

‘Billy! How lovely!'

‘By mah reckoning it's eight o'clock your time. Not too late for you folks, I hope?'

‘Billy, it's eight o'clock in Perth, ten o'clock here in Sydney, but it wouldn't matter what time it is – it's lovely to hear from you.'

‘Why thank you, honey, but business first, in case this line cuts out on us. I'm coming to Australia November 5, on Pan Am flight 62. Can you book me a hotel close to where you folks live and meet me at the airport?'

‘Billy, delighted, but of course you
must
stay with us.'

‘That'll be nice, Helen.' He chuckled. ‘I'm gonna need me a good lawyer and I do declare I know just the right one.'

‘Hang on, I'll call him, but in case the line cuts out I'll say goodbye. I'm so excited you're coming.' Helen laughed. ‘We speak so often of our time with you that the twins think you're a character out of a storybook!'

Billy chuckled. ‘Bye now, honey, see y'all soon.'

‘Danny, it's Billy – Billy du Bois calling from New Orleans,' Helen cried.

HELEN WATCHED THE ONCE-A-DAY
Pan Am flight coming in to land. It had been sixteen years since they'd seen Billy du Bois and she was naturally a little nervous, not least because Danny was unable to be with her – he was in court all day – and the car had been booked in for a service. She'd been obliged to bring her Holden ute, the front mudguard of which had taken a knock from a forklift truck on the building site. She found herself worrying that it wasn't the sort of vehicle Billy would be accustomed to, and worse still, that he might think she was a stereotypical female driver.
Come on, girl, you've got a doctorate and you're thinking like a high-school student with ‘L' plates,
she castigated herself.

The 707 jet taxied into a landing bay and Helen made her way to the reception area outside the customs hall. She was certain she'd recognise Billy – after all, there couldn't be too many passengers who were six feet four inches tall, with the build to match, coming through the door wheeling a baggage cart – and, of course, she was correct. He emerged, a hulk of a man immaculately dressed in a grey custom-made suit, cream silk shirt and russet tie, and wearing a cream panama hat which showed sufficient hair for Helen to see that it was streaked with grey. He wasn't fat but he was deep-chested and just beginning to thicken around the waist. He'd always had presence because of his size, but now he was imposing; he was a man who couldn't possibly be ignored. He didn't see her because he was talking to a slim, fair man wearing jeans tucked into cowboy boots, a white marine-style T-shirt, a leather bomber jacket and a cream Stetson with James Dean sunglasses perched on the brim. Most of the other men coming through customs wore suits so that the bloke Billy was talking to appeared somewhat incongruous among the formally dressed passengers now being swept up by chattering families wearing their Sunday best. The second man must have been at least six feet tall but he looked small and slight beside Billy's bulk. Helen was reminded what a truly good-looking man Billy was.

‘Billy! Billy du Bois! Over here!' she shouted, waving.

At the sound of his name Billy looked up, saw Helen and waved, turning his baggage trolley towards her. To Helen's surprise the second man followed him. ‘Helen, honey, howdy!' Billy swept her into a huge bear hug, so that the people standing nearby laughed and the blond man smiled as his eyes met Helen's. ‘You're just as beautiful as ever, baby doll!' he boomed.

‘Welcome to Australia, Billy! It's so lovely to see you!'

‘Helen, this is Dallas.'

‘Dallas?'

‘Yeah, he's from Texas, but not from Dallas,' Billy chuckled. ‘That's his real name – Dallas Honeywell, my partner. Dallas, this is Helen Dunn – Dr Helen Dunn.'

‘Howdy, Dr Dunn, nice to know you.' Dallas offered his hand.

Helen took it and smiled. ‘Welcome, Dallas. Please, it's Helen, and don't take too much notice of the doctor.' She released his hand. ‘We don't stand on ceremony in Australia, and besides, right at this moment I'm a bartender and building-site manager.'

‘Helen, I apologise for the change of plans, but Dallas only got back to N'awlins from Vegas the day before yesterday and told me he was free to come along. We tried to call, but the time difference was against us, so we took a chance, but we'll stay in a hotel —'

‘You'll do no such thing; we have seven bedrooms and plenty of linen. You'll both be very welcome.'

‘We don't need a bedroom each, honey,' Billy chuckled. ‘In fact, we don't need separate beds. Dallas here is more than jest mah business partner.'

‘Oh!' Helen said, momentarily taken aback, not at the realisation that Billy was homosexual but that it had never occurred to her. In all the letters they'd exchanged over the years, she'd never thought to ask him about his love life or lack of a wife. A six foot four inch master sergeant on a Harley-Davidson motorcycle who single-handedly liberated a Japanese prisoner-of-war camp didn't fit the stereotype. Billy was handsome, generous, intelligent and charming, a man most women would drool over, and every inch a man's man. She knew he spent a lot of time in Las Vegas, the centre of the world for firm young female flesh, and had assumed he liked to play the field. Helen smiled, attempting to hide her surprise, and said warmly, ‘Billy, we love you, and I'm sure we will love Dallas, too.'

Dallas smiled. ‘Much appreciated, ma'am . . . er, Helen. Folk in the small Baptist-belt town in Texas where I hail from don't take too kindly to the notion.'

‘I'm afraid we're not a lot better here, Dallas. Homosexuality is still a crime in Australia, and quite recently Danny defended one of our major writers, proving conclusively that the police had attempted to blackmail him in order to extort money. While Danny won the case, the police were let off with a rap on the knuckles, and Danny said the only reason he won was because his client came from an old, moneyed and very influential family and was revered by the literati.'

They had left the concourse and were on the way to the parking lot. ‘Ain't any different back home, Helen,' Billy grinned, reassured. ‘But we ain't here to look for action; we're a couple and we don't play around. Now, answer this question, please: “Are there no flies in Australia?”'

‘Of course, probably enough to cover the state of Texas,' Helen laughed.

‘Bugs?' Billy asked again.

‘You mean insects? Sure, Sydney is the cockroach capital of the world. But why do you ask? We've got mosquito netting on every window.'

‘Well, as soon as they opened the doors of the plane this guy in white overalls and a face mask steps in, an aerosol can in each hand, and he walks down the centre of the plane and sprays us all with some kinda insecticide that don't smell so good. I said to Dallas, “What do you suppose? They're trying to kill American bugs?”'

Helen laughed. ‘You're right about the bugs, Billy.' She then explained the concept of ‘island Australia'.

They had reached the car park before Helen remembered she had brought the ute. Slim-hipped or not, there was no way the two men would fit in the cabin of her Holden ute unless Dallas sat on Billy's lap, and even then it might be tricky with the height of the roof. Also, given the conversation of just a few moments before, it would not be a good look. ‘Oh dear, I'd forgotten about the ute!' she cried. ‘You won't fit in, we'll have to get a taxi!'

Dallas chuckled. ‘Hell, ma'am, I grew up sittin' in the back of a pick-up: six brothers and mah big sis, Kate – she sat in the front with mah folk, Heck and Billy-Jo.' He loaded their bags into the back of the ute then vaulted in after them, settling himself comfortably. ‘Okay, let's go!' he called, banging on the roof.

On the way in, Billy asked about Danny and his looming political career, and Helen explained about Balmain and her leaving the university to run the pub and supervise the renovation of Brokendown Street. ‘It's a strange time for us,' she confessed, ‘and I'm still getting over the change from Dr Dunn, senior lecturer in Egyptology, to site forewoman and publican. Most of the older workmen call me “girlie” and the young ones “boss”, while the patrons in the pub just call me “Doc Gyppo”.'

Helen then outlined how Brenda had taken over much of the care of the twins and Danny helped with their swimming training. ‘Samantha, in particular, but Gabrielle as well until she sits for the entry exam to the Conservatorium. Danny believes, and so does their coach, that Sam could make the Commonwealth Games in Jamaica in 1966.'

‘But I seem to remember Danny saying something about rowing . . .' Billy said.

‘Yes, you're right. For a long time Danny wasn't sure whether he wanted the girls to be champion swimmers or champion rowers,' Helen smiled, ‘but swimming seems to have won out over rowing. They still go out sometimes, but mainly for fun now.'

‘Hey, that's really something! And Gabrielle, she's a musician? That's one hell of a family. What instrument does she play?'

‘The violin. She's talented but there's so much competition with the violin. She may switch to the viola or even the cello, but she loves her violin.'

‘Honey, you tell her if she passes her exams, her Uncle Billy is going to get her the best brand-new violin or viola or cello money can buy, and Dallas and me are going to be cheering Samantha in Jamaica if she makes . . . what did you say they were?'

‘The British Empire and Commonwealth Games – thirty-four nations competing.'

‘Jamaica, that's almost next door. We'll be there,' Billy assured her.

‘That would be nice. We'll all meet up if she makes the team,' Helen said. ‘You can tell them yourself. The twins are very excited about meeting you.'

‘Dallas went out and bought them both a Stetson; he just hopes he's got the size right. He wanted to get them a pair of cowgirl boots but I told him better hold off till next time, when we can be sure of the size.'

The twins loved their Stetsons – even though they were rather too big for them, with paper stuffed inside the headbands the girls thought they were the bee's knees – and they both took to the two Americans immediately, too. It turned out Dallas played the harmonica and knew hundreds of folk tunes. Before long he and Gabby were engrossed in learning ‘House of the Rising Sun'. ‘It's a traditional song, but there's this new singer called Bob Dylan who's just released a recording. Plays one mean harmonica, Gabby.' Gabby immediately fell in love with Dallas, Dylan and folk music.

Sitting on the upstairs verandah after dinner, watching the lights on the harbour, Danny said, ‘Billy, tell us a bit more about these poker machines. No offence, but I find it hard to take them seriously. But you reckon they're the way of the future, eh?'

‘I sure do. My family has made a lot of money out of the poker-machine business, and as a hotel-owning family, you should be interested too.'

‘Don't mind him,' said Helen with a laugh. ‘He thinks anything other than the law or sport is frivolous. I'm interested. Please, go on.'

‘Well, honey, William “Billy” du Bois Incorporated has about fifteen per cent of the slot-machine market in Nevada, where they're legal, and twenty per cent of the unofficial . . . well, hell, the illegal machines in the rest of the country. We had a big share of the market in Havana, Cuba – maybe thirty per cent – but that commie Castro closed down the casinos. But since Kennedy got the better of him last month, and we can all breathe easy again, we're hopeful that business may be back to normal before too long.'

Danny shook his head and said, ‘Cuba? They brought us to the brink of nuclear war! If —'

‘Hold your horses, darling,' Helen interrupted. ‘I really do want to hear what Billy has to say about these machines.'

‘Well, I was just about to say that maybe it's time we looked elsewhere. We'd like to take a look-see at Australia. We ain't the first American company in your market but we reckon we are the best, and by most standards the game here is almost honest. You have over a thousand clubs in this great state with over ten thousand machines in operation. That is just about a big enough market for us to enter with the Willy Billy duB slot machine. We don't do penny-ante, but your market is going to grow. Once your state government sees the amount of tax revenue they can harvest for doing nothing, they'll soon be addicted. The next three years will see the number of machines double and, yessir, we aim to be here. And as sure as night follows day, the other states will open their markets.'

Danny looked doubtful. ‘This is a country that gambles on horses and dogs, Billy. I know the pokies are going great guns, but wait till the wowsers start yelling . . .'

‘Wowsers?' Dallas said, puzzled. ‘That's a word I ain't heard before, but the way it comes to mah ears it don't sound good.'

‘The church groups, temperance groups – they're a fairly formidable lobby.'

‘But horses and dogs are okay?'

‘Yeah, but like your country, off-course betting isn't allowed, in theory.'

Billy laughed. ‘So how is it done, who owns the scam? You ain't got a strong mafia . . .'

‘We refer to it as SP bookmaking. Almost every pub has an operator, except the Hero – Mum's always been dead against it. It's illegal, but big business all the same, and I can't see that changing.'

‘Okay, so here's mah next question: what is the ratio of men to women amongst punters on the horses and dogs?'

‘I can't answer that except to say that men would be the overwhelming majority.'

‘Ah ha, and what if I told you that slot machines, one-arm bandits, are mostly played by women?'

‘Good lord! Are you sure? That simply wouldn't have occurred to me.' Danny turned to Helen. ‘Next time we're at the Tigers' let's check that out.'

‘Brenda likes to have a flutter,' Helen remarked, adding, ‘didn't you know that?'

‘Mum?' said Danny. It was a new insight into a mother who, as far as he knew, had worked hard for every penny she'd ever made.