by Ron Thomas
‘Getcha Sinny Morning Herald! ’ Moe shouted as Meggsie walked away with The Herald and The Truth under his arm. The thought struck him that perhaps he could find out about Harry Moon’s demise from Moe Zeller. Perhaps he could even find reference to it in the newspaper. The more he walked, the more the idea attracted him. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to reveal his sin to anybody. Yes, if Harry Moon was indeed deceased, it would be in The Truth. Meggsie had no idea how to get his hands on back issues of The Truth, but Moe would surely tell him.
***
‘You took your time,’ Benito said, as Meggsie donned his leather apron.
‘Mr Caletti got shot last night. Moe told me.’
‘Yes, so I hear. The customers are all telling me about it.’ Benito’s response seemed far more reserved than Meggsie had expected. ‘Can you restack those mandarins before they end up on the floor?’ he asked.
‘Shouldn’t we be doing something?’ Meggsie asked.
Benito wiped his hands on his leather apron and came over to where Meggsie was standing.
‘What would you suggest?’ Benito asked, then proceeded to answer his own question. ‘Firstly, we don’t know where he is. Secondly, the whole thing is probably his fault. Thirdly, you and I ain’t Uncle Guido’s keepers. He’s-a made his own bed, and he’ll have to lie in it. If you do the crime, be prepared to do the time. Uncle Guido ain’t nothing but trouble. Just fix the mandarins, like I said.’
Any thought of confiding in Benito about his criminal past went out the window in that moment.
***
As it was every second Wednesday, it had been a busy morning in Benny’s Fruit Market. Pension day was always busy and all the old folks were out and about.
‘These mangoes aren’t ripe,’ Mrs Riley complained. ‘Have you got any riper ones out the back? I know you people keep the best stuff out the back.’ By now Meggsie had learned two things about Mrs Riley. Firstly, she would always find something to complain about. On other days, she purchased only basic items, but on pension day, she purchased one or two exotic fruits and was overly demanding. Secondly, Benito would run for cover whenever she arrived on pension day. The boss saw Mrs Riley as a rite of passage for Meggsie. He would prefer to stand where Meggsie could see the smirk on his face as Meggsie tried to satisfy her inevitable, insatiable string of alternating demand and complaint.
‘Mrs Riley,’ Meggsie said conspiratorially. He spoke in a stage whisper, because, among other things, Mrs Riley was quite deaf. ‘I think we have a few beauties out the back for special customers. Let me go and look.’
‘I knew it,’ Mrs Riley replied. ‘I just knew it. You people!’
‘I won’t be long. You can get your other things while I pick them out specially, if you like.’
‘I always try to get you to serve me, you know,’ she replied. She’d barely turned away, when Meggsie picked two mangoes from the top row and hid them under his apron, then walked quickly to the back room. He put the mangoes on the table and waited. It wouldn’t do to be too quick.
Blood! Right between his feet, there was a bright red blood spot. And there on the locked drawer of the desk was another bloody smear. His mind spun. It could only be Guido. He’d been here since he’d been shot. That probably meant that the pistol taped over the drawer had been the weapon that was used to shoot Eric Connolly. But where was Guido now? With Mrs Riley waiting just outside, he knew he had no time. He quickly wrapped the pair of mangoes in tissue paper and went to face Mrs Riley’s next demand. He unwrapped the mangoes very carefully, very gently, as Mrs Riley looked on, not missing a thing. Her curt nod brought a silent sigh of relief. It was a risky business, trying to put one over Mrs Riley.
Meggsie was in a lather of uncertainty. Torn between two loyalties, he didn’t know whether he should tell Benito about the blood, considering his earlier remarks. In any case, the shop was busy and neither of them were going to be free for at least fifteen minutes. By the time he found a free moment, he had decided to simply wipe up the blood spot and await developments. With Benito still busy, he wiped both the spot and the smear with paper, then went outside and threw the incriminating evidence in the bin outside. He couldn’t see any other signs of Guido’s visit.
‘Are you right, mate?’ Benito asked.
‘Yes,’ Meggsie answered. He tried hard to smile, but he knew Benito could see through his act. ‘It’s just Mrs Riley,’ he lied.
‘She said you’re a good lad, Meggsie. I’ve never had a compliment from her since her old man died about three years ago. You’ve done very well, my boy.’ This time, Meggsie’s smile was real.
‘From now on, consider Mrs Riley your special customer,’ Benito added. ‘All yours.’
***
The reality of the blood spot had Meggsie wondering where Guido might have gone to ground. Immediately after Benito left for the night, and with the shop to himself, he searched the back room again more carefully and found nothing. When he widened his search, however, he found a trail of blood spots leading from the back gates down Hopewell Lane. The bloodspots indicated that Guido probably needed hospital treatment, but there was little Meggsie could do about that, because he had no idea where to look. Meggsie knew that Guido had some sort of accommodation in Francis Street but, given the circumstances, he could hardly go there asking for him, even if he’d known the address. He checked under the desk, and to his surprise, found the pistol under the desk was still in its place.
Meggsie’s dilemma was solved when he heard a scratching at the back door. He opened it to find a bloodied Guido leaning against the jamb, with only Nellie Cameron preventing him from falling.
‘Let me in, Meggs. That bastard Connolly tried to kill me. I fixed him. Help me take this coat off, Nellie.’
Guido’s shirt was bloodied and torn. He had newspaper stuffed inside it to soak up some of the blood and some of it had congealed into a sticky mess, while in other parts it was still seeping. Guido was far beyond any help that Meggsie or Nellie might be able to offer.
‘I reckon you should to go to the hospital,’ Meggsie suggested.
‘That’s what I told him, but he won’t listen,’ Nellie said resignedly.
‘Hospital’s where they’ll expect me to go,’ Guido replied caustically. ‘The cops, I mean.’
‘I don’t know what to do,’ Meggsie said, on the edge of tears. ‘Even if I could, what would you do next?’
‘Queensland, maybe. Just try to clean me up,’ Guido ordered. He saw Benito’s shirts, with their embroidered fruit on the pockets, hanging behind the door. ‘I’ll borrow one of Benny’s shirts, and I’ll look like new. Now, help me off with this shirt, and get some water.’
As Meggsie began to unbutton Guido’s bloody shirt, he saw that Guido had a pistol shoved down inside his belt. Guido saw that the boy’s gaze was fixed on the weapon and the dark blood on its butt.
‘I didn’t shoot him with my finger, Meggsie.’ Guido made a fist with his right hand, with his index finger pointed at Meggsie’s chest. ‘Bang!’ he said loudly. ‘See, fingers don’t work.’ He laughed loudly at his own joke, then winced. Meggsie didn’t see the funny side.
Guido’s laughter stopped abruptly when they all heard a car pull up in the lane. A moment later, a couple of car doors slammed.
‘That’s gotta be the cops,’ Guido said. ‘Quick! Pile those bags of spuds against the back door and we’ll go out the front way.’ The words were scarcely out of his mouth when there was a heavy banging on the roller shutter door.
‘Police! Open up!’ A deep voice shouted as the banging on the roller door continued. Suddenly Guido subsided. ‘Let the bastards in,’ he said. ‘There’s no way out, and they’ll only bust up Benny’s shop.’
Meggsie had only moved one bag of potatoes in front of the door when, suddenly there was a heavy impact of a shoulder against the outside, and the door partially opened.
‘Police! Open up!’ the voice called again from the street.
‘Hang on, don’
t break it,’ Meggsie shouted, then pulled the bag aside just as the shoulder hit the door again and a heavyset uniformed policeman came charging clumsily into the room. His pistol was drawn.
‘Police!’ he screamed, somewhat redundantly.
‘We can see that, you stupid bastard,’ Guido said, apparently amused.
‘Hands up!’ the rattled policeman demanded. Meggsie’s hands shot up instantly, Nellie’s more slowly. Nellie’s hands continued upwards until her hands were directly over her head.
‘Are you going to frisk me, officer?’ Nellie asked provocatively. The policeman ignored her. Guido’s hands remained in his lap.
‘What are you going to do, shoot me?’ he asked casually. ‘Can’t you see, it’s already been done.’
‘You are under arrest, Caletti.’
‘I thought you’d say that. You pigs never say anything original.’
Through it all, the banging on the shutter continued. The policeman turned to Meggsie. ‘Put your hands down, kid, and go open that roller shutter.’
Outside on the street, a half-dozen burly policemen and a pair of plainclothes detectives were gathered around the roller door. A crowd had already formed, and were being pushed back by a couple of harassed constables. The moment the shutter door opened, the detectives, pistols drawn, pushed their way past Meggsie, ran between the fruit displays and pushed their way out through the rear door. Meggsie turned to follow. To his surprise, he was suddenly swept from his feet and lifted by two burly policemen, each with an arm under his. His feet windmilled in fresh air as they carried him in the wake of the detectives.
‘Evening, Guido,’ the taller detective said casually, as Meggsie was carried in behind him. ‘You’ve been a very naughty boy this time. We’ve got witnesses. That was rash of you.’ Meggsie noticed immediately that the pistol was no longer tucked in Guido’s belt. He wondered where it had gone.
‘It was self-defence, Aldridge. He shot me first, when I didn’t even have a firearm on me,’ Guido replied.
‘We’ve got Connolly and he’s been charged. We know you went away, then came back armed and blasted the poor silly bastard. That’s no defence, matey. The streets will be safer with you and Connolly off them.’
Guido suddenly saw that he could be talking himself into deeper trouble, and he just shook his head and refused to say more.
‘Did that nephew of yours hide you here?’ Aldridge asked.
‘Benny knows nothing about all this. He wouldn’t even know I’ve been here.’
‘We’ll see about that. We know Cameron brought you here. And what about this kid? We’ve caught him cold here with you. That’s harbouring a fugitive, mate.’
‘Meggsie didn’t do anything, either. I only arrived a few minutes before you, and I didn’t give him a lot of choice.’
‘We’ll see about that Caletti. Now, what have you done with the weapon?’
Guido smiled. ‘There ain’t no weapon.’ He made the same fist he’d previously shown Meggsie, with his index finger pointed at the policeman. ‘Bang!’ he said.
‘I reckon the weapon’s around here somewhere, don’t you Detective Sergeant Redmond?’
‘Yes, sir. Bound to be,’ Redmond replied with a smirk.
‘Why don’t you boys have a look for it?’ Knowing it had been shoved down the front of Guido’s pants just a few minutes before, Meggsie expected the police searchers to find it quickly. Guido just sat glumly as the search went on around him, then Meggsie saw Detective Sergeant Redmond shrug behind Guido’s back. They couldn’t find the gun.
‘The only place we haven’t looked is in that drawer,’ Redmond said. Meggsie immediately feared they’d find the wrong pistol.
‘That’s funny, Caletti. I would have bet you weren’t smart enough to get rid of the weapon,’ Detective Aldridge said, scratching his head. ‘Perhaps you’d better stand up.’ Guido remained seated. The detective made lifting motions with his hands. ‘Better you do it by yourself,’ he said with menace in his voice. Guido stood up reluctantly. Meggsie noticed that he had his legs tightly together. ‘Spread ’em,’ Aldridge ordered. Guido took his time, but finally he moved his feet apart and the revolver clattered to the floor.
‘Now that’s what I call carrying a concealed weapon,’ Aldridge said amiably. ‘You can do the honours, Detective Sergeant. The charges are wounding with intent to murder,’ he grinned, ‘and the carrying of a concealed weapon. We’ve got him cold on that one. Then get him patched up. Take Miss Cameron with you down to the watch house.’ The pistol under the desk had fortunately been forgotten.
‘And what about the boy, sir?’ Redmond asked.
‘Take him down to the watch house, too, Detective Sergeant. We’ll work out what to do with him there. Keep them separate so they can’t get their story straight.’
***
The room in the Darlinghurst watch house was sparsely furnished. In fact, it had just one table and four straight-backed chairs. It had one small window that a tall man could barely reach. Meggsie sat by himself for some time. He guessed they were giving him time to stew over his predicament. Finally, the door opened and a uniformed officer ushered Aldridge and Redmond into the room, and closed the door behind them. They said nothing, letting tension build, until Aldridge sat down opposite Meggsie. Redmond remained standing in the corner. It reminded Meggsie of a gangster picture he’d seen a few months previously.
Aldridge smiled. ‘With a name like Gilbert Maggs, I can see how you’d be called Meggsie,’ he began chattily. Meggsie had heard it before, and didn’t think it required a reply.
‘You realise that you’ve been sprung harbouring a criminal, don’t you? That’s serious.’
‘I don’t know what harbouring means,’ Meggsie replied, though he had a fair idea.
‘Harbouring means taking him in and hiding him from the law. That’s what you did, isn’t it?’
‘Didn’t take him in. He barged in. Then you arrived, a few minutes later. How could I stop him? I’m just a kid and he had a gun.’
‘Ah, but what would you have done if we hadn’t arrived?’ Aldridge asked.
‘I don’t know.’ Meggsie thought for a moment. ‘I have no idea. I tried to talk him into going to the hospital, but he didn’t want that.’
‘You knew he’d shot someone though, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I read it in The Truth this morning.’
‘Did Benito Battaglia know about the shooting?’
‘Yes. We talked about it during the day. He didn’t want to be involved. He doesn’t like Mr Caletti very much.’
‘Isn’t Caletti his uncle?’
‘His wife’s uncle, actually. I don’t think Benito likes having a criminal in the family. Especially not around the fruit shop. He says it’s bad for trade.’
‘That’s pretty smart of him. Benito is smarter than I took him for. And what about you, Gilbert? Which side are you on?’ Until that moment, Meggsie had never realised that he might eventually have to pick a side.
‘They took me in after I’d been thrown out of home, and I was living on the street. I owe Mr Caletti and Benito a lot. Benito is like a father to me, now. He’s taught me all about the fruit and veg business.’
‘And Caletti?’
‘I don’t see him so much. But he’s been kind to me, too.’
‘Let me offer you some advice, son. Guido Caletti will get you into serious problems if you let him. He is a violent hoodlum, who makes money by bashing, pimping and threatening. One day, he’ll find someone tougher than himself, and you don’t want to be there when that happens. I don’t know Benito, but I’ve no doubt he’s a better bet for you. Think about that.’
‘Yes,’ Meggsie replied. It was a subject that had troubled him already, but he had no answer.
‘You can go, son,’ Aldridge said suddenly. ‘See it as a warning.’
Meggsie, somewhat stunned, didn’t move quickly enough.
‘Go on, Meggsie. Piss off before I change my mind,’ Aldridge said
. Browning bashed on the door twice and it opened. Aldridge was still sitting at the table as Meggsie left the interview room.
It was late, and the streets were quiet as Meggsie trudged his way back to Benny’s Fruit Market, unheeding of the light rain that was falling. It did cross his mind that perhaps he should be informing Benito, but realising that nothing could be done, he decided to leave it till the morning.
It took a long time for a troubled Meggsie to drift off to sleep on his bed of sacks. He had a great deal to think about, and the more he tried to force sleep upon himself, the more his brain seemed to want to speed up. It had no answers for him, just more and more difficult problems that went around and around in his head. He felt like crying, but even tears wouldn’t come. Finally, he drifted off into a troubled sleep.
Chapter 12
The Spectre of Harry Moon
At first, the noise sounded like a faraway train whistle. A distant but distinct ‘woo woo’. Then a familiar voice said in distinct, clipped tones, ‘Now, you’re about to get a kicking, you little bastard!’ Meggsie’s fear was immediate. He could feel beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. An ethereal figure was standing just inside the locked door. Even though the room was in complete darkness, Meggsie could see the clear figure of Harry Moon’s ghost, which seemed to carry its own source of illumination. It was clearly a ghost, because although every detail was clear, Meggsie could see right through the apparition. Suddenly, he was running down a dark corridor, with the ghost hot on his heels. In his abject terror, he ran faster than he had ever run, but the ghost seemed to be able to keep pace with him easily. Without knowing where it came from, he found a bloodied paling in his hand, or was it a cricket bat. He swung it at the ghost, but met no resistance at all. Suddenly it was the ghost holding a cricket bat and Meggsie could hear the swish-swish as it cut the air, inches behind him. He found himself in a blind alley and turned to face his attacker, only to find that it wasn’t Harry Moon at all: it had become Charlie the Cutter, and the bat had turned into a glistening razor with fresh blood already dripping from it and splashing on to wet pavement.
