You Wouldn't Be Dead for Quids (32 page)

Billy glared at Norton, then spat bitterly on the floor of the lift. ‘Jesus Christ,' he spat again, ‘to think I've spent half the night kissing a . . . a fuckin' bloke.'

‘Ah, I wouldn't take it too hard if I was you Billy,' replied Norton casually. ‘You wouldn't be the only bloke running around Kings Cross tonight kissing other men.'

‘What?' Billy almost exploded. ‘Listen, I'm no fuckin' poof, pal.'

Norton shrugged his shoulders and put his hands in his pockets. ‘That's what you tell me.'

The lift jolted to a stop at the ground floor; the door had scarcely slid open when Billy burst out and stormed across the foyer of the Crest to the main entrance.

The dawn was just starting to break when Norton caught up with him outside. The rain had stopped and a few sickly streaks of musty orange and yellow were starting to blend in with the grey and blue-black of the early morning cloud cover. The sun was doing its best to rise biliously behind the Eastern Suburbs, turning the dirt-caked windows of some of the high-rises around the Cross into shimmering silver mirrors. Although it had cleared up considerably it didn't look like being much of a day and would probably rain again before long.

Norton stopped briefly to get the Sunday papers as Billy strode straight across the pedestrian crossing in Macleay Street. He caught up with him again at the intersection before the tunnel; Billy was walking so fast Norton almost had to jog to keep up as they headed for their cars parked in Royston Street, just up from the fire-station. Abruptly Billy stopped dead in his tracks and turned to Norton very grim faced.

‘Listen Les,' he said seriously. ‘Let's get something straight before we go any further. What happened tonight is just between you and me. Okay? I don't want you to mention it to another soul. Now I'm fair dinkum about this, Les. Can you get that into your head?'

‘Oh of course Billy,' replied Norton folding his two newspapers and putting them under his arm. ‘Shit, what do you take me for? Do you think I'm gonna go running around telling everybody that my offsider at the Kelly Club's a dough-nut puncher and hangs around the Mandrake Room till all hours trying to stick it up drag-queens? Turn it up, son.'

‘Hey, fuckin' hold on!' Billy's voice almost rose to a shout. ‘I don't hang around the Drake trying to tan track drags. What happened tonight was just an accident.'

‘Yeah? I don't know. I've been watching you lately Billy and you have changed these last few months.' Norton was like a picador tormenting a bull to get its temper up for the arrival of the matador — and doing a very good job of it. ‘Still, I can understand mate,' he went on. ‘All these years working at the Cross. It can get to you you know. Environmental work hazards I think they call it.'

‘What!' Billy almost exploded. ‘Why you dopey big cunt. I ought to . . .'

‘Now hold on a sec, mate. It's no good gettin' the shits with me just 'cause I'm from Queensland and I'm straight.'

Norton started to realise he'd had enough fun and it might be a good idea to stop baiting Billy; he was extremely agitated, almost in a state of shock and it was time to drop off.

‘I can understand your feelings mate,' he said. ‘Besides, it's gettin' late and we could both do with a bit of sleep. You'll feel better in the morning.' They strode on in silence to their cars.

‘Remember what I said Les,' said Billy as he opened the door of his current model Holden station wagon. ‘Not a word to anyone about tonight. As far as we're both concerned it never happened. And I don't want to mention the incident ever again. Ever. You understand?'

‘No worries,' said Norton, climbing behind the wheel of his old Ford. ‘It's forgotten. It never happened as far as I'm concerned.'

‘Good. In fact I'll tell you what,' Billy walked over and stood at the window of Les's car. ‘If you hadn't of been there, I'd have choked that fuckin' blonde thing. And probably it's bloody sister too.'

‘I could believe that, mate.' Norton started the motor and gave it a bit of a rev.

‘So tonight never happened.'

‘It never happened, Billy.'

Without saying goodbye, or even another word, Billy got into his car and watched silently as Les pulled out from the kerb; at a set of lights about half a kilometre up the road he drove past Les like he wasn't even there.

But Norton was true to his promise. He kept his word and never mentioned what happened on Saturday night to anyone. Though it would be no exaggeration to say he was absolutely dying to; as far as Les was concerned it was one of the funniest things he'd ever seen in his life. But he never said a word about it to anyone, not even Warren Edwards who shared the house with him.

If Norton thought Saturday night was funny, Billy was the complete opposite. He was still visibly upset when he called for Les to go training on Monday morning and from the moment Les got into Billy's car, all through training and even when they had
a drink and Billy dropped him off afterwards not a word was mentioned. It was like it had never happened.

Even apart from his enforced silence on the matter, Norton could still tell Billy was quite rancorous about the affair. When they put the gloves on to spar for a few rounds Billy never pulled a punch and was really working out his hatred and aggression — Norton really had to belt him good and hard a few times just to stop from getting hurt too much himself. But Billy still wouldn't ease up.

A few of the regulars at Gales Baths and some others who had stopped to watch couldn't believe they were the best of friends; especially when Billy hit Les with a left-hook that split his head-gear and sent his mouthguard spinning halfway across the gym. But Norton knew what was going through Billy's mind and copped it sweet.

During a game of handball at the Bondi Icebergs on Tuesday morning and at a drink upstairs in the club afterwards still not a word was mentioned. Nor at training again on Wednesday. Even during the long silent run from Coogee to Bondi and back nothing was said. Coming back through Bronte Cemetery Les was absolutely breaking his neck to say something like ‘Jesus you were a bit stiff yourself on Saturday night, Billy' or ‘I thought you were a dead set certainty, Billy'. But he buttoned his lip.

Les was also wanting to tell Billy that he'd rung Francis at the Crest and finished up going around there late Tuesday afternoon with a dozen cans of Fourex and a bottle of Great Western and giving Fat Francis three of the best. In the sexual race meetings of life Francis had been scratched quite a few times so at this particular event she made every post a winner. Fit and all as he was, big Les left room 363 about eight o'clock very shaky in the knees but with a big grin on his face. Both he and Francis declared it was an afternoon very well spent. He would have loved to have told Billy this but he never mentioned it.

At work on Wednesday night Billy was still quite sullen, and he was the same on Thursday. The incident with Colette was never mentioned once. As far as they were both concerned it had never happened. Norton had kept his word not to say anything and the whole affair was forgotten. It was like it had never happened.

And it would have stayed that way and everything would have been sweet except who should come ambling round the corner of
Kelly Street about 10.30pm on Thursday night, his hands in his trouser pockets, his shirt collar undone and his bow-tie jammed loosely in the top pocket of his tuxedo but Big Danny McCormack, a few schooners under his belt, on his way to do a late shift at the Mandrake Room. As soon as he spotted Billy and Les his eyes lit up and a grin wider than Sydney Heads spread across his face.

‘Well, well, well,' his deep rough voice boomed out loud enough for everyone to hear from Kelly Street down to Garden Island. ‘And how are the two lovers tonight. Did old Danny tip youse into a good thing there on Saturday night or what?'

Billy suppressed a groan and nodding his head very po-faced, quickly turned away and tried to dissolve into the brick wall he was leaning against.

‘G'day Danny,' said Les with a bit of a smile. ‘How y' goin'?'

‘Good as gold,' replied Danny, the grin on his face getting bigger, he'd been dying to see the boys all week. Being a laid-back married man with five kids he loved nothing better than a bit of gossip or scandal to tell his mates on the wharves and he thought he was definitely on to a good thing on this occasion. ‘So how did youse go on Saturday night? Come on Billy, give us the guts son. What happened with that spunky little blonde?'

‘Nothin',' replied Billy shortly, quickly turning away again.

‘Nothin'? What do you mean nothin'?'

‘You heard. Nothin'. We went back to the hotel, had a cup of coffee in the foyer and pissed off. All right?' Billy half turned his back on Danny and faced the wall again.

Danny stood there for a moment as the grin on his face turned into more of a mystified smile. ‘Is he fair dinkum?' he said turning to Les.

‘You heard what the man said,' replied Les, shrugging his shoulders as the lightest hint of a devilish smile started to flicker around his eyes.

Danny stood there for a few seconds slightly dumbfounded. ‘Well I'll be buggered,' he said, turning back to Billy. ‘I thought you would have been a walk-up start with that little blonde. Christ she was all over you like ants at a picnic when you left the Drake.'

Danny shook his big head again. ‘Well I'll be stuffed.' He paused for a moment, then smiled at Norton. ‘So I suppose you
would have missed out on the fat one too, Les. Still, that's understandable. I mean, what self-respecting tart, even if she was a bat, would want to jump in the cot with you?' Danny grinned and gave Norton a bit of a slap on the shoulder then turned back to the still unsmiling Billy.' ‘But I can't understand Rock Hudson over here missin' out. I mean, he is half a good sort.'

Billy still didn't say anything, in fact it was almost rude the way he ignored big Danny.

Norton chuckled to himself at Danny's cheeky remark and just stood there with his hands in his pocket idly kicking at a piece of chewing gum encrusted on to the footpath with the toe of his boot.

‘That's the way it goes,' he said.

‘Ahh. So the big night was a bit of a bummer,' said Danny.

‘Yeah, something like that,' replied Les.

‘Well that's got me beat. I was expecting youse to have great tales to tell me tonight. Especially you, Billy.' Billy continued his sullen silence, still trying his best to ignore Danny. ‘Instead, the night's turned out to be a disaster.'

Norton continued scuffing at the piece of chewing gum on the footpath, then glanced up at Big Danny, a strange smile flickering around his eyes.

‘Well Danny. I wouldn't say the night was a complete disaster,' he said evenly, as Billy turned around slowly at the tone of Norton's voice.

‘Yeah?' Danny's ears immediately started to prick up. ‘Why, what happened?'

‘Well,' said Norton. ‘Even though I wasn't real keen to go there in the first place. And I got lumbered with an ugly sheila and wasted all my money and didn't get to bed till nearly 6am. I suppose you could say I had a prick of a night. Well, maybe I did. But I know one thing for sure.'

‘Yeah. What's that?'

‘Billy dead set had a ball . . . didn't you mate?'

 

 

 

‘Now, what's the story again Les? You want to go training later today because you're going fishing Monday. Is that right?' Billy handed Les a can of Fourex and took a long, refreshing pull on his bourbon and dry. It was about 3.30 on a hot, sticky Sunday morning in summer. Saturday night at the Kelly Club was just over, the last punter had left the club and they were seated in Price's office watching and drinking quietly as Price and George Brennan got the last of the money counted and almost ruptured their spleens trying to stuff it into the safe.

‘Yeah, that's right,' replied Les, taking a decent sort of pull on his can of beer, then belched lightly into the back of his hand. ‘I'll meet you down at Gales at 12. We'll do two or three hours then go and have a drink. I know for sure I won't feel like training after fishing all Monday morning.'

‘How come?' Billy had a bit of a smile on his face as he asked.

‘Cause I get seasick. I've never been outside fishin' before and I know for sure I'm gonna get crook.'

‘Who are you going fishing with?' Price stood behind Les, dusting his hands together, he'd been half listening to the boys while he put the money in the safe.

‘Gary Jackson,' said Les turning around slowly. ‘He's got a boat down the boat-sheds at Ben Buckler. He's been after me to come for weeks.'

‘You're not going out fishing with Jacko are you?' said Brennan. ‘Christ, I hope you've got a decent set of ear plugs. Gary'd talk the leg off an iron pot. You'll end up throwing him overboard.'

‘He's not that bad is he?' said Les.

‘Not that bad,' laughed Price, as he got everyone another drink. ‘You know what his nickname is don't you? The All-Night Night Chemist. Never shuts up.' He turned to George Brennan. ‘What'd that bookie from City Tatts say to him down the boat-sheds one day. He said Gary if you were a racehorse your breeding would be Haveachat out of Talkalot.'

‘That's Gary,' replied George. ‘He'd talk under six feet of wet cement.'

‘Oh well,' shrugged Norton, finishing his can of beer. ‘I don't give a stuff as long as I get a few fish.' He tossed the empty can in a small rubbish bin and started on his fresh one.

No matter what the others said, Les was still looking forward to going fishing on Monday. Being from the country he'd never really been outside in a boat before and it was a bit of a big deal for him and Jackson had been chasing him for ages to come with him one day.