White Shoes, White Lines and Blackie

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘Well, Crystal,’ said Les, ‘apart from cleaning up at the casino and seeing me get my head punched in, I suppose it’s been a pretty quiet old trip to Australia? Still, as long as you got those other things sorted out, I guess that’s the main thing.’

  ‘Oh we got all the other things sorted out, Les.’ Crystal still had the cynical smile on her face as she turned to KK. ‘Didn’t we, Kelvin?’

  ‘Yeah. I suppose we did,’ answered Kramer.

  Kramer’s eyes were still darting nervously around behind his glasses and his face still looked decidedly pale. It paled even further when Stinnett and Jasper peeled themselves away from the team and sauntered over. Les was standing facing the others, his back to the room. Stinnett came over on Norton’s right, Jasper moved round to his left. Just like old times, thought Norton, continuing to sip his drink. He caught Stinnett’s eye and smiled.

  Stinnett ignored Les. Unsmiling he turned to KK. ‘Listen Kramer, you greasy little Jew cunt, you’re fuckin’ lucky we have to drink in here. Otherwise I’d kick your stinkin’ little reffo arse straight out the door and halfway up the fuckin’ street. ’ Stinnett paused to take a breath and his face coloured a little more. ‘What I said the other night still goes — you fuckin’ little shit.’

  Les stood there, calmly drinking his Jack Daniels. ‘We’re not looking for any trouble, mate,’ he said with a shrug. ‘We’re just having a drink.’ There was a mirror behind the bar in front of him and Les noticed the bloke in the all white gear move away from the bar and the two girls he was talking to. He very easily took off his sunglasses and still holding his drink moved just as easily to the middle of the room.

  Stinnett glared at Les. ‘If I want to talk to you, shit-for-fuckin-brains, I’ll rattle a slop bucket.’ He turned back to Kramer. ‘Tell your piss-weak barrow boy here to keep his mouth shut, before he gets it shut for him. Only this time for good.’

  ‘Les,’ said Kramer. ‘I think…’

  ‘Trouble,’ continued Les blissfully. ‘Christ! Have a look at this.’ Les placed his drink on the bar in front of Crystal who was looking up at him like he either had rocks in his head or he was the greatest suck-arse God ever put breath into. Les took his sunglasses off and placed them next to his drink. ‘Have a look at this,’ he said, pointing to his two black eyes.’ Does that suggest to you I want any more trouble? Jesus! Give me a break, mate.’

  Stinnett screwed his face almost as if he was in pain. ‘Why don’t you just fuckin’…’

  ‘Trouble? No sir,’ interjected Les. He turned to Jasper sniggering on his left then back to Stinnett. ‘No sir. The last thing I’m looking for is trouble.’ Then the almost apologetic look on Norton’s face turned into one huge diabolical grin and a definite glow seemed to emanate from Norton’s two brown and horribly reddened black eyes. ‘But a bit of fun’d be all right. What do you reckon?’

  Crystal was still gaping up at Les, still wondering what sort of a dill he was, when Norton dropped slightly to his right, his body and shoulders swung round like a gate closing and he king-hit Jasper with a short right that had everything in it. It wasn’t so much a king-hit, Norton’s massive fist nearly took Jasper’s head off. All his front teeth caved in, his mouth was smashed to pulp and a thick spray of blood spattered across Crystal, KK and anybody else who happened to be close by. Jasper couldn’t believe what hit him. His eyes rolled and his knees started to buckle when Les slammed two left-hooks into the side of his face. The first one shattered his jaw, the second one squashed his ear like someone stepping on a bug. He fell forward straight into Norton’s right knee coming up which spread his nose all over his face. Jasper hit the deck and Les stepped back about half a pace and sunk the toe of his right R.M. Williams riding boot into what was left of Jasper’s face: twice. Jasper lay on the floor face down, blood pouring out of him and gave up interest in the rest of the evening and the rest of the week for that matter.

  That was one down, but Les knew what to expect next: Stinnett’s big right coming over. He tucked his head into his shoulder, moved in to Crystal and KK against the bar a bit as it landed and skidded off the top of Norton’s head, whistling past, a by now screaming Crystal’s chin by a whisker. Les got under Stinnett, pivotted and slammed a left rip up into the tall hood’s solar plexus. Stinnett grunted with pain and shock as it stopped him dead in his tracks. Norton stepped back slightly and banged a big right into Stinnett’s jaw followed by a left hook into his mouth that missed KK by a little less than a whisker too. Stinnett’s jaw swung all over the place, his mouth burst open and he slumped on his backside almost next to Jasper, blood bubbling down his chin and onto the carpet.

  Stinnett was in an awful lot of trouble. However, by now so was Les. Although initially taken by surprise, the rest of the team made a mad scramble off their stools or from where they were standing and all six men charged at Les, ready to tear him to pieces. And they would have too, only the Boz Scaggs look-alike standing in the middle of the room had taken off his hat by now and intervened.

  Murray pinged the closest one to him with the sweetest left hook that took the man’s feet from under him and left him on his back, out cold, blood pouring from his nose. Murray sunk a withering right into the next one’s jaw, rattling his brains around in his head along with most of his fillings. Two of the team didn’t see what happened and charged into Les, the other two hesitated for a second, one decided to help the others with Les, the other decided to help his mate, who was still on his feet with Murray.

  After that it was just on, a horrible, noisy, blood-drenched bar-room brawl. What women there were started screaming and men cursed out oaths of shock as drinks went everywhere and stools and tables were bowled all over the place. The bar staff dropped everything in horror; the people on the balcony gaped as Les and Murray and the six hoods punched, kicked, kneed and cursed their way all round the back bar. Crystal and KK got in the alcove next to the bar they were seated at, along with the other customers, giving the brawl a wide berth as the back bar got wrecked around them in a whirlwind of spilt booze, blood and filthy language.

  Although it was five on to two, Les and Murray were giving out more than they got. The second one Murray had pinged was just on his feet, and with a back-up he was holding onto Murray while his mate did his best. The three Les was fighting were fit and strong and it wasn’t the easiest, but with plenty of solid punching, head-butts, knees and gouging, slowly the Norton brothers were gaining the upper hand. Les went down a couple of times in the melee, so did Murray, and the others too, then they’d all bounce back up, lashing out with kicks and punches. Les copped plenty, along with his brother but they were bouncing and rolling around that much most of the blows were skidding off or landing on their arms and shoulders. Like some wild, rampaging scrum they knocked over the cigarette machine, ripped down the railing running along the wall-length mirror and sent a stool through the folding glass door.

  They kept fighting till Les ended up standing alongside Murray up against the bar next to the balcony. Norton’s denim shirt was ratshit, with not a button left on it, and his nose and the cuts above his eyes had opened up again. Murray’s white hat had been ground into the mess on the floor and the rest of his all white ensemble was in tatters; what wasn’t looked like it had been taken to Bali and tie-dyed a rich crimson. Les and Murray smiled at each other and shaped up to the four men across the room who were left standing, like a Mexican stand-off, only the Nortons were keen to carry on and finish the job. The others knew they were beaten but they were going to go down fighting.

  One of them reached to pick up a bar stool and Les was about to kick him in the groin when a movement coming out of the crowd on his left caught his eye. It was the fairhaired bouncer Les had seen out the front earlier along with another one; taller, muscles everywhere and carrying bugger all fat and with dark hair and a sallow face pretty much like Stinnett laying on the floor. Shit! Thought Les, and it suddenly hit him. What did that mate of Jimmy Martin’s say down the beach? ‘
One of the team’s brother works there on the door.’ Stinnett’s brother. You could bet your life on it, and that would be another reason why they drank here. A big Uh-Oh! went through Les. Now they weren’t only facing four blokes, another two had arrived on the scene; big, fit and ready to go. And the way the tall bouncer looked at Stinnett, blood all over him, still trying to get to his feet, it wasn’t hard to figure out whose side they were on. Shit! Norton cursed to himself again, as the six men paired off ready to get stuck into Les and Murray. This could be very fuckin’ dicey, and there was no chance of talking your way out or making a bolt for it. What have I done? So much for Murray’s earn and so much for two days’ driving down the coast with DD. If I do, it’ll more than likely be in the back of an ambulance.

  Les turned to his brother, a Jesus-I’m-sorry-mate look on his face and expected Murray to be glaring at him. Instead, Murray had this wild look on his blood-spattered face and he was laughing. He winked at Les, stuck his tongue up against his front teeth, turned to the open balcony and let go this ear-piercing whistle — Pheew-ooo-eet! It was that loud it stopped everybody in their tracks. The bar staff, the onlookers, even the six blokes were somewhat taken by surprised. So was Les. Then, like his brother, Les smiled too. No, it couldn’t be…

  Faces set, the two bouncers loosened their ties as they teamed up with the other four men and advanced towards Les and Murray, fists at the ready. It was three onto one, the Nortons had taken some punishment and the six heavies were more than confident of giving them some more. They were just about to start when the full-length window in the corner literally disintegrated in an explosion of shattering stained glass and splintered panes crashing onto the floor and against the wall alongside. To everyone’s absolute shock, horror and astonishment, right in the middle of all the broken glass skidded a snarling, bristling black dog about a metre and a half long and the same wide with a white blaze down the front of its chest. It was a fearsome sight standing there, with the hairs right along the middle of its back standing on end, its massive head and jaws moving from side to side. The weirdest thing about it, though, was it had a rubber mask around its head and across its snout, something like a burglar. But there was no mistaking those two pink, piggy eyes glowing beneath the black rubber. Norton’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. You fuckin’ beaut, he grinned to himself. The cavalry’s arrived. Murray, you are a dead-set genius.

  It took Grungle about one and a half seconds to work out who the good guys were and who were the bad guys; about the same it took him to work out that coming straight through the window was the quickest way to Murray’s side. The first bloke he went for was the one closest to his master. With a hideous growl, he latched straight onto the bloke’s calf muscle and started tearing at it like a shark, right through his jeans. The bloke gave a scream of horror and pain as he watched a piece of his leg, about the size of a lamb’s fry disappear down Grungle’s throat; blue denim and all. Grungle gave another growl and clamped his jaws around the elbow of the bloke next to him, dragging him to the ground; even with the screams and shouts from the crowd you could hear the bones crunching as Grungle bit deeper, shaking his head from side to side. The bloke howled in agony as he gripped his elbow, trying to hold together the sinews, tendons and arteries hanging out and stem the blood splashing onto the floor. Like a big-league basketball player taking a slam-dunk, Grungle leapt up off the floor and bit into the face of the fair-headed bouncer. The bouncer screeched in terror and pain as Grungle chewed off his nose, half his chin and one side of his face; this all went down the hatch too. Then Grungle stopped. He turned to Les and Murray, piggy eyes still blazing, but more a look of ‘well, I’m doing my bit, are you gonna give me a hand or stand there all night?’ on his face. Les and Murray took their cue.

  The tall bouncer staring at Grungle was too panic-stricken to see Les walk up and slam a big left into his jaw, followed by a stiffening kick in the groin. He went at the knees and Les whacked him with a right upper-cut that nearly took his head off. He hit the deck and as soon as he did, Les stepped back and drove his R.M. Williams straight into his mouth, kicking out all his front teeth.

  Murray left-hooked the one nearest him, crushing his nose, then grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed his knee up into his face. The hood hit the deck on his side and lay there. This left one standing, not knowing which way to go. Before he even had a chance to half make up his mind, Les and Murray both belted him at once: straight into Disneyland. After that it was just a slaughter, as what Les and Murray weren’t punching and kicking into minced steak, Grungle was ripping and gouging great bloody pieces out of.

  If the onlookers wanted blood, they got it. Litres of it. All over their clothes, the floor, the wall-length mirror, the cigarette machine and anywhere within five metres of the action. Standing behind the shell-shocked Crystal and KK, still in the alcove, Les thought he saw a greyhaired bloke in glasses, wearing black trousers, maroon shirt and red tie, who looked like he could have been the owner, give a little sigh then collapse in a dead faint. Any people that weren’t too shocked to move were heading for the doors, the windows or the toilets to be sick. All that was left in the back bar now were Crystal and KK, behind the bar, too petrified to move, and any men left conscious on the floor trying to crawl under the carpet; with Les and Murray, blood from head to foot, standing over them alongside Grungle. Then it finished, almost as quick as it started.

  Murray could see there was no point in hanging around any longer. He gave another whistle, a jerk of his head and he and Grungle left the way Grungle had come in, through what was left of the glass door in the corner. Les figured out it might be as good a time as any to leave also. He’d certainly got his square-up with Jasper and the boys, in spades. KK and Crystal were still standing dumbstruck in the alcove, the owner at their feet. KK had thick flecks of blood across his glasses and over his white shoes; Crystal’s white top looked like she’d finished an afternoon shift in the local slaughterhouse. Both were gagging and doing their best to keep down the two pizzas they’d sent out for earlier. Miraculously, Norton’s sunglasses were still sitting on the bar where he’d put them. He picked them up and placed them in what was left of a pocket on what was left of his denim shirt.

  Les looked directly at KK. ‘Well, what do you reckon, KK? We get going?’ Then Les smiled at Crystal. ‘Though I’ll stay and have another one if you want, I’m still shouting.’

  Crystal and KK just gaped at Les and the bloodied, moaning bodies in amongst the carnage around them. Before they had the chance to answer, Les hit the button on KK’s pager and started moving them through the astonished crowd and past the bar staff towards the front. The DJ gaped too as they went past him to the strains of a track he was wishing he’d never played for some big titted brunette he was trying to sweeten himself up with: ‘Trouble’ — Girl Overboard. Next thing the three of them were out the door and straight into the back of the limo as it rocked to a stop in front of them. Tony’s eyes hung out like party whistles as he saw the looks on Crystal and KK, the blood on Norton again and the blood going all over the upholstery for him to clean off later.

  ‘Back to the flats,’ ordered Les. ‘And don’t waste any time getting there.’

  Tony took off and did his best to gun the big limo through any gaps in the traffic on his way to the highway. Seated in the back, Les might have been a bit more bloodied and bruised, but he couldn’t have been any happier. Though somehow he knew he was going to have to conceal it. KK and Crystal were both still too shocked and sickened to speak. Les turned to Kramer.

  ‘Well, what about that, KK?’ he said, sounding a little surprised. ‘Those bludgers. I didn’t think they’d put on another stink. Not in there. You really must have pissed those blokes off, KK.’ Les shook his head. ‘Got me completely bamboozled.’

  Kramer was too stuffed for an answer. Somehow Crystal came to life. ‘Ohh my God,’ she moaned. ‘What in hell happened back there? I’ve never seen anything like that in my life.�
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  ‘No, neither have I,’ answered Les sagely. ‘Bloody good thing that bloke in the white gear came along. Who was he, KK? A mate of yours?’

  Still in shock, Kramer shook his head blankly, still trying to focus through his blood-spattered glasses. ‘I… don’t know who he was. I’ve never seen him before in my life.’

  ‘Funny sort of a bloke,’ said Les.

  Crystal stared at them both, then at her blood-spattered clothes and her voice started to rise. ‘Don’t worry about him,’ she shrieked. ‘What about that fuckin’ dog. Where the fuck did that thing come from?’

  Les shook his head. ‘Buggered if I know. It just seemed to come out of nowhere.’

  ‘Yeah,’ KK was kind of staring into space. ‘Out of nowhere.’

  Crystal was looking at her clothes like she wasn’t game to touch herself. ‘That animal. That dog, or whatever it was. Those lumps of meat and flesh going across the room. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was eating them.’ Crystal put a hand over her mouth for a second then glared at Les. ‘You’re from round this fuckin’ way, what kind of fuckin’ dog was that?’

  Les looked at Crystal yelling at him and shrugged. ‘How the fuck would I know what kind of dog it was. It had a mask on.’

  Crystal moaned and shut her eyes; so did Kramer. They slumped against the seat, still trying to keep their food and drink down as the limo lurched round the corners and in and out of the traffic. Les studied them for a few moments then decided it might be an idea to put plan B into action.

  ‘Listen, KK,’ he said urgently. ‘I think it might be a good idea if I got to the shithouse out of here.’ Kramer looked up while Crystal continued to moan into her hands. ‘That fight back there was pretty bad and you can bet your life the cops’ll be round. And the one person they’ll be wanting to ‘ask a few questions’ will be me. You being seen with me, you’ll be sort of roped in by acquaintance. You know what I mean?’