‘Good news, Dick. Good news.’
‘What’s good about it?’ said Reilly, looking up.
Reilly was turnip-white and crumpled-looking. Charlie followed his gaze as it drifted around the dingy room, taking in the piles of green baize, the stacked chairs and tables, the half-empty packing crates stained by the strange orange glare seeping in through the window. ‘What’s going on?’
‘What does it look like?’ said Reilly, unreasonably. ‘I mean, I didn’t ask you to set up a transnational merger or nothing. I just asked you to speak to this Askin bloke, poke a broomstick around, see what comes out. I mean, what sort of bloke is he?’
‘Askin’s a good bloke.’
‘Mucking me about like he is?’
‘I don’t think he meant to.’
Reilly shook his head. ‘I dunno about that.’
Charlie tried, ‘I’m sorry, Dick. But I didn’t expect to find you in this, ah, kind of situation.’
Reilly put his head back and roared with laughter, making Charlie uneasy.
‘You feeling all right?’
Reilly caught hold of himself, literally wrapping his arms around his waist. ‘Guess I’m not feeling too good, maybe some kind of bug, maybe ought to lie down, catch myself some shut-eye tonight.’ He moved his hands around the inside of his trouser belt as if to illustrate the point. ‘I guess you’ve got to understand that this organisation I’m running, it isn’t a few tosspots standing around, pitching some pennies onto a canvas. Everything I got feeds off another thing, a mixture of high turnover and longer-term investment. The more you’ve got, the stronger it makes you, and the more you can get. Then again, something like this comes up, and there’s this knock-on and carry-on effect. Everything gets forced out of whack. A bloke gets himself cash-strapped and over-extended.’
‘Couldn’t be that bad, surely?’
Reilly shrugged, ‘Just got to put a bit of the wallop around, take some of the doubt out of the situation. I take it you’ve got a good outcome from your chat?’
‘I reckon.’
‘He doesn’t mind doing business?’
Charlie finally got to make his announcement. ‘I reckon he’s pleased. I reckon he needs all the money he can get, come next election.’
‘He does, does he?’
‘He’ll be at Randwick on Saturday. There’s a pretty good chance I can arrange for you to meet.’
Reilly brightened almost immediately. ‘Once was I used to meet all of them political blokes, they used to come into the club, make use of the actual premises. If there was something I needed, might never get it any other way, we’d see that as something we could all make a dollar out of.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bright wad of banknotes. He appeared to hesitate before he thrust the whole roll into Charlie’s hand. ‘Mind you, this is just on account. This all goes ahead, from now on it’s the same every week.’
A lightness descended upon Reilly like he’d not felt in weeks. He had strained every nerve to appear composed and indifferent in the hours leading up to the closure of the Kellett Club, and put on a great song and dance to show how the organisation was basically unaffected. He rented new rooms, engaged removalists to shift furnishings, hired a few workmen to splash on some paint, got his contact at the PMG to have a bank of telephones installed so the SP could keep going. But it wasn’t enough. He had let events rule him, the last couple of months, and it was time to turn things around.
‘Ernie!’ he yelled, striding back across the carpet.
Chubb stopped a few feet over the threshold. ‘What, Boss?’ he said, then hacked, and spat a fat purple gob into the pot plant beside him.
Reilly shuddered, ‘Jeez, Ernie. Thought I told you never to do that?’
‘Sorry, Boss,’ said Chubb. He took out a crumpled yellow handkerchief and mopped off the backs of his ears and neck. ‘I’ve got a bit of the flu. Only came in because you said it’s important. The missus, she reckoned I ought to have stayed in my bed with the temperature I’ve got.’
Reilly sighed, ‘Okay, I’m not going crook on you. But hell, you keep spitting that stuff in there and the pot plant is going to die, understand?’
‘Sure,’ said Chubb. ‘Anything you say, Boss.’
Reilly glanced at his knuckles. ‘I’ve heard that Tommy Bogle, who’s shown that he can no longer be trusted, was there on the night Warren’s Liverpool operation got raided. I want you to have a talk to the bloke, find out what’s happening.’
Chubb hung his head. ‘I dunno he’ll be particularly anxious for a chat. Not after the last talk we had.’
‘The last talk weren’t nothing.’
‘Well, after it was over I reckoned he was looking a bit rough.’
‘Ernie, I told you to go around there, ask him nicely. Just bump into the bloke on the street, wasn’t anything you planned, then drop it on him what’s he been doing.’
‘I dunno.’
Reilly’s mood dissipated under the weight of frustration. ‘I’m telling you to go around and nudge the bloke, see what pops up. He don’t talk to you nicely, then talk to him anyway, understand?’
‘Sure, Boss,’ said Chubb, getting ready to go.
But Reilly stopped him. ‘There’s one other thing,’ he said, getting to the crux of the matter. ‘I want you to tell me exactly what happened that night at the Latin Quarter.’
‘About the blue?’
‘Yeah.’
Chubb hung his head. ‘I was really that sloshed that I didn’t see a thing. Honest.’
Reilly rolled his eyes. ‘Well, I reckon you did and I want you to tell me. Did Lennie knock him or not?’
Chubb stood there, stricken. ‘I dunno.’
Reilly wanted to turn on the bloke, but kept telling himself that he had always trusted Chubb to look after his interests. ‘God help me, Ernie. I almost believe you. But I want you to go away and have a serious think. Maybe talk to a few blokes, come up with an answer.’
‘Is everything all right, Boss?’
‘I reckon nothing will ever be like it used to.’
‘No, I reckon it won’t,’ said Chubb, seemingly mystified by the philosophical turn in the conversation.
Reilly tried to enlarge. ‘Changes for the worse, I mean. Blokes doing all sorts of things because they reckon the world allows it.’
Chubb swallowed. ‘You’re worried about Lennie?’
Reilly glanced up with a mild sort of surprise. ‘Yeah, Ernie. I reckon I am.’
Chubb jumped into his red Datsun and headed for Woolloomooloo. Outside, the air was clammy and cold. Chubb felt like he was swimming through waves of moisture. He had come up as a streetfighter with the railway mob (skull fractured, spleen punctured and ribs cracked) and hadn’t been having much luck until Reilly stepped in. Reilly had valued his talents and skills where others did not. Chubb was acutely aware that he wouldn’t be occupying the position he was occupying if Reilly hadn’t taken an interest.
Reilly was an all-round stand-up sort of bloke, who always dealt square, and Chubb knew there was margin in that. He only had to sit at the pub counter to hear how crooks on all sides had abandoned any idea of square dealing – these days, a bloke had to keep his mouth shut or his teeth would be taken out. The dilemma Chubb had was that Reilly wasn’t making a penny. Chubb had honestly tried to ignore this problem, telling himself that things would come right. He still remembered the days when Reilly was so big it was like he generated his own gravity – as soon as he walked into a room, you found yourself drawn into his orbit. But now it was like Planet Dick was imploding and everything was falling apart. Chubb didn’t really know if he wanted to be around the day that thing happened.
Chubb pulled into a small space off Cathedral Street under a sign that read ‘Bogle Bros Auto Electric’. Tommy was standing beside a petrol pump, taking a two-dollar note off a taxidriver. He ambled towards Chubb as the taxi drove off.
‘I’ve got a visit from the messenger boy of the mob. Boy, am I blessed.�
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For comfort, Chubb touched the bulge that his gun made in his jacket and climbed out of the car. ‘That last time we talked, it was strictly professional.’
‘So why are you here?’
‘Dick told me.’
‘Well, you can tell him from me I’ve got nothing to say.’
‘He’s heard that you’ve been working for that thief Johnny Warren.’
‘That’s none of your business.’
Tommy wiped his petrol-smudged hands on the backs of his trousers, and made his way to the counter. Chubb trailed behind.
Chubb really had been drunk that night at the Latin Quarter and wasn’t really sure that he understood what went down. He’d taken some time out to ask McPherson about it, and McPherson had told him he was looking after Reilly’s interests. But Chubb had his doubts.
He said, ‘I stuck to McPherson over O’Connor, but I’ve decided I’m through. I reckon we should go back to Reilly and make a clean breast of it. I reckon Reilly is prepared to overlook everything so long as you tell him what’s coming.’
‘Are you mad?’
Chubb shook his head. ‘I trust him like a father.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t.’
A second taxi pulled into the garage, the driver yelling for service.
‘Why not?’ said Chubb.
‘I can’t talk about it here,’ said Tommy, scowling at the taxidriver over Chubb’s shoulder. ‘I’ll meet you at your place tomorrow and explain the whole thing.’
Chooks Brouggy loped out of the dust and dazzle of the goods yard at Tempe, squinting past the usual litter of abandoned whitegoods, broken pool cues, and rusted-up razor-wire on battered tin spools. Under an advertising hoarding that read ‘Australian Pest Services Ltd. Drive Safely and Leave the Exterminating to Us’, Johnny was waiting for him in the blue Valiant, but from where Chooks was standing, he might as well have been parked on the far side of the moon.
Johnny brought the Valiant skidding round. Chooks swung open the door. ‘Sweet Jesus …’ he spluttered, clambering in.
Gravel sprayed the undersides of the car as Johnny shot out of the side street, missing a truckload of swaying bottles with barely an eyelash to spare.
Sweat broke from Chooks’ skin. It was his third unsuccessful attempt at car theft that morning and he was feeling unnerved. A trickle of blood ran out his left nostril. ‘I didn’t want to hurt the bloke. I’ve got nothing against him. I was just trying to nick his car when he slammed me with a shovel.’
‘There was two of them, was there?’ said Johnny, glancing sideways.
‘Yeah, I had to take the shovel right back to him. Knocked out a tooth, maybe put him in the hospital.’
‘And the other bloke, the one with the tin drum?’
Chooks clutched a spotted handkerchief to his bleeding nose. ‘He ought to have walked away. I was just trying to nick the car, not to harm him or nothing.’
Johnny was shaking with laughter. ‘Is that all? I thought you must’ve killed the poor bastard, at least.’
‘Hitting a bloke isn’t bad enough?’
Johnny threw up his arms in exasperation, actually letting go of the wheel. ‘Listen to yourself. Just listen to yourself. It embarrasses me.’
‘I don’t like violence. It’s not in my nature.’ Chooks’ eyes fell to the floor. He started to brood.
‘Look, mate,’ said Johnny, and gave Chooks a prod. ‘I reckon if it was your car, and the other bloke was doing the thieving, well, I reckon that he would’ve done the same thing.’
‘You reckon?’ said Chooks, rousing himself.
‘Yeah, I reckon.’
They were chatting away amicably again when Johnny pulled the Valiant in to the side of the road, and got out.
‘Why are we stopping here?’ said Chooks, scrambling out after him.
‘Well, first up I’m getting something to eat. Then I’m giving further consideration to buying a bucket.’
Chooks stopped still. ‘You can’t mean it.’
‘What do you think?’
Johnny wandered on ahead, and Chooks had to scurry a bit to catch up. ‘But Glory doesn’t like the idea, murdering Reilly with a bucket of petrol. I remember she was very vocal on the point.’
Johnny laughed, and Chooks stared at him, crestfallen. ‘Oh, I get it. You were having a go at me, right?’
They were standing outside Theo’s Hot Chips and Hamburgers, inspecting the fly-spotted advertisements on the black tiled exterior. Johnny ordered four hamburgers and a bottle of Shelley’s, then sat in a booth in the corner. Chooks slipped in on the opposite side. Johnny ate in silence then licked off his fingers.
‘I’ve made a great study of the plans, and developed a modus operandi that’s guaranteed foolproof. But I need you to make a decision. Are you with me or what?’
‘I dunno,’ said Chooks, truculent. ‘I reckon there’s things you’ve got to tell me before I make up my mind.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, like how do I know you’ve got the money to pay me if you’re broke?’
‘I’ll pay out the money the next day, provided it’s a weekday.’
‘Yeah, but how?’
Johnny glanced around to make sure that nobody was close. ‘The thing is, I’m not going into this alone. Everything’s on contract.’
‘Contract?’ said Chooks, sounding doubtful.
‘Yeah, that means somebody else is paying expenses.’
‘Who?’
‘I can’t tell you,’ said Johnny, making Chooks scowl. ‘It’s for your own protection.’
‘But how do I know these contract blokes have got any money?’
Johnny leaned into the table again. ‘Remember Tommy Bogle?’
‘Of course I remember Tommy. I worked with him at the Liverpool Club.’
Johnny put a finger to the side of his nose. Then, failing to get the desired result, he mouthed the name ‘Tommy’ and winked.
‘Oh,’ said Chooks. ‘Tommy.’
‘Look, mate,’ said Johnny, rather heavily. ‘This is just between the two of us, right? I don’t want you to go telling Glory or nothing.’
‘Why?’ said Chooks, looking uneasy again. ‘Doesn’t she like it?’
‘Nah, she doesn’t like Tommy, that’s all.’
Chooks thought this over for a minute. Then said, ‘How could Tommy get his hands on that sort of cash?’
‘It’s not his money. He’s just the in-between person. The behind-guy is a bloke that’s staying anonymous.’
‘Oh,’ said Chooks.
Johnny got up abruptly, and went to the cash register to pay for the feed. Chooks got up and followed him back to the car. ‘Look,’ said Johnny. ‘The behind-guy, he’s only having people killed that have killed other people. The way I see it, he’s doing the town a service. Also, once Reilly’s out of the way I’ll be able to set up in Kings Cross again. I promise to make you my second-in-command.’
They were standing either side of the Valiant, staring at each other over the roof of the car. ‘I dunno,’ said Chooks. ‘Marge might not like it.’
‘Yeah, Marge says, “Jump,” and there you go – boink, boink, boink. It just isn’t natural.’
‘I reckon you ought to leave Marge out of this.’
‘But it still isn’t natural,’ Johnny insisted.
‘I said to leave Marge out of it,’ Chooks repeated, getting hot under the collar. He climbed into the Valiant, folded his arms, and started brooding again.
Johnny pulled out into the traffic. He gave a right-hand signal, and passed through a set of red traffic lights. ‘I was watching him the other night,’ he said, fixing his eyes off in the mid-distance.
‘Watching who?’
‘Reilly, of course. I can tell you, it makes a bloke wonder about the way this world works. Seeing him living high on the hog when there are some that don’t get enough to feed their own kids.’
They were heading into Waterloo, when Johnny drew the Valiant up a
longside a square of clipped grass with a wooden seesaw and a merry-go-round. He climbed out of the Valiant and tossed Chooks the keys. ‘I’ve got an appointment with Tommy at three o’clock sharp. I’ll meet you afterwards at the Enmore garage.’
‘How are you getting there?’
‘See that white Falcon?’ said Johnny. He slammed the car door and set off along the footpath.
Chooks drove back to Enmore in the Valiant, and was tinkering with the engine in the failing brown sunlight when Johnny got back.
‘Oh, my God, Chooks. Oh, my God,’ said Johnny, breathless. ‘All this time I’ve been scouting around after Reilly, Reilly’s got this bloke out scouting for me.’
Chooks lifted his head.
‘He’s put the catchers onto us, Chooks. You’ve got to help me out.
Chooks rubbed his nose with a grease-blackened forefinger. He scratched at his belly through a hole in his shirt. ‘Cripes,’ he said.
‘Tommy told me that the bloke’s name is Chubb and I’ve got to knock him off before he gets any further. I’ve found out the place where he is, but he’s leaving there soon. I’ve got a gun, but I need some assistance.’ When Chooks didn’t say anything, Johnny stepped closer. ‘Haven’t I always looked after you?’
‘I dunno. Maybe, I guess.’
‘If you don’t help me out here, I’ll have to ask Glory to drive.’
‘Glory can’t drive. Glory couldn’t drive a bloody scooter.’
‘Then you’ve got to help me out. Or else I’m a dead man. The dogs will lift up their heads and howl, they seen me coming.’
Chooks stood there completely paralysed for a second, but really didn’t need to consider. He slammed down the bonnet, tucked the shammy into his rear pocket, and hopped into the car. ‘Where to?’ he said, kick-starting the engine.
Johnny climbed in on the passenger side and started yelling directions. They headed north over the Bridge before dropping down off the highway, hugging the road tight to the foreshore. Dusk fell swiftly, and then it was dark. The road turned moon-blue, the footpaths on either side glittering with constellations of garbage. Chooks ran the Valiant up to the end of Kurraba Road, and doused the engine.
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