‘Yeah,’ Murray looked at the piece of sponge rubber. ‘If what you say is true, they’ve sure got some front. What do you reckon it was?’
‘I’d say coke. I was watching them when we were going out of a night and they were pretty erratic. For a little bloke KK was putting away heaps of piss. And the night Crystal brassed the casino, she was ripped to the tits. So I’d say it’d be the old okefenoke.’
Murray had another look at the sponge rubber. ‘How much do you reckon she’s brought in?’
Les shrugged. ‘Going by what her tits looked like before they hit droop city, I’d say about half a ton. No, I’d reckon at least a kilo, possibly two.’
‘Shit!’
‘Okay, like I said, you don’t have to be a genius to work out what their scam was. But what about the earn, Muzz. The old switcheroo. Where were the chops? And the whole time KK wasn’t exactly flush with cash. He had plenty, but he wasn’t pulling out great stacks of it. In fact he had to snip Crystal after they left the casino. So I get to thinking about KK’s South African mate Meyer Black again. Now what do they have in South Africa, Muzz?’
Murray gave a bit of shrug. ‘Fucked if I know. Zebras? Winnie Mandela? Those gold things — Klingons?’
‘No, they’re the cunts always trying to kill captain Kirk and nick the Enterprise. You’re thinking of krugerrands. But something else too Muzz. You got a knife?’
‘Yeah, in my overalls. ‘Murray got up off the bed and took a fold-up knife from a pocket in the overalls hanging on the wardrobe. ‘I got changed after the stink. I told my girlfriend out the front I had to do some work on the car.’ Murray sat back on the bed and opened his knife.
‘Now feel around that false tit and you should find a thin, hard line, just up near the back. And unlike that ad on TV, it ain’t a breast tumour.’
Murray felt around the sponge rubber a lot more carefully now. ‘Hey, there is a kind of hard piece.’
‘Right. Now cut underneath that, Muzz. But very slowly.’ Les sipped his coffee as he watched Murray deftly cutting into the sponge rubber.
‘Hey, you’re right,’ said Murray enthusiastically. ‘There is something in here.’ Murray made a couple more cuts then slipped his fingers into the hole and pulled out a small envelope of folded blue velvet tied with a thin white cord. ‘Well, I’ll be…’
‘Put it on the bed and open it up, Muzz. Carefully now.’
Murray did what Les told him. He undid the white cord, opened the blue velvet and six brilliant white stones, about the size of cherry pips, glittered almost magically in the light. The sheer beauty of them captivated both brothers for a moment or two. ‘Well, I’ll be…’
Les put down his coffee. ‘Yeah, Muzz. Diamonds. That was the bloody scam. Kramer brings in the coke through Crystal. She’s game enough, her modelling days are over and she couldn’t carry a note if she piggy-backed it on her shoulders. She needs the dough. They swap the coke with Black for diamonds. She takes them back to New York. There’s a heap of Jew diamond merchants in New York. Kramer, the good Jewish boy, joins her. They’d move them over there quicker than you can say gefilte fish. And in American dollars.’
Murray stared at the diamonds and shook his head. ‘Well, I’ll be stuffed. But. I mean… how…?’
‘Murray, you got to remember this was all a big guess. A punt. But I figured with this smuggling rort he’s going to have three pairs of falsies. One to bring the coke in with, which he’d get rid off. Another pair he’s made for her to get around in and for me to make sure no one puts their hands on. And if it was diamonds, another pair to take them out in, all rigged up and ready to go. Either he or Black made them up out here; they might’ve figured on doing a couple more runs. But whoever it was, they left all that junk lying around the garage. So I got a piece of that sponge rubber, made a false tit and swapped it over while they were out of the flat. I guess you could say, Murray, I guessed right.’
‘So what’s Crystal taking back to America? Just a lump of sponge rubber?’
‘Ohh yeah. And that’s not all.’ Les pulled the leg of his tracksuit around and showed Murray where he’d cut the piece out. ‘That, with a few bits of broken Coke bottle rolled up in it. A different sort of coke, I suppose you could say, Muzz.’ Les grinned at his brother. ‘See how they go trying to flog that back in the Big Apple.’
Murray threw back his head, slapped his leg and roared, almost knocking the diamonds. He settled down and stared at Les. ‘But they’re gonna have to know it was you?’
‘No.’ Les shook his head emphatically. ‘I’m just the poor dumb minder, remember. Crystal’s convinced I’ve got an empty biscuit tin for a head. And Kramer thinks I couldn’t pick my nose and read a newspaper at the same time.’ Les told his brother about how he washed the car, admitted it was his own fault he got his head punched in, never complained once, even took them out for a drink to show his appreciation. And when he left, stopped to say goodbye and pick up his tapes, plus his wages. Then come back with the keys. Anybody that had just nicked a swag of diamonds wouldn’t be sticking around and worrying about a thousand dollars. ‘Okay, they might have smelled a bit of rat in the Boulevarde. But those blokes did come over. I’d already copped one hiding. I decided to get the first one in. Big deal. Kramer might think I’m a dill, but he knows me and Billy don’t stand out the front of the Kelly Club selling ice creams. The bloke in the white gear with the dog? How many nutters are there around this joint, coming and going. I don’t know that the cops would be all that interested in that team of dropkicks getting a good serve either. They’d probably be laughing. In the meantime, poor Les, all battered and bruised once again, has left town to wend his own way home, still trying to do the right thing. It’s kind of sad, really.’
Les watched his brother still slowly shaking his head, still looking at the diamonds. ‘Ahh fuck ’em anyway. You’ve got yourself a nice little stack of diamonds, Muzz. Put that towards those SPATVS and you and Elaine and my nephews can all live happily ever after.’
Murray looked up at Les. ‘Christ! How much do you reckon they’re worth?’
Les shrugged. ‘I dunno. But I have a drink with these cops in a bar in Sydney every now and again. One of them comes from up the Central Coast. He’s in the Major Crime Squad. These mates of his up there knocked off some cocaine cowboys at Long Jetty. He was showing us the photo on the front page of the local rag. They got just over an alleged couple of k’s with an alleged street value of half a million.’ Les nodded to the diamonds that seemed to sparkle more beautifully than ever against the blue velvet. ‘I don’t know how much dope she’s brought in, Muzz, but looking at those alleged diamonds there, I’d say we’re looking at — bottom line — an alleged quarter of a million.’ Les winked and smiled at his brother. ‘You think that might cover your parking fine?’
Murray whistled softly. ‘Reckon. Stone the bloody crows, Les! You’re not bad.’
‘I get by,’ agreed Les. ‘I mightn’t be able to work a computer, but I can sniff out a rort. And it doesn’t take us Nortons long to work out when some prick’s conning us. Not too long, anyway.’
‘You’re right there. So what’s the story? How many can I have?’
Les shook his head when his brother looked at him. ‘You take the lot, Muzz. I don’t need anything. I’m sweet. But if I were you, I’d sit on them for a while. Say six months. Just to be on the safe side. Then I’ll see Price about moving them. Or you might know someone in Brisbane. What ever you reckon.’
‘No. I’ll sit on them. I won’t tell no cunt.’ Murray grinned at his brother. ‘Except maybe Grungle. And I know he won’t say much. Then it might be a nice surprise for the family around Christmas. Won’t the boys hate a nice big swimming pool in the backyard. Might even shout Eel’s a bottle of perfume and a new iron. God bless her scrawny arse.’
‘Come on, tell the truth now, Muzz. You’ve always loved that woman. You didn’t steal her off Cement Head Bailey, then have to fight him three times, just for he
r cooking.’
Les watched his brother carefully fold the diamonds back up in their velvet envelope, carefully tie them up with the cord and just as carefully place them in the pocket of his moleskin Dryza-Bone Brumby jacket hanging in the wardrobe. Suddenly there were a lot of things Les wanted to say to Murray over more than just a cup of coffee. It had been a while. But deep inside him, Les got this feeling that shortly they’d be saying goodbye again; for who knows how long? Les got another feeling that this time it shouldn’t be too long.
Murray sat back down on the bed and looked at Les. His brother’s thoughts were reflected in his eyes. ‘So what’s doing about our drink, Les?’ asked Murray.
‘That’s entirely up to you, Muzz. What do you want to do?’
‘Well, to tell you the truth, Les, I might piss off back home.’
Les nodded slowly. ‘I thought you were going to say that.’
‘Not just yet.’ Murray gave his balls another scratch. ‘I might slip the landlay another length or two. Those pills are still running around in my brain. Then I’ll grab Grungle, we’ll fold up our swags and disappear into the dawn. I should be home around lunchtime. Just when the gang gets back from St George.’
‘Good idea, Muzz,’ agreed Les. ‘I don’t think there’s much point in hanging around here.’
‘What about yourself, Les? What are you doing?’
‘Well, I’ve met someone pretty special myself. And I’m driving her home to Taree.’ Les gave his brother a wink. ‘I’ve got plenty of dough and I don’t care if it takes me two weeks to get there.’
‘Half your luck, mate.’
‘So I s’pose I’d better get going.’ Les got to his feet. ‘Don’t want to keep her waiting.’
‘No. If she’s half as good as you say she is, I wouldn’t.’ Murray looked up at his brother for a moment, then leapt off the bed and grabbed him in a bear hug, lifting Les up off the floor. ‘Fair dinkum, you big ugly goose, what am I gonna do with you?’
‘I don’t know, Muzz.’ Les grimaced and managed to laugh as he held his brother’s shoulders. ‘But take it easy there, mate. I copped a few round the ribs tonight.’
Murray put Les down, then the two brothers gripped each other’s hands. It wasn’t so much a handshake, it was a bond. A bond of friendship and love, between two men who would put their lives and safety on the line for each other, no questions asked. And for the rest of the family as well. And now it was time to go their separate ways once more. Both brothers stepped back and looked at each other, each searching for the right words to say.
Finally Murray spoke. ‘Well,’ he said, smiling at his brother, ‘I suppose it’s been a bit of a funny one, you could say.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Les. ‘It sure has. But it all worked out all right.’
‘Yeah,’ nodded Murray. ‘It could’ve turned out a lot worse. That thing could have landed on Chinchilla. Sure would’ve stuffed up their chances in this year’s grand final.’
‘Yeah. You’re not wrong there, Muzz.’
Murray and Les stood back looking at each other. What could they add to that? It had been a bit of a funny one. Could’ve been a lot worse. But it worked out all right. They’d shot six men. Let off an atomic bomb. Almost killed another ten men. Then ripped off a fortune in diamonds. A bit of a funny one, but the weird, crazy, almost insane part about it was if Les and Murray hadn’t intercepted those six terrorists, and they’d shot down the President and the Prime Minister, the whole course of world events would have changed. The Americans would have retaliated, possibly with a nuclear strike of their own. Australia would have had to join in. A third world war could have started in the Middle East. Who knows what would have happened and how many people would have died? Two Australian brothers, just country boys from Queensland, sticking up for each other, had indirectly changed the history of the world. Now they were off to see their women and carry on as if not much had happened, then catch up for a beer one day and talk about it as ‘a bit of a funny one, but it worked out all right’. They talk about easy-going Australians, having a bit of a joke now and again and taking everything in their stride. There wouldn’t be enough l’s in laconic to describe Les and Murray Norton.
‘Before you go though, Les,’ said Murray, giving his brother a wink, ‘there is something I would like to say.’
‘Yeah, what?’
‘When it’s all boiled down, we are a couple of low dropkicks.’
Les stroked his chin. ‘How do you work that out?’
‘Well, apart from that rattle back home, the bottom line is I’m rooting some sheila behind my wife’s back and you’ve ripped off some bloke who’s done the right thing, given you a holiday and a chance for a bit of an earn, taken you out for all those grouse feeds, even his girl slung you a few extra dollars. Nice way to repay the favour.’ Murray shook his head. ‘So you can say what you like about me but you’re not too bad yourself.’
‘Hah! Hah! That’s something I might like to bring up before I do bloody go. Done me a favour eh?’ Les’s eyes narrowed. ‘Done me a favour. Say that thing had gone wrong, Muzz, and Crystal had got nicked along with Kramer. They’d be that worried about saving their own fuckin’ skins they’d’ve wiped me like a dirty arse. I’m up here as a minder eh? Accomplice’d be more like it. I’ve got form back in Sydney — not counting the team I run with. I’m sure the Drug Squad, or who ever, would say, “Yes, we believe your story, Les, but we’d just like to ask you a few more questions. No, sorry, but we can’t see you getting bail at the moment.” I might’ve got bail. And I might’ve beat it. But it’d cost me an arm and leg in legal fees. And the stigma sticks. Ohh yeah. Les Norton. Always keen for a dollar. Involved in a major dope bust. Of course he had nothing to do with it. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. But what say I got charged and I didn’t beat it. What say a jury said, ohh yeah, bullshit! A nice ten years, all for that little dropkick. It could’ve happened, Muzz.’
Murray had to agree. ‘Yes,’ he said, nodding slowly, ‘that is another way of looking at it. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘But Murray, that’s not the thing that shits me.’ Les’s eyes narrowed even more. ‘That’s not what burns my arse. That’s not the thing that hurts — apart from all the abuse. Remember how I told you about Kramer telling me to lay off the white shoe gags when I was up here. His friends don’t appreciate them. Knock up on the white shoe gags, Rodney Rude. And all that.’ Murray nodded. ‘And me, like a big mug, said, Ohh yeah, righto, Kelvin, and kept my mouth shut. And he’s stepping out in his white St Louies all the time. And I’m breaking my neck to say something. But no, I cop it sweet.’
Les pointed an angry finger at the two pages from the Spanish magazine laying on the bed, with Crystal’s boobs either flopping around or thrusting out. ‘Turn that over, Muzz, there’s an ad on the back for Spanish clothes. Get a dictionary or something and work out what zapato blanco means. And I’ve been walking in and out of that fuckin’ block of flats with it right above my head for nearly a week. You don’t mind being conned, Muzz, but that’s jamming it right up your salmon.’
Les had his fist round the door knob. He let go and turned back to his brother. ‘In fact I’ll tell you what, Murray, if I wasn’t driving this sheila back to Taree, and I didn’t know about his brother, I’d go back round that block of flats and kick him right in the nuts. The rotten little… mockey bastard.
Robert G. Barrett
Davo’s Little Something
All easy-going butcher, Bob Davis, wanted after his divorce was to get on with his job, have a few beers with his mates, and be left alone. But this was Sydney in the early eighties. The beginning of the AIDS epidemic, street gangs, gay bashings, murders.
When a gang of skinheads bashed Davo’s old school friend to death simply because he was gay, and left Davo almost dead in an intensive care unit, they unleashed a crazed killer onto the city streets. Before the summer had ended, over thirty corpses had turned up in the morgue, leaving two bewildered detectives to
find out where they were coming from.
Robert G. Barrett’s latest book is not for the squeamish. Although written with lashings of black humour the action is chillingly brutal — a story of a serial killer bent on avenging himself on the street tribes of Sydney. Davo’s Little Something proves conclusively why Robert G. Barrett, author of the Les Norton series, is one of Australia’s most popular contemporary writers.
Robert G. Barrett
The Boys From Binjiwunyawunya
Les Norton’s back in town!
There’s no two ways about Les Norton — the carrot-topped country boy who works as a bouncer at Sydney’s top illegal casino. He’s tough and he’s mean. He’s got a granite jaw, fists like hams, and they say the last time he took a tenner from his wallet Henry Lawson blinked at the light.
Lethal but loyal, he’s always good for a laugh. In this, the third collection of Les Norton adventures, Les gets his boss off the hook. But not without the help of the boys from Binjiwunyawunya.
Having got over that, Les finds himself in a spot of bother in Long Bay Gaol then in a lot more bother on a St. Kilda tram in Melbourne…
Robert G. Barrett’s Les Norton stories have created a world as funny as Damon Runyon’s. If you don’t know Les Norton, you don’t know Australia in the eighties.
Robert G. Barrett
Between the Devlin and the Deep Blue Seas
Okay, so it looks like the Kelly Club is finally closing down — it had to happen sooner or later. And it isn’t as if Les Norton will starve. He has money snookered away, he owns his house, and his blue-chip investment — a block of flats in Randwick — must be worth a fortune by now. Except that the place is falling down, the council is reclaiming the land, there’s been a murder in Flat 5, and the tenants are the biggest bunch of misfits since the Manson Family. And that’s just the good news, because the longer Les owns the Blue Seas Apartments, the more money he loses.
White Shoes, White Lines and Blackie Page 29