Dark Angels

by Ron Thomas

  ‘Yes, Mr Caletti,’ Meggsie replied with a dry throat.

  ‘You can stay here if that’s what you want,’ Benito interjected. Meggsie had nowhere else to go, except back to the streets, and at that moment he felt there was no choice at all.

  ‘I’ll stay here, if I’ve got a choice,’ Meggsie responded. ‘I like working for Benito. I’ll earn my keep.’

  ‘You better start earning it right now,’ Guido interjected. ‘You can start by bringing in the rest of those boxes. Then pick up all these onions. Benny and I need to talk some more.’

  Meggsie leapt to his feet and without another word began bringing in the boxes from the truck, while the men talked in whispers. As he brought in his third box, he saw Guido walk to the front of the shop, peer carefully in each direction then quickly walk away down Darlinghurst Road.

  ***

  By the time Meggsie had finished unloading the truck, Benito was busy serving customers and he did little more than glance at Meggsie. Meggsie thought it might be that he was angry, but there seemed to be no reason for it. It appeared to Meggsie that Benito was avoiding discussion about the events of the morning, so he set about putting the fruit and vegetables out on the shelves. Business was brisk, and the subject was put aside until closing time.

  Benito consulted his watch. ‘We’ll close a couple of minutes early. We should talk about it, man to man. Close the shutters.’

  Meggsie’s heart beat a little faster, knowing that the discussion he was about to have must be important. Benito was much more inclined to keep the shutters up late so he could catch one or two late-coming customers. He had never closed early since the day Meggsie had been caught nicking bananas.

  ‘Gilberto, we need to talk some more about this morning. We’re going to have to be careful,’ Benito explained. Meggsie wasn’t at all sure exactly what he needed to be careful of. He’d learnt, however, that Benito only referred to him as Gilberto rather than Meggsie when he had something serious to say.

  ‘Because of the argument with Mr Bruhn?’ Meggsie asked.

  ‘Yes, the argument. What else? Let me explain.’ There was a long pause as Benito composed himself before continuing.

  ‘Uncle Guido is the boss man of the Darlinghurst Push. You know what a push is, Meggsie?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ Meggsie replied unconvincingly. Benito, unconvinced, was intent on expanding his education on the matter.

  ‘There are lots of pushes around here. There’s the Riley Street Push, run by Jewey Freeman. Nasty bastards every one of them. Cut you up as soon as look at you. Jewey himself is a violent piece of work. He pulled off the Eveleigh workshop heist a few years back. His partner is Kate Leigh. Kate’s mainly into sly grog and cocaine. Then there’s Tilly Devine and her mob. Tilly and her husband Jim are into prostitution, but they don’t mind a dabble in anything lucrative. Over in Kings Cross, there’s Phil Jeffs. He’s got a couple of nightclubs there. One is next door to Bolot’s Dance Academy. That’s where Nellie does her dancing lessons on Tuesdays. There’s a door between them, and if there’s a police raid, all the patrons escape through into there and make like they’re dance students. If you make it out of any of Phil’s nightclubs with your wallet, you can think yourself lucky.

  There are plenty of others. The Darlinghurst Push controls the turf around here, and Uncle Guido is the leader. He’s into anything that makes easy money, even if it’s violent. Norman Bruhn came here today because he intends to take over the territory. That means turf war, and unfortunately, Meggsie, for you and me, we’re right in the middle of it.’ Benito paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing.

  ‘My wife’s uncle takes protection money from all the businesses around here. They pay him money each month, to ensure that their businesses don’t attract trouble. If they don’t pay it, bad things might happen. You understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘I think so,’ Meggsie responded uncertainly.

  ‘Guido looks after the fruit shop because I’m his nephew and he’s a bit wary of Therese. Mostly, the others stay away from us because they know that. At least that’s-a how it’s worked until now. The visit from Bruhn changes all that. Bruhn’s greedy. He wants to take over the whole area. My little intervention with the shotgun drew their attention to me, the fruit shop, and to some degree you, and that’s why I’m worried. You understand? I surprised them this morning, but next time they’ll be ready.’

  Meggsie nodded. ‘What do you think they’ll do?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s the thing. I don’t know what they might do. If you stay, things could easily turn nasty for you. It might be better if you find somewhere else to shack up for a while,’ Benito said tersely. It was a shock to Meggsie. Suddenly, he realised that Benito had become family and Benny’s fruit and veg had become his home.

  ‘I want to stay, Benito. I like working here with you,’ Meggsie said earnestly. ‘I’ll take my chances.’

  ‘I don’t suppose we need to decide tonight. Once we lock up, don’t open the doors to anyone but me, and tell me if you see anyone unusual hanging around the place. I’ll try to convince Guido to just stay away. I have to go now. But just be careful eh?’

  ***

  It was a long night. The moment Meggsie went to bed, imagination took over and the noises began. Twice he thought he heard someone at the roller door and crept into the shop, only to find nothing untoward. Every time a car drove down Hopewell Lane, he couldn’t relax until he heard it continue by the back gate. Even then, it had him listening to sounds that he’d never heard before, though he was sensible enough to admit to himself that he may never have been so jumpy before.

  As the hours passed, Meggsie decided that he simply couldn’t sleep, and thought that sitting up might make him drowsy. He put the little desk lamp on and tried to read over a school assignment that was due the following week, but his mind kept wandering back to the events of the day. Every now and then he forced his mind back to the schoolbook, but he knew he was learning nothing.

  Meggsie was getting sleepy now, but he feared that once he laid down, he would begin to hear the noises again. Was that a footstep on the cobbles outside? He spent ten minutes hardly daring to breath, then thought that was being silly, and decided that if anyone came, he’d give them a hot reception. Quickly, he slipped under the desk and retrieved the silver pistol from its nest. Once he’d checked for the third time that the safety catch was on, he carefully placed the pistol by his bed, laid down and closed his eyes, listening intently for sounds. Reassured that all he could hear was his own breathing, within a minute, he fell into a deep sleep.

  Suddenly, a loud and tinny clatter of the garbage bin being knocked over split the silence, followed by a string of Italian epithets outside the door. It was quite fortunate that Benito had tripped over a garbage tin. Had it not been the case, Meggsie knew he would have been caught, because he was very slow to awaken. Worse, he might have blasted his boss. As it was, he was able to replace the pistol in the strap only moments before Benito shoved the door open, still mumbling curses under his breath.

  By the time Benito finally switched the light on, Meggsie was standing by the desk, breathing heavily.

  ‘Bloody garbage tin,’ Benito said. ‘Some bastard left it in the alleyway.’ He cocked an accusing eye in Meggsie’s direction, but there was a thinly disguised smile on his face. ‘Come on, Meggsie. We’ve got work to do.’

  Chapter 22

  What Sort of Man?

  With so little sleep, Meggsie was having trouble functioning. He was able to grab forty winks in the truck on the way back from the markets, then dawdled his way through his morning chores. He hadn’t quite finished when he found time had slipped away and he was late for school. For a few moments, he considered simply dispensing with school for the day, thinking Benito might also forget about it. On second thoughts, he knew that was unlikely, and he really didn’t feel ready to talk about the previous day’s violence, so he walked up to where Benito stood behind the cash regist
er. Their eyes met and Benito was about to say something, then he looked away. He appeared very worried, but was having trouble sharing his thoughts.

  ‘I have to go to school,’ Meggsie said. ‘I’m late already.’

  Benito peered inquisitively into Meggsie’s face. ‘Yes, of course; life goes on,’ he replied. ‘I’ll see you when you get back.’

  Meggsie found school very difficult that day. His thoughts meandered back to the confrontation. It was apparent that Norman Bruhn was demanding something from Guido, but Meggsie didn’t really understand what it was about. He wondered whether Benito really would have used the shotgun, and began to think that if he would be prepared to kill somebody, Benito might have more in common with Guido than had so far been apparent.

  He didn’t realise that the teacher was standing behind him until he got a cuff under the ear.

  ‘Stop your daydreaming, Gilbert, you haven’t got time for that. You are still near the bottom of the class and there’s a whole lot of catching up to do. You’d better come and see me after class this afternoon, so I can give you some extra homework to do,’ Mr Mills admonished sternly.

  Extra work was the last thing Meggsie needed, but there was no way of arguing his way out of it.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he replied submissively.

  He reported as ordered. Mr Mills waited deliberately until all the other boys had left the room.

  ‘Well, Gilbert, you were off with the fairies all day today. Not like you at all. Do you want to tell me about it?’ For a few moments, the urge to tell someone about the previous night’s confrontation tempted him. But the moment passed, and he knew what the straight-laced Mr Mills would recommend. There was no doubt Mills would suggest an immediate visit to Darlinghurst police station, and that would have consequences.

  ‘Sorry, sir. I just felt a bit off today. I had to go to the market early, and I hadn’t slept very well. I’ll try to do better.’

  You can’t afford to become complacent, son. There’s still work to be done.’ Mr Mills said as he pulled a text book from under his desk. ‘Gilbert, you have amazed me with your ability to catch up the work we’re doing. You should be proud of yourself. But you can’t afford to slacken off now. Remember there is a backlog of work that we did during your absence for an entire term. Some of it is material we haven’t touched on since you returned ‘This is the textbook we worked from last term, Gilbert. Most of the work you missed is in there. I’d like you to work your way through it, doing just one page every evening. This book will help you fill in the gaps. You’ve missed chapters six and seven. I’m prepared to spend time with you if necessary, so don’t hesitate to ask for help. If you put your head down, you’re quite capable of making up leeway. I believe you can do it.’

  A little flattery went a long way with Meggsie. It wasn’t a commodity that had been in abundant supply in his young life and he was quite willing to swear he would put his best foot forward.

  ‘How are you getting on with Mr Caletti?’ Mills asked, his manner suggesting it was a loaded question. Had Mills somehow got word of the events of the morning? Meggsie couldn’t see how that was possible.

  ‘I don’t see him very much, sir. He’s been away. I work at the fruit shop up on Darlinghurst Road. He comes in occasionally; I really work for Mr Battaglia.’

  ‘Well that’s probably just as well, son,’ Mills said. ‘Try and get a better night’s sleep tonight. Off you go now, Gilbert. You can always come to me if you have problems, you know.’

  ***

  It was more than a mile from Plunkett Street School to Benny’s fruit shop, and an introspective Meggsie kicked a tin can most of the way, as he thought about the difficulties of his situation. He knew that Benito would have more to say about the visit from Bruhn and his cronies, but he couldn’t see what it might mean for his tenure at the shop. By the time he’d kicked the battered tin down to Hopewell Lane, he’d convinced himself that he might have to face life on the street again, and he discovered that the thought terrified him.

  ‘You’re late,’ Benito greeted him.

  ‘I got kept in,’ Meggsie responded.

  ‘Oh?’ Benito replied, obviously wanting further information.

  ‘I had a bad day. I couldn’t think straight. Mr Mills said I was off with the fairies and gave me extra work.’

  ‘Off with the fairies, eh? I’ve been a little that way myself, son, so I know the feeling. We need to have a talk, later. Here comes Mrs Riley. You’d better go and see if you can make her happy again.’

  ***

  The roller shutter had barely come down, when Benito beckoned Meggsie to the back room. Benito seemed to be in a hurry, and clearly had something important to say, but when he sat opposite Meggsie at the table, he suddenly appeared to be lost for words.

  ‘So, mate, you are off with the fairies at school,’ Benito finally began. Meggsie recognised that this wasn’t the important subject Benito wanted to broach.

  ‘Yes. I didn’t sleep very well last night, and I could barely keep my eyes open today.’

  ‘I could see that this morning. I didn’t sleep much, either,’ Benito replied. ‘Did you understand what I told you about the gangs last evening? I have to admit that I wasn’t thinking very straight myself.’

  ‘I think so,’ Meggsie replied. ‘Mister Caletti and Mister Bruhn both want to be the big boss, and only one can come out on top.’

  ‘That’s part of the story. Apparently, Bruhn is at war with just about everyone else as well. I think Mister Bruhn has a death wish. Some of the people he’s upset never forgive. Wars like this kill people. Do you understand this Gilberto? Do you really understand this?’

  ‘I think so,’ Meggsie said uncertainly.

  ‘I’m not sure you really do, Gilberto. I want to have a chat, man to man. You do know what that means, don’t you?’

  ‘I think so,’ Meggsie said again, clearly unsettled now.

  ‘It means we’re to be straight with each other. No bullshit. That’s-a what man to man means.’ Benito waited for a reply, but Meggsie didn’t have one.

  ‘When you first tried to steal my bananas, I thought you were just another thief. I realise that boys sometimes end up on the street, and sometimes it’s their fault, sometimes not. Since then, I’ve grown to appreciate that there are good things about you. You’re a hard worker, and good company. If you want to have a future in the fruit and veg business, I’m sure you will succeed. I’m not sure that’s a-what you really want, though. Do you know what you really want, Gilberto?’

  Meggsie still wasn’t sure where this man to man talk was headed. ‘I like fruit and veg,’ he said. ‘I’d like to be a racing car driver.’ Even as he said it, Meggsie was aware that it wasn’t the reply Benito wanted.

  ‘What do you think about becoming a member of Uncle Guido’s push, you know, like Charlie the Cutter, Joey Pozziano, Weasel Beasley or Mickey Milligan?’

  Meggsie found his head shaking before Benito got the words out. ‘That’s not what I want,’ he blurted.

  Benito sat forward in his chair and looked Meggsie directly in his eyes. ‘Gilberto, you are just a boy, but you are quickly turning into a man, and you must decide what sort of man you want to be.’ Meggsie sat dumbly, his guts churning.

  ‘Now tell me the truth, Gilberto. Have you been doing things that Uncle Guido asked you to do? Things that you know are wrong?’

  Meggsie’s first instinct, ingrained from childhood, was to deny everything. He began to shake his head, but the realisation that Benito wasn’t about to strike him made him pause. It appeared that Benito was far more astute regarding Meggsie’s clandestine activities than he’d thought.

  ‘I only did cockatooing,’ he replied truculently.

  ‘Meggsie, there’s cockatooing and there’s cockatooing. I didn’t mind that you kept nit for Bert and Charlie’s game, but that was because no one was getting hurt. They run a fair game. I think you’ve been doing more than that, though. I fronted Guido about that, and he den
ied it. I know Guido very well, and I know he was lying. Will you deny it too? Think about it before you answer, mate, because it comes down to what sort of man you want to be. Do you want to be an honest man, or a man like Uncle Guido? It all starts with being a little bit dishonest. You can’t be a little bit dishonest, Gilberto. There’s only honest, and dishonest.’

  Meggsie’s mind was racing. He put his head down and stared at the ground. Benito didn’t try to interrupt the long, tense pause, as Meggsie considered his position.

  ‘I did cockatooing for Mister Caletti while he was taking money from drunk men,’ Meggsie finally said, without lifting his eyes from his bootlaces.

  ‘And did you think that was the right thing to do?’ Benito asked quietly. Meggsie shook his head sadly, eyes still downcast.

  ‘It wasn’t Guido’s money, and whatever he paid you wasn’t yours either.’

  ‘No,’ Meggsie replied, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. A long pause followed. ‘I was thinking they were men like my father, who waste their money anyway, but I knew it was wrong,’ the chastened boy added, fearful of the consequences that would surely follow.

  ‘You think about that,’ Benito said. ‘But if you are going to be part of Uncle Guido’s push, it can only increase the risk to this shop. God knows, that’s high enough already, after the shotgun incident. I don’t want you to give Guido any reason to come here. I really don’t know whether I should be letting you stay here. I’m afraid for you, for my family, for the shop. It’s best not to get mixed up in this sort of thing, Gilberto.’

  ‘I gave some to my mum,’ Meggsie blurted, wanting to justify his action. Almost immediately, he wished he hadn’t.

  ‘What do you think she’d say if she knew the money was stolen from some poor sod who couldn’t hold his liquor?’ Benito asked angrily. Meggsie searched his mind and found he didn’t really know what his mother would have said.

  ‘I don’t suppose she’d like it much.’

  ‘I don’t know her, but I reckon she’d be disappointed in you. You’re old enough to make your mind up about what sort of man you want to be. Everything I own is invested in this shop. Your choice, Meggsie. Guido or the shop.’