He’d been sitting there about half an hour when he noticed a young couple come down the path and on to the beach. They had googoo eyes and were holding on to each other like a couple of limpet mines. They gotta be on their honeymoon, Les thought to himself. They had a little white silky terrier with a pink bow on its head with them. It saw Les, ran over and put its paws on the edge of his banana chair then gave a cute little bark and started licking Les’s leg. Les laughed, picked it up and started rubbing it’s belly. The girl came running over.
‘Oh, I’m sorry about that,’ she said, picking up the dog and giving it a little tap on the nose. ‘Frosty, you naughty dog.’ She was a pretty young thing, big innocent blue eyes and long blonde hair.
‘Ah, that’s all right,’ replied Norton. ‘I got an axe in the bag anyway if he’d have got out of control. Bull terrier is it?’
‘Frosty? Hardly,’ the girl laughed.
‘If you don’t mind me asking, you wouldn’t happen to be on your honeymoon would you?’
The girl blushed slightly, ‘Why yes, how did you know.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I just guessed. Anyway have a nice day.’
‘Same to you. Come on Frosty.’
She ran off with the dog following. Les gave her husband a wave. He waved back then they spread out a blanket and lay there together arm in arm. They looked just like what they were, a couple of nice young suburbanites in love and on their honeymoon. Ain’t love grand, thought Norton; then went back to perving on the crumpet in his magazine.
About half an hour or so went by. The soft, warm sunshine was starting to make Les a bit drowsy, he ate an apple, put down his magazine and had just closed his eyes for a couple of minutes when a noise, coming from the path that led to the beach, attracted his attention. Four men carrying two eskys full of beer had walked on to the beach, each one was sucking on a can and they were obviously just out for a day on the piss and see how big a pests they could make of themselves. They each had on Stubbies, thongs, cut-down football jumpers and caps of various descriptions. All had tattoos on their arms and legs and one had a bushy black beard that made him look like he was leaning over a hedge. From his experiences around the Cross Les tipped them to be footballers from somewhere in the western suburbs. Well, I don’t give a stuff who or what they are, thought Norton, looking at them disdainfully, as long as they leave me alone. He closed his eyes and drifted off into a pleasant, peaceful sleep.
About two hours later Norton’s slumber was abruptly disturbed by the little dog yelping and the girl screaming.
‘What the fuck?’ he said rising up from the banana chair and rubbing his eyes, he looked over to where the screaming was still coming from.
Two of the yobbos had the yelping dog and were passing it to each other like a football, the other two had hold of the girl. One had her arms pinned behind her back the other had undone the top of her bikini and was fondling her breasts and trying to kiss her; the husband was doubled up on their beach blanket clutching his stomach. One of the yobbos with the dog stopped for a moment to give the husband a vicious kick in the ribs.
Norton looked away for a moment and shook his head. I don’t believe this, he thought. It’s none of my business but what can you do? But as much as Les hated having his peace and quiet disturbed he also hated bullies. With a vengeance. He got up, threw his sunglasses on the banana chair and walked over.
One of the yobbos with the girl had just started to pull his shorts down when he felt a tap on the shoulder. He turned around to face a not too happy Les Norton.
‘Why don’t you put the dog down and leave the girl alone?’ said Les.
‘Why don’t you get fucked?’ was the drunken reply.
There was obviously no time for niceties. Les slammed a short right straight into his mouth — he gave a loud groan and slumped down on his backside spitting teeth. Two quick, deadly left-hooks dropped his mate next to him, a look of pain and disbelief on his face, his nose spread across it like a squashed tamarillo.
Les turned to face the other two just as one tackled him around the waist from behind, the one with the beard ran up in front of Les and started punching him round the head. Les tucked his chin in, crouched down and picked up a handful of sand and flung it in the beard’s face — he gave a curse and started rubbing at his eyes.
The other yobbo still had him gripped firmly round the waist. Les prised his fingers apart, grabbed four and bent them back till they broke with a sound like somebody snapping carrots. Before he could even get a scream out Les spun around and elbowed him across the jaw one way and then back the other. As he started to slump, Les picked him up under the armpits and smashed several bone crunching head-butts into his face. He let out an agonised moan and collapsed on the sand spattered in blood, completely out to it.
‘Okay, Whiskers,’ said Les, turning to face the last one. ‘That just leaves you and me. On your feet, cunt.’
The beard rose slowly and started to shape up but his heart wasn’t in it — he was absolutely terrified. He saw the sickening, bloody mess Norton had made of his three mates and his face went as white as a sheet, his eyes bulging out like dog’s knackers. Like all bullies, they’re keen to bash other people but as soon as the tide turns against them they shit themselves very quickly.
‘Give us a go, willya mate?’ he pleaded in desperation.
‘Sure. I’ll give you a go,’ sneered Les. ‘Just like you gave me and her husband. You dirty weak prick of a thing.’
Two straight lefts zapped into the beard’s face, followed by a short right and a left hook. Les was pulling his punches slightly, he didn’t want to knock him out. Not yet.
Another two straight lefts and a right to the body, a little harder this time, sent him spinning backwards on to the wet sand. He stood there with his head bowed, trying to cover his face with his hands — he was almost in tears. Blood was pouring out of his nose and mouth into his beard and dripping on to the sand; it looked dreadful.
‘Now, Whiskers,’ said Les, a vicious, sardonic smile etched on to his face. ‘Here’s a little trick I learnt off a bloke from Bangkok.’ He pivoted on his left foot, swung his right leg and slammed the instep against the beard’s right knee, smashing the joint. The beard screamed and fell on the wet sand, writhing in agony. Now he was crying.
Les stood over the top of him. ‘Now don’t you go away, Whiskers,’ he said, ‘cause I haven’t quite finished with you yet.’
He walked back, picked up one of the eskys and tipped the ice and remaining cans of beer out. ‘Have a look at that,’ he remarked, ‘not one bloody Fourex.’ Taking it by the handle he returned to the beard, who was lying on the sand whimpering with pain and fear. He saw Les coming and tried to roll himself up into a ball. Les straddled him and swinging the heavy metal esky like a squash racket started belting him across the back and head with it — you could have heard the din and screaming at Norah Head. When Les was satisfied he’d had enough he took him by his beard and stuffed his head into the empty esky.
‘There you go, mate,’ said Les happily. ‘If you’re going to lay on the beach you’ve got to keep the sun out of your eyes.’
He turned from Whiskers and walked back to the young married couple — they were together on the blanket, she was cradling his head in her arms, tears staining her cheeks. He didn’t appear to be hurt too badly but he looked very pale around the gills, like Marcel Marceau had just given him a make-up job. Their little dog was whimpering softly and licking at the husband’s hands.
‘You two all right?’ asked Les.
‘Yes I think so, thank you,’ replied the girl between sobs. ‘I think we’re more frightened than anything else. God, those men, they were like animals. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.’
‘You’d have got a bit more than you bargained for on your honeymoon, wouldn’t you, love,’ replied Norton, a cheeky grin on his face.
The girl started to smile a little through her tears. She was stil
l minus the top half of her bikini; Les picked it up out of the sand and handed it to her.
‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘You want to stick this on?’ She had one of the best pair of tits Les had ever seen. They were like two, firm brown grapefruit, with nipples like tiny, succulent pink strawberries. ‘There’s no hurry of course,’ said Les, with the grin still plastered across his face.
Blushing with embarrassment, the girl stood up and with as much dignity as she could, wiggled into the top half of her bikini. Then she turned to Les. ‘Would you mind doing me up?’ she said coyly.
‘Sure.’ Norton’s big hands were shaking a little but somehow he managed to take the strain and tie a knot. ‘I’ll — ah, get my gear and give you a hand up to your car,’ he said hoarsely.
‘Thank you.’
Les returned with his banana-chair. ‘If you two can make it to the path I’ll be with you in a minute. I just want to check on our friends here.’
‘All right.’
The yobbos were all lying in broken, bloody heaps on the sand, still snoring soundly from a combination of drinking in the sun and the horrible battering they’d sustained from Les.
Now Norton wasn’t a thief, a bit shifty maybe, but a thief, never. And he never would be. However, living in Bondi and working at the Cross the past year or two had taught him one thing. An earn is an earn and in this world you’ve got to get it where you can. So while he checked the boys out he relieved them of the contents of their wallets; they were just a team of mugs anyway.
‘Four hundred and sixty dollars’ said Les, counting the money and putting it in his back pocket. ‘Not bad, not bad at all. It’s a bone.’
With the husband’s arm around his shoulder Les helped the newlyweds up to their car. It turned out she was Diane and he was Colin. They lived in Castlecrag but were spending their honeymoon at Diane’s sister Sophia’s house at Forresters Beach.
As they were getting into the car Diane turned to her husband, a big smile spreading over her face.
‘Darling, I’ve got a wonderful idea,’ she said happily. ‘Why don’t we invite Les around for dinner tonight? He could meet Sophia, too.’
‘Hey, that’s a great idea,’ replied Colin. ‘Come round for dinner and a few drinks, it’s the least we can do. And Diane’s sister is a marvellous cook, Les.’
Norton shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sounds all right to me,’ he said.
‘Oh good. Look, here’s the address.’ Diane took a biro and paper out of the glove box, wrote it down and handed it to Les. ‘Come round about seven, have a few drinks first and we’ll eat about eight. Okay?’
‘Sounds all right to me,’ replied Norton again.
He shook hands with Colin, Diane gave him a kiss on the cheek and they were off with Diane insisting and Les promising that he’d be there at seven. What have I got to lose? thought Les, I’m very partial to a bit of home cooking and this Sophia might be all right anyway.
There was one other car in the small parking area besides Norton’s. An irridescent green, HK Holden with twin exhausts, fatties on the back, tiger-skin seat covers and rev-head decals all over the windows. Not a bad looking old HK mused Les — then let all the tyres down.
It was about four o’clock when Les got back to Terrigal and he was in a fairly good mood considering what had happened. Even though what he had intended to be a day of peace and quiet had been disturbed, the $460 more than compensated for it. And there was still the evening to come.
He had two quick schooners at the Florida then decided he’d better get some drink to take with him that night. He found a bottle shop a short stroll from the hotel, went inside and rang the bell on the counter.
The attendant appeared from out the back. He was wearing the loudest Hawaiian shirt Les had ever seen along with a pair of yellow paisley pattern trousers — he looked like a walking green-house and was obviously gayer than carnival time in Rio.
‘Yessss,’ he crooned, eyeing Norton up and down. ‘What can I do for yoouuu?’
‘What can you do for meeee?’ replied Les derisively. ‘Just give me a couple of bottles of French shampoo, son. Dom Perignon 72. If you ain’t got that, Veuve Clicquot will suffice.’ What the hell, thought Norton, I got plenty, I may as well bung it on a bit.
‘Ooooh, I don’t think we’ve got any of that,’ said the attendant. The sight of Les’s muscles and hairy chest bulging out under his T-shirt had him starting to gush a bit. ‘Would some Moet Chandon do you?’
‘Moet bloody Chandon,’ sneered Les, really giving it the Leo Schofield treatment. ‘You’re kidding. I wouldn’t give that to my bloody dog. What year is it?’
‘Seventy-two,’ replied the attendant meekly. ‘Is that all right?’ Norton’s aggressive macho act had him almost swooning. He was Norton’s slave.
‘I s’pose it’ll have to do, won’t it?’ replied Les. ‘All right, give us three bottles. And toss in a bottle of Tia Maria, too. You’d better bloody well have that.’
‘Oh of course we have,’ said the attendant, fussing around like an old moll as he got the bottles out of the fridge and started wrapping them up. ‘Having a bit of a party, are we?’
‘Yeah. I brought me two hairdressers up for a few days,’ said Les running his fingers through his thick red hair. ‘They’re a couple of terrific young blokes, too.’ He handed the attendant the money, making a big show of it as he pulled out the wad he’d lifted off the yobs.
‘Ooh, you might like to invite me around for a few drinks. Are they from Sydney, are they?’ The attendant was gushing like a fountain by now.
‘Yeah. But you know the old saying, son,’ said Les, pocketing the change. ‘Three’s company, four’s a crowd. I might see you tomorrow, though.’ He gave the attendant a wink and left the shop.
As soon as Les walked out the door the attendant slumped down in a chair and started fanning himself with a magazine. He was completely shattered.
Christ, thought Les, chuckling to himself as he put the drink in the car, a man’s lucky to get out of there with his cherry. He arranged the bottles securely on the back seat then went to a chemist, bought a bottle of Mennen, some under-arm deodorant and went straight home.
It was almost five o’clock by the time Les had made a cup of tea and put the drink in the fridge, so he decided to lie down for an hour. He wanted to be nice and fresh when he got there; besides this sister Sophia sounded interesting and if she was anything like Diane she’d be all right. A man might be half a chance too, he thought.
He woke up feeling a bit thick-headed just after six. The combination of the two schooners and the day in the sun had dried him out a bit so he had a drink of water, went downstairs and jumped in the pool — the water felt like ice but it freshened him straight up. After splashing around for a few minutes he trotted upstairs and got under a steaming shower.
Fifteen or so minutes later he finished showering and shaving and felt like a million dollars. He threw on a clean pair of jeans, sneakers and a lemon coloured Lacoste pullover he’d bought from one of the thieves at Bondi. Not half a bad sort, son, he thought to himself, checking himself out in the mirror as he slapped the Mennen on to his face and gave his armpits a liberal dousing of deodorant; not half a bad sort at all. All I need is a few gold chains round my neck and I’d look like Barry Gibb. He gave his dense red hair a quick detail with a plastic ‘bug rake’ and turned out the bathroom light.
Les was whistling softly to himself as he got the chilled champagne out of the fridge and placed it in a carton alongside the Tia Maria. He checked the address Diane had given him in his UBD street directory. It was easy enough to find, so he tucked the carton up under his arm, locked up the house and was on his way; ten minutes later he was almost at Forresters Beach.
Shit, I’m getting nice and hungry, thought Les as he turned off The Entrance Road into Crystal Street for the short run to the beach. I hope they got plenty on.
Diane’s sister’s place turned out to be a large, purple brick two-storey ho
use in Kalakau Road overlooking the whole of Forresters Beach and then some. A wide sun-deck surrounded by white Roman-style columns stood out the front, with a smaller but identical one underneath at the entrance to the front door. Not a bad digs, mused Les as he pulled up alongside Colin’s car which was parked in the double driveway. She must be doin’ all right. He got the drink out of the car, stepped through a white wrought-iron gate, trotted up a small flight of steps and rang the door bell. Ding dong, Avon calling, thought Les as he recognised Frosty’s tiny bark coming from inside. The door opened and there stood Colin, a warm sincere smile amost glowing on his face.
‘Hello Les,’ he said warmly, ‘good to see you, glad you could come.’ He took Les’s hand and pumped it vigorously. ‘How are you, all right? Hungry I suppose?’
‘Yeah, a bit,’ replied Les. ‘How are you feelin’ now anyway?’
Colin patted his ribs lightly. ‘Still a little sore but I’m okay. I know I’d be a lot worse only for you,’ he said raising his eyebrows.
Frosty ran over and jumped up on Les’s leg. Les picked it up under the stomach and let it give him a kiss on the chin. ‘You still won’t chain this mongrel thing up will you?’ he said.
‘Can’t get a chain big enough,’ laughed Colin. ‘Anyway, come inside.’ He closed the door behind Les and ushered him down a thickly carpeted hallway, through a spacious lounge room full of expensive modern furniture and into a large modern kitchen, that would have suited Bernard King. Diane was fussing over some pots steaming on a stove.
She stopped what she was doing, walked over to Les and took him by the hand. She looked at him for a moment then reached up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘We’re very, very pleased you could come Les, we really are.’
‘Ah, that’s all right,’ said Les feeling slightly embarrassed, ‘I had to anyway, your husband threatened to beat me up if I didn’t.’
‘That’s right,’ said Colin, ‘and if I hadn’t, Diane would.’
Diane gave Les’s hand another squeeze and went back to the stove. ‘Sophia’s just gone to the bathroom, she’ll be out in a minute.’ She turned to Colin: ‘Well, don’t just stand there, Colin. Get the man a drink.’
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