‘Go straight down,’ said Reg ‘and I’ll show you where this restaurant is. There’s a pub almost next to it. We can have a couple of beers.’
Norton cruised down High Street till they almost reached the harbour. ‘There it is,’ said Reg, pointing to a rather plain looking little cafe on the opposite side of the road next to a butcher shop. The window was painted a drab brown and white with ‘Sawadee Thai Restaurant’ painted amateurishly across it. That was all.
‘That’s it?’ sneered Norton, doing a quick U-turn and backing into a space about two doors up. ‘It looks like a second-hand book shop.’
‘I know. But the food’s enormous.’
As they got out of the car, Norton noticed a broad-shouldered, youngish-looking bloke come round the corner and walk up to the doorway of the restaurant. He had straight brown hair, square, chiselled features and an obviously broken nose. In his hands was what looked like a bundle of meat. He put a box of vegetables at his feet. Even from where they stood Norton could hear him cursing having trouble opening the lock.
‘Hey mate,’ said Norton, ambling over to him. ‘Are you the owner?’
The bloke gave Norton a filthy, suspicious look like Les might’ve been from the sheriffs office or something. ‘Yeah. What do you want to know for?’ He had a flat, monotone voice that sounded as if it was coming straight through his broken nose.
‘Oh nothing’ replied Les lightly. ‘I was just wondering if it’s okay if I come down here for a feed tonight?’
The bloke looked Norton up and down. ‘Yeah righto. But we close at 10.30. Sharp.’
‘Do we need to book a table?’
The bloke glared at Norton. ‘Christ. How many of you is there?’
‘Only two. Is that all right?’ Norton could see the bloke had the shits with the world but somehow he couldn’t help liking him.
‘Yeah sweet.’
‘Thanks. I’d hate to put you out.’ As the bloke stepped inside Les handed him up the box of vegetables. ‘Here you are sunshine. I’ll see you tonight.’
‘Yeah righto. Thanks mate.’
‘The maitre-d’s a happy-looking soul,’ said Norton, as he rejoined Reg.
‘Yeah he’s a million laughs. Wait till you see him in action tonight when he gets a bit flustered. Come on let’s have a beer. I’m drier than a dead fruit bats’ frankfurt.’
They had a shout each, and sat on the steps outside the Jetty Hotel watching the cars and the few passers-by. With Saturday morning shopping over there wasn’t a great deal happening, especially down that end of town. Cooking smells coming from somewhere inside the hotel made Norton’s stomach rumble.
‘This where you’re gonna have a counter lunch?’ he asked, nodding his head towards the hotel. ‘Don’t smell too bad.’
‘Nuh,’ replied Reg. ‘It’s all right here, but the Fitzroy’s better.’
‘Yeah? Where’s that?’
‘Up the other end of town. Next to the cop shop.’
‘Oh that’ll be nice. The place’ll be swarming with wallopers. What’s the special of the day?’ laughed Les. ‘Roast pig?’
‘No. Cordon-bleu uniform. Come on, let’s down these and get up there. I’m starving.’ They glugged the remainder of their middies down and proceeded to the Fitzroy.
Norton found a parking spot near the hotel. As they got out of the car Reg took Les by the arm and started dragging him back across the street towards the main shopping centre. ‘Come over the road for a sec,’ he said a little excitedly. ‘I want to show you something.’ They crossed the highway into High Street and stopped outside a large department store. The window was full of various electrical appliances: TVs, stereos, electric organs, and stacked in the middle were, several of the latest model VCRs.
‘Have a look at those,’ said Reg. ‘Aren’t they the grouse? That’s the one I fancy though.’ He pointed to a cordless, remote-control model with its numerous features written next to it. ‘Have a go at the price tag, but. Nine hundred bucks. Shit.’
‘Just sell some of that grouse pot of yours Reg,’ said Norton. ‘You’ll have one in no time.’
‘No. Fuck that.’ Reg was adamant. ‘If I can’t get one legally, I’ll go without. Besides, it’d be my luck to get caught.’ He pressed his nose up against the window. ‘Still. I might sell some paintings — maybe.’
‘Why don’t you get a job?’
‘Get a job? Up here in Coffs? There’s no work up here. Coffs has got the highest unemployment rate in the state. I know blokes up here that have been registered with the CES that long they’ve got their last jobs down as school prefect.’
‘Ah you never know your luck Reg,’ said Norton with a bit of a wink. ‘Something might fall in.’
‘Yeah, you never know.’ Reg sighed and had a last longing look in the window. ‘Anyway, come on. Let’s go and have a beer.’
Norton took a large pull on his middie and smiled. ‘Hey this is all right,’ he said, casting his eye round the beer garden of the Fitzroy. There was a fair sized dining-room and several, bright, clean bars with friendly-looking barmaids. The beer garden had a char-grill barbecue in the middle with a happy cook in a white chefs hat. Behind him was a table groaning with different salads next to a refrigerated display cabinet full of various cuts of meat. Above it was a blackboard menucum-price list.
‘I might go for the lamb cutlets,’ said Norton, peering hungrily into the cabinet.
‘I’m having shashliks.’
‘Well I’ll order them. How about you grab another couple of beers?’
‘Righto.’
There was quite a crowd waiting for food so they had time for another couple of beers. Norton borrowed a race form from a couple of punters sitting next to them who were listening to the country relays on a small transistor radio. He ran his gaze idly through the fields till something caught his eye.
‘Hey,’ he said, tapping Reg on the arm. ‘You see this horse here in the Hallstrom Memorial Welter — Kelly’s Heroes?’ He turned the form round to Reg. ‘Well that’s one of Price’s.’ Norton stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Eight to one. I wonder if it’s going? There’s only one way to find out — you got any two-bobs on you?’ Reg handed Les his only three twenty-cent coins. ‘I’ll have to get some more at the bar. There’s an STD phone in the foyer isn’t there?’ Norton stood up. ‘I might just have a little something here for us Reg old son.’ He got three dollars worth of change at the bar, walked to the phone and pumped them in.
‘Hello George?’
‘Yeah. Who’s this?’ replied the casino manager.
‘Les.’
‘Hello. The Coffs Harbour Kid,’ laughed George Brennan. ‘What’s up? You’re not in gaol, are you?’
‘No. Turn it up. It’s been as quiet as buggery up here,’ lied Norton. ‘I’ve just been sittin’ round in the sun.’
‘Half your luck.’
‘Listen. What I’m ringin’ about: I see Kelly’s Heroes is in today but old “Better-Brakes Harrison” is on it. Is he gonna pull it up or is it goin’ or what?’
‘Yeah. It’s trying all right,’ said George. ‘There’s a lot of good horses in the race but it’s carrying fuck-all. Price reckons it’s a moral to fall into a place. We’re all backing it.’
‘It says eight to one in the Telegraph.’
‘You might even do better than that on the TAB.’
‘All right. I’ll have a lash George.’
‘Mad if you don’t Les.’
They chatted till the red warning light started to blink. Norton hung up saying he’d see him later next week.
‘Well, it’s trying,’ said Norton, returning to their table. ‘I just rang Sydney. Where’s the nearest TAB?’
‘Just round the corner. You gonna back it, are you?’
‘Yeah. You want to have something on it?’
‘I can’t afford it Les.’
‘What do you mean you can’t afford it?’
‘I only got 15 bucks on me.’
‘What about that rock-lobster in your shirt?’ Norton quickly palmed a twenty-dollar bill into the top pocket of Reg’s shirt then deftly extracted it with his two fingers.
‘Hey. I didn’t know I had that,’ protested Reg, making a grab for the twenty.
‘Too late now,’ grinned Norton, getting back to his feet. ‘You’re just about to have ten each way.’
‘Oh fuck you Les. I need that.’
‘It’s only money Reg. It’s not an arm or a leg.’ Norton walked quickly to the TAB. He had a hundred each way for himself, plus the twenty he snuck in for Reg. He was back in less than five minutes.
‘There you go mate,’ he said, poking the ticket in Reg’s top pocket. ‘Ten each way. I hope it gets up and you don’t have to sell the farm.’
Reg was about to answer Norton when the chef called their numbers. They were soon piling their plates with fresh salads and getting stuck into their cutlets and shashliks.
‘Well, what do you reckon? I’m not a bad judge of a counter lunch, am I?’ said Reg between mouthfuls.
‘Nothin’ wrong with this. It’s enormous,’ replied Norton. They finished eating and had about fifteen minutes before their race started. Les suggested a quick game of pool. Reg agreed, now feeling a little happier with his stomach full.
They sauntered into another bar where four young blokes were nonchalantly potting balls on two small pool tables. About another twenty or thirty men, mostly in shorts and thongs were sitting or standing around drinking, talking, listening to the races or just generally enjoying Saturday afternoon with their mates. While Reg ordered another two middies Norton stepped up to one of the blokes playing pool.
‘Excuse me mate,’ he said, laying sixty cents on the side of the table. ‘How do you go about getting a game? What — do you put your name up on a board or what?’
The tall, young, blonde bloke looked at Norton indifferently. Suddenly his eyes widened and he gave Norton a double blink.
‘You want a game of pool mate?’ he beamed. ‘Here you are, have our table. Go for your life.’
Norton looked at the young bloke curiously: there were at least half the balls still sitting on the table. ‘You haven’t finished your game yet.’
‘No you’re sweet mate. We were only rootin’ around anyway. Here you are.’ He handed Norton his cue.
Les shrugged his shoulders. ‘Okay. Thanks.’
Norton started racking the balls and the blonde bloke’s partner began to protest. The first bloke took him by the elbow and lead him away.
‘Allan,’ he said quietly. ‘I was at Pinkie’s last night, and you know who that redheaded bloke is?’
‘No.’
‘That’s the gang of bikies that put big George and Ken in hospital.’
‘Oh.’
‘And if you don’t want to join them, you’d better let him finish his game of pool in peace.’
‘Shit!’
It wasn’t long before word flashed round the bar. While he was playing Norton could sense quite a few eyes on him, but as he’d look up they’d quickly look away. He tried to ignore them and kept potting balls as best as he could. They had about half the balls sunk when their race started, so they stopped and moved next to a group of men huddled round a radio to listen.
Kelly’s Heroes didn’t seem to be doing a great deal, running near the tail of the field all the way, suddenly, at the last leg, Harrison pulled it to the outside and it screamed down the Randwick straight, to fall into the line with two other horses. Johnny Tapp said it looked like a dead heat; he couldn’t pick it.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ said Reg, quite bewildered.
‘It looks like a dead heat,’ replied Norton. ‘You’ll get your money back anyway.’
Then came the announcement: Kelly’s Heroes by a very short half-head.
‘We’ve won,’ shouted Reg, slapping Norton on the back.
‘Good thing I found that twenty on you,’ winked Les. ‘Come on, let’s finish our game.’
Norton felt good for Reg who was almost jumping up and down for joy. He knew a hundred dollars would be almost like winning the lottery for the battling little artist. As he watched Reg, Norton noticed another two pairs of eyes watching him, noticeably different from the others. They weren’t hard to identify. Their harder, stonier faces betrayed a growing professional curiosity as they studied Norton.
Norton promptly lined up the eight ball and sunk it. ‘Ah fuck it,’ he cursed and threw his cue on the table.
‘Well what a nice goose you are,’ said Reg, looking slightly amazed at Les.
‘Yeah,’ replied Norton. He looked at his watch. ‘Come on, we’d better get goin’ anyway.’ They finished their drinks quickly and left.
‘What’s the big hurry?’ asked Reg, when they got outside.
‘There were two D’s in there showing just a little too much interest in me for my liking. I think it’d only be a matter of time before it’d be: “Do you mind if we have a word with you for a minute?”’
‘How could you tell?’
‘Reg. I’m around coppers all the time in Sydney. I can smell a police badge five miles away.’
‘What are you worrying about anyway?’ asked Reg. ‘Why would they want to question you.’
‘Well for a start. They could still put an assault charge on me for last night’s little caper. Then when they find out who I work for they’d probably trump things up a bit more and see if they could get themselves some sort of an earn out of it.’ — Not to mention the fact, thought Norton, that they just might spot me driving to Grafton tomorrow, pull me over and decide to search the car. Christ. Poor Betty’d have a stroke if they opened the boot and found that twenty odd kilo of pot. — ‘Then Reg, don’t forget, I’ve just been seen in the company of one of Coffs Harbour’s most notorious and flam-boyant dope dealers, namely you.’
‘Oh don’t give me the shits Les.’
‘I tell you Reg,’ said Norton dryly. ‘Everywhere I go I’ve to be constantly on my guard up here with you.’ He laughed and slapped Reg on the back. ‘Come on shifty. Let’s go and see what Kelly’s Heroes has paid.’
They waited in the TAB for a few minutes till the clerk put the results on the board: $6.30 for a win. $1.35 for a place. Norton collected around $1500, Reg about $150.
‘Christ. Have a look at that,’ said Reg excitedly, as he counted the money for the third time before he put it in his pocket. ‘How about letting me buy you a couple of beers?’
‘No, don’t worry about it.’
‘You sure? We can go to another pub.’
‘No. I’ve had enough. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t mind having a bit of a snooze this arvo. What say we head home?’
‘Suit yourself,’ shrugged Reg. ‘I suppose I could do a bit of painting.’ Norton didn’t say another word till they got to the car.
As they got up the road a bit, Norton stretched out one arm and started yawning. ‘Oh shit’ he said. ‘Those beers and that feed have sure made me tired.’
‘Yeah? I feel okay,’ replied Reg.
‘Oh Jesus,’ yawned Norton again. ‘I can hardly keep my bloody eyes open.’
About every kilometre Norton would tilt back his head, close his eyes briefly then let out a great cavernous yawn. After around three kilometres of this Reg was starting to do the same thing. By the time they got to Telegraph Point Road Reg was starting to nod off and when they pulled up at the farm he was sound asleep. Norton looked at him for a few moments and smiled.‘Come on mate,’ he finally said, giving Reg’s shoulder a shake. ‘We’re here.’
‘Eh! What was that?’ Reg opened his eyes and started blinking.
‘I said we’re here.’ Norton yawned again. ‘Well, I don’t know what you’re doing. But I’m going to lie down. I’m rooted.’
‘Oh shit,’ yawned Reg. ‘So am I.’
They shuffled to the house, used the toilet then headed for their respective bedrooms. ‘I’ll see you about seven,’ yawned Norton ag
ain.
‘Yeah righto,’ Reg yawned back. ‘I’ll see you then.’
Norton lay down on the bed but didn’t close his eyes. About ten minutes after he heard Reg’s door click he got up and tiptoed across to his room, softly opened the door and peeked in. Reg was flat on his back, mouth wide open, hands by his sides, snoring like a baby. Norton smiled broadly to himself. Jesus I’m a cunt, he thought as he gently closed the door. He tiptoed out of the house and headed for the clearing he’d found earlier at the back of the farm.
The pot was still spread out on the sheet just as he’d left it that morning; there were a few flies around but not as many as he would have thought. Righto, he though, let’s just see how resiny this shit’s turned out. He got down on his knees and started running his hands through the stuff. It was sticky all right, but most of the Coca-cola had just coated the leaves making them tacky to touch but not necessarily glueing them together. He ran his big hands several times through the pile of marijuana, making sure it was separable and not just one big gooey mess. Satisfied everything was in order he began stuffing it into the big plastic garbage bag he’d left there earlier that morning. When it was almost full he sat on it to compact it a little more and get the last few pieces in, then tied the top with a plastic clip. Whistling happily he folded the sheet up and, with it under one arm and the bag of dope over his shoulder, walked casually back to the farm.
He checked once more to see if Reg was still asleep then tiptoed into the bathroom and placed the garbage bag on the scales. Just on twenty-two kilos. Lovely. He tiptoed back outside and hid it under the house.
After cleaning his hands and arms under a tap near the water tank he went into his bedroom. Reg’s door was closed as he went past but the sound of his snoring could be heard faintly. Norton smiled to himself as he lay down on the bed. All the bloody yawning’s made me tired, too. He looked at his watch just before he closed his eyes; nearly four. A couple of hours sleep will go just nice.
Norton was up around 6.30, just after Reg. ‘Sleep all right?’ he asked, stepping into the shower as Reg got out.
The Real Thing Page 24