by Ron Thomas
‘Now, you’re about to get a slicing, you little bastard!’ the spectre threatened. Suddenly there was a vertical steel ladder attached to the brick wall behind him. It hadn’t been there a few seconds earlier. The ghost advanced slowly, waving the deadly weapon left and right. The Cutter had a grotesque grin smeared across his face. Meggsie scrambled up the ladder, legs pumping, but the top of the ladder never seemed to arrive. He looked up to see how many steps he had to go, and peering over the balustrade above was the leering figure of Mickey Milligan. Suddenly, Milligan was grasping for him with huge hands and fingers like great claws scrabbling at the bricks, just inches above Meggsie’s perspiring head. The voice below repeated its threat. ‘Now, you’re about to get a slicing, you little bastard!’ The voice was his father’s. He looked down.
Now, his father was climbing towards him, using one hand for the ladder and the other wielding a huge kitchen knife. His heart thumping with panic, Meggsie desperately sought a way out. Seconds ago, the wall had been windowless, but now there was an open sash window, and inside, the seductive figure of Nellie Cameron beckoned him.
‘Nice to meet you Gilby. Come and see me.’ Her voice was low and alluring. Meggsie found it irresistible. Instantly entranced, he forgot the threat behind him and walked towards her. Nellie held her arms out to him, but just as he reached her, there was a loud hammering on the door. It burst open, smashing back against the wall. There was Harry Moon wielding a cricket bat, the Cutter and his bloody razor, and Mickey Milligan, with his clawed hands, all trying to squeeze through the doorway at once, struggling one against the other to be first to wreak their own specialised vengeance.
Meggsie scrambled his way to the window, ignoring Nellie’s cry for him to come back to her for a good time, and went out feet first. As the unearthly trio charged across the room towards him, he felt wildly with his feet for a rung of the iron ladder that had been there just moments before. Suddenly there was no ladder and his assailants were upon him. He was falling into blackness falling, falling ever faster.
Meggsie woke with his heart racing to the point where he feared it’s thumping would tear it from his chest. Perspiration was dripping from him and he felt both hot and bitterly cold at the same time. Even in the blackness, he could see that his hands were shaking furiously. Barely a moment passed to gather his wits when he heard it. The unmistakable sound of a key sliding quietly into the back-door lock.
He pulled himself to a sitting position, terror engulfing him, and he backed to the wall. Hauling his potato-sack blanket up under his chin, eyes wide with alarm, he sat immobilised. Suddenly the light came on.
‘Ch-er-rist,’ Benito exclaimed. ‘What’s-a happened to you? You look-a like you’ve seen a bloody ghost. Are you all right?’
Meggsie, still frozen with fear, was unable to reply. Although Benito’s head didn’t move, Meggsie saw his eyes darting left and right. It appeared that Benito thought there surely must be something or someone else in the room. Finally, Meggsie gained his voice.
‘It was a nightmare. I was being chased,’ he stammered. ‘When you put the key in the lock, I thought I was about to die.’
Benito appeared to relax a little, though he was still breathing heavily.
‘A dream eh? Some dream! You certainly scared the shit out of me! Who was doing the chasing?’
Meggsie thought for a moment. Even in his state of alarm, he considered for a second whether to bring Harry Moon into the conversation. But the moment passed.
‘Mickey Milligan, and that other fellow, the one with the razor. The one they call the Cutter.’
Benito’s eyebrows lifted. ‘I can see why you’re scared, mate. They scare me too, Gilbert. Come on, let’s get going. That’s the best way to put it behind you.’
Meggsie threw back his potato-bag and got to his feet. Benito came to him and put his comforting arm around the boy’s shoulders. Though Meggsie had said nothing to him about his fracas with Guido’s thugs, Benito obviously understood.
‘I’m sorry Guido got you into this,’ Benito said sincerely. ‘I’m sorry he got both of us into it. But I reckon you’ll be all right in the long run, Gilberto.’
***
Over the course of the day, Meggsie did manage to put the previous night’s nightmare into some sort of compartment, and to avoid thinking about it. As the day wore on, it became more and more difficult, because he knew he would have to face the night, and the possibility that it would bring Harry Moon and his other assailants again.
The thought terrified him, and the more he thought about it, the more certain it became that the nightmare would have a reprise.
Chapter 13
Indian Summer
Benito said little as they cleaned up the shop at the end of the day. To Meggsie, he seemed to be brooding about something. Then, unusually, when there was nothing more to do, he seemed in no hurry to go home. When Meggsie went to wash up, Benito followed him into the back room.
‘I think it’s time we had a talk, Meggsie,’ Benito began, as he pulled out a chair, and signalled to Meggsie to sit opposite him.
‘Would you say we were mates, Gilbert?’ Meggsie recognised immediately that Benito’s use of his first name signalled a serious discussion.
‘Yes,’ Meggsie replied uncertainly, unsure of where the conversation would lead.
‘We make a top team, you and I. But I think there are a few things we need to get on the table, don’t you?’ Not knowing precisely what the things were, Meggsie chose to just nod.
‘When I came in this morning, you were having a nightmare. How often has that happened?’
‘Almost every night, someone is chasing me. Not like last night, though. Last night everyone seemed to want to kill me. It was more real last night, like it was actually happening.’ As he spoke, Meggsie was beginning to realise that this was his opportunity to talk about Harry Moon. While he was terrified that Benito would throw him back on the street, there was little choice.
‘Who are they, and why are they chasing you?’ Benito asked.
‘Occasionally, it’s my dad. He chased me out of the house with a big kitchen knife. That’s why I was on the street. Sometimes it’s Charlie the Cutter.’
Benito waited patiently without saying anything. Meggsie found himself telling Benito about the night Charlie chased him with the razor.
‘That bastard,’ Benito said almost under his breath. ‘Go on.’
‘Mickey Milligan, too. He didn’t have a razor. He was just grabbing at me.’
‘Is that all?’ Benito asked.
There was a long, drawn out silence. Meggsie knew that his next words might determine his future.
‘No. The one person who has chased me every night is Harry Moon.’
‘Harry … Moon?’ Benito echoed, looking puzzled.
‘Harry Moon’s ghost actually. I think I might have killed him. Now, his ghost chases me almost every night.’
‘And you think you might have killed him, this Harry? Usually when you kill someone, you are pretty sure they are dead. Better you tell me all about it, I think.’
For the next half hour, beyond the point of no return, Meggsie spilled his heart out, while Benito said very little. Meggsie couldn’t read Benito’s mind from his demeanour. He told of his violent childhood, and his confrontation with Harry and the Forty Thieves. With his eyes welling with tears, he told of seeing Harry lying on that corner in Riley Street with his face flattened by a paling and blood running across the pavement. When he ran out of things to tell, Benito asked him a series of questions and he answered them as best he could. The only thing he didn’t mention was how he’d first encountered the infamous Nellie Cameron. Embarrassment prevented that. It would have to remain a secret between Nellie and he.
At last, he’d unburdened his soul. With nothing more to be said, Meggsie shrugged. His eyes brimmed with tears, and his shoulders were slumped, knowing that what would be, now would be.
‘You poor little bugger,’ Benito said
in a voice filled with sadness and concern. ‘Every night, I’m a goin’ home to a warm bed and a decent night’s sleep, while you suffer. I’m so sorry, Gilbert, I’ve not been much of a friend.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Meggsie replied. ‘Specially after I tried to steal your bananas.’
‘Perhaps not, but we have to put it right. Do you know the date that you slugged Harry Moon? September sometime, I guess.’
‘I think it was the fourteenth of September when I ran away. That would make it the fifteenth. I’m pretty sure that’s right.’
‘Well, if you killed Harry, it would have been in the paper, probably on the sixteenth. I’m-a sure there was nothing in The Herald, but our mate Moe could easily see if there’s anything in The Truth. If there was daylight murder in the streets, those Truth reporters would have got onto it for sure. That’s bread and butter for them. Let’s see what Moe says when we get back from the markets in the morning. That would be a start, wouldn’t it?’
The wave of gratitude Meggsie felt suddenly engulfed him and he found tears running down his face, then great sobs wracked his body. Relief surged through him as overwhelming weight borne alone was lifted from his shoulders. He suddenly found himself crying on Benito’s shoulder.
‘Look, mate, I’d better be getting home. Teresa will have cracked the shits with me by now. She’ll probably have decided I’ve got a girlfriend. Let me think about it. Perhaps there are other things we could do to get it sorted out for you.’
***
The following morning Benito arrived to find Meggsie hastily pulling his trousers on.
‘Sorry, boss. I just woke up a few minutes ago. I had the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months,’ Meggsie said. ‘I’m so glad I told you about Harry. It’s been eating at me, and whatever the outcome, I’ve got to face it.’
‘Good man,’ Benito replied. ‘We’re late, so you’ll have to grab something for breakfast at the markets.’
They didn’t talk much as they drove through the quiet streets and Benito seemed to be concentrating on his driving. Then, as they turned into George Street, he spoke without taking his eyes from the road.
‘Gilberto, why didn’t you tell me about Harry Moon? You’ve been keeping it cooped up a long time.’ Benito’s voice was soft, and barely audible over the loud Thornycroft motor.
‘I don’t know. I thought you might throw me out. I was too scared to say anything.’ Even as he spoke, Meggsie felt his answer wasn’t what he wanted to say. Suddenly the words he did want to say came, flooding unbidden from deep within him.
‘You’ve been a much better dad to me than my own father ever was. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before, Benito. So sorry.’ His words drifted off and there was another long silence.
Benito didn’t speak until they turned into Hay Street and they could see the Haymarket just ahead.
‘Well, it’s our problem now. We’ll have to sort it out together. I’ll get started while you get some breakfast. Here’s two bob for a couple of egg and bacon rolls.’
***
Moe was in full voice. They could hear him shouting well before they reached the corner. Benito placed his hand on Meggsie’s forearm and stopped walking. ‘Just a minute, mate. We need to get our story straight. Moe’s no fool. He’ll want to know why we’re asking about this Harry Moon character, especially if we tell him we think Moon was killed.’
By now, Meggsie, having been wrestling with the issue by himself for so long, was happy to take advice from Benito.
‘You know, Meggsie, I think the best thing to do is to simply tell him everything. That way, he won’t need to ask difficult questions. I know he talks too much and knows everyone’s business, but he can keep a secret when he has to. How do you feel about that?’
‘I don’t know what to do, Benito. If you think that would best.’
‘Let’s-a do that then. Leave it to me.’
***
‘‘Getcha Sinny Mornin’ ‘Erald!’ Moe shouted, then changed to his normal voice without taking a breath. ‘G’day Benny. Don’t you trust Meggsie to get your paper? D’yer think he might come back with The Truth instead of The Herald?’ He winked at Meggsie.
‘It’s not that Moe. It’s just that I miss you yelling in my ear.’
A grin quickly spread across Moe’s face, and he took a step closer to Benito. ‘Yer want The Truth? Get it right here!’ he shouted, even louder than usual.
Benito closed his eyes and shook his head, his face a picture of resignation. ‘Actually, Moe, we came to see you about a problem. A mate of Meggsie’s, a close mate, has this problem, see. With the Forty Thieves. You know, the Riley Street mob?’
Meggsie guessed that, from the sharp glance Moe gave him, the news man already had deduced that the problem was actually Meggsie’s. ‘I know ’em. He’s not alone,’ Moe said. ‘Everyone in Frog Hollow’s got a problem with the Forty Thieves.’
‘This mate of Meggsie’s thinks he might have killed one of them. They were chasing him and he whacked this bloke across the head with a paling. He’s not sure, but he thinks he might have done for the little bastard.’
‘That wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, Benny, but I’ve heard nothing about it.’
‘It’s supposed to have happened a couple of months ago,’ Benito said. ‘Late September. I thought it might have been in The Truth, if he got killed.’
‘I’d have remembered it. Have you got a name?’
Benito turned briefly to Meggsie. ‘Harry Moon, isn’t it? How sure are you of the name?’
‘That’s what the other kids called him,’ Meggsie replied. Then realising that he might have given himself away, he added. ‘That’s what my mate told me, anyway.’ Moe nodded knowingly.
‘I’ll tell you what. Darby Maddocks drops by nearly every day, lately. He’s the crime reporter for The Truth, and he’s always sniffing around for leads. I’ll ask if he knows anything.’ Benito began to speak, but Moe continued over him. ‘Of course, I won’t mention any names. I’ve helped him enough times.’
‘Thanks, Moe. We’d appreciate that, Meggsie and I. No doubt his mate would, too.’
Moe pulled out a Herald from the stack slung in a wide leather belt from his shoulder. ‘Don’t forget your paper,’ he said with a sly grin. ‘If you read The Truth instead of The Herald, you’d know what was going on. By the way, I see Eric Connolly got three months inside. Guido’s case is listed for this afternoon. Four o’clock.’
***
Later in the afternoon, Benito said he was going out.
‘Are you going to the court?’ Meggsie asked. ‘Maybe,’ Benito replied.
‘I’ve never been to court,’ Meggsie said. ‘I don’t know what goes on there.’
‘Well, giovanotto, if you’re fishing for me to take you with me, you are out of luck. Someone has to look after the shop, and you’re elected. Take a tip. Try and live your whole life without ever needing to go to a courthouse, son. You’ll have to hold the fort this arvo.’
Benito was gone for most of the afternoon and it was almost closing time when he arrived back.
‘He got four months for the armed assault and another month for carrying a concealed weapon,’ Benito explained. ‘Perhaps if he’d looked sorrier, he’d have got a lesser sentence. The thing that’s really got him seeing red is that Eric Connolly only got three months. That gives him a couple of months to work on Nellie before Guido gets out. He’s ropeable about that. It’s not all over, Meggsie, not by a long shot.’
***
Two mornings later, when Meggsie went to Moe’s news stand to buy The Herald, he found Moe talking to a man in a smart, grey suit and a dapper little bow tie. The man had some sort of card tucked into the left side of his hatband. Meggsie stood well back from them, realising that Moe wouldn’t talk to him in front of anyone else. After about a minute, Moe, who’d had his back to Meggsie, turned to serve a customer and saw him waiting.
‘Meggsie!’ Moe said immediately, and beckoned
him forward. ‘This is Darby Maddocks. As I told you, he works for The Truth. He’s the crime reporter.’ He turned back to Maddocks. ‘This young bloke works for Benny, in the fruit shop. Ben says he’s a pretty hot fruit and veg man.’
Maddocks held out his hand and they shook solemnly.
‘Moe says you had a run in with Harry Moon a while back,’ Maddocks said amiably. Meggsie was dumbfounded.
‘Um, um, a er mate of mine did.’
‘Yes, that would be right,’ Maddocks said with a sharp edge of cynicism to his voice.
‘Darby was just saying that he had a run in with the Thieves just last week.’ Meggsie’s heart began to race and he knew his emotions must have been evident on his face.
‘I was down in one of the lanes in Frog Hollow, just off Riley Street looking for Jewey Freeman. A couple of street kids threatened me with coshes. They make them out of a long sock filled with wet sand, you know. One of them demanded my wallet. He was called Harry: my guess is it’s probably your bloke. I was lucky, really. A couple of Jewey’s boys came along and they don’t get on at all well with The Thieves. They get up to mischief, and bring the cops down on the area. That makes it tough for the Riley Street gang, so they bash up any Thieves they can catch, just to discourage them.’
‘What does this Harry look like?’ Moe asked.
‘Fairly tall, sandy hair, big ears. His nose looks like a prune that someone stood on stuck on his face.’ It fitted Harry’s description.
‘Sound like your bloke?’ Moe asked. For a moment, Meggsie let his guard down.
‘I think so,’ he said.
A Sydney Morning Herald appeared magically in Moe’s hand. ‘There, you have it, Meggsie. There’s nothing for your mate to worry about.’
‘Thanks Moe. Thanks Mr Maddocks,’ Meggsie said.
‘Can I walk along with you, Meggsie,’ Maddocks asked. ‘I’m going your way.’
‘Sure, Mr Maddocks,’ Meggsie replied uncertainly. He wasn’t very keen at all to talk to any news man. Guido had long since convinced him they couldn’t be trusted. They hadn’t walked very far before the reason for the discussion became evident.
