The Real Thing
Page 32
‘Thank you Mr Chun.’ Andrea smiled sweetly at Hasslinger. I’m sure Mr Hasslinger will find he’s getting great value for his money.’ Hasslinger tried to smile back but it had all the warmth of a glacier breaking up.
Outside the bank, Andrea handed Hasslinger the four envelopes.
‘Is everything here?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Including the negatives.’
‘Are you sure there’s nothing else.’
Andrea looked at him evenly for a moment. ‘As a matter of fact,’ she said slowly ‘there is one more thing.’ She bent slightly at the knees, brought her arm back and with every ounce of strength in her body smacked Hasslinger fair across the face, almost knocking him off his feet and sending his sunglasses spinning across the footpath. ‘Now piss off,’ she hissed.
Hasslinger steadied himself and glared at her with clenched fists. A trickle of blood ran down his chin, then he turned abruptly, picked up his sunglasses and tramped off.
Andrea watched him disappear from view then went back inside the bank and made a withdrawal. Something had been on her mind and it was time to make an apology, and a small donation.
Father Conesceau was down on his hands and knees banging away with a hammer on a loose floorboard when Andrea stepped inside the little church; she was standing right next to him before he noticed she was there.
He looked up with a start then his face broke into a warm smile when he saw who it was. ‘Why hello Andrea,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘This is a pleasant surprise. How are you?’ He dusted his hand on his shirt-front and extended it to Andrea.
‘I’m fine thank you Father,’ replied Andrea, taking his hand. ‘Couldn’t be better.’
‘No more tears?’
‘No more tears.’
‘That’s good Andrea.’
Andrea nodded at the hammer in the smiling priest’s hand. ‘I see you’re doing a bit of carpentering Father. Fancy yourself as J.C., do you?’
Father Conesceau smiled bleakly and sat down on the edge of a pew. ‘Yes,’ he sighed ‘a little bit of repair work. I don’t know why though. This Sunday is the last service. I have to be out Monday. I got the final ultimatum yesterday when they came for their money. I. . . suppose they were nice about it though.’ He gazed fondly around the little church. ‘Nine years I’ve been here. I’m going to miss it. And the people.’ The smile reappeared on his face. ‘But you didn’t come here to listen to my problems, did you Andrea?’ he said, standing back up. ‘The thing is, is everything all right with you? Is there anything I can do for you?’
Andrea looked at the selfless young priest with a lump in her throat about the same size as a grapefruit. Here was a man whose whole world, through no real fault of his own, was about to crumble around him, yet all he could think about was the well-being of others. ‘As a matter of fact, there is something you could do for me Father,’ she said. ‘You can take this.’ She took a large envelope out of her bag and handed it to Father Conesceau.
Curiously the priest took the envelope and when he looked inside his eyes nearly fell out of his head. ‘My good God,’ he cried. ‘How much is there?’
‘Twenty-five thousand dollars Father.’
He thrust the envelope back at her. ‘Good Lord. I. . . I couldn’t take this Andrea,’ he stammered. ‘I couldn’t possibly.’
Andrea stepped back and crossed her arms defiantly. ‘And just why not?’
‘Because. . . because it just wouldn’t be right.’
‘Oh don’t give me the tom-tits.’ Andrea wagged her index finger at the priest. ‘Listen, you distinctly said if there was anything you could do for me you’d do it, right?’
Father Conesceau’s face was scarlet. ‘I know. . . but this.’
‘Father, it’s only money. It’s not an arm or a bloody leg.’
‘I know Andrea, but. . .’
Andrea slowly looked the priest up and down and smiled. ‘All right then,’ she said ‘I’ll make a compromise with you.’
‘What is it?’
‘You hold on to the money for the day and I’ll come back here tonight and we’ll go out for dinner. It’s on me — fair enough?’
‘Well. . . I suppose so.’
‘All right then Father. It’s a deal. I’ll meet you back here at eight o’clock. Now don’t you forget.’
‘No Andrea, I won’t. In fact. . . I’ll be looking forward to it.’
Andrea gave the kind-hearted priest a cheeky wink. ‘So will I.’
And later that evening, after a beautiful seafood meal and two bottles of French Champagne, in a disgustingly expensive restaurant overlooking the yachts bobbing up and down in the moonlight on Ala-Moana Harbour; Andrea Hayden did something else she’d never done before. She invited Father Conesceau back to her room for a drink.
Robert G. Barrett
You Wouldn’t Be Dead For Quids
YOU WOULDN’T BE DEAD FOR QUIDS is the book that launched Les Norton as Australia’s latest cult hero.
Follow Les, the hillbilly from Queensland, as he takes on the bouncers, heavies, hookers and gamblers of Sydney’s Kings Cross, films a TV ad for Bowen Lager in Queensland and gets caught up with a nymphomaniac on the Central Coast of New South Wales.
In one of the funniest books of the past decade you will laugh yourself silly and be ducking for cover as Les unleashes himself on Sydney’s unsuspecting underworld.