The Day of the Gecko

by Robert G. Barrett

  But the bar was always full of nice enough people and interesting characters and somehow or other, through Jee or the owner, Les got to meet a few of them. He was at the bar one night and Kylie Minogue ordered a drink almost next to him. James Packer would come in and have a meal with his girlfriend. Virginia Hey, James Reyne or Vince Sorrenti would have a drink or a meal there. Different actors, authors, film directors, models, boxing promoters, etc, would drift in from time to time. Definitely not your ‘pie and schooners’ mob from the local boozer, yet there was no posing in the place and nobody tried to bung on any side. It was just a good place to have a meal and a drink.

  Norton was impressed there one night, however. He was at the bar with a mate, talking, but mainly perving on this gorgeous little number in a tight vest, white satin shorts and cowboy boots who was boogieing around in front of Jee at the door. A fair lump of a bloke at the bar, near Les, in a white suit and white shirt done up at the collar, finished his drink, looked at his watch, then walked over to the girl, put her over his shoulder and tossed her into the back seat of a Rolls-Royce convertible parked outside; and they both drove off laughing like drains. Les declared to his mate that if Charles Bukowski was still alive, even he’d call that style. The thing that impressed Norton most about Redwoods though, besides the food and the people, was that it was just down and around the comer from his house and he could fall out the front door blind drunk and be home in bed in less than ten minutes. Then stagger back for a good breakfast the next day.

  ‘So that’s where I mainly go for a drink on my nights off, Garrick. I don’t know if that’s true about the owner. But if he’s there you can ask him. He sounds like he might be in your line of business.’

  The major looked thoughtful. ‘What did you say his name was again?’

  ‘Marty. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Mmhh. Oh well. The place sounds interesting.’

  ‘What do you like to drink?’

  ‘Just Jim Beam and soda. Slice and ice.’ The major smiled. ‘What about you, Les? Darwin Stubbies?’

  Norton smiled back as they walked along. ‘You wouldn’t believe it, Garrick, but since I got back from Hawaii, I got a taste for that Millers Genuine Draught. In the long neck.’

  ‘Seppo beer!?’ retorted The Gecko. ‘Shit! What are you, Les? A bloody poofter or something?’

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Norton. ‘And they got it freezing cold round there. I drink crates of it.’

  The major shook his head. ‘Oh well, to each his own, I suppose. You don’t have a float in the Gay Mardi Gras, do you, Les?’

  Norton shook his head also. ‘Not since the horse died.’

  They wheeled right at the bottom of Hall Street into Campbell Parade. There were more people around now; walking, licking ice-creams, sitting in restaurants or whatever. At Redwoods, the door was open and Jee was standing at the front in a pair of jeans and a brown silk shirt. His big friendly smile seemed to get bigger when he saw Norton.

  ‘Les, my man, how’s it goin’, brother?’

  ‘Pretty good, Jee. Okay if me and my friend come in for a couple of cool ones?’

  Jee made a magnanimous gesture with his hands. ‘Please do.’

  Norton tossed the major a wink. ‘What did I tell you? You don’t get a much better welcome than that.’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ agreed The Gecko, following Les inside.

  ‘Hey! Look at that,’ said Les. ‘There’s two empty seats at the bar.’

  The place was reasonably crowded and before the major knew what was going on, Les had threaded them through the tables and the people and they were propped on two stools on either side of the comer; The Gecko on Norton’s right at the short end; Les at the start of the long end of the bar. The barman knew Norton of old, gave him a smile and, before long, Les had an MGD in his hand and the major had his Jim Beam: slice and ice.

  ‘Well, cheers, Garrick,’ said Norton. ‘It’s nice meeting you. Certainly different, but nice all the same.’

  The Gecko clinked Norton’s bottle. ‘I think I’d have to say pretty much the same about you, Les.’

  Norton’s first beer went down pretty easily, so he ordered another. He remembered the major said he was more a moderate drinker so Les just left some money on the bar and told Garrick that if he wanted anything, get it and take it out of that. The major nodded a thanks and seemed quite happy just to sip his bourbon and look at the people around him. Les took another swallow of beer and did pretty much the same.

  There appeared to be the usual laid-back crowd having an early Wednesday night drink or a bite to eat. All the seats at the bar were taken, there were a few tables of girls on their own, or boys and couples picking at their beef carpaccio, chargrilled tuna or whatever. Les didn’t notice anybody he knew, or the owner, or any singers, actors or young billionaires; just happy, casually dressed people enjoying themselves while a bit of M. People wafted from the speakers round the walls.

  The only exception appeared to be five drunken men in working gear, dirty jeans, King Gee shorts, boots and whatever, swarming around the end of the bar near the coffee machine. One was wearing a BLF T-shirt and Les tipped them to be off the building site next door. They’d probably been working overtime, decided to have a couple of beers at Redwoods because it was handy, got the taste and stayed ever since. Now they’d reached the good old obnoxious-Australian-yobbo stage. Les had worked and played football with a lot of building workers. Most of them were okay and out to make a dollar the same as everybody else. But a lot of blokes Norton came across in the building game had the attitude that they were the only people in the world that did any work. And anybody that didn’t pour concrete or whatever and drive round in a Holden ute with a concrete-mixer and a blue heeler in the back and drink fifty schooners in the public bar with ‘the boys’ after work was a bludger and a soft cock.

  The five men at the other end of the bar appeared to have that attitude. Especially a tall one with brown hair and an overgrown moustache plastered across a snarly, fat pie-shaped face. Les ordered another two drinks and he and the major sat there absently watching as the five yobbos gave the ‘bludgers and soft cocks’ around them a bit of aggro; trying to hit on the girls, making lots of noise, spilling their drinks, etc, while they engaged in a bit of push and shove and gave each other a few friendly head butts. Good yobbo stuff. The patrons around them tried to ignore them as best they could. Jee came over a couple of times and politely asked them to settle down; they mostly ignored him then gigged him and gave him the finger behind his back when he walked back to the door. On the third trip back, Norton noticed Jee’s usual sparkling smile was starting to fade and tipped they might get a bit of action in Redwoods before the evening was over.

  ‘Who are your mates down the end of the bar?’ the major said to Les.

  Norton shook his head. ‘I dunno. They’re probably off that building site next door.’

  ‘Do you think they’d have a brain between them?’

  Norton shook his head again. ‘If they did, it’d be in mint bloody condition.’

  After two beers on top of all that food, Norton thought he might switch to bourbons also. He was about to order another round when he noticed The Gecko watching something at the end of the bar. ‘Pieface’, the tall builder with the moustache, tired of annoying everybody else around, had decided to start on the staff and, with his yobbo mates egging him on, was in an argument with the barman. Despite the music and the surrounding noise you could hear the builder bellowing at the top of his voice and it appeared to be over a dollar or so. The barman, a skinny kid with a black ponytail and a stud, who was probably a part-time model, was trying patiently and politely to explain to Pieface that if you ordered bourbon, you got house bourbon. If you wanted Jim Beam, Wild Turkey or whatever, it was extra; in this case it came to a dollar. But Pieface would have no part of it. He’d definitely been robbed and he had it all over the young barman who was just trying to do his job, so like a big man he was going for it. M
aking plenty of noise and making a complete flip of himself in the process. The other barman was helping the manager do something, so the barman with the ponytail was on his own. Les was trying to catch his eye when a blonde in a tight blue top, sitting on The Gecko’s right, waved some money in the air. The barman, looking for an excuse to get away from Pieface, saw her, excused himself from the builder, and came up to take her order. Pieface would have no part of that either. As soon as the barman made it to the blonde, he elbowed his way through the patrons, charged round the comer of the bar and elbowed his way in between the major and the blonde to give the barman another gobful. With his face all red and his chest puffed up with belligerent confidence, Pieface jabbed his finger over the bar.

  ‘You will not walk away from me,’ he bellowed, trying to sound semi-intelligent and extra-tough by emphasising each word. ‘You will be told. You won’t tell me.’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ said the barman. ‘Now, if you’ll just excuse me for a moment, I’ll just see what this lady wants.’

  Pieface looked like he was going to explode. ‘Hey, don’t you try and ignore me. I work for my fuckin’ money, more than you do. And I know the price of drinks.’ Pieface jabbed his finger at the barman, waving his arm around and, in the process, knocked some of The Gecko’s drink over his hand.

  The Gecko looked at his hand for a second, then turned to Pieface, turned to Les, then back to Pieface. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, tapping the builder on the shoulder. ‘What seems to be your problem, son?’

  Pieface turned and glared down at the major. ‘No one’s fuckin’ talking to you.’

  ‘I know they’re not. But they’re spilling drinks on me, and I don’t very much like it.’

  ‘Well, I don’t give a fuck what you like. Mind your own fuckin’ business.’

  Jee seemed to sense something was going on from where he was standing at the door. But he was too preoccupied with another bunch trying to get in to come over. Les also got a sense that it might be a good time to slip his watch off.

  ‘You appear to be concerned over a dollar,’ said the major, ignoring Pieface’s last statement. ‘Well, there’s five,’ he said, taking some money from the bar and offering it to the builder. ‘Why don’t you take that, settle down, and join your friends back at the end.’

  ‘Why don’t you take your five dollars and shove it up your arse,’ snarled Pieface. He jabbed a thumb in his own chest. ‘And I’ll fight anybody.’

  ‘Yes, you probably would,’ said The Gecko, putting the five dollars back with the other money. ‘No doubt you’re one hard man.’

  Very casually, The Gecko rose from his stool and, in about the same movement, slammed his left knee in the builder’s groin. Pieface’s eyes stuck out like two button-squashes as the pain and shock hit him. Just as quickly, The Gecko banged the palm of his left hand up under the builder’s chin; nothing very fancy, but it almost broke his neck. His head barely had time to snap back, when the major grabbed him by the front of his jeans, brought him forward and at the same time smashed the top of his skull into the builder’s face. His nose crumpled, blood bubbled down into his moustache and that was the end of him. The major twisted Pieface around, kicked his legs away with a foot sweep and the builder crashed onto a table, then the floor, out like a light. Which, apart from the screams of a few girls and the startled looks of the nearby patrons, should have been the end of it.

  But no. Pieface’s mates came running up from the end of the bar, the same time as Jee came running in from the front door. The leading yobbo grabbed the stool Major Lewis had been sitting on and, dying for a sneak chance to belt the black doorman all night, he swung it into Jee’s face, stopping him dead. Jee went down on one knee and the yobbo crashed the stool across his neck. Going well, the yobbo went to bring the stool down on The Gecko’s head. The major moved in slightly, blocked the stool with his left hand and drove his fingers up under the yobbo’s floating rib like a knife. The builder just had time to screw his eyes up and give a gasp of pain, when The Gecko brought his right arm up and hammer-fisted the yobbo across the bridge of his nose, smashing it like Pieface’s, then kneed him in the back as he went down. The stool hit the floor, and the other patrons leapt up, heading for the exit signs, figuring there was quite a problem arising now, and tripping over Jee and Pieface in the process.

  This left three drunken yobbos still keen for a bit of aggro. The first one, a big, heavy-set dill wearing the BLF T-shirt, jumped on The Gecko’s back and they both crashed to the floor. It all happened pretty quickly and Les was happy sitting there, watching the major in action. Now he decided he’d better do something; at least break the fight up, if nothing else. Les would have, only just as he rose from his seat, he spotted the yobbo to his right go to king-hit him. Les tucked his chin in and brought his shoulder up and the big left haymaker bounced off the top of Norton’s thick, red Queensland skull. Oh well, thought Norton, looks like I’m in this now, whether I want to be or not. He bent at the knee and slammed three quick left hooks into the yobbo’s face. The first two mangled his lips to pulp and knocked out several teeth, the third one just sent a spray of blood all over the wall and the nearest Aztec mural. That was enough. But Les decided to finish him with a short right that swung his jaw round to the other side of his face. He hit the deck cold just as the last yobbo threw a flurry of lefts and rights at Norton. A couple landed, but Les blocked most of them with his left and drove a straight right into the yobbo’s face, squashing his nose all over it. He shut his eyes just as Les bent at the knee again and threw a sizzling left uppercut that caught him right on the point of the chin, almost driving his jaw up into his skull. He headed for the deck, also, and just before he did Les grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and banged his head against the bar, putting a split in his scalp about a foot long. With them out of the road, Les turned to see how the major was doing.

  The Gecko was on his back with the huge builder over the top of him pinning him down; there was very little movement. Les was about to kick the yobbo in the head when The Gecko spun round from underneath the builder and finished up on top of him. He had both sides of the yobbo’s T-shirt collar in his powerful hands and had ripped them across his throat, effectively choking him out. It was nothing fancy again, just close-quarters combat, but the yob’s eyes had glazed over, his breathing had stopped and he was about five seconds away from dying. Instead of kicking the yobbo in the head, Les tapped The Gecko on the shoulder.

  ‘Excuse me, Major, but is he really worth killing? And we wouldn’t want to jeopardise the mission now, would we?’

  The Gecko’s head swivelled round to Norton and he looked up with that smiling, unsmiling lizard look on his face. ‘Yes, you’re right, Les,’ he agreed. ‘Good lad.’ Major Lewis let go of the yob’s throat. He sucked in a horrible, rattling gasp of air as his head hit the floor and he went to sleep.

  Jee was on his feet now, a little battered and a little bruised, but not bleeding, so Les thought it might be as good a time as any to get out of the place. The bar staff and the manager saw what happened. They could clean the mess up and Norton was definitely a much preferred customer to the five dummies snoring and bleeding on the floor.

  ‘Are you okay, Jee?’ Les asked the big American.

  ‘Yeah, I think so.’ Jee blinked his eyes, moved his neck and looked at the yobbos lying amongst the upturned chairs and tables on the floor. ‘Shit! What happened here?’

  Norton patted him on the shoulder. ‘If anybody asks, Jee, you did it.’ Les nodded to the door. ‘There’s a dump-bin in front of that building site. Throw them in there till they sober up.’ He turned to The Gecko. ‘Come on, Major. We’d better get going, I think.’

  The major nodded. ‘Good idea, lad. Good idea.’

  They threaded their way through what startled patrons were left and headed for the door. As he got to the footpath, Norton realised he’d left a fairly hefty tip on the bar. Oh well, he shrugged, it was only Price’s money anyway. He and The Gecko g
ot into double time along Campbell Parade, swung a hard left back into Hall Street and were crossing Consett Avenue almost level with the Post Office when the major spoke.

  ‘I thought you said that was a quiet bar, Les? With good clientele.’

  ‘Normally it is,’ replied Norton. ‘I don’t know how those mugs got in there.’

  The Gecko shook his head. ‘The way that big bloke was going on. Terrorising that poor kid behind the bar. And I’ll fight anybody.’

  ‘Yeah, he was going all right, until you kneed him in the nuts.’

  The major made a gesture with his hands. ‘Normally I don’t do those sorts of things. It’s just that he was big and I felt threatened.’

  ‘You felt threatened?’ Les tried not to burst out laughing. The Gecko had just taken out three big men in about a minute and he ‘felt threatened’.

  ‘Yes, Les. Threatened and frightened.’

  ‘Well, dear me, Major. Don’t you ever feel threatened. I mean, not when you’ve got me around. Shit! That’s what I’m here for — aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes,’ nodded The Gecko. ‘I was watching you from on the floor. You don’t throw a bad left hook — for a young bloke.’ The Gecko nodded again. ‘Yes, you’re right, Les. I never really thought of that.’