Dark Angels

by Ron Thomas

  ‘I understand you were there when Guido Caletti turned up at Benny’s. It was just before the cops arrived, wasn’t it?’ Maddocks asked. His voice was disarming, but Meggsie wasn’t taken in.

  ‘Yes. I was there. It was all over quickly, and I didn’t see much.’

  ‘Caletti had a gun, didn’t he? I understand he was about to use it.’

  ‘I don’t think so. He was sitting on it. It was between his legs.’

  ‘Between his legs, was it? Browning, the constable, said he was waving it around, looking like he wanted to shoot someone.’

  ‘I didn’t see that,’ Meggsie replied. He knew he was dealing with a tricky interrogator, and was grateful they were almost at Benny’s.

  ‘I’ve got to go in here, Mr Maddocks. I’m late for work,’ he said.

  Maddocks fumbled in the top pocket of his shirt, and pulled out a tatty, dog-eared business card. ‘My phone number’s on there. Any time you find something going on, you can ring me. The Truth will look after you, of course, if you give us a lead.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Meggsie replied, trying to sound positive, though he had no intention at all of using the phone number.

  ‘Sounds as if this Harry Moon character is some sort of real life Tiger Kelly. If you want to come downtown sometime, I’ll introduce you to Jimmy Bancks,’ Maddocks offered. ‘He’s a mate of mine. I’m sure he’d like to meet you.

  ‘Thanks, Mr Maddocks,’ Meggsie said.

  ***

  ‘You were a while,’ Benito complained, when Meggsie arrived.

  ‘I met that Mr Maddocks that Moe told us about. You know, the man from The Truth. He was at the newsstand. He told me he thinks Harry Moon is alive. That’s a relief.’

  ‘I told you that it was better to tell Moe. Perhaps that might be the end of your nightmares. By the way, I’ve decided that you need a proper bed, and I’ve ordered one from Mark Foy’s. That might help. They said they’d deliver it by Friday week.’

  ‘Golly,’ Meggsie said. ‘Thanks so much.’

  ‘Actually, I told-a my wife, Therese, that you slept on the bags, and she told me I had to go out straight away and buy you a bed. It won’t be delivered for over a week, so don’t get overeager.’

  Meggsie looked a trifle disappointed. ‘I won’t,’ he said.

  ‘I’m glad Harry Moon survived. For your sake, anyway. Are you going to do anything about him?’

  ‘I don’t suppose I can do much. If I went down there and they caught me, they’d probably tear me apart. Mr Maddocks said Harry’s nose looked like a prune. It appears that I flattened it, and he wouldn’t be happy about that. It’s not certain it’s the same Harry.’

  ‘Perhaps he wouldn’t want to tangle with you again. Anyway, it’s probably best that you just stay away from him. You’ll be pleased to know that I left those three big bags of potatoes for you to stack.’

  ‘Right, boss,’ Meggsie replied. It appeared that Harry Moon might have survived, and Meggsie was quite happy to stack spuds.

  ***

  With Guido Caletti out of the way, Benito was noticeably more relaxed. In fact, Meggsie had the impression that he wouldn’t mind if Guido stayed in Long Bay permanently. The other warlords of Darlinghurst and Woolloomooloo left them alone to get on with the fruit business, knowing Guido’s penchant for revenge.

  The relationship between the fruiterer and the boy began to change. Somehow, since Meggsie told him he’d been a better father than Meggsie’s own, Benito had been much more inclined to fill the role. It wasn’t that he let discipline slide, quite the opposite. Benito gave Meggsie more responsibility, and expected more from him.

  Meggsie thrived on that, and buried himself in the daily round of work, school and more work. Some boys grow up quickly, and for Meggsie, puberty arrived with a rush. He added inches to his height and to the width of his shoulders. His lean body grew muscle and his facial hair began to grow. Despite everything, he found he had caught up in the classroom and learning seemed to come far more easily to him than it had in the past.

  Indian summers don’t last forever, however. The first sign it was over was the increased tension that Benito couldn’t hide. Meggsie found his boss’ easy-going nature becoming more and more strained as the day when Guido Caletti would be let loose again approached.

  Chapter 14

  Robbo’s Swy School

  It was immediately evident that, during the five months Guido Caletti had been locked up in Long Bay gaol, he’d done some thinking. The first thing he thought of was to throw a party. Neither Benito nor Meggsie were invited. A few days later, Moe told Meggsie that it had ended in a punch-up, and that somehow, Nellie Cameron had been the cause of it all. Then Guido bought himself a few new suits, or at least browbeat Yosef Abrahams into making them for him. After that, he settled down as though he’d never been away, not the slightest bit chastened. It was soon clear that Guido had come up with a plan for Meggsie, too.

  ‘You did well, Meggs when I had my little bit of trouble. Now, your real edication begins. It’s about time you learned to play cockatoo. Tonight, my boy, you will be coming with me to the game,’ Guido said. ‘You are about to get a promotion. Do you know how to play two-up?’ Meggsie had worked out that two up and swy were one and the same.

  ‘Not really, Mr Caletti. I know you use coins, and bet on them.’

  ‘Come with me and I’ll demonstrate the rudiments. Not that you’ll be playing, Meggsie. You will be observing. That’s what cockies do; observe.’

  Meggsie followed Guido, who walked along Oxford Street, then stopped by the green door between ‘Fred’s Tastier Meats’ and the ‘Better Bookshop’. He stood looking up and down the street, checking to satisfy himself that he wasn’t being observed. Guido was feigning nonchalance, but to Meggsie, his appearance was one of obvious, almost comical guilt. It had been a long time since the gate had been painted and rust was taking over. It was still strong, however, and was secured by a heavy chain and an oversized padlock. Guido took a key from his pocket and opened the lock.

  The alley behind was narrow and it smelt vaguely of rotten meat. It opened out into the butcher’s rubbish-strewn backyard. Blue and white-striped butcher’s aprons hung limply on a sagging clothes line. A hidden gate in the side fence led to Better Bookshop’s backyard. Meggsie wondered why it needed a padlock. Guido continued across the bookshop backyard and reached a third gate, partially concealed by a rambling bougainvillea. This third gate was padlocked, too. Guido opened it with his key and they went through into a third backyard. Under a covered-in section, a stack of coffins indicated they were in the back of Singleton’s Simple Funerals. A shiny, black Ford T-model hearse stood in one corner, just inside a barred and padlocked, solid-looking double gate to Hopewell Lane. The centre of the yard was completely cleared and a twenty-foot square was bordered by timbers held down by short stakes.

  ‘Well this is it, Meggsie. Robbo’s two-up school. Second biggest school in Sydney, and the fastest growing. Let me tell you how it works.’

  ‘The boxer sits on that box up on the verandah. That’s Charlie Sorley to you, but to the punters, he’s Robbo. Robbo runs the game and makes sure it’s orderly. The ringie runs the ring and controls the betting. Bert Rushford is usually ringie. You’ve met Bert. Can you describe him?’ Meggsie thought quickly.

  ‘That’s easy. Greying hair, pretty thin. Tall, with a tattoo of a mermaid and anchor on his arm?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s pretty close, Meggsie, very close. You might make a decent cocky yet!’ Guido said, obviously pleased. ‘Can you remember which arm it’s on?’

  Meggsie thought before he answered. ‘Left, I think.’

  ‘Good. A good cocky notices these things.’ Guido reached into his pocket and pulled out some pennies and a little slab of wood. ‘See these pennies? Now this little wooden thing is called the kip. The ringie places two coins tail up on the kip. The spinner can choose his pennies. See this one has Queen Victoria, so it’s called a queen. These have Edward V,
so they’re called baldies. In any case, the head side is polished and the tail side is left dark.’

  ‘Why does the spinner choose?’ Meggsie asked, puzzled. ‘Aren’t they the same?’ Guido grinned.

  ‘Good question. Perhaps he thinks one sort is luckier than the other. It makes no difference. The house always wins overall. Anyway, as I say, the coins go on the kip, the boxer calls for the spin and the ringie makes sure it’s a fair toss. The spinner’s call is heads. He’s betting on both pennies falling heads-up. The other punters around the ring are betting on tails. The boxer gets his sling from the pot, so he wins, whether the spinner throws heads or not. That’s why it’s best to be the one running the game. The winners sling the boxer too.’

  ‘You’ll learn about all that stuff as you go, Meggsie. It ain’t complicated! For the next month or so, you will be perched up there beside the boxer. All you have to do is to watch, stay out of the way, and get to know all the punters. Then we’ll see if you’re any good.’ He pushed his hat back on his head and scratched his temple.

  ‘Milligan is in charge of security. He’s boss-cocky and he’ll be teaching you the ropes. We want punters. That’s people who will make bad decisions. We have to keep out trouble. That might be people who are full and looking for a stoush, and particularly anyone who might be a nark or a police informer. That brings me to you, Meggsie. The next few weeks you’ll be training. After that, you won’t be here. You’ll be the street cocky. Your job will be to stand out in Oxford Street and let the punters through the gate. You’ll have to keep out the riff-raff. To do that, you have to know the difference between riff raff and punters.’ He grinned. ‘Sometimes it’s hard to tell.’ Meggsie wasn’t sure how a fourteen-year-old would keep out anybody. He swallowed hard, but held his tongue.

  ‘Do you want to be a cocky, Meggsie? There’s money in it,’ Guido said.

  Meggsie didn’t answer. He wasn’t at all sure he wanted to be a cocky.

  ‘Yes? No?’ Guido asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Meggsie said uncertainly.

  ***

  Friday night and the game was on. This time, Guido himself invited Meggsie to attend the usual back room chat in the fruit shop.

  ‘Right, boys,’ Guido began. ‘I’ve got the Cutter and Beasley on duty to help Mickey, so we shouldn’t have any trouble. They should be there when we arrive. If Frank Green turns up, or any of Tilly’s mob, Mickey and the boys will handle it. We don’t want anyone who will draw attention from the law.’ Mickey Milligan nodded knowingly.

  ‘Meggsie here is beginning his edication tonight. Mick, I’d suggest he sits up on the veranda with Charlie where he can see all the faces.’ Mickey nodded again. Guido didn’t appear to need any further acknowledgement.

  ‘Meggs, you just keep your eyes peeled and stay well out of Charlie’s way. Don’t distract him from the ring. My idea is that Meggsie is a little less obvious on the gate than Mickey. No offence Mick, but when you stand outside the gate, half the wowsers in Darlo know the game is on. Charlie, if you help the boy put names to the faces, he might eventually become a decent cockatoo.’

  ‘No sweat, boss,’ Charlie replied, then turned to Meggsie. ‘Stick with me, Meggs, and you’ll learn all the ropes.’

  ‘That’s it then. Let’s go!’

  ***

  Guido rapped three times on the rusty iron of the green door. It immediately opened until the chain limited its travel. A three-inch stripe of indistinct face appeared in the gap. ‘Yes?’ A muffled voice asked.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Joey, just open the gate,’ Guido said, his voice resigned rather than angry.’

  ‘You told me to always ask for the password, boss. You know I always do what you say.’

  ‘Everyone but me needs the password, Joey.’

  Joey gave a mock salute and a wide grin. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said snappily.

  There were already a few eager punters waiting in the yard behind the funeral parlour. Charlie the Cutter stood like a scary statue, with his back to the hearse, hoping for trouble. Weasel Beasley, by the gate, was ready to ‘welcome’ the punters and to ensure they weren’t armed.

  ‘Follow me, Meggs,’ Charlie Sorley said. ‘And remember that while we’re here, I’m Robbo, and this is my game. Robbo took his seat on his box on the balcony, overlooking the ring. ‘Pull up a box, Meggsie. Make yourself comfortable.’

  Meggsie seated himself somewhat behind Robbo, remembering Guido’s instruction to stay out of the way.

  ‘See that fella with the sandy, ginger hair?’ Robbo asked.

  ‘Yes. His name’s McCormack,’ Meggsie replied immediately. ‘He’s got a fruit barrow down the road.’ Robbo raised his eyebrows. ‘How did you know that?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s a mate of Mr Caletti’s.’

  ‘What about the chap he’s with?’

  ‘I don’t know him.’

  ‘Close your eyes,’ Robbo directed. Surprised, Meggsie turned to Robbo questioningly.

  ‘Close ’em,’ Robbo ordered. This time, Meggsie complied.

  ‘Can you picture him?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Then describe him to me.’ There was a long pause, as Meggsie tried to order his thoughts.

  ‘He’s medium height,’ he began. ‘Thin face, long nose. His hair is light brown, going grey in patches. It’s parted in the middle, I think.’

  ‘That’s a good start. And what about his clothes?’ Robbo asked.

  ‘His suit is grey; dark grey, and his waistcoat is a lighter colour.’

  ‘What about his necktie?’ Robbo asked.

  ‘I don’t think he’s wearing one. His shirt’s kind of wrinkly, and I’m sure it’s open at the neck.’

  ‘Well done, Meggs. Well done. His name’s Tom Kelly. He’s one of Phil Jeffs’ heavies. Now, see the heavy-set bloke coming through the gate now? The bloke talking to the Weasel?’ Meggsie nodded.

  ‘He’s Arnie Broadstreet. He’s very important. One of the biggest punters around here. We’ve made plenty of money out of him. He is a regular and he likes to be called Mr Broadstreet. Not much to ask, if we’re going to take his money.’

  As the punters rolled in, Robbo continued to give Meggsie a running commentary on them, while every now and then pulling out his fob watch and checking the time. Precisely at 9 o’clock he leapt to his feet and the lesson was over.

  ‘Gentlemen! Time! Clear the ring, ringie! Let’s have an orderly game, boys!’ Bert Rushford ushered and cajoled the punters from the ring. Bets were placed. Bert gave Robbo the thumbs-up and the game began.

  ‘Johnno’s got the kip. Come in spinner!’

  ***

  The game of two-up isn’t terribly hard to master, and it didn’t take Meggsie very long to work out that some punters lost, some won, but whatever the outcome, the house always raked off a respectable slice.

  Robbo’s wasn’t always at the Oxford Street location; in fact, it was quite mobile. Meggsie didn’t really find out how all the punters knew where to find it, but they always seemed to. He surprised himself with his ability to identify and remember the many faces and put them to names. By the end of the month, he’d pretty well learned to identify all the regulars, and he knew that Robbo was quite impressed.

  ***

  ‘Charlie says you’re ready,’ Guido announced casually. ‘So, we’re going to give you a go, tonight.’ He’d turned up within minutes of Benito leaving the shop, and well before the other men were due to arrive. ‘Close up, and come with me; I’ll explain as I go,’ he added. Meggsie followed Guido down Oxford Street to the green gate.

  ‘This is your spot, Meggsie. Right here outside the gate. You’re street cockatoo. That means you keep an eye on the street. You are the doorman, like. Firstly, you let in any one that you’ve seen at the game before, unless I tell you otherwise. You let in anyone who knows the password, unless you don’t like the look of them. Joey or Mickey will be on the other side of the gate. And try to look like you expect a tip. You can make extra mone
y that way.’

  ‘Sounds easy,’ Meggsie said, trying to sound confident. Guido fished in his pocket, took out a palm full of change and selected a penny.

  ‘If you recognise them as players, you knock like this.’ Guido rapped the coin sharply on the tin. Two fast raps, a pause, then another rap. ‘Mickey lets them in; job done. Got that?’ Right on cue, Guido’s knock was answered. The chain rattled and Milligan opened the gate.

  ‘See? You knock the way I showed you, Mickey takes over. Got it?’

  ‘I think so,’ Meggsie replied uncertainly.

  ‘If you see a black Maria, any cops at all, or people who might be cops, you bash three times quick on the tin. That’s our signal to be ready to pack it in. Got that?’

  ‘I see cops coming, I bash on the door three times.’

  ‘Three times quick. Not two or four. You do know three, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, I bash three times.’

  ‘If the cops move on, one rap means all clear. Four quick raps mean panic stations. They are coming for us and we pack it in. Got it?’

  ‘Yes. But wouldn’t it be better if I just went in the door and told you?’

  ‘Shut it, Mick,’ Guido said, then turned to Meggsie with an exasperated expression.

  ‘Try it, smartarse,’ he challenged. Meggsie tried to push the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. It had no handle, but he wormed his fingers into the crack and pulled it towards him. It was a very heavy, solid door and a heavy chain stopped it opening more than a couple of inches. Mickey Milligan’s leering face peered at him through the opening.

  ‘What’s the password?’ he asked, his face breaking into a silly grin. Guido ignored him.

  ‘It’s locked, so no cops can get in this way unless they break it down. If someone wants to play, they tell you the password. If you don’t know them, or they ain’t with someone you know, you act dumb. Mickey will be on the other side of the gate, so if you’ve got a problem, just talk real loud and we’ll come and sort it for you. Got it?’