Dark Angels

by Ron Thomas

  ‘Don’t you even want to see them first? They are street kids. Thieves, pickpockets, all that.’

  ‘Only if you want me to. We’ll sort them out. After all, I’ve had practice now. No, Gilberto, you just go ahead. Do it before the opening if-a you want.’ He turned to Claudia. ‘Now, what about some of that special dessert you told me about?’ he asked.

  Meggsie discovered immediately that he did want Benito’s opinion after all.

  The dessert was delicious, but sweet, and not as tasty as Therese’s, but Meggsie wasn’t complaining. When they finished, Meggsie was about ready for bed. The family, however, were not, and Meggsie began to get a feeling they were waiting for something. With no idea what it could be, curiosity built until Benito impatiently broke the silence.

  ‘Claudia wants to ask-a you something,’ he said. Meggsie looked from one to the other, hoping to find a clue in their expectant faces. Turning back to Claudia, he sensed her embarrassment.

  ‘It’s about my school,’ she began. ‘At the end of the year, we have a formal. Boys have to get dressed up, you know, in dinner suits. The girls all get dressed up too, of course. There’s dancing.’

  Meggsie was beginning to get the idea now. With Benito and Therese side by side next to him, he realised they approved of what was coming. He fought a strong urge to glance at them, and kept his eyes on Claudia’s face. Suddenly she looked down, they lost eye contact and she faltered.

  ‘Yes, Claudia,’ he said gently.

  ‘I was hoping you would escort me,’ she replied, stumbling over the words, her voice little more than a mumble. Then she looked up at him. When she looked into his eyes, he could only think how fresh and beautiful she looked.

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ he said. ‘In fact, I’d be honoured to escort you.’

  ‘We’d have to learn some dances,’ she said apologetically. Meggsie couldn’t think of anything he’d like more.

  ‘What sort?’ he asked.

  ‘Quickstep, foxtrot, ballroom dances mainly.’

  ‘Charleston?’ he asked. She seemed unsure. He liked the Charleston.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘We would get a chance to practice. They are teaching us on Thursday evenings. We’d have to go together.’

  Better and better, Meggsie thought. Keen to expose his expertise in the field of dancing, he was about to tell her he could dance already, but at the last minute he thought better of it.

  ‘Can you do them? The dances, I mean.’ he asked.

  Claudia reddened. ‘Not really. I’ve never danced properly. You know, with a boy,’ she said shyly. ‘I danced last week at practice, but that was with another girl. Some of the girls are very good.’

  ‘Then we’ll learn together,’ he declared, knowing she’d find out soon enough. ‘You’ll be able to dance like them in no time.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said gratefully.

  ‘No need. I want to do it.’

  He finally glanced at Benito and Therese, who were smiling broadly. It made him feel happy that they trusted him with their precious daughter.

  ***

  Meggsie lay back on his comfortable pillow, his hands supporting his head, and thought about Claudia. He liked her smile, her tinkling laugh and her shiny, straight hair. He liked the way she flicked her head and her hair followed. In fact, he liked everything about Claudia Battaglia. As he began to drift off to sleep, his thoughts inevitably turned to the problem posed by Guido Caletti. In other days, he would have kept the problem to himself, but he’d learned the value of friends. Now, he wondered whom he could turn to. Having ruled out Benito on family grounds, he considered Yosef, but he didn’t want to risk his friend incurring Guido’s wrath. A sudden idea gripped him and he considered the implications for a few minutes, then leapt out of bed and began searching through the business cards in his wallet. Having determined that he still had the card he wanted, and sleepy now, he returned to bed and turned his thoughts back to Claudia.

  ***

  Darby Maddocks was, by his own admission, somewhat deficient when it came to things mechanical. A simple ribbon change on his new Remington typewriter had his fingers ink-black and his temperature rising. Only stubbornness prevented him asking for help, but unless he managed it soon, the pressure of a copy deadline would force him to seek the aid of a sneering technician. For the fourth time, he removed the two little spools that held the inked ribbon and tried to fathom why they wouldn’t seat properly on their little spindles. Just as he tried to fit them again, the jangling of the telephone interrupted him.

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’ he shouted in exasperation. May, the office girl happened to be passing. He held the spools out to her with a pleading look on his face, and nodded in the direction of the phone. May nodded back and carefully took the two spools from his outstretched fingers as the telephone kept up its annoying jangling.

  ‘Maddocks,’ he said into the phone, his voice reflecting his annoyance as he saw that he’d inked up the handset.

  ‘Mr Maddocks?’ The voice on the other end of the line asked, sounding nervous.

  ‘That’s me,’ Maddocks replied, regaining his composure.

  ‘It’s Gilbert Maggs, Mr Maddocks.’

  ‘Meggsie! How are you, son?’

  ‘I’m fine, Mr Maddocks. I had a couple of things I wanted to talk through with you, and I wondered if I could come in and see you.’

  ‘Why, sure, Meggsie,’ he said, then thought for a few moments. ‘I’ve got a better idea. I’m having lunch with a mate of mine. Why don’t you come along? Do you like pies?’

  ‘Yes. I thought everyone did.’

  ‘We’re two champion pie eaters, Jimmy and me. Come for lunch.’

  There was a moment of hesitation. ‘One of the things is sort of private,’ Meggsie said.

  ‘Oh. Well if you come in here about eleven, we can talk about that first and then go for some lunch. It’s a bit of a walk, but you can handle it. How’s that sound?’

  ‘That sounds, excellent, Mr Maddocks. I’ll be there at eleven.’

  Darby Maddocks hung up the phone, only to see that May had fitted the ribbon into the Remington, and was standing beside his desk with a sweet smile on her face that had just the merest overtone of smugness.

  ‘How did you do that?’ Maddocks asked quizzically.

  ‘You had it the wrong way around. The spool with the little slot goes over on that side,’ May explained.

  ‘I’m sure I tried it that way,’ Maddocks responded with a shrug.

  ‘Any time you need help, just ask,’ she replied, and he watched with interest as the tripped away down the corridor. May had shapely legs.

  ***

  The linoleum was cracked and worn, but highly polished. Meggsie had never been into a newspaper office, and he hadn’t known what to expect. The office he could see through the wide windows beyond the reception desk gave the impression it was quite chaotic.

  ‘My name is Maggs. Mr Maddocks is expecting me,’ he began.

  ‘Oh, yes. I’ll see if he’s available. It may take a few minutes. The morning edition is closing. Please take a seat,’ the sweet young lady behind the reception desk replied.

  A few minutes turned into ten, then twenty. Finally, Darby Maddocks appeared, looking harassed.

  ‘Sorry, mate. The morning edition was closing and that takes priority over everything. Come on in.’

  Darby Maddocks’ desk was piled high with untidy papers and more than a few half empty coffee cups.

  ‘Take a seat and don’t mind the mess, Meggsie,’ Maddocks said without ceremony. ‘I need to have a tidy up. I told my mate Jimmy we’d meet him at twelve, so we’d better get on with it.’ He shrugged. ‘Sorry. Deadlines!’

  ‘I wanted to thank you again for your help with the insurance, and invite you to the opening of the new shop on Monday week,’ Meggsie said. ‘It wouldn’t have happened without you.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Of course, I’ll be there. I might even do a story about it. Publicity can’t hurt.
But you said there was something you wanted to talk about that was ‘sort of private’, whatever that means. Why don’t you tell me about that?’

  Meggsie had rehearsed what he was going to say, but his mind went blank at the critical moment.

  ‘Go on,’ Maddocks prompted. Once Meggsie began, his story began flooding out in a torrent. More than once, Maddocks stopped him when he got ahead of himself.

  ‘I didn’t want to ask Benito for help because he’s afraid Therese would want him to let Mr Caletti hide in his house. Yosef Abrahams has been very helpful, with the shop and all, particularly the insurance, but I thought it might cause him trouble. I didn’t want that, Mr Maddocks.’

  Maddocks grinned, teasing. ‘So, you thought of me, eh?’

  Meggsie hesitated, feeling embarrassed. ‘Well … yes, I suppose so. I didn’t know anyone else who might be able to help. He brightened up. ‘If you can’t help me, Mr Maddocks. I’ll understand.’

  ‘I’d love to help. Let me think about the best way, though. A tasty Sargents pie might inspire my brain cells. Come on Meggsie! Lunch time!’

  ***

  The heady aroma of fresh-from-the-oven pastry wafting down Margaret Street greeted them long before they arrived at Sargents Bakery and Café. When he saw the line up outside the door, Meggsie immediately thought it would be impossible to find a seat, but Darby Maddocks didn’t hesitate for a moment. Instead, he just pushed his way through the crowd and waved to a jovial looking fellow ensconced at a corner table.

  ‘G’day Jimmy. Busy today,’ Maddocks said, as he pulled out a chair. ‘As I told you on the phone, this is your chance to meet the real Meggs. This bloke has had nearly as many adventures as your bloke. His real name, believe it or not, is Gilbert Maggs.’ Jimmy smiled widely as Maddocks turned to Meggsie.

  ‘Meet my best mate, Jimmy Bancks. He’s got a lot to answer for, but he’s best known as the inventor of Ginger Meggs cartoons.’

  Bancks handed out menus. Meggsie was overawed to be meeting the famous cartoonist. He didn’t know what to say, and for a few minutes, he was content to study his menu as Bancks and Maddocks chatted inconsequentially.

  ‘The pie with peas and spud is one everyone seems to like,’ Bancks said, running his finger down Meggsie’s menu. ‘That one there. I like a couple of mushroom ones myself, and a sausage roll to finish off. Lots of folk prefer the apple pie. It’s delicious, and they serve it with cream. They take a while to serve you on busy days like this, so there’s plenty of time to decide. Now, tell me all about these adventures, Gilbert.’

  ‘Be careful, Meggsie. You might just end up in a cartoon,’ Maddocks warned.

  Meggsie began slowly. With encouragement, he found himself saying much more than he might have intended before he met Bancks. When he spoke of his clash with Harry Moon, Maddocks interrupted.

  ‘Remind you of someone you know, Jim?’ he asked.

  ‘Tiger Kelly? I’d already made that connection, Darb! I’m not that slow.’ Bancks replied. ‘Go on, Gilbert. You’ve got me hooked. I’m all ears.’ Meggsie responded to their encouragement, and talked freely of Guido, of Benito and Therese and of his friends at the markets.

  Meggsie told his story from start to finish before they were finally served and tucked into delicious hot pies. Meggsie couldn’t finish his second pie, but he was more than satisfied. As soon as a pert young waitress took their plates away, Bancks produced a large cardboard folder that had seen better days, held closed by a rusty press stud.

  Meggsie was telling of how much he liked Federico’s green MG, but when Bancks unclipped the stud, folded the cover back and produced a pencil, he hesitated.

  ‘Go on,’ Bancks said encouragingly. ‘I’m listening.’ With that, he began drawing in bold strokes. Meggsie couldn’t see what he was creating. Meggsie had barely finished his story when Bancks turned the folder around so he could see it.

  The character on it was an amalgam of Meggsie’s features and Bancks’ famous cartoon character. He was seated in, or more correctly on what appeared to be a cross between a billy-cart and an MG, at the top of Deadman’s Hill. In the distance, a figure that was somewhere between Tiger Kelly and a cigar-smoking Guido waited at the foot of the hill. A third character, a girl with long, dark hair was blowing a kiss.

  ‘How’s that?’ Jimmy Bancks said, then signed it in his characteristic vertical fashion. He tore out the sheet and passed it to Meggsie.

  ‘So you remember our first lunch. May there be many more of ‘em!’ he said enthusiastically.

  ‘Gee, thanks Mr Bancks,’ Meggsie said. ‘I’ll treasure it.’

  ‘It’s been a most productive little interlude, you see,’ Bancks said. ‘My boss has been trying to talk me into creating a Meggs comic book. I’ve been resisting, but I think I’m ready to give it a go now. I really enjoyed your story. The general public won’t see it, but when you read it, you are sure to recognise yourself and Guido! Harry Moon too. Lovely meeting you, Gilbert Maggs. Seriously, let’s do it again soon.’

  ***

  It was almost midnight. The collar of Guido Caletti’s thick black coat was turned up, and his hat was pulled well down, hiding most of his features. Every few moments he glanced behind him, seeing consortos hiding in every dark corner and behind every tree. Though he took some pride in having eluded the coppers camped outside his house, the fun was wearing very thin by now. When he reached the corner of Hopewell Lane, he stood in a darkened doorway with his back against the door, waiting, listening for footsteps following him. A shadow at the far end of the lane looked like a crouching man, and he stared at it for a long time, trying to detect movement.

  Concluding it was only a garbage can, he walked quickly along the lane, his eyes still fixed firmly on the crouching-man shadow, just in case.

  ‘Now, if that little bastard has left the gate open, I’m in,’ he thought as he approached the back of Benny’s. The chain appeared to be in place, and for a moment he cursed Meggsie under his breath. He stood erect and glanced up and down the lane, but saw nothing to alarm him. When he gave the chain a tentative tug, it came easily, but its rattling sounded very loud to him. Carefully, cradling the links in his palms, he slowly pulled the chain towards him until it came free, then gently lowered it until it hung vertically. A large, brass padlock was locked to the last link. The gate swung open at his push, and he took a last look along the lane, then stepped into the yard and tiptoed across the cobbles towards Benny’s back door.

  ‘Mr Caletti,’ a very loud voice called from the shadows. ‘Can we have a picture?’ Suddenly, a brilliant light illuminated the yard and a barrage of flashbulbs popped from the dark corners of the yard.

  A man stepped out of the shadows. It was that nosey bloody newsman, Darby Maddocks, holding a loud hailing trumpet. Guido stood frozen with shock.

  ‘Darby Maddocks, The Truth,’ Maddocks shouted loudly, using the trumpet. ‘We’ve been looking for you, Mr Caletti. We’re doing a story about Norman Bruhn’s murder. Do you know anything about that? We’d like a word.’ Guido’s already bowstring-taut nerve broke and panic overwhelmed him. Guido Caletti, renowned tough and standover man turned and fled. He could hear the sound of laughter chasing him as he reached the end of Hopewell Lane.

  ***

  ‘I nearly pissed myself!’ Darby Maddocks crowed, hardly able to contain himself as the back door of the shop opened and Meggsie emerged. Press photographers emerged from their hides in the corners of the yard laughing and slapping each other’s backs.

  ‘The look on his face! I thought he was going to shit his pants!’ Darby went on. Meggsie, much more inclined to feel sympathetic towards a humiliated Guido, smiled, tried to share the mirth, but he felt uncomfortable, and he was by no means sure Benito and Therese would approve.

  ‘I reckon he’s still running, Meggsie. That’ll teach the bastard!’ Maddocks said. ‘Funniest thing I’ve seen for years!’ He looked at Meggsie’s face and suddenly the grin was wiped away.

  ‘What’s up
, mate? You should be happy. It worked exactly to plan.’

  ‘I am kind of happy, Mr Maddocks. I just keep thinking that it was Guido who gave me a start at the shop. We did what we had to do.’

  ‘That’s right, Meggsie. Don’t feel sorry for him. I know about all the things he got away with. I don’t reckon he’s felt sorry for anyone in his life.’

  ‘He did give me a start at the shop, though,’ Meggsie said persistently.

  ‘Anyway, he won’t be coming back here anytime soon,’ Darby Maddocks replied. He turned to the news men gathered around him.

  ‘We’ve got our pics, boys. Let’s pack up and go home.’

  ***

  The day had been extraordinary. Benito’s return on the first day of trading of the new Benny’s supermarket had been a triumph beyond expectations. Customers, friends and strangers lined up to shake his hand, and his joy was apparent to every one of them. Therese had insisted he leave at closing time, while Benny’s served customers long after the surrounding shops were closed.

  When the green MG rounded the corner, it was obvious that they would have trouble finding a parking spot near the Battaglia house. The crowd had spilt out the front door and into the street. The neighbours had taken it upon themselves to throw a celebratory party, and they had been secretly passing out invitations during the day. Almost everyone they knew seemed to be there.

  Federico, having driven up from Melbourne the previous day, groaned.

  ‘I can’t stay awake long enough to say hello to everybody, Gil,’ he complained. ‘If I fall asleep, just park me behind the couch.’

  They finally found a parking spot and had to walk some way back to the house. To their surprise, they were greeted by an exuberant Benito.

  ‘Howyer goin’, boys?’ he called across a sea of heads. Meggsie looked around the crowd for Therese, knowing she would probably be wanting to pack Benito off to bed after his hard day. She was nowhere to be seen. When he noticed Claudia walk in from the garden carrying a huge tray of pizza slices, he knew where he’d find Therese. He worked his way through the well-wishers. Therese was in charge of the wood-fired oven and she had a half-dozen women making pizza. She looked hot and bothered, but when she saw him, she waved him away.