The Boys from Binjiwunyawunya

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘Righto Les.’ Price nodded to the esky. ‘There’s some cool ones in there. Now what is it you want to tell me?’

  Norton shook his head and smiled. ‘I honestly don’t know where to start,’ he said. ‘I suppose I’d better start in Lamrock Avenue Bondi last July.’

  He took two bottles of Fourex from the esky, opened them and handed one to Price. Then after a quick ‘cheers’ he told his boss everything. How he got pinched in Bondi. Going to Long Bay. The fight with Chopper. His cellmate. Mousey. Mousey’s map. Finding Goldschmidt’s wallet. The casting. Arriving in Melbourne. Mrs Perry. Even by the time Les had got to Mrs Perry Price was laughing fit to burst. When he got to the home-made bomb and blowing up the church in Whittlesea, Price let out such a roar Vince dropped his rake and looked up to make sure everything was all right. Norton ended with the fight on the tram and the three girls back in his motel room and how he had to sneak out of Melbourne on the bus like a fugitive after what was in the papers and on TV. By this time Price was in a pitiful state. He was a jelly. His cheeks were scarlet, he was holding onto his ribs and tears were streaming down his well tanned face.

  ‘Fair dinkum, Les,’ he gasped when he managed to get his breath back. ‘You’re bloody unbelievable. You pull more strokes than a GPS Regatta.’

  ‘I told you it wasn’t a bad ’un, didn’t I,’ grinned Norton. ‘But the best is yet to come.’

  There were three bottles of Fourex left. Norton could see Price was nowhere near finished the one he was drinking so he took just one from the esky and opened it.

  ‘Anyway,’ he continued. ‘I get up this morning still fumbling around the house like Winnie the Pooh from all those Serepax and I go for a run to try and liven meself up. All the time, though, I’m breaking my silly bloody neck to get back and open that fuckin’ strongbox. I nearly break my wrist doing it. And when I do — guess what I find inside?’ Norton unwrapped the garbage bag and opened the old strongbox. ‘There you are. That’s what I almost blew my silly bloody head off for. Can you believe it? And try and tell me I’m not the greatest fuckin’ goose getting around on two legs.’

  Price’s reaction at his first sight of all the old pound notes was almost identical to what Norton’s had been: stunned disbelief. Then he smiled and slowly his expression changed to one of nostalgia... almost to sadness.

  ‘God strike me,’ he breathed. ‘Pound notes.’

  ‘Yep,’ nodded Norton. ‘Sixty thousand of the bloody things to be exact.’

  ‘Sixty thousand quid eh,’ said Price slowly, still shaking his head. ‘Christ! I haven’t seen anything like this since... since I was more or less just a young bloke still kicking off.’ The casino owner almost had tears in his eyes as he lovingly ran his hands over the old notes, pulling bundles out and flicking through them. ‘Fivers and tenners eh. Lady Godivas and bricks we used to call them, Les. A quid was a fiddley did. Twenty-five quid was a pony. And fifty quid was a monkey. Jesus this brings back some memories, Les.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Norton nodded, smiling at the look in his boss’s eye. ‘Little Mousey must’ve knocked this off from somewhere, buried it, then got life for something else. And I finished up with it. Funny ain’t it.’

  Price picked up a ten pound note and held it up to the light. ‘I’d say these were printed in the late ’40s Les. And did you say Mousey originally came from Melbourne?’

  ‘Yeah. So big Bernie told me.’

  ‘I’m just trying to think back. There was a big mail train robbery in 1950. Seventy thousand quid went missing. It was money going from a bank in Melbourne to pay the workers on the Snowy River Scheme. They never got the money. And they never got who did it. I reckon it was your mate Mousey that did the Snowy Mountains Job.’

  Norton’s face broke into a grin. ‘Well I suppose we’d better do the right thing and hand it in eh, Price.’

  ‘Ohh yeah,’ snorted Price. ‘Give it to Premier Atkins. He’d keep the lot and be cheeky enough to say he won it at the punt.’ Price shook his head again and smiled up at Norton. ‘So what are you going to do with it Les?’

  Norton gave his shoulders a shrug. ‘That’s what I came to see you about Price. I can’t actually walk into David Jones and buy myself half a dozen suits can I. What do you reckon I ought to do?’

  Price drummed his fingers on the edge of the table for a few moments, then looked up at Les. ‘I can do something with it for you.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Uh huh.’ Price folded his arms and nodded his head at the stack of old money. ‘I’ll keep some myself, just for old time’s sake. But I know a few blokes that deal in old coins and banknotes and other odds and ends. They’ll take this off you. The only thing is the government still could have a note of the serial numbers. Even after thirty years or so they still wouldn’t be able to move a big amount like this around openly. On the other hand some of these old banknotes could be worth fifty or sixty bucks each. Maybe more to a collector. So you’ve got an idea how these blokes work.’ Norton nodded his head in agreement. ‘Anyway, to save a lot of fart-arsing around I’ll give you thirty grand for the lot. And you can throw in the strongbox too,’ he added with a chuckle. ‘That sound all right?’

  Norton looked at the money for a moment and shrugged. ‘Sounds pretty good to me.’

  ‘Righto. Do you want cash or a cheque?’

  ‘Make us out a cheque. To that bodgie account I got over at Rand wick.’

  ‘Okay. No worries.’

  ‘Yeah,’ chuckled Norton. ‘No worries.’

  Alone with their thoughts they both stared at the money while across the other side of the pool Vince continued to potter around in the garden and the afternoon sun mirrored off the sparkling blue water into their eyes. Then the hint of an odd smile formed on Norton’s face. He took a suck on his beer and turned to his boss.

  ‘I’ll tell you what Price,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve got a better idea.’

  ‘Yeah. What is it?’

  ‘Make the cheque out for twenty-five grand.’

  Price looked at Les curiously and shrugged. ‘Okay. If that’s what you want. What have you got in mind?’

  ‘I’ll keep a thousand pound for a souvenir myself.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And are you still sweet with that walloper that arranges all the transfers down in the city?’

  ‘Yeah sure.’

  ‘Well can you get that fat turd that pinched me in the first place transferred somewhere. His name’s Kennewell. And he’s stationed at Waverley.’

  Price took a sip of beer and chuckled. ‘You’re not vindictive or spiteful, are you Les.’

  ‘No,’ replied Norton, innocently shaking his head. ‘I just like to get even — that’s all.’

  ‘And where would you like officer Kennewell transferred to. The moon?’

  ‘No.’ Norton’s face burst into a grin. ‘How about Moree? It’d be just starting to get warm out there now. See how officer Kennewell handles twelve months of heat and flies and “the brudders and the cuddins” getting full of piss and rioting every weekend.’

  ‘Okay.’ Price smiled and gave his head a bit of a shake. ‘That’s as good as done. What else?’

  ‘What about the Mouse? We must be able to do something for him?’

  Price pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on the table for a moment. ‘Well Les,’ he replied slowly, ‘if he’s a lifer I doubt I could get him out of the nick straight away. But I could get him out to a farm or something. Say Berrima. Or maybe out to Silverwater.’

  ‘That’ll do. But just get him out of Long Bay.’

  ‘Okay mate. I’ll attend to that immediately. Well that’s about your five grand gone, Les. Anything else you want?’

  Norton drained his beer and once more that horrible grin returned to his face. ‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘Just one more little thing . . .’

  About six-thirty that evening Norton was sitting in his kitchen having a cup of tea and reading the paper before going around to Louis
e’s for dinner. The front door opened and in came Warren. He threw his gear in his room and walked into the kitchen with a big grin spread over his face. He’d just had four sensational days at Palm Beach with the girl from Cleo and he was genuinely glad to see Les again, especially with the ad turning out as well as it did. The first thing he said when he saw Norton however was,

  ‘Jesus Les. You sure did a job on your head, didn’t you.’

  ‘You noticed Warren,’ Norton replied with a tight smile.

  ‘Noticed. Christ, it looks like something you’d see after drinking metho for a week!’

  ‘Thanks, arsehole.’

  Warren continued to stare at Les as he moved over to the sink to make himself a cup of coffee. Then the grin came back on his face and he gave Norton a hefty slap on the back. ‘Ahh you still look beautiful to me,’ he said, and added a punch to Les’s shoulder.

  ‘Thanks Woz.’

  ‘So,’ said Warren as he fiddled around with his cup and spoon, ‘Melbourne was all right eh. I told you the bosses are rapt in the ad. And I’ll have your cheque for you on friday.’

  ‘Good,’ grunted Norton. ‘I’m a bit short at the moment.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll bet. So what happened down there? What did you get up to, besides blowing yourself up at your uncle’s.’

  ‘Well to tell you the truth, I won myself a little heart down there.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘And not a bad little sort either.’

  Norton told Warren about his sexual romps with Mrs Perry and Dixie, without laying it on too thick about the young girl from Footscray. He told him about Mia and Penny going off on the lounge, but naturally he didn’t mention blowing up the church or spitting in the girl’s face at Richard’s and belting the two bouncers on the tram. He added that he’d caught the plane back too; Warren wouldn’t know the difference.

  Even though Warren had only got about half the full story, he was still astonished and couldn’t help staring at Norton while he sipped his coffee.

  ‘You’re amazing, Les,’ he said. ‘You pot the woman that runs the motel the first night you’re in town. Then win yourself a grouse young babe as well.’

  ‘And earned five grand into the bargain,’ smiled Norton. ‘But don’t think there was any great skill in pantsing Mrs Perry. She was just a bloody case. She’d’ve jumped into the sack with Quasimodo to get a root. But little Dixie,’ Norton winked. ‘She was something else.’

  ‘She sounds it.’

  ‘In fact I’ve invited her up here for a weekend. I’m hoping she’ll ring me.’

  ‘Good on you.’

  ‘Yeah. And thanks for tipping me into the ad Woz. I’d never been to Melbourne before.’

  ‘That’s okay.’ Warren took another sip of coffee. ‘So what are you doing tonight?’

  ‘I’m going round to Louise’s. What about yourself? You going out?’

  Warren shook his head. ‘No mate. Early to bed, early to rise. We’ve got another big campaign starting this week.’

  ‘Ohh bloody hell,’ groaned Norton. ‘What is it this time?’

  ‘Ripple coloured zinc cream,’ grinned Warren. ‘We’ve got to brainwash one million pimply-faced Australian teenagers into putting this shit on their rotten, acned little dials this summer. And we’ll shit it in too, big Daddy,’ he added with a wink.

  Norton shook his head in disgust. ‘Fair dinkum, Warren, you’re kiddin’ aren’t you. That agency you work for has got about as much principle as a Japanese whaling company.’

  ‘Now come on Les. We’re not that fuckin’ bad.’

  ‘No. I guess you’re right,’ conceded Norton. ‘Nothing’s that low.’

  ‘But we are pretty rotten,’ grinned Warren. ‘I’ve got to agree with you.’

  ‘Anyway, I’ve got to go.’ Norton got up and put his cup in the sink. ‘I’ll probably stay at Lou’s tonight so I’ll see you before I go to work tomorrow night.’

  ‘Okay Les. I’ll see you then.’

  Norton went to the front door leaving Warren in the kitchen reflecting thoughtfully into his coffee.

  Around seven-thirty the following morning Warren was sitting in the kitchen having a cup of coffee when Norton came through the front door, a very disgruntled look on his face as he walked into the kitchen.

  ‘Hullo,’ said Warren. ‘Look what the cat’s dragged in. You’re home a bit early aren’t you lover boy?’

  ‘The rotten kiwi bitch kicked me out, didn’t she,’ Les replied. Despite the look on his face he was smiling a bit as he tossed the Daily Telegraph on the kitchen table.

  ‘Kicked you out?’

  ‘Yeah, the rotten moll. I was looking forward to a bit of a sleep in too.’

  ‘Well you can’t actually blame poor Louise for wanting to give you the heave out of bed early, can you? I mean, your head’s not that crash-hot at the best of times, Les. But right now it’d frighten a bulldog out of a butcher’s shop.’ ‘Listen mate. If you hadn’t of sent me down to fuckin’ Melbourne in the first place my melon wouldn’t look like this. I ought to see Cameron and take a law suit out against your stinkin’ agency. You skinny little prick.’

  Norton switched on the electric kettle while Warren tried his best not to laugh too loud.

  ‘So what happened? Did you have a blue with her?’

  ‘No, just the opposite. The meal was the grouse. The two bottles of wine got Louise all fruity and we went for it hammer and tongs half the night. It was tops.’

  ‘Well what happened?’

  ‘Louise had to go to work early this morning — cleaning — and she didn’t fancy leaving me alone with the new girl that’s moved into her flat.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Ohh mate, you ought to see her. She’s just come down from Surfers Paradise. She’s the best sort I’ve ever seen in me life.’

  ‘Fair dinkum.’ Warren’s eye lit up noticeably.

  ‘She’s twenty-two. Got a body that’d make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window.’

  ‘Go on. You ah... might be able to do a little something there for your old flatmate.’

  ‘I might, but you keep insulting me all the time. And hurting my feelings.’

  ‘Insult you?’ Warren rose from the table and looked Norton straight in the eye. ‘Les Norton,’ he intoned. ‘You are without a doubt one of the most ruggedly handsome individuals I’ve ever seen. You are what advertising in Australia is all about. What it’s crying out for. That classic Australian look. Les, with me guiding you, you . . .’

  ‘Ohh look, piss off Warren. You wombat.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right, Les. I never was much of a liar. Anyway I got to get cracking. I’ve got to take polaroids of about two hundred empty-headed surfies. And think up a slogan for Ripple Zinc.’

  ‘Yeah? How about this?’ suggested Norton sarcastically. ‘Ripple Zinc, the little ripper for raving ratbags. Rip it up you and rip it into you.’

  Warren paused at the kitchen door and pointed a finger at Norton. ‘Hey. Didn’t I always say you should be in advertising? I like it baby. It’s got a certain ring to it.’

  ‘Yeah. Just like your bathwater. Now fuck off Warren.’

  ‘See you tomorrow Les.’

  ‘Yeah hooray.’

  Jesus I’m still tired he thought, and let out a cavernous yawn. Bloody Louise. I got plenty of bed last night, but she didn’t let me get too much sleep. Crook head or no crook head. Oh well. I’m up now. I may as well do some training. He finished his coffee over the paper then got into his running gear and once again headed for Centennial Park.

  It came over a bit cloudy by midday so that ruled the beach out in the afternoon. By the time Norton cooked himself a steak for lunch, put the cheque for $25,000 in his false account at Randwick, potted around the house and had a sleep in the afternoon, it was time to have a light tea, iron his shirt and go to work. Billy Dunne was already standing out the front of the Kelly Club when Norton came strolling down the street. Naturally the first t
hing he said when he saw him was,

  ‘Jesus, Les. What happened to your Rocky Ned?’

  ‘You should see it without all this Pinke-Zinke plastered on it,’ Norton grinned. ‘It’s a good story. Anyway, I’ll just go upstairs and let everyone know I’m here, then I’ll tell you about it.’

  Price hadn’t arrived yet and George was busy with the croupiers. Les gave him a call from the top of the stairs, got waves and smiles all around in return then went back down to stand in front of the club.

  For a Wednesday night they were a little busier than usual. The spring weather seemed to have brought more people out of their homes and somehow they seemd to be drawn towards Kings Cross like it was Mecca. There were no fights but Les and Billy had their work cut out turning away various off types and drunks who would be absolutely no use to anyone inside the club. The regular punters gave Norton’s face a bit of a second look when they saw him standing underneath the pale blue light, but no one said anything. To the undesirables he just looked a little meaner than usual, and when he and Billy said no they quickly took it as ‘no and don’t bloody argue’.

  Price and Eddie arrived around ten, gave the boys a big hello and went upstairs. Before long it was three-thirty, most of the staff had gone home, the money was in the safe and the boys were sitting in Price’s office enjoying their customary after-work drink.

  Les had given Billy part of the story earlier but George and Eddie hadn’t been told anything, so Les gave them pretty much the same tale he’d told Warren, elaborating a little about Mrs Perry and the girls back in the motel room and tossing in gobbing in the girl’s face at Richard’s, belting the bouncers on the tram and how it was on TV Sunday morning. He didn’t mention anything about Mousey’s map or blowing up the church, however. He’d tell them about that another time. As for the burns, he gave them the same lie about his old uncle in South Melbourne’s heater blowing up in his face.

  When he’d finished George, Eddie and Billy were laughing like drains. Price, although he’d heard the whole story earlier, didn’t let on and was chuckling away over his Scotch and soda; more at the dry way Les was telling it than anything else.