by Ron Thomas
‘Yes, I suppose I will have to do that.’
Chapter 20
Legal Representation
Guido’s forced march to the police station had given Meggsie a most unwelcome dose of reality. He’d lain awake for much of what was left of the night, wondering how he would tell Benito of Guido’s misfortune. Even more, he dreaded what would happen when Benito found out that Meggsie was a party to the crime. By the dawn, he’d convinced himself that he would be a street kid again when Benito found out all the facts.
Fortunately for Meggsie, however, Benito’s early morning arrival solved the problem, at least temporarily, for him.
‘Guido’s done it this time,’ Benito said, shaking his head sadly. ‘Apparently, he picked the wrong mark last night, and he’s in a cell at Darlo.’
Meggsie stifled a sigh of relief. Stumbling over his words, he could only say he was sorry.
‘We’d better head straight down to the slammer before we go to the Haymarket, and see what we can do,’ Benito continued, clearly angry. Meggsie was a little surprised that Benito wanted him along. He had never seen the inside of a gaol, and wondered what it would be like. Perhaps there was a chance his own involvement might remain a secret.
Benito took his cap off as they entered Darlinghurst Police Station. Inside, the floor was tiled, and the large polished desk smelled of beeswax. A large, gold-framed picture of King George V hung behind the counter, and his painted eyes seemed to miss nothing.
‘Yes?’ the overweight desk sergeant asked. He scrutinised them with beady, suspicious eyes. ‘What can I do for you … gentlemen?’
Benito looked decidedly uncomfortable and Meggsie noticed he was screwing up his cap in his nervous state.
‘E…excuse-a me, sir. We’re here to see Mr Caletti.’ Benito stammered. The sergeant looked him up and down again and grinned.
‘You his legal representation?’ he asked. From his manner, it was clear he already knew the answer to his question.
‘No, sir. I’m his nephew.’
That’s your bad luck,’ the sergeant replied caustically. ‘And what’s your name?’
‘Battaglia. Benito Battaglia.’
‘Battaglia. You’re the fruit shop bloke, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. That’s me.’
‘It seems that Mr Caletti had an accomplice. Just where were you, last night around ten o’clock?’
‘Same place as every night. I was at home in bed.’
‘Can someone verify that?’
‘I’m sure my wife can. She was beside me the whole night.’
The desk sergeant turned to where Meggsie stood a couple of steps behind Benito, and scrutinised him up and down. ‘And who is this little carrot top?’
‘He’s-a my offsider at a the fruit shop. He’s got nothing at all to do with this.’
‘I’ll be the one who decides that. You ain’t the copper here, I am,’ the sergeant said acidly, then turned his attention to Meggsie.
‘What’s your name, son?’
‘Gilbert Maggs, sir,’ Meggsie replied trying to sound as innocent as possible.
‘And where were you last night?’
‘I was …’ Meggsie began, as Benito interrupted him.
‘I can vouch for him. He stayed the night at my house,’ he said quickly.
‘Is that so, son?’ The sergeant asked.
‘Yes, sir, it is,’ Meggsie lied, following Benito’s lead.
‘And were you there all night?’
‘Yes, sir, I was,’ Meggsie replied. The policeman turned his attention back to Benito.
‘I suppose you intend to post bail for this villain.’
‘Yes. That’s why we’re here.’
Suddenly a grin split the policeman’s face. ‘Well you can’t, see. The prosecutor’s opposed bail and the judge has gone along with that. He’ll have to stay inside until the hearing,’ he said gleefully. Benito looked shocked.
‘And King’s Cross is a safer place because of it,’ the smug policeman added.
‘Can we see him?’
‘No, not unless you’re his legal representation. He is still being questioned. If you come back tomorrow, you might be able to see him for a minute. But I think you should just let him stew on his sins for a while.’
Chapter 21
A Visit From Norman
It had been a pleasant four months since an unsympathetic judge had decided Guido needed another holiday. Neither Benito nor Meggsie had any expectation that he’d find redemption during his four months in Long Bay gaol. Neither of them was pleased as his day of freedom approached, either.
Meggsie wasn’t at all sure whether Guido might assign some of the blame for his problem to his cockatoo’s failure to come to his aid, so he faced the prospect of his return with considerable trepidation. Even more concerning, he was uncertain whether Guido might inform Benito of his part in the misadventure. When the day of Guido’s release finally came however, a week passed, then two, with no sign of Guido. A couple of times, they speculated about where Guido might be. As the weeks passed without an appearance, a growing sense of relief began to pervade Benny’s Fruit Market.
***
The recent cyclone in Queensland had ruined the crop, and Benito was complaining about the poor standard of the bananas as he swung the heavily-laden Thornycroft into Hopewell Lane. Meggsie stepped out onto the running-board and prepared to leg down and open the gate.
‘Have a look at that,’ Benito said. A shiny black Ford A-Model Tudor sedan was parked untidily, blocking access to the back gate.
‘Don’t people give you the shits? With the whole street to park in, some bastard’s parked us out,’ Benito said, forgetting about the bananas. ‘Fancy bastard in a shiny car.’ He drove slowly by and pulled up beside the Ford.
‘It’s the new A model, isn’t it, boss?’ Meggsie commented. ‘They reckon it can do over sixty.’
‘Yeah, but if he parks me out, he might find a scratch down his shiny doors. The bastard could have parked anywhere and he decides to park across our gate. Anyway, we’ll have to open the shop in a few minutes. Better open the gate, and we’ll have to lug in some of the stuff from here. Perhaps he’ll move by the time we do that.’
‘Right, boss,’ Meggsie replied, still perched precariously on the running-board and scooting along with one foot.
Benito pulled the truck over and parked close and parallel to the black Ford. It was a routine that they knew well by this time, and practiced every day. It was Meggsie’s task to open the back gate and prop the doors wide open to allow free passage. Benito, would by then have driven the Thornycroft into the yard and taken the tarpaulin from the truck. He would then be ready to stack boxes on Meggsie’s outstretched arms.
Today, however, when Meggsie opened the back door of the shop, he was greeted by a cloud of cigarette smoke. Guido was sitting at the table in the back room, deep in conversation with a man, a very large man, and a well-dressed woman. A redhead. Nellie Cameron.
‘Sorry,’ a surprised Meggsie stammered. ‘I’ll come back later.’ He knew from experience, that when Guido was conferring in the back room, Meggsie was to stay well away.
‘Benito’s new man,’ Guido explained. ‘Come back Meggsie.’ Meggsie stuck his head back through the doorway and Guido beckoned him inside.
‘Meggsie, this here gentleman is Mr Bruhn.’ He didn’t look like much of a gentleman to Meggsie. His hair was cut short and he had a few days’ growth of beard. Mr Bruhn didn’t smile or offer to shake hands. He nodded imperceptibly and his angry glare sent a chill up Meggsie’s spine. Mr Bruhn seemed decidedly scary and it appeared he was annoyed at being interrupted.
‘Hello Gilby,’ Nellie said with a welcoming smile that ignored the obvious tension around her. ‘You’re growing up fast.’
‘Morning Miss Cameron,’ Meggsie replied, completely rattled.
‘Come on, you lazy little bugger. I’m not doing it all myself,’ Benito shouted as he came through the doorway
carrying two crates of onions. He almost fell backwards as he saw the visitors and stopped in his tracks. Interrupted momentum carried the top layer of onions rolling in all directions across the floor.
‘Oh shit,’ Benito said, and he seemed uncertain whether to put down his boxes and pick up the spilt onions, to keep going into the shop, or to back out. Finally, he chose the latter option.
‘Come on Meggsie,’ he called hastily over his shoulder. ‘We’ll pick up the onions later.’ Meggsie glanced at Guido, looking for guidance. Guido just signalled with a lift of his eyebrows and a barely perceptible nod for Meggsie to leave.
Meggsie followed Benito back to where the truck stood in the yard. Looking pale, and with wildly shaking hands, Benito was attempting to roll a smoke at the front of the truck. Finally, he managed to make a very rough looking cigarette with a flower of tobacco hanging out the end.
‘I nearly shit myself,’ he said, then stuck the cigarette in his mouth and lit up with trembling hands.
‘He puts the breeze up me,’ Benito said after he had taken a couple of puffs. ‘And wherever Bruhn goes, some of his henchmen won’t be far away, ready to cut someone up if Bruno says the word. I wonder where they are?’
‘Henchmen?’ Meggsie asked quizzically.
Yes. Bruhn’s a Melbourne standover man trying his luck here. He’s moving in on everyone else’s territory. His gang includes Snowy Cutmore and Razor Jack Hayes, scum of the earth, both of them. At least one of them must be here, perhaps both. Bruhn doesn’t go anywhere without heavy help.’
All was quiet from the shop for some time and Bruno’s second cigarette was almost down to a stub when raised voices split the air. Guido’s voice shouted loudest.
‘You bastard. I’m not just some shitty snot-nosed shopkeeper.’ Guido screamed, his voice accompanied by the sound of a chair being pushed back. Meggsie didn’t see where the big man came from, but he came running from the direction of the lane and knocked Meggsie to the ground with his shoulder as he ran by. Momentarily stunned, Meggsie looked up from the ground.
‘Stay there,’ Benito shouted, as the big man almost ripped the back door off its hinges, and his bulky body filled the doorway. ‘That’s Hayes!’
Meggsie turned to see Benito run to the truck. He’d never seen his friend move so fast. Benito came back carrying a parcel wrapped in a dirty blanket. Meggsie’s eyes widened as Benito threw down the blanket and exposed a businesslike sawn-off shotgun. As the man disappeared into the shop and the door swung closed, Benito ran to the door and kicked it open again as he latched a cartridge into the breech.
‘Not in my shop!’ Benito’s voice shouted. ‘Keep your arguments out of my shop!’ The other raised voices suddenly went quiet. A minute passed without a sound from within the shop. In his young life, Meggsie had little experience of firearms, and he could only lie on the cobbles, panicked.
‘I didn’t know you had the balls for this sort of stunt,’ Norman Bruhn’s voice said calmly. ‘Put it down, Benny, and we’ll discuss this peaceably.’
‘Not in my shop,’ Benito repeated. ‘You can argue with Guido somewhere else. Put the razor down, Hayes. I’ll blast you, I swear.’ Another long silence ensued. Then Guido, sounding much more confident than he’d done a few moments before, spoke up.
‘Not so smart now, Bruhn, eh?’ he said. ‘This ain’t Melbourne, mate. This is the big smoke. My turf. Darlo Push territory. Now piss off back where you came from and take this arsehole with you. We’ve got nothing left to talk about. If it’s trouble you’re after, I’m your man.’
Another silence followed, then Norman Bruhn stormed out through the doorway, followed by his man, Hayes. Nellie Cameron followed some way behind and to Meggsie’s surprise, she smiled and seemed quite amused by it all.
‘That’s put the cat among the pigeons,’ she said to Meggsie, raising an eyebrow, as she passed. ‘Nice seeing you again, Gilby. I hear you’re back at school. You’ll be a mechanic in no time. Keep your head down.’
Nellie turned to Guido Caletti, who had followed them into the yard. ‘You look after this boy, Caletti. See he gets a proper schooling,’ she said over her shoulder, and with a swaying of hips, she followed Norman Bruhn towards the black car.
Norman Bruhn turned at the gateway, seemingly about to say something, his eyes ablaze with anger, only to see the shotgun pointed at his chest. Suddenly, he thought better of it and was gone, slamming the door of the Ford.
They had to wait as an amused Nellie took her own time strolling to the car. A very determined-looking Benito, with shotgun ready, followed. Before the door was closed, the black Ford accelerated away down Hopewell Lane. They heard a squeal of tyres as the speeding car took the sharp corner into Gipps Street.
Benito Battaglia subsided slowly to the pavement beside where Meggsie lay. To Meggsie’s surprise, Benito buried his face in his hands and great sobs racked his friend’s body as the shotgun clattered from his uncaring grasp to the ground. Guido came and stood with a consoling hand on Benito’s shaking shoulder. ‘You done good, Benny,’ he said. ‘You done real good.’
Surprisingly, Meggsie saw that Guido held the silver pistol in his left hand. When Guido noticed the boy’s gaze fixed on the weapon, he turned and walked back into the shop. Meggsie stood helplessly by until Benito climbed slowly to his feet. The sudden, furious tooting of a car horn alarmed them both for a moment.
‘The truck’s blocking the lane,’ Benito said wearily. ‘You’d better go and move it. Bruhn’s gone.’
Meggsie glanced quickly at Benito’s face. It was white and drawn. ‘You can move it, can’t you?’ Benito mumbled. Meggsie had never driven the truck. Indeed, he had never driven a motor vehicle at all. Like all boys, he’d been interested in the process, had watched Benito carefully, and thought he knew the ropes.
The irate driver, held up and frustrated, put his head out of the car window and gave the boy a piece of his mind, the moment he appeared. Meggsie fought the temptation to reply in kind and climbed aboard. It was some time since he’d alighted: the Thornycroft’s motor was still running. Meggsie didn’t know how to adjust the seat, and his legs could barely reach the pedals, He pressed the clutch as far as his legs would reach, but there was a terrible grinding of the gears as he selected first gear. His first attempt was a disaster. The heavy truck kangarooed and the motor stalled, bringing another barrage of shouting and tooting from the vehicle behind. Releasing the brake, the novice driver rolled the truck closer to the kerb and the driver behind took his chance. As he passed, the red-faced driver gave the boy a last, vile mouthful, then sped off. With the truck stranded, angled towards the kerb, Meggsie knew he’d reached the limit of his ability, and hauled the handbrake on.
When Meggsie entered the rear of the shop, he found Guido and Benito deep in conversation. Both were momentarily startled as he entered.
‘Knock first, Meggs!’ Guido shouted angrily. He had never knocked in the past, and Meggsie realised that both men were very jumpy indeed.
‘Bring the stuff in, Meggsie,’ Benito said quietly. Meggsie noticed that Benito’s hands were shaking quite violently.
‘I couldn’t get the truck in the gate, so I’ve parked it in the lane,’ Meggsie explained. ‘It’s parked crooked.’
‘Then you will have to bring the things in from there, won’t you,’ Benito replied tersely.
While Meggsie was quite keen to hear what they had to say, it was no time for disobedience. He turned on his heel and began bringing the boxes of produce from the Thornycroft. As he carried the first boxes through the back room, Benito stood up from the table and propped open the doors, clearing Meggsie’s passage.
The boy took his time, and found he could hear snatches of conversation.
‘It’s gonna be war,’ Guido said. ‘Bruhn or me is gonna have to go and it ain’t going to be me, so I gotta take care of him sooner rather than later.’
‘Well, just keep your war out of the shop, Uncle Guido,’ Benito replied. ‘That wasn
’t part of the deal. I don’t want nothing to do with any war. I just want to run my shop. I don’t want Norman Bruhn anywhere around here, you hear?’
‘I’ll take care of Bruhn in my own way,’ Guido replied.
‘And we can’t keep guns here. If the cops find them, that’s six months inside. What would happen to the business if I copped six months in Long Bay Gaol? You wouldn’t know how to run Benny’s. I got family. Therese and the kids would starve. Whatever you do, Guido, keep me and this shop out of it!’
‘I reckon you’re in it, up to your ears, Benny,’ Caletti observed wryly. ‘That’s whether you like it or not. The moment you pulled that shottie on Bruhn and Razor Hayes, you brought it down on your own head.’
‘I don’t want no violence here at the shop, Uncle Guido. It’s not good business. If the word gets around, you know, I’ll have no customers. It brings coppers nosing around. Violence wasn’t part of the deal. Then, there’s the boy.’
Guido sat back and scratched his head. Meggsie, who had paused outside the door with a box of oranges on his shoulder, carried it through the doorway towards the shop, eyes fixed firmly ahead.
‘Meggs,’ Guido said quietly. Meggsie turned to him.
‘Dump the box, then come back,’ Guido said. ‘We got some talkin’ to do, son.’ Meggsie came back and stood near the door, not sure what was going to happen next.
‘Sit there,’ Guido said, waving vaguely at the chair opposite him. Meggsie sat. Guido took a long draw of his cigar and blew a smoke ring that Meggsie followed with his eyes, as it drifted skyward. Guido seemed to be contemplating his next move. Their eyes engaged. ‘We want you to forget what happened, Benny and me, see?’ Guido began. ‘It didn’t happen, see. It ain’t your business, Meggs, and if anyone asks, you know nothing, got it?’
Meggsie gulped and could only nod. Guido went on.
‘I reckon you’ve done enough to pay for the mangoes. You can go now if you want. Perhaps it’s time you thought of going home again. Don’t nick fruit from Benny’s again or you might find yourself cut up into little pieces, get my drift?’
