The Story of Danny Dunn (66 page)

Dallas, who had largely been silent, now said, ‘The grind, that's where the dough is: small time, many times – it all adds up. In this business we think small and often. In the horse races you can make how many bets? Maybe ten in an afternoon of racing. A lotta folk study the form and only lay one or two bets, but on the bandits they can have one every twenny seconds.'

‘But . . . but, surely, the state can only sustain so many clubs and the clubs can only own so many machines; soon enough the market is going to be saturated. Where's the new business for your company going to come from?' Helen asked. ‘I mean, you can't keep supplying machines to a limited number of outlets, can you?'

‘Ah, that's where you're wrong,' Billy said. ‘Gamblers are addicted to challenge and to change. They love new models. Every year we bring out new features, like more reels, multi-line payouts, bigger payouts – it goes on forever.'

‘Hey, wait on, surely if you increase the size of the payouts, you kill the goose that lays the golden egg!' Danny cried.

‘Goddamnit, Danny, you ain't thinking like a businessman. If a quarter can make you a jackpot of a thousand dollars instead of fifty, that's very exciting news, but, of course, the jackpot comes along a lot less often.'

Helen laughed. ‘I guess tapping into human weakness has always been the perfect business.'

‘Well, Helen, honey, you're an anthropologist, you can answer that better than I can,' Billy ventured.

‘Ah ha, yes, gambling was a feature of ancient Egypt; it's been around for some time,' Helen said.

‘Ancient Egypt, hey? I'd surely like to hear about that. But you're right, gambling is ingrained in the human psyche.'

Helen nodded. ‘I'm sure you're correct, but why would a club buy your machines when they're used to other brands?'

‘Good question, Helen,' Dallas said. ‘Now we're into my area, ma'am. You see, the whole business is full of crooks. The problem ain't the club committee – they don't work in the club, and they're usually a bunch of good citizens who ain't around at one o'clock in the morning when the machines are serviced and the money accounted for. It's the management and staff who run the club or the casino who often cain't resist temptation.'

‘The point is, you don't miss what you've never had,' Billy cut in.

‘Which reminds me,' Helen said suddenly, glancing at Danny. ‘Brenda told me of a scam she uncovered yesterday, which I haven't had time to tell you about. I missed it completely. She's fired Ray Hankin over it.'

‘Ray Hankin! But he's been there ten years running the bar. That can't be true – I'd trust him with my life; he was in my battalion in Singapore, salt of the earth.'

‘Well, it seems he's been salting it away, all right. Brenda discovered it purely by chance.' Helen turned to Billy and Dallas. ‘Would you mind if I quickly explained this to Danny?' she asked.

‘You want us to leave, honey?'

‘No, no, of course not! But it means interrupting you and we're anxious to hear more. It's just that the bar manager may call Danny at work tomorrow pleading innocence, and he needs to know what's going on, but with all the excitement of your arrival, I forgot to tell him.'

‘Go right ahead, Helen. We've got all night. We'll be too jet-lagged to sleep much,' Dallas said.

Helen smiled briefly, then began. ‘It seems Ray buys a couple of bottles of Johnnie Walker for thirty-five shillings and brings them to the bar when he comes to work. When the legitimate Hero bottle is empty he replaces it with one of his own. As you know, the mark-up on spirits is one hundred per cent, so he sells his own bottle for three pounds ten shillings in nips, making a hundred per cent profit. Brenda didn't catch on because the bottle stock isn't short and the till is perfectly reconciled. She told me you all used to joke about him replacing his Holden every two years, and how his stock answer was that he preferred cars to wine, women and song. Judging by his new Holdens, he's been running this scam for ten years. He's cheated her out of thousands!'

‘Christ, that's sad. I persuaded her to give him the job in the first place because he was having the usual post-war problems. Brenda kept his job open even though he'd sometimes be away for days on end when the things in his head got too much for him. How did Mum find out?'

‘Purely by chance. She moved his bag to get something and heard the bottles clink, and she thought he might have helped himself from the storeroom, but when she checked, everything was there. It didn't take her long to work out what was happening, so she put a mark on the labels of all the Scotch in stock and kept an eye on the bar bottle. Sure enough, an unmarked bottle turned up on the rack. She let Ray do it three times before she confronted him, then fired him on the spot.'

Danny turned to Billy and Dallas. ‘I guess that's pretty much what you were talking about with the pokies.'

Billy shook his head and sighed. ‘Greed and temptation; humans can't resist either. But, thank the good Lord, as long as they exist, the gambling business will be profitable.'

‘The ancient Egyptians had a game called
senet
, a kind of combination of backgammon, draughts and chess, on which they often wagered their fortunes – houses, slaves, concubines, the lot. They believed it was given to them in a book of magic written by the god Thoth, and so, literally, was a gift from a god.'

‘Well, we have much to thank the good god Thoth for. Shall I continue?' Dallas asked.

‘Of course. Sorry about the interruption,' Helen said.

‘No, ma'am. I reckoned I knew every scam in the book, but I ain't heard that one before. So, at the end of a busy grind every machine becomes a cash cow ready for milking. The secret is to get the money out of the milk pail before it can be counted.

‘The scam is usually in place from the beginning. The slot-machine agency, generally owned by a crime syndicate, sells the machines to the committee and then “interviews” the manager – it's called “familiarising” him with their machines. That's when the scam is first set up. It's the club management's reward for keeping a particular agent's machines and “updating” them from time to time.

‘If the club committee has never seen accurate figures for a machine, then they don't miss the fifteen or twenty per cent taken off the top each night. As Billy says, you don't miss what you never had, and your barman was the same with his Scotch bottle. He sees to it the till reconciles. And with slot machines, the till is like a car's odometer, only the manager is shown how to wind the day's tally back to the amount left after the percentage has been skimmed off.' Dallas laughed.

‘Nice work if you can get it,' Danny said. ‘Is there nothing to prevent this happening?'

‘Absolutely!' Billy said. ‘Our new Willy Billy duB machine can accurately meter every take from every linked machine. One reading tells you the individual take and the combined take for the day's grind.'

‘And it can't be tampered with?'

‘Ain't nothing cain't be tampered with, but doing so is well beyond the knowledge of the average club manager and requires roughly two hours' work by a slot-machine mechanic. That makes a Willy Billy duB
slot machine very popular with club owners and committees, and very
unpopular
with managers and staff.' Billy chuckled, then went on. ‘Our sales pitch is simple enough. We guarantee to increase takings for the club by ten per cent, while giving the player exactly the same percentage payout. It's an irresistible offer, especially as we give a fortnight's trial. The result is always above the guaranteed ten per cent. Suddenly they see the light – the club is doing real well – and now the committee or the owner
does
know what he's been missing. This usually results in a new manager and new casino or club staff, the removal of all the rival machines, and a clean club making good money.'

Danny laughed. ‘And a poker-machine supplier named
William “Billy” du Bois Incorporated
with a whole new bunch of enemies.'

‘You got it,' Billy grinned. ‘It's a tough game, but not if you know how to handle things.' He looked over at his partner. ‘That's where Dallas comes in.'

‘Is this what happens in America? Las Vegas?' Danny asked.

‘Of course,' Dallas replied.

‘Well, if you're using Australia as a test market for the new Willy Billy duB machines, aren't you going to run into trouble when you put them in back home?'

‘No, Danny, when everything is corrupt it's much easier to handle. You see, the casinos are owned by the mob – the mafia. If they catch a card dealer cheating or a staff slot-machine scam, they take the culprit for a ride into the desert and he or she is buried in a shallow grave with a hand sticking up above the sand holding a blackjack card or a silver dollar in their cold dead fingers. The point is that the mob do the skimming themselves before the government man takes his share as tax, so stealing from the mafia ain't wise.'

‘And where do we come in?' Danny asked.

‘You can be our agent or simply our lawyer, or both. What we do in our company is completely honest and above board, and we would expect the same from our agent in Australia. But our business has been in this game now for forty years and I just want you to know the parameters. If you take on our agency, you're gonna make, if you'll excuse the French, a shitload of dough, but in order to keep the hoods away you're going to need to include a security operation as part of the operating costs. You'll get our machines on consignment so your starting costs will be minimal. Dallas will show you how to keep the bad guys away. If you're not happy to come in,' Billy spread his hands and smiled, ‘Danny, I love you like a brother and you'll still have our legal work. We're not going to have any trouble appointing an agent; we know the Packer organisation is interested, as are several other parties.'

Danny looked at Helen. ‘Billy, you don't understand, this is not my decision. I'm no businessman – just ask my partner, Franz!' He smiled at his wife. ‘If Helen's interested, she will make the decision, not me. This would be her operation, that is, Helen and her partners.'

Helen smiled. ‘Billy, of course we want to be your agent, but you'll have to meet my two partners first – Brenda Dunn and Hester Landsman.'

The first opportunity Danny had to talk to Helen about Billy being queer was in their bedroom that night. He wandered out of the bathroom, still cleaning his teeth, the toothbrush working and the paste frothing.

‘Can'tgetoverBilly
,'
he said.

‘Can't understand a word, darling.'

‘Okay. Justamo
.
' Danny turned towards the bathroom and reappeared in the bedroom a couple of minutes later.

‘Now, what was all that about?' Helen asked, climbing into bed.

‘Billy! Who'd ever have thought?'

‘Does it really matter?' Helen replied, right eyebrow arched.

Danny didn't answer, thinking, then said, ‘When he appeared at the gates of the prison camp on his Harley with the sidecar loaded with smokes, he was the toughest son of a bitch I'd ever seen. He looked like a giant . . . in fact he was a giant! This huge monolith suddenly appearing in front of several hundred starving, spindly-legged, sallow-cheeked, hollow-chested human wrecks. He decked the two Jap guards at the gate as if he were swatting a couple of flies. When he told us he'd come to liberate us on his own, there wasn't a man present who didn't believe he was capable of doing so. This bloke was Jesus Christ in an army uniform garlanded with ammo belts.' Danny paused. ‘I just don't believe it – Billy a shirt lifter, a pillow biter, a pansy. Christ, no way!'

Helen suddenly sat bolt upright in bed and glared at him. ‘Oh, how charming, Daniel Corrib Dunn. Are you telling me you're a poofter basher?'

‘Nah, just a very fucking surprised lawyer.'

‘And what? You're disappointed? It changes things?'

‘Helen, I've been carrying this image of Billy in my head for how long? Seventeen or so years. You know, great mate, good bloke, tough guy, the quintessential male, and now . . .'

‘So what's changed, Danny? Come on, I know you better than that. He's still all those things, as well as generous and smart and kind. He's handing us an opportunity the richest family in Australia would grab if given half a chance, and offering, in effect, to finance us into the business. As far as I'm concerned he's still all the things you said he was and more – much, much more.'

‘You mean you weren't surprised when he told you? C'mon, Helen, be honest.'

‘Of course I was, momentarily. But then it all made sense, his not taking a wife – as good a man as a woman might find and still single. In retrospect, I should have worked it out years ago, but, of course, I was stuck with the same macho image of him as you were. I've never had a thing about homosexuality – there were heaps of homosexual men in intelligence during the war – but I guess I was thinking in stereotypes all the same, even though I've occasionally fantasised about women.'