The Day of the Gecko

by Robert G. Barrett

  However, when they got back to the surf club, Les put the heavy bag on hold and settled for a few stretches and chin-ups and that in the exercise station next door.

  Feeling in a pretty good mood after he’d showered, and seeing The T-shirt was such good company on the paddle, Les offered to buy him lunch over at Speedo’s. The Shirt didn’t have to start work till three and, being a bit like Norton, wasn’t one to knock back a free lunch either. So over to Speedo’s they went, where they knocked over salads, omelettes, more focaccia and plenty of Speedo’s A1 coffee. Before long they were both bloated and it was time to get going. The Shirt thanked Les for the scoff; Norton said he’d probably see him down the surf club for some more punishment tomorrow.

  By the time Les got back to Susie’s unit and soaked his sweaty gym gear in the laundry, the day was starting to slip away. He poured a glass of mineral water and glanced through the Telegraph Mirror only to find Piers Akerman putting the boot into greenies too. Christ! What is this? thought Les. Open season? The way things are going, the greenies’ll finish up an endangered species just like the poor bloody things they’re trying to protect. And wouldn’t the Japs and the developers love that. Oh well. At least Akerman isn’t as biased and bad-mouthed as those other creeps. Les closed the paper, finished his drink of water and went into the lounge room.

  Now, where do I bloody start? he wondered, tearing the wrapping off a cassette as he stared at all the CDs; there were hundreds to choose from. Oh well. Just pick some out, run them through and see what I come up with. Susie’s CD was a five-stack and you could tape and switch tracks off the remote. Before long, Les had the stacker filled and was spinning the CDs around, taping the tracks he liked best and writing the names down in a notebook.

  With a bit of mucking around and a couple more glasses of mineral water, Les was able to get three ninety-minute tapes filled by late afternoon. It would have been nice just to sit back and listen to all the different music, but Les did some more stretches and a bit of yoga for his back while he was taping. Some of Susie’s CDs were a bit iffy, but most of them were great. There were bands and singers he’d never heard of before; and if he had there were CDs and tracks they had out that he’d never heard. Billy Burnette, Lonnie Mack, Mark Collie, Bob Margolin. Ron Levy’s ‘Wild Kingdom’, The Smokin’ Joe Kubek Band, Asleep At The Wheel, Nathan and the Zydeco Cha Chas. All good boogieing stuff. A track by Lou Reed, ‘The Original Wrapper’, surprised him, as did one by Ian Hunter, ‘Big Time’. But one track did get Les. ‘Baby Likes to Boogie Like a Boggie Woogie Choo-Choo Train’ by The Tractors. He played it three times in a row before taping it, then played it again. Les even put down ‘Rescue Me’ by Fontalla Bass because it reminded him of the time he met DD on the Gold Coast and they hustled to it. And a track by Sunrize Band from the NT, ‘Bugula Gun Bachira’. The whole album was good and the best thing was you couldn’t understand a word they were saying. All up, not a bad way to put in an afternoon, and Les had barely scratched the surface of the CDs yet.

  Outside, it wasn’t much of a day now, with light rain on and off. People and families walked past out the front. Macabee seemed to vanish, then come back again. The two Russian fishermen returned; Les paid them scant attention but they didn’t appear to be loaded down with too many fish. Les made a cup of tea and a bit of toast; he wasn’t all that hungry and if he did get peckish later on, there were always plenty of sandwiches and things at the club. Before long, it was time for a shave and the big Queenslander was standing in front of the TV wearing a pair of jeans, blue T-shirt, matching windcheater and a pair of black grunge boots watching the last of the news on the ABC.

  There had been no phone calls and no sign of Susie’s boarder. Talking about boarders. Norton smiled down at the phone and wondered if he could still disguise his voice. He picked up the receiver, pushed the buttons and waited.

  ‘Hello,’ came a dull woman’s voice at the other end, which had to be Isola.

  ‘Could I spik plis to Mr Norton?’ No matter how hard Les tried, it always sounded like a Jewish Humphrey Bogart.

  ‘He is not here.’

  ‘Den ver is he?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Vot you mean, you don’t know?’

  ‘I don’t know because I do not. I am just here staying.’

  ‘Den vy don’t you find out ver he is, you dopey moll, so I can be leaving him a message.’

  There was a pause for a moment. ‘Vot you just said?’

  ‘I said I vont to leave Mr Norton a message. Don’t you got no brains, you vombat?’

  ‘Vot? I got der brains.’

  ‘Yeah. I am vishing you had a brain as big as your cunt, you dill. I vas told an elephant could valk into your cunt vit a mahmout on top carrying an umbrella.’

  ‘Vot! You don’t talk to me like that. Who are you?’

  ‘You don’t like the vay I talk to you?’

  ‘No. I don’t like.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t like,’ Norton roared into the phone, ‘why don’t you fuck off!’ Then he hung up.

  Les looked down at the receiver and smiled. He was hoping to get Warren, but that would have to do for the time being. Well look at that — Norton’s eyes went from the phone to his watch — it’s about time I went and bundied on at the pickle factory. Norton locked the unit up as securely as possible and, knowing there would more than likely be a drink on if they had a meeting after the club closed, strolled down to Six Ways and caught a taxi.

  It was drizzling rain when Les got out of the cab, knocked their special knock on the club door and let himself in with his key. Billy was dressed pretty much like Norton and sitting on a stool reading a book called Real Cops by Brett Stevens. He smiled up and closed his book as Les let shut the door behind him.

  ‘Les, how are you, mate?’

  ‘All right, Billy. How’s y’self?’

  ‘Good. You look like you’ve been doing a bit of training.’

  ‘Yeah. That fuckin’ T-shirt took me for a paddle on a ski. He near killed me. What did you do today?’

  ‘Did a bit of work on the house. Took the kids to soccer. I ended up doing about an hour in my gym.’ Billy gave Les a bit of grin, followed by a left rip that pulled up just near Norton’s ribs. ‘So what’s all this with Side Valve Susie? I told Price where you rang me from.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m looking after her place for her till Sunday. Up in little Leningrad with all these crazy Russians.’

  Les filled Billy in on what was going on. About the session with Susie, the old bloke out the front of the flats. What was going on at Chez Norton’s and how he left the place when he packed his gear.

  ‘So, that’s about it, William. I’m in this flat taping all these grouse CDs and having a nice rest. It’s rather delightful actually.’

  Billy stared at Les and shook his head. ‘You’re unbelievable.’

  ‘Yeah,’ a quick smile flicked across Norton’s lips, ‘I do have my moments, I suppose. But what’s all the drama about? That’s more important than me bumping into an old flame and having a dump in my kitchen sink.’

  Billy made a gesture with his hands. ‘I don’t know myself, to tell you the truth. But there’s some sort of trouble going on.’

  ‘Somebody out to get Price? Eddie got to do a job?’

  Billy shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think it’s anything like that, but it does sound important.’

  Les thought for a moment. ‘Oh, well, I imagine we’ll know tonight. Anyway, I’d better go up and let them know I’m here. They all up there?’

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Billy.

  ‘Okay. I’ll see you after.’ Les jogged off up the stairs.

  There was hardly anyone in the club; a dozen or so well-dressed punters seated at two tables playing Manilla. The two girls in their black uniforms, with the sandwiches and drinks, were standing near one of the windows; they gave Les a dainty wave when they saw him come up the stairs. At one of the tables Les saw Price, half with his back to him, in
a neat grey suit and maroon tie. He wasn’t playing cards, just watching. George Brennan was at the other table in a dark suit and matching tie doing much the same thing. He saw Les and winked; Les winked back, then walked softly over to Price. It was quiet in the club. Some of the men playing cards saw Les and looked up for a brief instant then returned to their game. Les moved up behind Price and tapped him gently on one shoulder.

  Price looked up and smiled. ‘Hello, mate,’ he said quietly. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘All right.’ Les winked back.

  Having let Price know he was there, Norton walked over to the two sandwich girls, had a quick word and a bit of a joke, then started walking unobtrusively round the club. He checked the windows, the doors, the toilets, the fire escape. Gave the punters the once-over, then walked around all the windows again. If anybody wanted to know what he was doing, Norton was doing exactly what was required of him. His job. Noticing a movement through one of the frosted glass windows in the office, Les walked over, knocked gently on the door, then opened it. Eddie was sitting there on the phone, dressed pretty much like Les, only he was wearing a black leather jacket. Les gave him a wave, got a quick wave in return, then closed the office door again. Norton had one more look round the place, then, satisfied everything appeared to be in order, walked back down the stairs to Billy.

  ‘Well. Everything seems okay up there.’

  ‘Mmmhh.’ Billy looked up from his book. ‘I had a look around earlier.’

  ‘S’pose we may as well just hang down here. Then go up and put our heads in every now and again.’

  Billy nodded in agreement. ‘You got something to read?’

  ‘Yeah, I have, as a matter of fact,’ replied Les, pulling his copy of The Ganja Coast from his jacket pocket.

  ‘Good. Tell me when it’s my turn to go upstairs.’

  Billy went back to his tales of cops and situations in Australia. Les opened up his book of hippies and drugs in India.

  About five minutes or so went by, then Billy spoke.

  ‘What’s that book like? Any good?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s not bad,’ replied Les. ‘How’s yours?’

  ‘All right, yeah.’

  They didn’t let any more people in the club. Anybody that showed up was politely turned away. There was a dangerous electrical fault; but everything would be in order by tomorrow night. Sorry about the inconvenience, you should always ring, just in case. Good night, have a safe trip home in the rain and we might see you tomorrow. The rest of the punters were out by eleven, along with the sandwich girls; the lights were dimmed, the club was secured and they were all in the office — Price behind his desk, Les on his right, Billy on his left, George was spread across the lounge and Eddie was on a seat not quite next to him. All the ‘hellos’ and ‘how are yous’ were dispensed with, everyone was comfortable with a drink in their hand and now it was down to business.

  ‘All right, oh grand vizier,’ said Les to Price. ‘So what have you got your bowels in an uproar over this time? Have I got to go and bash some poor kids cause they’ve been skateboarding on your driveway? What’s up, mate?’

  Price held up his hand. ‘Hey! Before we go any further. What’s your domestic circumstances at the moment? Are you staying at some sheila’s place or something? Billy gave me half the story.’

  ‘That’s right,’ nodded Les. ‘An old friend of mine — Susie. I’m looking after her flat for her while she’s away. Till Sunday.’

  ‘On your own?’ asked Price.

  ‘Yeah. On my Pat Malone. There’s a boarder, but he’s away somewhere.’

  Price glanced over at Eddie. ‘That could come in very handy.’

  Eddie nodded back almost imperceptibly.

  Les took a sip from his bottle of Eumundi Lager and looked at his watch. ‘So, come on, what’s all the drama? I should be home in bed now watching David Letterman.’

  ‘Yeah. Playing with your dick’d be more like it,’ said George Brennan over his Bacardi and grapefruit juice.

  ‘True,’ Les nodded again, ‘but at the moment I got someone doesn’t mind doing it for me. So I don’t have to bother.’

  Price eased back in his chair, which somehow only seemed to emphasise his presence in the room more. He took a sip from his Scotch and soda. ‘Okay, Les. So you want to know what’s going on?’

  ‘Yeah,’ answered Les, ‘I wouldn’t mind. Especially if it concerns my health and wellbeing. Not to mention my job security here at the Sydney Harbour bridge club.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Price paused for a moment, looking evenly at Norton. ‘So where have you been hanging out lately, Les? Down on Bondi Beach, I suppose?’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Norton again. ‘I go down the beach.’

  ‘Whereabouts? Down the south end?’

  ‘Yeah, though the north end mainly. But I go down the south end sometimes.’

  ‘And what do you see when you’re down the south end, Les?’

  Norton shrugged. ‘I dunno. Wogs kickin’ soccer balls. Westie yobbos kickin’ footballs. Poofs throwin’ tennis balls around. Tits, bums. Blokes with the cut lunches stuffed into G-strings. The usual.’

  ‘Yeah, but what else is down there?’ continued Price.

  Les shrugged again. ‘Waxheads, Japs riding lids and takin’ photos. Blokes sellin’ ice-creams. Hey, what the fuck is this?’ said Les, looking around the room. ‘The Spanish Inquisition, because I hang down the south end now and again. What’s going on?’

  ‘Settle down, Les,’ soothed Price, continuing to stare at Norton. ‘But what else do you see when you’re down there?’

  ‘Just up to the right a bit,’ cut in George.

  ‘Just up to the right?’ Les shrugged again. ‘The stormwater drain. The baths?’

  There was a quick round of applause. ‘The man is hot,’ said Eddie, raising his Stolichnaya and lemon. ‘Go, Les. Smokin’.’

  ‘That’s right, Les,’ said Price. ‘The Bondi baths. Now, Les. What else have you noticed sitting on the Bondi baths? Take your time, mate. The buzzer doesn’t go for another ten seconds.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t bloody know,’ said Norton, shaking his head. ‘The bloody Icebergs?’

  There was another round of applause. ‘I told you the kid was a genius,’ said Price, smiling around at the others. ‘Now, Les. If you’ve read the papers and that, and just looked around, what have you noticed about the Bondi baths and the Bondi Icebergs?’

  ‘The ‘Bergs? They’re kicking them out and pulling the whole place down. The bulldozers go in next week or something.’ Les looked around the room. ‘But what the fuck’s this got to do with me? I’m not a member. I’ve only been in the place a few times for a drink or maybe a game of handball, and I have a swim in the baths about twice a year if I’m lucky. To be honest. I don’t give a stuff what they do with the place. It looked pretty fucked the last time I was in there.’

  ‘Have you ever walked round the back of the baths, Les?’ asked Eddie, carefully sipping his vodka.

  ‘Yeah,’ grunted Norton, not so carefully sipping his beer.

  ‘And what did you discover when you were around there, grasshopper?’ asked George.

  Les turned to George. ‘Fucked if I know, oh fat priest from the temple. Dog shit everywhere, a care-taker’s flat. A bloody old handball court . . .’

  ‘Yeah, baby!’ Price led the applause this time, which was a little more sustained. When the clapping died down, it seemed quieter than ever in the office and Price was still staring at Norton. ‘And do you know what’s under that handball court, Les?’ he asked quietly.

  Norton shook his head. He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want an answer, but he knew he was going to get one. ‘No. What?’ he replied dully.

  ‘Two bodies.’

  ‘Two bodies?’ repeated Les.

  ‘That’s right,’ nodded Price. ‘And we’re going to get them out this Friday night.’

  Les closed his eyes for a second, then stared back at Price. ‘
Let me get this straight. There’s two bodies underneath the handball court at the Icebergs and you want to get them out this Friday night?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Price.

  ‘How?’ asked Norton, knowing he needn’t have bothered asking.

  ‘Explosives,’ said Eddie.

  Norton slumped back in his seat trying his level best not to let his presence be felt. ‘You’re fuckin’ kidding.’

  ‘No, we’re not,’ said Eddie. ‘Not in the least.’

  George Brennan shook his head at Les. ‘Not unless you want to be visiting Uncle Price and the rest of us on weekends for about the next twenty years.’

  ‘That’s right, Les,’ agreed Price. ‘And we need you to give us a hand.’

  Billy Dunne nodded slowly. ‘We’re all in this one, mate. All hands on deck.’

  Norton closed his eyes again and slumped further back into his seat. ‘Oh shit!’

  ‘Hey. Don’t sweat it, hero,’ said George. ‘Eddie’s got a sensational genius plan.’

  ‘Eddie’s got a plan.’ Les drained his beer, got up, dumped the empty in the bin and made himself a nice, strong George Dickie and Diet Coke, then sat back down again. ‘So what’s the plan, Eddie?’

  Eddie took another sip of vodka. ‘We’re gonna do it at ten o’clock this Friday night. I got a bloke lined up. He’s the best in the business.’

  ‘Hey, hang on a second,’ cut in Les, ‘just out of curiosity, who are the two bodies? I mean, if I’m taking the odds to get tossed in the nick if this fucks up, I think I’m entitled to know.’ Les turned to Price. ‘Or am I just the hillbilly from Queensland. And don’t tell him anything.’

  ‘No. You’re right,’ conceded Price over another Scotch and soda.‘If you’re good enough to be in the dirty work, you’re good enough to know the dirty details.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Norton.