‘Listen, KK’ he said urgently. ‘Drop the bullshit. Do you know that team over near the corner?’
Kramer looked around and looked straight back again. ‘Oh shit!’ he said, blinking through his glasses. ‘Yeah, exactly. They were in the casino giving you the same dirty looks. Now, I don’t know what the story is, but I’m not taking on six blokes, KK. I reckon we ought to get out of here before something starts. Or I’m stalling anyway, I’m not getting my head kicked in for fifteen hundred bucks.’
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ agreed Kramer. ‘I saw them earlier myself but I honestly didn’t think they’d be in here.’ KK had also honestly forgotten he didn’t have brother Mena-chem with him, who wouldn’t have hesitated to pull out a rather large calibre pistol and drop all six of them without wasting a shot, if that’s the way they wanted it.
‘Hey, what’s going on?’ demanded Crystal. ‘I am here too, you know.’
‘Crystal,’ said Les directly. ‘Finish your drink. We’re gonna have to go somewhere else.’
Crystal looked at Les. ‘Somewhere else. What the fuck’s wrong with this? We just walked in the goddam door.’ She glared at Kramer. ‘I’m not doing another one of your fuckin’ champagne tours of Dogpatch. Fuck you, Kelvin.’
‘It’s not like that, Crystal,’ said Les. ‘It’s just that there’s a bit of trouble and we gotta hit the toe. So finish your drink. Sorry, mate.’
Unfortunately Norton had left his run just a little too late. As he tried to reason with Crystal, the tallest of the team walked over to the bar, making sure he almost walked right over Kramer as he did. He was dark haired and square jawed, not quite Norton’s build but taller.
‘Hello, KK’ he said slowly and menacingly, standing back from the bar. ‘Nice to see you. You greasy fuckin’ little Jew cunt.’
Kramer blinked some more and gulped his drink. ‘Nice to see you too, Terry,’ he answered.
‘Yeah, I’ll bet it is. You fuckin’ little arse.’
Ignoring the tall man’s tirade, Les reached across and pushed Kramer’s beeper. ‘Come on, KK. Let’s piss off.’
‘And who the fuck are you?’ said the tall bloke.
‘Me. I’m no one,’ answered Norton. ‘And I’m out of here and they’re coming with me.’ He turned to Crystal and gave her an urgent look. ‘Come on, Crystal.’
‘Are you supposed to be looking after this little piece of shit and his slaggy moll of a girlfriend?’
‘Whatever, mate.’ Norton could feel his hackles start to rise and was close to giving the bloke a good smack, right in the mouth. But at the moment discretion was definitely the better part of valour. An orderly withdrawal was much better than getting kicked down the stairs by six big blokes. He might spot him again somewhere.
However, Crystal had heard the last remark and decided to put her head in. ‘Hey, that’s my boyfriend you’re talking to, you pig-eyed sack of shit. And don’t call me a moll either, you kangaroo-fucking, turkey-necked, Australian clamhead. Fuck you, boy.’
‘I’ll call you what I like, you soapy-looking, tunnel-cunted, Yank trollop.’
‘Oh will you — you sonofabitch.’
Even if he got what he deserved, Norton couldn’t believe it as Crystal threw her drink straight in the bloke’s face. With a bit of luck, he might have been able to grab the pair of them and spear them out of the place down to the waiting limo. But now it was on no matter what; and as usual, Les was right in the middle. The bloke roared with pain and rage as he tried to wipe the burning spirits out of his eyes. Still hoping they might get to the door, Les made a lunge at KK and Crystal and it was a good thing he did because he didn’t notice the solid bloke with the thick hair sneak round on his right and king-hit him with a sizzling left hook. As well as being well built, Haircut knew how to throw them too and if Les hadn’t moved forward that tiny bit it would have broken his jaw and probably knocked him out. As it was, it knocked Les stupid. He let out an oath and slammed up against the bar, managing to cock his head just in time to cop a short right on the forehead and another left on his eye. Les was in a bit of trouble, because it doesn’t matter how big and fit you are, if some big bloke belts you out of the blue when you’re not ready for it, nine times out of ten, it’s goodnight Irene. Especially if they follow up equally as good.
Norton tried desperately to get things back into focus. He could hear girls screaming and the crowd shouting as they moved back from the bar, but it was just a blur of sight and sound. He sucked in his breath, shook his head and threw a wild left that caught Haircut over the eye and followed up with another on his nose. Haircut looked surprised and they slowed him momentarily, but they weren’t the best punches Norton had ever thrown; somehow he had to get himself together; that first left hook was a ripper. He thumped a rip up into Haircut’s stomach, copping another right to his nose. But by now his mate had wiped all the drink out of his eyes. He was going to belt Crystal, who was holding on to KK, but he could always come back to them; get rid of their minder first.
Les just had time to cover up from the bloke’s big right, but the left caught him on the eye. He got a left back-fist into the bloke’s mouth that made him think, when another left hook caught him almost where the first one had landed. Haircut had leapt back into the fray. Shit, thought Les, his whole life starting to peel off before him as he slammed back against the bar. There was some skinny bloke on the door downstairs, the owner wasn’t there to break up the brawl and KK would be about as much use in a fight as a tube of block-out in an atomic bomb blast. He might have been a chance with the two he was fighting, but out the corner of his eye Les spotted the rest of the team charging over. There was no way he could make it to the door on his own, let alone take KK and Crystal with him; the mob would have him before he got two metres. So this is it, mate. Norton braced himself and got ready to get the shit kicked out of him. Well, if I’m going down, I’ll go down with what I’ve got left. With a desperate roar, Norton raised himself up and threw punches wildly at Haircut and his mate. But they were getting in a lot more than he was and now their mates were about to arrive on the scene. Don’t kill me if you can help it, fellas, and try and leave something for DD on Sunday night.
Norton had done some rotten things in his life and might have deserved a hiding, but somehow a star shone on the big red-headed Queenslander that night. A star in the form of the Mac’s Head Muff Divers Annual Tour of Duty. No Muff Too Tough. As the gang had charged through the crowd to get at Les slugging it out with the other two at the bar, they bashed into the Muff Divers, spilling drinks all over their yellow shirts. There was no way the Muff Divers were going to cop this, being big lumps of blokes and half full of piss, and it was good enough reason to get into a good old brawl on your holidays anyway. Norton braced himself as the gang arrived to join in bashing him when he saw a flurry of yellow shirts leap on them from behind. There was a roar of cursing brawling men, and the whole seething mass crushed up against the bar, sending Les and his two assailants down under sheer weight of numbers. A couple of chairs sailed over the bar, smashing one of the mirrors and about fifty glasses, the bar staff and the punters moved out of the road as the place started to rumble like an earthquake had just hit it.
From beneath the tangle of gouging, cursing, punching and kicking men Norton managed to crawl out and find that KK and Crystal had moved round towards the dancefloor. He grabbed them both and shoved them towards the stairs. His head was still spinning but behind him he could see the gang was too busy fighting off the Muff Divers to come after them. As they got to the top of the stairs the skinny doorman was standing there wondering what was his best way of getting out of it.
‘Come on, keep moving. Get the fuck out here,’ ordered Norton, nearly taking the doorman with them.
They ran down the stairs and out along the arcade; Norton couldn’t have been happier to see the limo waiting out the front. To the startled looks of the passers-by, he wrenched open the door and they bundled inside. Tony took one look at N
orton and the horrified look on the others and hit the accelerator.
‘Straight back to the flats,’ barked Les.
‘No worries,’ answered the driver.
Norton took in a deep breath, sat back in the limo and tried to get his head together, though things were still pretty blurry. He hurt and he was angry. His good shirt was ripped to pieces and he’d lost one of his Italian shoes. He ran his hands over his eyes, felt the blood on his face and saw it on his hands. He could feel cuts all round his eyes and blood seeping out of his nose and the warm, salty taste of it in his mouth. His jaw ached and even when he closed his eyes everything kept flickering. But although he was wild and in a fair bit of pain, Norton also realised how lucky he was. If it hadn’t been for those clowns in the yellow shirts he’d probably be on his way to hospital. Whatever he had, he was still blessed; a look in the mirror and feel around back at the flat would tell him just how bad it all was.
‘Boy,’ said Crystal, ‘you is one hell of a mess. Them good ol’ boys done whupped you bad.’
‘Whupped me bad!’ echoed Les angrily. ‘If you hadn’t tossed your drink in that bloke’s face, I mightn’t of got whupped. You… Dubbo!’
‘Well, what did you all expect me to do — talking to a lady like that. I’m only sorry I didn’t kick the big motherfucker right in the balls.’
Les wiped some blood from his eyes and glared at Crystal; the way things were spinning around it looked like she had six tits. ‘I only wish you bloody had now.’
‘I’ll say one thing boy,’ said Crystal, ‘you still fight good. And ain’t you got just a great defence. I swear you never let one punch go past your head all night.’
Norton was about to tell her to get well and truly’d when he noticed Kramer sitting alongside her very quiet and very pasty faced. ‘You’re pretty quiet in all this, KK, you little shit. Who were those blokes?’
Kramer made a gesture with his hands. ‘I swear to you, Les, I didn’t think they’d be there. And I was getting ready to go, the last thing I want is any trouble.’ He blinked through his glasses at Les staring at him. ‘The tall guy’s name is Terry Stinnett. He used to be a tally clerk in Sydney. Him and that team flog dodgy real estate up here and rig horse races, among other things. They’re bad cunts. I was in a racehorse scam with them and I pissed off out of the country with most of the money. And left them with a dud kite. I was going to settle with them but they found me before I got a chance to get in touch. You hardly ever see them at CJ’s but they just happened to be there tonight. I’m sorry, Les. And I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.’
Norton glared out the window. ‘Must’ve been my lucky bloody night. And who’s the bloke with all the hair that belted me first up?’
‘I’m not real sure, but I think his name’s Jasper.’
‘Jasper eh,’ hissed Norton.
The limo pulled up at the flats and very gingerly Les got out. Tony didn’t bother, Kramer walked round, said something to him and he drove off.
‘Why don’t you come up to our apartment and we’ll clean you up?’ said Crystal.
‘Yeah, righto,’ grunted Norton, although another idea had started to hatch in his brain already. He was about to start walking when he stopped, looked down at his remaining shoe, then tore it off his foot and flung it up the street. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll be needing that any more — will I?’ He shuffled through the front door in his socks.
Crystal cluck-clucked and Kramer apologised again as they helped Norton up the stairs. When they got to their door, Les propped and leant against his own. ‘Look, don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right. I can fix myself up.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Crystal. ‘Your face looks like Les Hibbin’s hat.’ Kramer didn’t say anything. Despite his sympathy and apologising he was glad not to have Norton bleeding all over his home-unit.
‘Yeah, I’ll be okay. I want to be on my own for a while anyway.’ Les looked at the both of them; suddenly he felt very tired. ‘So what’s doing tomorrow? Are you doing those topless shots? What’s the story?’
‘I never intended doing any topless shots,’ said Crystal. ‘That was all horseshit. Those creeps from the press can go squat.’
‘We’ll be going out on Meyer’s boat for the day,’ said Kelvin.
‘So you won’t be needing me?’
‘No. You can do what you like. We’ll be leaving early, you just take it easy and we’ll see you tomorrow night, or whenever.’
‘Okay. Well, give me the keys to the Jag. Just in case I need to drive myself to hospital and get an x-ray or some stitches or something.’
‘I’ll get the keys now.’ Kramer opened the door and stepped inside.
‘Are you sure you’ll be alright, Les?’ said Crystal. ‘Yeah. I used to be a lion tamer in another life.’ ‘Okay. But if you need anything, just knock.’ Crystal went to touch Norton’s face, then changed her mind. ‘Goodnight, Les.’
‘See you tomorrow, Crystal.’
Crystal disappeared into their unit as Kramer returned with the car keys. ‘Here you are, Les. Take the car for as long as you like. You want some chops?’
‘No. I’m alright.’
‘Okay, Les. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, see you then.’
‘Hey, I am sorry about what happened, Les.’
Norton spat a gob of blood onto the stairs. ‘Yeah. Don’t worry about it.’
The door closed, leaving Les on his own. After a moment or two he let himself inside.
In the flat, Norton got out of his blood-spattered clothes down to his jocks, splashed some water over his face and checked himself out in the bathroom mirror. Les Hibbin’s hat? How the fuck would she know about that? he thought out loud. But it wasn’t a bad comparison, because the face looking back at him definitely wasn’t Robert Redford. His top lip was swollen and although he hadn’t lost any teeth, some were chipped and he could feel a few cracked fillings and cuts inside his mouth with his tongue. His nose wasn’t broken, but it was that bent it didn’t make any difference, and the thick, dark blood coming from deep inside promised it would be around for a while and in the next few days start to look like blackberry jelly. His jaw wasn’t broken either but when he opened and closed his mouth it clicked and clunked like a rusty gate. His right ear, where he’d copped that first left hook was red and swollen, very bloody sore and felt like it was going to burst; however, the cuts above his eyes were more gouges from rings than splits and wouldn’t need stitching, but there were plenty of them. The rest was just bruising and he’d copped a couple of kicks in the ribs; they were nothing really. All in all not too good, but not too bad, and like he said earlier, it would have been a lot worse only for the Muff Divers.
The only thing that worried him was the concussion. Les opened and closed his eyes and rolled them around in their sockets. Everything was still slightly out of focus and flickering, and tiny pin-points of light exploded in front of him every now and again. He’d experienced this playing football. But at least playing football, someone came up over with the magic water and a sponge and freshened you up and half a dozen blokes didn’t run in and start kicking the shit out of you. Yes, the street was definitely a different kettle of fish to the football field. But with some ice and a few band-aids he’d live to see the night out. If he started vomiting he’d get an X-ray on his head tomorrow. Norton stared balefully at himself in the mirror then had to smile. What did he say about getting a hiding after he’d set poor little Warren up. It does you good and even livens you up now and again. That has to be some sort of karma there and I suppose I deserve what I got.
But Les definitely didn’t deserve the serve he copped. He had done nothing. All he was trying to do was leave. Maybe Crystal needn’t have thrown her drink in the tall bloke’s face, but he came over looking for trouble and he did deserve it, gobbing off at her like that. It wouldn’t have surprised Les either if she did kick him in the nuts: Crystal had balls enough to do it alright. No. Norton didn’t deser
ve the hiding he got, and he didn’t deserve or appreciate getting pinged by some king-hit merchant while he wasn’t looking. So the face in the mirror, as well as being a battered one, was a boilingly angry one also. Jasper eh, Les cursed to himself, gobbing more blood down the sink. You like king-hitting blokes, do you, Jasper? Well, I’ll be finding you before I go back to Sydney, you bushy haired cunt. You and your mate Terry Stinnett. Either with a lump of pipe, a baseball bat or a good back-up. I can’t see myself getting a back-up round here. But I know where there’s a ripper not all that far away and I reckon I could get him down here without too much trouble.
There were some band-aids in the bathroom. Les put a couple over his eyes then filled a plastic bag full of ice from the kitchen, held it over his jaw and settled down in front of the TV for the while. But the late-night movie wasn’t interesting Norton very much at all. The main thing burning on his mind was a square-up. Revenge. Norton wasn’t vindictive or spiteful or anything like that. He just liked to even the score. What does it say in both the holy books? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Well, how about both their eyes, all their fuckin’ teeth and part of their jawbone as well? It was too early to make a phone call, but as sure as God made little green apples, he’d be making one first thing in the morning. He absently watched the TV screen while the start of a plan ticked over inside his head. Then the concussion came on again, and again Les started to feel very tired. He switched the TV off, spread a towel out next to his head and went to bed. Despite the pain, Norton slept all right.
Les woke up just before seven the next morning. He sat up in bed and blinked around the room as the memory of last night’s events came back to him. He was happy to see the concussion had all but gone and everything had stopped flickering; his jaw was still bloody sore though. A check in the bathroom mirror while he cleaned his teeth showed plenty of colouring around his face and two reasonable black eyes, a fat lip, a thick ear and a nose that would have looked better on W.C. Fields. At least when he peeled the band-aids off his eyebrows the gouges didn’t start bleeding. Apart from that, Norton was his usual good humoured, debonair self. That, and a searing hatred burning away in the pit of his stomach like a ship’s boiler. He still had blood in his hair and round his chest and when he gobbed into the sink pieces of what looked like chopped up black jelly beans were still coming from back in his nose. One thing would fix that up and help his aches and pains: a swim. Les had another dour glance at himself in the mirror then wrapped a towel round his neck and jogged across to the water.
White Shoes, White Lines and Blackie Page 14