‘They’re that good, eh?’
‘That good? They’re incredible. They’re absolutely unique.’
Les didn’t answer for a few seconds. ‘So — what happened? Your mate from Consolidated Diamonds bought them did he?’
‘Yeah. Pig’s arse he did.’ Price snorted into the phone. ‘I bought the bloody things myself. I made your brother one offer and he took it.’
‘How much, Price? If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘One hundred and fifty thousand dollars.’
Les nearly choked on his mouthful of beer, coughing and spraying it all over the lounge room. ‘How much did you say?’ he spluttered into the phone.
‘A hundred and fifty grand. But don’t worry, I still got them cheap, which I’ve explained to your brother. I’ve told him that with my contacts I could probably sell them in New York in six months for over a quarter of a million so he knows the whole story. Anyway he’s more than happy, he was only expecting about ten grand or so.’
‘I’ll bet he is,’ replied Les, still shocked.
‘But there’s no way I’ll be selling them, Les. Bugger the Yanks and the Arabs. They go straight into my collection. And guess what I’m going to call them?’
‘What?’
‘The Kelly Twins. I’m going to name them after the club. How’s that sound?’
‘Sounds good,’ replied Les. ‘It’s certainly original.’
Price roared laughing into the phone. ‘Ironic isn’t it, to think that what will be two of Australia’s most famous opals are named after an illegal gambling casino. In Kings Cross, too, of all places.’ Price burst out laughing again.
‘I reckon it’s beautiful,’ said Les.
‘So do I. Anyway listen, your brother’s out by the pool having a cuppa, and talking to my missus, but he reckons he wants to drive straight back to Queensland tonight. Do you reckon he’ll be all right with all that money? I paid him cash.’
Les smiled into the phone. ‘I’d hate to see anyone try and get if off him,’ he said dryly.
‘Yes. Well being a blood relation of yours I can understand that. One could say you Nortons are extremely careful when it comes to a dollar bill.’
‘One certainly could, Price,’ replied Les evenly.
‘Okay. Well that’s all settled. I’ll have Eddie drop him off, he should be back at your place in less than half an hour.’
‘All right Price. Well, thanks for doing that for Murray, I appreciate it. And that’s a bloody lot of money too.’
‘Turn it up, Les. It’s only money. It’s not an arm or a leg is it? If anything it’s another one I owe you. I couldn’t be happier.’
‘Oh well. Whatever.’
‘Anyway, I’ll get going and I’ll see you up the club on Wednesday night. We’ll have a yarn about it then. All right?’
‘Righto. See you Wednesday. Goodbye Price.’
‘Goodbye Les. Thanks again.’
Les sat there for a few moments slowly shaking his head and staring vacantly at the phone. Finally he got up, took another beer from the fridge and still slightly mesmerised stood at the back door watching through the lightly falling rain as Grungle chomped away contentedly on King’s front leg.
‘Well, what do you think of that Grungle, you ugly little bludger?’ he said half laughing to the dog. ‘Your loving master, my so called hillbilly brother, has just picked himself up a cool hundred and fifty thousand bucks.’
Grungle looked up at the sound of Les’s voice, squinted his little piggy eyes, wagged his tail enthusiastically a few times, then went back to crunching up the last of the leg.
‘You’re right, Grungle,’ continued Les nodding his head slowly. ‘It is something isn’t it? It’s a bone all right.’
Les was still shaking his head a half an hour later when Murray burst through the door like Elliot Ness and came clomping down the hallway at a hundred miles an hour. He stood at the loungeroom door staring down at Les; there was a wild grin spread across his face and his eyes were bulging out like two tennis balls. Suddenly he tore off his hat, threw back his head and let out a piercing yell you could have heard down in Tasmania. He screamed again then ran at Les and started belting him over the head with his hat.
‘Well what do you think of that, old fellah?’ he said excitedly. ‘Did your boss tell you what happened over the phone?’
Les stood up, grinned broadly at his brother and shook his hand.
‘Good on you Muzz,’ he said warmly and sincerely. ‘I reckon that’s great. You and the family are set for life now.’
Murray pulled a white canvas bag stuffed with money out from under his shirt and handed it to Les. ‘Look at that,’ he said, ‘a hundred a fifty grand. I can’t bloody believe it.’
‘I told you Price would look after you,’ said Les, dropping the bag of money on to the coffee table.
‘Look after me? Christ, that is putting it mildly,’ said Murray, picking up the bag of money and dropping it down again. ‘I still can’t friggin’ believe it.’ He looked at Les and shook his head. ‘Christ I gotta get a beer.’
Les waited till Murray came back from the kitchen before he spoke. ‘I got another little surprise for you too. I took Grungle for a little walk while you were away.’
‘What do you mean you took him for a walk?’ said Murray, looking at his brother quizzingly while he took several healthy pulls on his can of Fourex. ‘He got a ton of walking down in that park this morning.’
‘Oh I didn’t take him far,’ said Les casually. ‘Just into my Greek mate next door’s backyard. While he was out.’
Murray laughed and drained his can of beer. ‘You didn’t put him in with that big savage german shepherd did you? Not the killer. What happened?’
‘Oh, what do you think happened? It was the most horrible thing I ever seen in my life.’
Les went on to tell Murray about the slaughter next door, not leaving out any details. By the time he’d finished Murray was doubled up on the lounge with laughter, tears were pouring down his cheeks.
‘So what did you do with the killer’s remains?’ said Murray trying to sit up and spilling a fresh can of beer Les had brought him all over himself in the process. ‘I’ll bet there wasn’t too much left.’ He roared laughing and thumped his leg. ‘Knowin’ old Grungle, you’d be lucky to find a drop of blood.’
‘They’re in garbage bags in the back of your panel-van. You can dump them somewhere on the way home.’
‘Heh, heh, heh, my dog’s a killer.’ Murray threw back his head and let go a great bellow of laughter again. ‘I near pissed meself when your wog mate said that. That german shepherd was about as much use as tits on a bull. Jesus, Grungle took on a ten foot crocodile six months ago and flogged it.’
‘He what?’ said Les, staring open mouthed at his brother.
‘He stuck it up a croc. There was a flash flood. The Narran overflowed and I was down the caravan park with Sergeant Austin pullin’ out a few vans with his Land-Rover. We’re down by the river bank when all of a sudden this bloody great crocodile slithers out of the river and heads for one of the kids. Grungle’s jumped straight on to it, ripped off its front leg and started tearing its guts out.’
‘Christ,’ said Les.
‘The poor bloody crocodile didn’t know what hit it. It’s jumped back in the water and went for its life. Grungle’s dived in and started swimming after it. He couldn’t catch it in the water though, Grungle’s not a very good swimmer. They found the croc about ten miles downstream a couple of days later. Dead as a mackerel. So you can imagine how much chance that big dopey lookin’ thing next door had. Buckley’s. I’d have given half that money there to have seen the stink, though.’
‘Yeah. It was something else, I can tell you,’ said Les.
They both sat on the lounge laughing for a while then as the laughing subsided there was an uneasy period of silence; each knew what the other was thinking. Finally Murray spoke.
‘Well Les,’ he said awkwardly,
‘I hate to sort of, get up and just be runnin’ straight out the door, but, I reckon I might get going.’
‘That’s all right Muzz,’ replied Les easily. ‘I understand. I don’t blame you wanting to get back home to the family. Cities have never been your go.’
‘You’re not wrong.’ Murray looked at Les for a moment and slowly stroked his chin, a smile flickered round his eyes. ‘But before I go, there’s a bit of squarin’ up to be done I think.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Board and lodgings for me and Grungle. Me ’n the dog pay our way.’
‘Oh don’t give me the shits. I don’t want any friggin’ money.’
‘You’ll either take it or have it shoved up your big red arse.’
Les sat back on the lounge, looked up and shook his head as Murray reached towards the canvas bag sitting on the coffee table and started rifling through the wads of notes. He paused for a moment, looked at Les with one eye closed, then flicked through some more money finally pulling out a wad of $50 bills which he tossed into Les’s lap.
‘There you are,’ he said. ‘There’s twenty-five grand there. I reckon that’s fair enough for two days board.’
Les looked at the pile of money sitting in his lap. ‘Come on, turn it up Murray,’ he said. ‘I can’t take this.’
‘Pig’s arse. If it hadn’t been for you and your boss I’d of got ripped off by that reffo in Bellevue Hill, so I owe you that at least. Besides, don’t you come your shitpot benevolence act with me. You’ve been as tight as a tom-cat’s quoit since the day you were born. It’s a wonder you don’t want half.’
‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right.’ Les leaned back on the lounge and grinned. ‘Why don’t you toss in another five, make it an even thirty?’
‘Fair enough.’ Murray counted out another five thousand and tossed it to his brother. ‘Now I might get going,’ he said, ‘while I still got a hundred and twenty left.’
‘You’re sure you don’t want to leave it with me and I’ll send it up to you. Be safer that way.’
‘Go and get rooted.’
‘I was only trying to help.’
While Murray collected his few clothes and tossed them loosely into his overnight bag Les went to his bedroom, slipped a thousand dollars out of the stack of money Murray had given him, put it in his pocket, then wrapped the rest in an old T-shirt and stuffed it down the bottom of his dirty clothes basket. Murray had finished packing when he returned to the other bedroom.
‘I’ll get you to drop me off at the Bondi on your way. I might have a couple of beers and get one of those VCRs off that wharfie.’
‘Righto. Don’t forget to say hello to those Poms for me if you see them.’
‘Yeah. I’ll tell them Tex sends his love. I’d better go and get Grungle.’
Les went to the back door and called the dog, he was relieved to notice Stavros hadn’t arrived home yet. Murray was waiting in the hall and the three of them walked slowly and silently to the front door.
When they got outside the rain had stopped and the sun was just starting to go down behind Bellevue Hill, tinting the sadness of the grey, white clouds spread out over the Tasman with delicate shades of orange, yellow and red. It was quiet and still after the rain and the hissing of the passing cars tyres on the still wet road seemed gentle and soothing as somewhere in the distance the raucous cries and shrill whistle of a passing paper boy echoed about, beckoning people to come out for their evening Sun or Mirror.
‘Well, looks like it’s stopped raining anyway,’ said Murray, tilting his leathery face to the sky as he opened the back of the panel-van to let Grungle in, tossing his bag in after him. He noticed the green garbage bag with its grisly contents sitting towards the front.
‘Is that the killer’s remains, is it?’ he said with an evil grin on his face.
‘That’s them. Just give them a decent Christian burial somewhere on the way, will you?’
Murray just looked at Les and laughed as he closed the back of the panel-van. They climbed in the front, Les placed a dozen tinnies, in a carton, on the floor for Murray to drink on the way and his brother started the motor, letting it warm up for a while before he took off.
‘You just going to drive straight home are you, Muzz?’ said Les, sitting there listening as the motor idled gently.
‘Yep. Might stop for a bit of petrol, that’s about all.’
‘What about tucker? I suppose you’ll find a few truck-stops along the way. There’s a good one just out of Glen Innes.’
‘No, I won’t even stop for food. We’ll eat that dog if we get hungry.’
Les looked at his brother curiously for a few seconds. ‘What do you mean you’ll eat the dog?’
‘Me ’n Grungle. If we get hungry we’ll eat that german shepherd. No worse than eatin’ dingo.’
‘Are you fair dinkum?’
‘Course I’m fair dinkum.’ Murray looked at Les sceptically. ‘Jesus, you’ve been in the city too long, son. What do you think I eat when I’m out trapping dingo and I run out of tucker? And what do you think I do when it’s raining and I can’t light a fire. Look, I’ll show you.’
He reached into the back, opened the plastic bags, put his hands in and tore off a large piece of still-warm flesh. He took a huge bite from the purplish, red piece of meat, still covered in fur, and tossed the rest to Grungle, who gave it a quick chew then swallowed the lot in one gulp and wagged his tail for more.
‘Not too bad,’ said Murray, chewing it slowly in front of Les. ‘Nowhere near as stringy as dingo. It’s a bit fatty actually. Here, you want a bit?’ He reached for the bag in the back.
‘No thanks,’ said Les quickly.
‘Suit yourself,’ shrugged Murray, wiping the grease from his mouth with the back of his hand as he chewed away on the piece of german shepherd.
‘Christ,’ said Les, looking at his brother in disbelief. ‘I’d hate to be around your place during a full moon.’
‘Full moons.’ Murray threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Full moons don’t worry me mate,’ he said as his eyes narrowed evilly. ‘What about yooou? Awooo. Ow ow owoooo.’
Murray started howling fiendishly out the window of the car and from the back Grungle joined in, in a ghastly, bone chilling, unholy unison with his master.
Les looked at the pair of them and slowly shook his head. ‘Just drop me off down the Bondi will you?’ he said.
Bowen Lager
‘Well, that’s the last of them.’ Billy Dunne turned to Les and nodded his head as the remaining few gamblers shuffled out the door of the Kelly Club and drifted slowly off into what was left of the night. He slammed the heavy steel door, slipped the bolts and turned the two deadlocks. ‘Not too bad,’ he said checking his watch. ‘Just on ten to four. Let’s go up and have a couple of drinks.’
‘Reckon,’ said Norton as they started walking back up the stairs.
‘It’s your week off next week too,’ said Billy giving Les a friendly punch in the back.
‘My oath.’
‘S’pose you’re lookin’ forward to it.’
‘Wouldn’t you be?’
‘Yeah, you’re right.’
The two doormen had worked it with Price Galese for one of them to have every second week off for the next four weeks. A friend of theirs, Big Danny McCormack, a wharfie who used to do a bit of part-time door work, had got into a bit of trouble and needed some money to square things off with the coppers and pay a lawyer to avoid going away for a little holiday courtesy of Her Majesty. He’d managed to find that but just as he did one of his five kids got heart trouble and needed an operation urgently, so he had to find some more money. Les and Billy found out and knowing how Big Danny hated having to accept charity offered him the extra work at the Kelly Club. Price was agreeable, provided the boys didn’t go too far away and it was only four weeks, as he liked to have his ace men around all the time. At the same time it suited them down to the ground. Between tips, their wages, the money
they didn’t spend by not going out and the slings and racing tips Price kept giving them they had enough money to take every week off for the next 50 years. But the job was that good and Price was such a gem of a bloke they rarely took any nights off, so naturally enough they were looking forward to the chance for a bit of a break.
They were still talking when they got to the top of the stairs and started walking across the quiet blue cigarette haze of the casino towards Price’s office. Les called out to a group of waitresses and croupiers who were still seated around a table talking, laughing and having a few staffies. ‘Let us know when you want to leave and I’ll come down and let you out. All right?’
‘Righto Les,’ several of them called back as the two doormen knocked lightly and entered the office.
Les and Billy sat around inside drinking and talking quietly while Price and George Brennan got the money counted and nearly gave themselves a hernia each trying to jam it in the safe.
‘Why can’t they open the bloody banks on Sunday?’ cursed Price Galese as he finally got the safe door closed and gave the combination tumbler a spin. ‘Lazy pen-pushin’ bastards, they don’t want to do any work at all.’
‘You can’t work on the Sabbath,’ said Les. ‘You’re a Catholic Price, you should know that.’
Price stood up and gave Norton a filthy look. ‘You’ve got an answer for everything, Les, haven’t you? You bloody big Queensland hillbilly.’ He winked at George then got them all another drink. ‘Good health lads,’ he said raising his glass.
They sat around drinking and cracking jokes till about 4.30am, then they all filed out. Les and Billy waited out the front while Price locked up. When he was satisfied it was all secure both got either side of him and walked him carefully to his car where they all said goodnight. Saturday night at the Kelly Club was over for another week.
The following Monday morning Les was relaxing in the backyard of his house in Bondi. Although he wasn’t short of a dollar he shared the house for next to nothing with a bloke he’d met through work, Warren Edwards. Working such unorthodox hours, Norton liked to have someone there to keep an eye on things. Also Warren, who looked like and had the personality of a young, fair haired David Niven, worked in an advertising agency where he seemed to know more good sorts than Hugh Hefner, so every now and again he’d throw Les a bone; and though Warren was a diminutive sort of bloke with a bubbling personality, whereas Norton could sometimes be classed as a taciturn 15 stone brute, paradoxically they got on quite well together.
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