‘And that was Melbourne fellas,’ concluded Norton. ‘Although I’d rather live in Sydney, it’s not that bad down there. And nowhere near as crook as you two made out.’
There was silence in the plush office as they all stopped laughing and reflected into their drinks for a few moments.
Finally George Brennan spoke. All the time Les had been talking George had been acting a little fidgety, like he was dying for Les to finish so he could put his fat head in about something. Norton had half an idea what it was.
‘So, movie star,’ he said. ‘Apart from almost ruining your good looks, it sounds like you had a pretty good time down there.’
‘Yeah George,’ nodded Norton. ‘It was okay. And the lazy five grand falling in made it even better.’
‘Five grand’s not a bad earn for standing around in a pub drinking fizzy wine for a few hours,’ said Price.
‘No,’ agreed Norton. ‘And it’ll come in very handy too.’
‘Yes. It certainly will come in handy — won’t it?’ said George. He had this sardonic grin on his round face and he was looking hard at Norton. ‘Have you had a chance to read the papers since you got back? The sports results?’
‘Yes. I’ve read them,’ replied Les slowly. ‘Easts were a bit unlucky. They had four tries disallowed.’
‘Unlucky?’ snorted George Brennan. ‘Unlucky my arse. And what paper said they had four tries disallowed? What have you been reading. The Port Moresby TimesT
‘That’s what it said,’ shrugged Norton. ‘Balmain played offside all day and the referee didn’t know what he was doing.’
‘Ohh arseholes. Listen bloodnut. I was there and it was a slaughter. Fifteen-nil. Easts were lucky it wasn’t fifty-nil.’
‘Yeah, Balmain won all right,’ conceded Norton. ‘But I still wouldn’t say it was a slaughter.’
‘Get out. The Tigers shat on them. Smacked their red, white and blue arses. It was beautiful to watch. And while we’re on the subject of football. You haven’t forgotten something have you Les?’
‘What’s that George?’
‘Our little bet. One thousand dollars I think it was, you red-headed wombat.’
‘Ohh yeah, that’s right. We had a bet didn’t we.’
‘Yes. We did. And where’s my money?’
Norton eased back a little in his chair and took a swig of Fourex. ‘Well, George,’ he drawled. ‘I haven’t had a chance to get to the bank yet and I don’t get paid till Saturday. But you needn’t worry. Here it is. Right here.’
Norton took a small white envelope from the inside pocket of his tuxedo and handed it to George. ‘There you are mate. One thousand dollars. Good on you.’
George’s eyes lit up almost in disbelief. He snatched the envelope from Norton’s hand and waved it round the room at the others. ‘Have a look at this,’ he said excitedly. ‘I got the big mug for a thousand dollars. How sweet it is.’
‘No need to rub it in George,’ said Les.
‘Rub it in?’ guffawed George, holding the envelope just under Norton’s nose. ‘You know what I’m going to do with this? I’m going to shout me and the missus to the best restaurant in Sydney. Champagne, caviar, the works. Then I’m going to buy myself a grouse pair of shoes which I’m going to wear everywhere. And when people ask me where I got such a grouse pair of shoes I’m going to say that big red-headed galah from Queensland bought them for me.’ George was laughing and wheezing away almost fit to burst by now.
‘Oh well,’ said Norton, a little sadly. ‘It’s your money. Do what you want with it.’
‘I will. And I reckon I’d better bloody count it too. Make sure it’s all there.’ George started tearing open the envelope. ‘Boy am I going to have some fun with this. I might even shout myself...’ Suddenly George’s voice began to trail away as he pulled the money from the envelope. He screwed his face and looked at Norton for a second, looked over at Price, then looked back at Norton. ‘What the fuckin’ hell’s this?’ he howled.
‘What the hell’s what, George?’ asked Norton.
‘This!’ George fanned the money out and held it up towards the others in the room. ‘He’s paid me in fuckin’ pound notes.’
‘What’s wrong George?’ asked Price, peering up from his glass.
‘Have a go at this. The prick’s paid me in pound bloody notes.’ With his jaw almost sitting on his chest, George held the money out towards Price. There were 300 pounds in ten pound notes and 200 in five pound notes.
Price looked indifferently at it for a moment and shrugged his shoulders. ‘So?’ he said. And went back to his drink.
Eddie and Billy just sat there blinking.
‘What are you blowing up about George?’ said Norton. ‘Your money’s there isn’t it? Five hundred quid. One thousand dollars. Same bloody thing isn’t it?’
‘Ohh you’re fuckin’ kiddin’ aren’t you.’ George looked at the money, sniffed it then looked back at Norton. ‘Where the bloody hell did you get this?’
‘I told you George. I haven’t been paid yet and I haven’t had a chance to go to the bank. And rather than have you going around telling everyone I wouldn’t settle I dug it up out of the backyard.’
‘You dug it up out of the backyard?’
‘Yeah. It’s some money I brought down from Queensland with me.’
‘You brought it down from Queensland with you. And what did you do? Bury it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Ohh no. I don’t bloody well believe this.’ George moaned and ran a hand over his face. ‘You’re the meanest man ever born, Les Norton. Ever.’
‘What are you going on about George?’ asked Price again.
‘This!’ George held the wad of old money up in the air like it was a time bomb. ‘The bludger buries his money in the backyard.’
‘Well what if he does?’ said Price. ‘You can’t blame him for that. Remember what he said when he first came down from Queensland and he won all that money.’
George had to think for a moment. ‘He said, something... something about how he didn’t trust banks.’
‘That’s right.’ Price made a bit of a gesture with his hands. ‘So the answer’s obvious, isn’t it.’
‘It is?’
‘Of course it is.’ Price finished his Scotch and dry, stood up and looked at Les for a second. ‘He still doesn’t — do you mate?’
Norton shook his head slowly and looked at George Brennan, completely without expression.
‘Now,’ said Price. ‘If you’ve finished arguing about bloody money George, I might get myself another drink.’ Price stepped behind the bar, picked up the Scotch bottle and looked over the top at the others. ‘Anybody else want one while I’m up?’
Robert G. Barrett
The Godson
I wonder who that red-headed bloke is? He’s come into town out of nowhere, flattened six of the best fighters in Yurriki plus the biggest man in the valley. Then he arrives at my dance in an army uniform drinking French champagne and imported beer like it’s going out of style. And ups and leaves with the best young sort in the joint... Don’t know who he is. But he’s not bloody bad.
Les thought they were going to be the easiest two weeks of his life. Playing minder for a young member of the Royal Family called Peregrine Normanhurst III sounded like a deadset snack. So what if he was a millionaire Hooray Henry and his godfather was the Attorney General of Australia? Les would keep Peregrine out of trouble ... So what if he was on the run from the IRA? They’d never follow him to Australia...
The Godson moves at breakneck speed from the corridors of power in Canberra to the grimy tenements of Belfast, to climax in a nerve-shattering, blood-spattered shootout on a survivalist fortress in the Tweed Valley. The Godson features Les Norton at his hilarious best, whatever he’s up against – giant inbreds, earth mothers, jealous husbands, Scandinavian au pair girls, violent thugs and vengeful terrorists.
If you thought Australia’s favourite son could get up to some outrageous capers
in his previous adventures, until you’ve read The Godson, you ain’t read nothin’ yet!
Robert G. Barrett
Davo’s Little Something
All easy-going butcher Bob Davis wanted after his divorce was to get on with his job, have a few beers with his mates and be left alone. But this was Sydney in the early eighties. The beginning of the AIDS epidemic, street gangs, gay bashings, murders.
When a gang of skinheads bashed Davo’s old school friend to death simply because he was gay, and left Davo almost dead in an intensive care unit, they unleashed a crazed killer onto the city streets. Before the summer had ended, over thirty corpses had turned up in the morgue, leaving two bewildered detectives to find out where they were coming from.
Robert G. Barrett’s latest book is not for the squeamish. Although written with lashings of black humour the action is chillingly brutal – a story of a serial killer bent on avenging himself on the street tribes of Sydney.
Robert G. Barrett
Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker
Les Norton’s Hawaiian holiday should have been just like in the tourist brochures. Balmy days, blue seas, palm trees swaying in the moonlight. And it would have been if Les had minded his own business. But what are you supposed to do when a cop you know and an old friend are in trouble? Especially at Christmas?
The detective was okay. But Norton’s old friend turned out to be the biggest brothel owner in America. Madam to the Stars. Through her, Les met Mitzi Moonkiss; he also met the Japanese Yakuza, lesbian geisha girls and every time he put his head out the door some boofhead US marine was looking for a fight. And these were all the nice people. Somewhere in the middle a crazed serial killer was on the loose with a bayonet. Aloha, Les.
Robert G. Barrett
The Day of the Gecko
When Les Norton moved into his old flame Side Valve Susie’s flat in Bondi for a few days while she was out of town, everything should have been a piece of cake – except Price and Eddie had other ideas. Waverley Council were demolishing Bondi baths and there were two bodies buried under the handball court. The man to get them out? Major Garrick Lewis, aka, The Gecko.
With Norton for company, The Gecko literally took Bondi in his stride; and everything that went with it Mossad hit squads, the KGB, ASIO, yobbo builders looking for trouble, loose women looking for action. For once, Les was flat out keeping up.
Robert G. Barrett
Guns ’n’ Rosé
Norton needed a holiday. Anywhere, as long as it was out of Bondi. Price was only too willing to oblige. Les could have his house at Terrigal. All he had to do was look after George Brennan’s nephew for a week while he was there. Sounded okay to Norton, and it was better than spending his own money.
Jimmy Rosewater was young, cool and the original brown-eyed handsome man. He loved good wine, going to restaurants, going linedancing and the ladies loved him. This suited Les nicely. But, Jimmy was also supposed to be in gaol. Before he knew it, Norton was fighting off the usual yobbos looking for trouble, sex-crazed feral aunties and getting shot at by nutty bikies. That was during the quieter moments. And all the time Les had a feeling Jimmy was up to something. He just had a feeling ...
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