by Ron Thomas
For a moment, Leila thought of trying to help the stricken man. On second thoughts, there would undoubtedly be police arriving soon. and she quickly thought better of it. Leila decided that she wasn’t one to involve herself in other people’s aggravation. It might be time for a nice, warming cup of tea, then perhaps a change of venue up to the Forbes Street corner.
***
Leila heard the sirens from the comfort of her first-floor room, before the kettle had boiled. She took her time filling the teapot, then drew the curtains back to see what was happening outside. The taxi was back where she’d first seen it pull up, parked illegally, close to the corner. There were two black police cars blocking the intersection and an ambulance on the Bourke Street footpath. The taxi driver was gesticulating wildly and pointing this way and that. She allowed the curtains to fall back and poured herself a cup of tea, kicked her shoes off, and sat on the edge of the bed. At least she was out of the drizzle.
Heavy-handed bashing on her door told her immediately that she was about to get a visit from the law.
‘All right, all right, keep your pants on,’ she shouted. She took her time opening up.
There were two of them, uniformed, getting all hot and bothered.
‘Well, hello sailors,’ she said seductively. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Sergeant Scotter and Constable Brown from Darlinghurst police. We are investigating a shooting on the corner about thirty minutes ago. Do you know anything about that?’
‘Not a thing,’ Leila replied. ‘I’ve been here having a nice cup of tea.’
‘You would say that, wouldn’t you? A taxi driver at the scene said there was a girl on the corner and she walked off in this direction when the shooting started. Are you quite sure that wasn’t you?’
‘Not me, Constable’ Leila replied.
‘Sergeant. Sergeant Scotter. I think you’d better come with us. Perhaps we’ll let the taxi driver take a look at you.’
Leila realised that she’d made a strategic error. ‘I’ve just poured this tea,’ she complained. ‘It will get cold.’
‘That’s rotten luck,’ Scotter replied with sarcastic sympathy. Then his tone changed and he growled. ‘Get your shoes on, girlie and come with us. We’re not out to give you a hard time, but we want to know what happened out there on the corner. But give us trouble, and you might find we come down on you hard.’
Leila knew immediately that this was not the moment to make a scene. She put her shoes back on, donned a jacket and filed out of the room with one policeman leading, the other on her five inch heels.
The scene had changed while she was talking to the policemen. Now the corner was cordoned off with tape, and behind it quite a crowd gathered. The wounded man was on a stretcher, leaving only a dark bloodstain to mark the spot where he’d been shot. As she watched, the ambulance men lifted the fallen man’s stretcher and loaded it into the back of the ambulance.
‘Nothing like blood and guts to draw a crowd,’ Scotter said amiably. Leila wasn’t sure whether he was talking to her or the other policeman. They had to push their way through and duck under the tape. A burly plain-clothes copper seemed to be in charge. Photographers from the newspapers were taking every opportunity to have pictures to accompany their morning headline. The last thing Leila Morgan needed was the sort of publicity she was now facing, but all she could do was draw the collar of her jacket up, covering as much of her face as possible.
Sergeant Scotter walked up to the detective. ‘Boss I think this lady might be able to help with our inquiries. She fits the cabbie’s description.’ He paused for effect. ‘She isn’t being terribly cooperative, though.’
‘Is that so,’ the detective said, then turned to Leila.
‘I’m detective-sergeant Ray Blissett, CID. I haven’t got time to play games with you.’ He pointed to where another policeman was still taking a statement from the taxi driver. ‘He saw you.’ Leila just shrugged her shoulders. She’d heard that the cop they called ‘The Blizzard’ wasn’t one to be tangled with.
Blissett called the taxi driver over. ‘This her, Mr Edelman?’ he asked.
Edelman nodded. ‘That’s her,’ he replied.
‘Thank you,’ Blissett said, and turned his attention back to Leila.
‘This is how it is, love,’ he said in a voice dripping with cynicism. ‘The cabbie told us you were on the corner, soliciting. Or was it your twin sister? If you tell us what you saw, you can go. If you hold out on us, the vice squad will make your life merry hell. Unbearable. Do you follow my drift?’ Leila didn’t react in any way; she just stood there, but she knew when she was beaten. She consoled herself with the fact that she hadn’t really recognised any of the men.
‘Right,’ Blissett said. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Leila Morgan.’
‘Your real name?’
Leila looked reluctant, then replied with a resigned shrug. ‘Mavis. Mavis Morris.’
‘Where were you when all this started, Mavis?’
‘Over there,’ she replied. ‘Just by that doorway. Minding my own business.’
‘I see,’ he said barely hiding a smirk. ‘And when did you spot the victim?’
‘About five minutes or so before, you know, the shooting.’
‘Did you recognise him?’
‘Not really. He had a hat on. It only came off when he fell.’
‘Can you tell me anything about him?’
‘He caught my notice because he seemed agitated, you know, shifting from one foot to the other. I don’t know whether he was angry or what. Perhaps he just needed to pee. Then the taxi pulled up. I think the driver thought the man might be a fare, because he just sat there and waited, almost where the taxi is now. Then the other man arrived. He came from that way, but I didn’t see him until the last moment. He walked straight up to the … the victim: they argued. There was some pushing and shoving and a lot of yelling. Then the victim pulled a knife or something from his pocket, and I heard the shots almost immediately after that.
‘Shots?’ Are you sure about that?
‘Might have been just one shot. I wasn’t counting, I was ducking.’
Suddenly the detective smiled. ‘Not very good for business on your patch eh, Mavis?’
She returned the smile. ‘Not really, Mr Blissett.’
‘Now the main question. Did you recognise the other man?’
‘No. As I told you I didn’t see him until he was almost on the … victim.’
‘Describe him,’ Blissett said bluntly. ‘I know you girls watch your marks pretty closely.’
‘Taller than the other man. Dark hair. Black probably. Dark pinstripe suit, shiny shoes.’ There was a long pause. Leila had said all she meant to say, but Blissett seemed to be waiting. ‘I knew he wasn’t business, you know. We can tell,’ she added helpfully.
‘Is that all?’ Blissett said, frustration evident in his tone.
‘That’s it.’
‘How old would you say he was?’
‘Not sure. Perhaps thirty-five or fortyish.’
‘Do you think you’d recognise him if you saw him again?’
‘Not really.’
‘You saw the car he jumped into?’ Leila nodded uncertainly. ‘Yes, it was black.’
‘What make?’
‘I don’t know nothing about cars. It was big, black and shiny. When it took off, the wheel spun and it smoked. Powerful.’
‘Does the name Frank Hayes mean anything to you?’ Blissett asked. ‘Or Razor Hayes, or Razor Jack Hayes?’ Leila, along with every other prostitute in the district knew the name Razor Hayes. It struck terror into the hearts of prostitutes everywhere. However, Leila, conditioned by the lessons of the street, shook her head again anyway. The policeman smirked again, and she knew that he hadn’t believed her.
‘Well, Mavis Morris,’ Blissett explained. ‘Mr Hayes is quite well known to us. The list of suspects will be as long as the Sydney telephone directory. There would be quite a few peop
le lining up to bump off Hayes. But it could well start a war, and it’s better that we find the assailant quickly. The constable will take particulars from you. You will be required to come down to headquarters to view some photographs. Perhaps you will recognise the assailant. We appreciate your cooperation.’
With that, Blissett turned away and returned his attention to the taxi driver. With a few moments to herself, Leila contemplated what she’d heard. There was no way she would identify anyone and put herself in the firing line. She realised, however, that she would have to give the impression of cooperation. She was stuck with that. If it really was Razor Jack who’d got the chop, she would be joining the celebrations, along with all the other girls.
Chapter 25
Sojourn at Guido’s
It was only loneliness that finally drove Meggsie to make the telephone call. He recalled Benito’s admonitions regarding helping Guido, but he badly needed to find somewhere to live. He’d spent too much time alone. During the day, he was occupied by school, but the evenings and nights were becoming interminable. Meggsie was becoming more desperate by the day.
A rough male voice he didn’t recognise answered.
‘Mack’s,’ the voice said. He could hear voices and the clinking of glassware in the background.
‘I’m after Mr Caletti. Mr Guido Caletti,’ Meggsie said.
‘Guido ain’t here,’ the voice answered.
‘Can I leave a message for him?’ Meggsie asked.
‘Sure. He’ll be in sometime later.’
‘Tell him Meggsie called and I’m at Benny’s. He told me to ring on this number.’
‘Meggsie’s at Benny’s? That it?’
‘That’s it.’
‘I’ll tell him.’
He didn’t hear from Guido for another three days, and by then he was having second thoughts anyway.
He arrived back from the hospital to find Guido leaning against the Thornycroft, smoking.
‘Howyer going Meggsie?’ Guido asked. ‘They tell me you’re on the mend.’
‘I don’t know about that, Mister Caletti. It’s not as painful as it was, and they say there won’t be permanent scars on my face. They aren’t so sure about my arms and the backs of my hands.’ He clasped and unclasped his hands a couple of times. ‘They work, though.’
‘Well, mate that’s a plus. You will still have girls chasing you.’ Meggsie hadn’t had girls chasing him to this point, but he found the thought intriguing.
‘I hope so,’ he said.
‘A little bird told me that you had a visit from The Blizzard while you were in hospital,’ Guido said.
For a moment Meggsie wasn’t following the turn of the conversation. It was the first indication he’d had that Guido might have been in contact with someone from the hospital.
‘You mean that policeman?’ he replied.
‘Yes. Blissett. They call him The Blizzard. Hard bastard. Don’t trust him. What did he want?’
‘He asked me if I knew who started the fire.’
‘Did you tell him?’
‘No. I told him I saw two dark figures through the smoke and fire, and the broken glass. I didn’t see any faces and I don’t know who they were.’
‘Did he ask about me?’
‘Yes, but I told them I didn’t see you on the night.’
‘You’ve done well, Meggsie. Tell the bastard nothing. I’ll handle it in my own way. Did you hear about Razor Jack?’
‘No.’
‘He copped one in the stomach, up on Bourke Street. One down!’ Guido seemed mighty pleased and Meggsie immediately wondered what he had to do with it. ‘That’ll teach the bastard to meddle,’ Guido added gleefully.
Meggsie wondered when Guido might ask about his nephew. When he thought about it, it was even stranger that Guido hadn’t come to see either him or Benito in the hospital. It was almost as though Guido read his thoughts.
‘And what’s the story on Benny?’ Guido asked.
‘He’ll be in St Vincent’s for a long time. We don’t know how long, but they say that every day he gets through gives him a better chance of living. I’ve been sitting with him every day, and Therese or one of the girls is there in the evenings.’
‘Well, he doesn’t need me then,’ Guido said, seemingly relieved.
‘Of course, he hasn’t really woken up since the fire. He hasn’t talked. Nothing like that.’
‘That ain’t good,’ Guido replied. ‘It’s a pity about the shop. I suppose it’s tough on you. Where are you living?’ To Meggsie, it sounded like a silly question. Guido seemed to have washed his hands of the whole business.
Meggsie shrugged. ‘The last few weeks, I’ve been living here in the truck. The tap in the yard still works, so I’ve got water. I’m all right. It’s no different to living on the street. I’ll probably just keep doing that until Benito comes out of hospital.’ Meggsie wasn’t at all sure that Benito would ever come out of the hospital, but he didn’t really want to say that.
‘Perhaps you could bunk at my place,’ Guido replied thoughtfully. Then after a long pause, he added, ‘for a while, at any rate.’ He didn’t sound very enthusiastic about the prospect. Meggsie’s regard for Guido Caletti had fallen to a pretty low ebb since the fire, and he quickly began to weigh up his options. He was about to decline.
‘You remember Miss Cameron, don’t you?’ Guido asked. ‘You met her here at the shop couple of times?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Meggsie replied. He was about to say that she had taught him to dance, but it appeared that Guido mightn’t know about that. It had always been Frank Green who had come to the dance hall and met her after the lessons. If Nellie hadn’t mentioned it, he decided that he wouldn’t be the one to tell Guido either.
‘Well, she’s staying with me. We are thinking of getting married.’
That was a surprise Meggsie hadn’t been expecting, and he wondered how Frank Green felt about that. It wouldn’t have been wise to ask. He wasn’t sure whether it was curiosity about her relationship with Guido or something else that made him change his mind, but suddenly he’d had enough of loneliness and the truck.
‘I’d like to come and stay with you, Mister Caletti if you have room. I wouldn’t be any trouble.’
‘I hope not,’ Guido replied. ‘You’ll have to sleep on the sofa.’
‘I don’t mind. It couldn’t be any worse than the seat of the Thornycroft.’
‘I’m going there now, so you can tag along if you like,’ Guido offered.
***
Meggsie wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d walked along Francis Street often enough, but he had no idea which house was Guido’s. Somehow, he’d expected that Caletti’s house would have been large and luxurious, given Guido’s many sources of illicit income, but it proved to be otherwise. From the street, the house itself was not dissimilar to the one that his father had chased him out of. Inside, it appeared that Guido had never thrown anything out. Untidy stacks of old newspapers littered the floor here and there, and the odour of full ashtrays reminded him of the aftermath of the fire. Every horizontal surface seemed to be stacked with miscellaneous rubbish, and the floor hadn’t seen a broom for a very long time. Meggsie couldn’t help comparing it in his mind with the meticulous care that Benito insisted upon in the fruit shop.
‘You can sleep there, Meggs,’ Guido said. ‘On the sofa. You’ll have to move all that crap off, and I’ll find you a blanket. One of those cushions will do as a pillow. Kitchen’s down the hall, dunny out the back. Miss Cameron and I will be out most nights, but we’ll do our best not to wake you when we come in and out.’
‘Thanks, Mister Caletti. This will do me just fine,’ Meggsie replied.
‘I thought I heard a familiar voice.’ The sleepy voice from the bedroom was a woman’s, and a few moments later, Nellie Cameron appeared. She was wearing a short silk dressing gown adorned with large pink flowers, somewhat in disarray, that left her prone to overexposure, and her hair was tousled.
&nb
sp; ‘I thought it sounded like you, Gilby. I wasn’t expecting you. You look quite different.’
‘Oh?’ Meggsie replied.
‘Yes, you’ve grown. Your skin’s all pinky, and your hair’s shorter, too.’
‘Yes; that’s because most of it was burnt off. They cut it quite short, but they say it will just grow back.’
‘And what about my old friend Benny?’ she asked.
Meggsie shrugged. ‘We don’t know. We’re all hoping he’ll get better.’
‘Well, I hope so, too. I have to start getting dressed. It’s Tuesday. Dance night.’ Nellie winked at him. ‘I always enjoy dance night. It’s a pity you can’t dance yet. Your foxtrot was coming along nicely.’
***
It soon became apparent to Meggsie that he was pretty much on his own. Guido came and went at all hours, sometimes with Nellie on his arm, sometimes not, but only rarely did either of them eat at the house. When Meggsie took a look in the ice chest and the pantry, it was immediately evident that there was very little food kept in the house.
On occasions, Guido and Nellie would arrive home in the early hours of the morning. They made little attempt to keep their arrival quiet, or to take account of his presence. Usually Guido would slam the door after they’d entered, and Nellie’s girlish giggle would echo through the house. Meggsie, usually thoroughly awake, would have to listen to the squeaking of the bed springs before he was able to drift off to sleep. Occasionally, however, these late arrivals brought with them conflict, angry shouting and violence that could only bring back memories of Albert Maggs and of Friday nights filled with terror.