Mystery Bay Blues

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘Les, how are you mate?’ he called out. ‘Come over here.’

  Les said hello to Marina and stepped behind the table. ‘How are you, Norm?’

  ‘Good mate. So who are you here with?’

  ‘No one. I just paid my five dollars. Got my lucky door prize ticket, and joined the happy crowd.’

  ‘You paid to get in?’

  ‘Yeah. You’re not bad, Norm. I’ll want to get my money’s worth.’

  ‘Shit! Sorry about that, Les. Anyway, come over here.’ Norm took Les behind the whiteboard. ‘There’s been a change in the rules.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s going to be three five minute rounds with a minute in between. We had to open up the betting.’

  ‘Open up the betting?’ said Les.

  ‘Yeah. Morgan’s been backed into the red. This way they can bet which round it’ll finish. Or if it’ll go the distance. If it does go the distance, you get two minute’s break. Then you fight to the finish.’

  ‘Does Boofhead know what’s going on?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And what are the odds?’

  ‘Morgan’s two to one on. You’re fives.’

  ‘Beautiful.’ Les took out his money and handed it to Norm. ‘There’s twenty-five hundred there, Norm. Less the five dollars I had to pay to get in. Put the lot on me at five to one.’

  ‘Righto. And I’ll fix up the five bucks.’

  ‘And Norm. No matter what happens. Don’t stop the fight, unless I quit or I get knocked out. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Norm. ‘And you needn’t worry about getting a fair go. None of Morgan’s mates’ll try to step in. If they do, I got plenty of willing boys here that’ll sort ’em out.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Les.

  ‘So how are you feeling anyway?’ asked Norm. ‘Is your back any better? You must be pretty confident putting two and half grand on yourself.’

  ‘Just call it incentive, Norm,’ he replied. ‘And yes. My back is a little better. But we’ll just have to see what happens.’

  ‘Morgan’s keen. I know that,’ said Norm.

  ‘Where is the prick anyway?’ said Les. ‘It’s past starting time.’

  Norm stared over the crowd. ‘Here he comes now.’

  Les turned around to see Morgan storming through the crowd wearing a black tracksuit and Blundstones. He was with four mates and beneath his old, black, cowboy hat his face looked meaner and uglier than ever. As soon as he saw Les his eyes brimmed over with hatred.

  ‘You’re late, you big goose,’ said Les, pointing to his watch. ‘Where have you been? Pulling yourself in the shithouse?’

  Morgan started to hyperventilate. ‘I’m fuckin here now,’ he rasped.

  ‘I see you’re still wearing that silly fuckin hat too,’ said Les. ‘Or have you been stealing tonneau covers off old utes?’

  A cruel smile formed on Morgan’s face. ‘Oh, I made sure I wore my hat.’

  Morgan’s mates were looking at Les as if he was a dead man walking. Les noticed a hub-bub going through the crowd with the arrival of Morgan and there was a last minute surge at the betting table.

  ‘Now, you know the rules, Morgan,’ said Norm.

  ‘Fuckin rules,’ spat Morgan. ‘I’d like to get into it right here and now.’

  ‘No. You go over to other side of the ring where that chair is.’ Norm pointed across the grass. ‘That’s your corner. You wait there. Okay?’

  Morgan turned around and saw an outdoor chair sitting in front of the crowd. He gave Les one last filthy look then turned to his mates. ‘Come on,’ he grunted.

  ‘And you take that one there, Les.’ Norm pointed to another plastic chair on the opposite side of the ring. ‘And seeing as you’re on your own, Spike’ll be your second.’

  Les turned to a solid fair-haired bloke in a pair of shorts and a Blues Festival T-shirt standing behind him. It was the bloke that came up to see Norm about the blocked toilet on Friday night.

  ‘Hello Spike,’ said Les.

  ‘G’day Les,’ replied Spike. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Not bad,’ smiled Les.

  ‘Well. I suppose we may as well get into it,’ said Norm.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Les. ‘Too late to get out of it.’

  Les walked over to the his chair, placed his bag under it and sat down. He kicked off his thongs and took his cap and sunglasses off, then gave his arms a stretch and casually slipped a couple of blood capsules out of his shorts into his mouth. The crowd had surged forward and while he was getting his camera out of his bag, Les looked across the ring at Morgan’s corner. Morgan had taken his jacket off and over his pants he was wearing a black, Jack Daniels T-shirt with the sleeves hacked off. He still had his Blundstones on and he’d handed his hat to the solid bloke with the moustache.

  Les handed his camera to Spike. ‘You know how to work one of these, Spike?’

  ‘Yeah easy,’ replied Spike. ‘Me missus has got one.’

  ‘Okay. Just take a few in the first round. Then take plenty in the second.’

  ‘What about the third?’

  ‘Spike. Something tells me there ain’t gonna be a third.’

  Marina had closed off the betting and the crowd had now formed an orderly ring. However, it was starting to get restless. Norm, the consummate showman, sensed this and strode into the middle of the ring carrying a bell. Seated in his outdoor chair, Les scanned the punters and was surprised to see a lot of elderly women. Standing behind Morgan were the four fishermen Les had belted in the hotel; all heavily bandaged and either wearing splints or carrying walking sticks. Les smiled across the ring and gave them a little wave. They declined to wave back. Norm rang the bell above his head and the crowd settled down.

  ‘Okay,’ boomed Norm. ‘Youse all know why youse are here. And what it’s all about. To help the local Lions Club. We’re havin’ a no holds barred, grudge match. Between local boy — Morgan Scully …’ Norm waited as a ripple of applause and several cheers from Morgan’s sycophants ran through the crowd ‘… and a tourist down from Sydney. Les Norton.’

  Another ripple of applause ran through the crowd, accompanied by booing and several shouts of ‘Poofter. Fairy. G’arn, get back to Sydney — you red-headed poofter.’

  ‘All right, settle down,’ boomed Norm. ‘Anyway. We wish both contestants well. And don’t forget, after the fight we’ve got the lucky door prize. Thirty T-bone steaks and two scotch fillets. Donated by the Lions Club. Righto. Would the two contestants please come to centre ring.’

  Les got up and walked across to Norm. So did Morgan. Standing in his bare feet Les was a good six inches shorter than Morgan and nowhere near as heavy. But he was just as wide across the shoulders. Morgan glared down at Les as Norm spoke.

  ‘Righto boys. You both know the rules.’

  ‘Apart from this goin’ three rounds, there ain’t no fuckin rules,’ said Morgan.

  ‘Them’s the rules,’ said Norm.

  ‘Do we shake hands first?’ asked Les.

  ‘Get fucked,’ said Morgan.

  ‘What about a kiss?’

  ‘Ring the fuckin bell, Daddy,’ snarled Morgan, ‘before I kill this cunt.’

  ‘Righto boys,’ said Norm. ‘Back to your corners. And come out at the bell.’

  Morgan stormed over and stood next to his mates. Les went back to his corner and sat down. Spike gave his shoulders a rub.

  ‘How do you feel, Les?’ he asked.

  ‘Good as gold, Spike,’ answered Les. ‘Who’d you put your money on?’

  ‘No one. Even though I don’t like your chances. If I won any money backing that big arsehole, I’d be dirty on myself.’

  ‘Spike,’ smiled Les, ‘I couldn’t ask for a better man in my corner.’

  Norm stood in the middle of the ring and pointed to Les and Morgan. ‘Are you both ready?’ Morgan and Les nodded. ‘Okay. Let’s get into it.’ Norm rang the bell and stood back.

  Les got up and moved to centre rin
g with his fists up. Morgan came charging out of his corner hissing and snarling and throwing monstrous haymakers. Each punch had immense power behind it and would have taken your head off. But they were that telegraphed, Les easily got under most of them and caught the rest on his arms. As Morgan threw another flurry of bombs, Les shuffled to the side and poked out a couple of soft left jabs that caught Morgan in the face and then a short right to his ribs that wouldn’t have crushed a SAO biscuit.

  Morgan brought his hands down and grinned fiendishly at Les. ‘You got fuckin nothing.’

  ‘I know,’ said Les. ‘But I’m doing my best. Give me a break.’

  Morgan threw another flurry of bombs and let go a kick to Norton’s stomach that would have crushed his sternum. Les slipped the kick and poked another two feeble lefts into Morgan’s face.

  ‘Go on. Smash him, Morgan,’ came a voice from the crowd.

  ‘Give it to the cunt, Morgan.’

  ‘Stick it up him, Morgan. The poofter.’

  Hello, thought Les, as he shuffled around Morgan. The crowd’s getting restless. I think it’s time I gave them what they came for. He moved towards Morgan as the big man fired a up a John Wayne special and a huge straight right came barrelling towards Les. Les rode the punch with his forehead, bit on the capsule then spun around and fell to the grass, spitting the crushed capsule out of his mouth in a huge spray of blood.

  ‘Yeah. That’s the way, Morgan,’ screamed a voice from the crowd. ‘Smash him.’

  Down on his hands and knees, Les smeared vampire blood across his face as Morgan aimed a huge kick at his head. Les rolled with it and bit down on another capsule, spurting up blood like a fountain.

  ‘Yeah. Kill him Morgan.’

  ‘Atta boy Morgan. Kick his fuckin head in.’

  Les spread some blood over his T-shirt, while slipping another two capsules from his pocket at the same time. He palmed them into his mouth then rose shakily to his feet and faced Morgan. Morgan charged in throwing punches like a mad man. Les blocked or ducked most of them, rode a big right with his forehead, then bit on another capsule and fell to the grass coughing up blood. Amazed at how much the capsules contained, Les smeared blood over his face, in his eyes and into his hair. He rubbed some more on his T-shirt, then lurched to his feet and defiantly shaped up to Morgan.

  Morgan turned and smiled at the crowd then charged into Les again. Les poked out another two ineffective left jabs as Morgan let go with another huge right, a haymaker. Les rode it, bit the other capsule and teetered back, spraying blood from one end of the ring to the other.

  By now Les was covered in blood from head to foot; it was an awful sight. Morgan loved it and his piggy eyes were glowing. He ran in and threw another flurry of punches just as Norm rang the bell to end the first round. Morgan threw another punch after the bell. Les ducked it and staggered across to his corner.

  ‘Shit Les. Are you all right?’ said Spike, as Les flopped down in his chair.

  ‘Yeah. He hasn’t laid a glove on me,’ replied Norton.

  ‘Hasn’t laid a glove on you? Have you seen your face?’

  ‘Couple of grass burns, that’s all,’ said Les, palming another two blood capsules into his mouth.

  Norm came over with a worried look on his face. ‘Les, I know you told me not to stop the fight. But mate, you’re a mess. You could end up getting badly hurt.’

  Les spat out a gob of false blood. ‘Turn it up. He’s as weak as piss. I can take him anytime I want.’

  Spike looked up at Norm. ‘What do you want to do, Daddy.’

  ‘We’ll go another round. But if he takes much more punishment I’ll stop it. I’m not going to stand around and watch someone get killed.’

  ‘Hey Spike,’ said Les. ‘How many photos did you take?’

  ‘About six.’

  ‘Okay. Go for your life during the next round.’

  Norm took another worried look at Les, then went back to centre ring and rang the bell for the start of round two. Keen for action, the crowd surged forward.

  Les rose wearily from his seat and shuffled towards centre ring. Morgan strode confidently out of his corner and Les shaped up just in time to walk into another one of Morgan’s John Wayne specials. Riding it easily, Les bit on another capsule then fell to the ground spurting out more fake blood. He clambered to his feet before Morgan could boot him in the ribs and poked out another couple of ineffective jabs, as Morgan charged in throwing more, huge bombs. Les rode them or caught them on his arms and went down again. Soaked in blood, Norton dragged himself to his feet and stood groggily in front of Morgan like an exhausted bull waiting for the Matador’s coup de grace. By now a change had come over the crowd. They all expected Morgan to win, but the fight was turning into a slaughter.

  ‘Stop the fight,’ came a voice from the crowd.

  ‘Come on. He’s had enough.’

  ‘Yeah, somebody stop it.’

  One woman shielded her eyes. ‘Oh God! This is making me sick.’

  Morgan looked at Les all battered and bloodied, then smiled and turned to his mates. ‘Hey Rossy,’ he called out. ‘Give me my hat.’

  The man with the moustache stepped across, and handed Morgan his black Akubra. Morgan put it on then stared into Les’s blood filled eyes and tapped the brim.

  ‘You know where this is going smartarse, don’t you?’ said Morgan.

  Morgan stepped up to Les and brought a massive fist back to finish him off, when unexpectedly Les moved into Morgan and slammed his right knee into the big man’s groin. Morgan went white and howled with pain. Les kneed him again then stepped back and, like a cobra striking, hammered two murderous left hooks into Morgan’s face. Just as quickly, Les went underneath and thumped a left and right rip into Morgan’s mid-section. Suddenly an audible gasp of disbelief rippled through the crowd. With his fists still at the ready, Les stopped for a brief moment to study Morgan. He looked beaten already. His mouth was shredded and all his front teeth were smashed in; he was out on his feet, trying feebly to hold his throbbing balls and his fractured ribs at the same time. Smiling to himself, Les dropped his right knee, and with all his weight behind it, banged a right uppercut onto the point of Morgan’s chin. The punch sent his hat flying and shattered his jaw like a tea cup. Morgan’s eyes rolled back, he made a grab at thin air, then his legs went from under him and he pitched forward onto the grass slightly bumping into Les on the way. Les went down with him, then rolled aside at the last second as Norm rang the bell and the crowd started cheering. Ignoring the cheers, Les staggered to his feet wiping fake blood from his eyes and squinted blindly at the faces around him.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he said. ‘I can’t see. Who won?’

  With real blood pouring from him, Morgan lay crumpled on the grass at Norton’s feet, unconscious. Even though a lot of the crowd had lost their money, they kept clapping and cheering at Norton’s heroic effort. Morgan’s dumbfounded mates came in to pick him up and Les caught the eye of the bloke with the moustache.

  ‘Hey Rossy,’ said Les. ‘You got a minute?’

  Morgan’s mate stopped, and walked up to Les. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Nothing really,’ answered Les.

  Without saying another word, Les hit Rossy in the mouth with a quick, straight right and followed it up with a bone crunching left hook. His mouth a mess and his cheekbone fractured, Rossy started to totter, when Les buried his left foot into his sternum. As he fell forward, Les brought his right knee up and spread Rossy’s nose across his face like a handful of mince.

  ‘Actually, that was for Warren,’ smiled Les. He left Morgan’s mate bleeding on the grass then walked across to his corner.

  ‘Fair dinkum, Les. That’s the gutsiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,’ said Spike. ‘And you flattened Rossy too.’

  ‘The last one was personal,’ said Les, putting his watch and thongs back on. ‘Did you get plenty of photos?’

  ‘Yeah. I almost finished the roll.’

  ‘G
ood on you.’ Les took his camera from Spike and put it in his bag as Norm came over.

  ‘Les,’ he said, incredulously. ‘You are un-fuckin-believable. I was ready to stop the fight and call an ambulance.’

  ‘I told you I could take that big goose whenever I wanted to,’ replied Les.

  ‘Fuck me. Listen. Do you want us to get you a doctor?’

  ‘A doctor?’ said Les.

  ‘Yeah. For your face. You’re going to need a heap of stitches. You’ve probably lost some teeth too. I know Morgan has. So’s poor fuckin Rossy.’

  Les spat out a gob of vampire blood. ‘Don’t worry about it. I got some band aids back at the house.’ He picked up his bag and put his sunglasses on. ‘Where’s the back way out of here, Norm? I want to piss off.’

  ‘Over this way. I’ll show you.’ Norm turned to Spike. ‘Spike. Keep an eye on the Handbrake and Louise will you. They got all the money.’

  ‘Righto Daddy. Hey, I’ll see you later, Les.’

  ‘Yeah, see you Spike. And thanks for everything.’

  Les skirted the crowd behind Norm and followed him out past several tents and caravans to the side entrance. The two blokes standing on either side saw Les covered in blood and stepped back horrified.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor, Les?’ asked a puzzled Norm.

  ‘I’m positive,’ said Les. ‘But I will want to see you about my money.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Norm. ‘I got to sort things out first. Can you come back later?’

  Les thought for a second. ‘How about I meet you up at the pub on Tuesday night about nine? McBride’s. I’ll get it then.’

  ‘Okay Les. That’d be good. We’ll have a beer.’

  ‘In the meantime, can you give me a hundred bucks, Norm? That was all the money I had earlier.’