by JR Carroll
Teddy motored quietly past the Paper Mills in Fairfield and onto the Chandler Highway towards the Skinny Dog in Kew. He knew the pub but he’d never been in it. It was out of his territory. He burbled along, letting cars go past. Normally he would burn them off, but tonight was not a night to attract interest. Loosen up, Graham had said. I’ll loosen up all right, when I’ve got the notes in my fuckin’ fist. I’ll loosen up in my own good time, not before.
The bar was at the back of the pub and there were lots of heads there, none Teddy knew. They all gave him the once over. No Graham yet. He ordered a pot of VB, took a sip. It was a pub for losers. It didn’t suit Teddy at all. There were a lot of old geezers dribbling on their chins. Nine o’clock and they were all pissed. Old geezers. Teddy wondered why Graham chose the Skinny Dog.
Then Graham came in, clocked Teddy but didn’t smile. He had a short-sleeved sports shirt on and brown slacks to go with his brown hair. Look at him and you’d think, this is one dickless dude.
Well, maybe he is. We’ll see. We’ll see the colour of his fuckin’ money is what we’ll see.
Graham got himself a drink and joined Teddy. Winked. Christ, was this guy real? What was this winking shit? Teddy drank the rest of his beer.
‘How goes it, my man?’ Graham said.
Teddy said nothing.
Graham spotted the empty glass in Teddy’s hand and said, ‘I’ll get you another one. Why don’t you sit at a table, Ted?’
Teddy didn’t like being called Ted. This guy was making a lot of mistakes. But he sat at a table and waited. For four grand he’d sit at a table. Graham returned, put the fresh pot in front of Teddy and sat down. Teddy gave him a minute. Graham looked at Teddy as if he’d just met him. Then he put his hand out and said, ‘Put it there, partner. What a team.’
Teddy didn’t want to, but he shook Graham’s boneless mitt and withdrew with a roll of notes in his claw. That was clever. Teddy dropped his hand below the table and examined what he’d got. They were all hundreds. He counted forty, slipped them in his kick and said, ‘Thanks.’ Time to go.
‘Thank you, partner,’ Graham said. ‘That was a very professional piece of work. I’m impressed, Ted.’
‘It’s Teddy.’
‘Sure. Teddy.’ Graham grinned. ‘Call me Freddy. I don’t give a fuck. What’s a name?’
Teddy drank his beer. Was this jerk going to start coming onto him? Better fuckin’ not. Teddy hadn’t come through four years in Pentridge clean to cop this shit.
‘What about your man?’ Graham says. ‘The one with the truck. Is he solid?’
‘He’s solid, all right. Goran and me went to the same school, mate. We understand about things like loyalty. And he hates cops nearly as much as I do.’
‘That’s good. Now, listen, Teddy,’ Graham said, emphasising the name, ‘the boss man is so pleased he’d like to re-engage your services. Interested?’
Teddy sat up. This surprised him. But he was starting to see dollar signs again. Graham smirked, as if he’d been reading Teddy’s mind, and Teddy wanted to reach over and twist off his face.
But instead he said, ‘That all depends.’
‘Of course. You’re a professional, Ted. Teddy. We both are, in our different ways. I’m middle management, you’re the field man. Horses for courses, right? Listen.’ Graham hunched over and got in Teddy’s face, right there. Teddy could smell him.
Graham said, ‘The boss man, who shall be nameless, wants more work done back there where you excelled yourself so recently. This is the guts of it. That tragic road statistic for whom you accounted was the wife of a publican. Man runs a little pub in Avoca. It is he who is the actual target of these endeavours. For a very good reason which you don’t need to know, our employer wishes to burn this gentleman. Slowly. Like a pig on a spit, Teddy.’
Teddy said nothing. Graham continued.
‘Now. The plan is this. We, you and I, pay a short visit to the town in question. We’re tourists. We go into his little hotel and suss it out, as you might say, or case it. We ascertain the lie of the land. Then at a later date we return and rob it. Knock it over, in your street parlance.’
Teddy looked at Graham’s self-satisfied face. You’d think the bastard had already done it, he thought. But Teddy had immediate reservations about the job. First, he couldn’t see himself going anywhere with this dipstick. Second, how much were they going to pull from a joint like that? Lunch money. Was this going to be worth Teddy’s time and worry, Graham being there too, fucking it up probably? And then on top of that there would be getaway problems, flyspeck like that in the middle of nofuckinwhere. Where do you get away to?
‘Well?’
‘I’ll have to think about it,’ Teddy said.
‘Naturally. A true professional would. Would this hurry along the thinking process?’
Teddy watched with horror as Graham’s hand snaked over his. When it withdrew Teddy pulled back and shoved his hand in his pocket. ‘How much was that?’ he said.
‘Five big ones. That’s five large, Teddy. Down payment. Non-refundable. Yours no matter what. Provided you accept the commission, of course.’
Teddy had finished thinking about it already, but wasn’t letting on. Not yet. ‘I need another drink,’ he said, and got up. ‘Want one?’
Graham smirked his smirk. ‘I do indeed. Let’s toast the enterprise, shall we? Then I really must scoot along.’
When Teddy returned with the beers Graham had brought out a packet of little Villiger cigars and was removing one from its silver wrapping. ‘Help yourself, Teddy,’ he said.
‘No thanks,’ Teddy said, and got out his Marlboros.
‘The thing is,’ Graham said, lighting up, ‘this little establishment is an absolute doddle, Ted. One-man show, minimal security if any at all. Pure hicksville. And don’t be fooled by appearances. I know what you’re thinking. You’d be surprised how much a pub like that turns over on a good weekend. The punters are streaming up that way this time of year. They want to see the vineyards and the goldmines and the, ah, rabbit-skinning contests. It’s all go in Avoca, Ted. Well worth your attention, believe me.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ But he had that five thou in his pocket. It wasn’t coming out again. ‘There are problems with a job like that. I need to be sure it’s planned right.’
‘Absolutely. Couldn’t agree more.’ Graham put his hands up, palms out. ‘Rest assured this will be nutted out to the nth detail. Boss man will provide all necessary ordnance, so don’t worry on that score. But there’s no hurry on this, Ted. Two or three weeks, let things settle down a bit. Let the thing firm in our minds. Somewhere near Christmas sounds about right, wouldn’t you say? But we’ll need to make our preliminary visit well before then. I’ll be in touch about that. Bye, Ted.’
Graham smirked again and got up. Teddy watched him sleaze his way out the door, passing people like water around rocks. Everything about the man offended Teddy, except his readiness to part with the folding stuff. If we’re going to be partners he’d better stop calling me Ted, and what the fuck is ordnance? Why does the dumb faggot have to use big words? Does he think he’s impressing me? No doubt about it, Graham was a big worry. But all the same Teddy left the Skinny Dog a happy man. He’d gone there to get four grand and come out with nine.
Cruising home, Teddy thought of Josie and immediately barred up. Couple of beers and this is what happens. He could see her nice furry butt in his face and feel those mother’s tits filling his hands. His great fantasy was Josie and Elaine in bed with him together, the big one and the little tight one taking turns on him, but couldn’t see it ever happening. Maybe he’d just call in for a quick one with Josie on the way home. He’d drive past her place and give it a look-see, anyhow. Josie had a part-time boyfriend, so he’d check if his car was there and, if not, tap on the bedroom window.
Teddy was in luck. Eleven pm and all quiet in Keon Park. There was a light on in the bedroom, so he gave a rap-rap on the window and stood there waiting fo
r her to peek through the Venetians to see who it was. Teddy didn’t usually call on her at home; he preferred the car rendezvous. She stuck her nose through the slats, recognised him and went to the door. Teddy was there smiling when she opened it. ‘Hi, lover,’ he said.
EIGHT
On Cup Day the Pyrenees Hotel opened early, at ten. Dennis had set up a few TVs around the place—the punters would come in, ensconce themselves, drink and bet all day. The TAB was just along the street. There would be lunches, too, whole tables of them in the lounge and bar meals out front, for which extra staff had been hired. In addition there would be sweeps organised by Brett and Wally Scrivens. Winners would splash their profits, losers would go through what they had left and everyone would kick on into the night. It was an occasion when Dennis could expect to make a good dollar and when he would barely have time to stop and remember that Karen had been dead for a week and that he had the rest of his life ahead of him without her.
To this point he’d experienced numbness more than actual pain, except at the crash scene, as if reality had not yet fully seeped through his natural defences. The prospect of the final realisation of Karen’s death induced a sensation like worms wriggling around in his stomach. That dead feeling was only going to protect him for so long. He was wide open, and felt it. There would come a morning when he would open his eyes and scream and not be able to get out of bed.
During the day he could sometimes displace her from his mind, but then would turn to see where she was and know immediately that she was nowhere. Nowhere. Truth would come crashing down on him then, and he would stand stupidly with an empty glass in his hand and no idea at all what to do next. He could never again pat her behind in passing or watch, heart bursting, while she set tables or did some small thing around the place. During slack times at the bar he used to occasionally treat himself to the private pleasure of observing her unseen with her black hair tied back and the white Pyrenees Hotel T-shirt on, a moment made more satisfying if she happened to glance up and catch him at it. ‘You’re so transparent,’ she’d say. And he was. No one could fill a T-shirt like Karen. Her appearance in the bar automatically brought conversations to a temporary halt—a daily event to which she’d had to adjust by failing to notice it.
Sometimes Dennis would contrive an excuse to be alone with her in a storeroom or anywhere out of view, just so that he could hold her for a minute, give her a kiss, and that would keep him going for a while. Karen was his, and always would be. How had he got that lucky? Somehow against the odds they had crossed paths, a miracle for which he daily gave thanks.
Their marriage had still been young and sex-driven. Usually after closing time she’d sit up cross-legged on the bar, Dennis would pour them a nightcap from the top shelf and they’d analyse the day. Not that there was ever much to talk about, but that wasn’t the point. It was what Karen called their ‘happy half-hour’ together before going to bed.
Each night they would make love, usually twice but frequently more often than that. They were still very much at the stage of insatiable horniness and multiple fucking. The normal procedure was for her to lie on her back, knees raised, a pillow beneath her, fondling his hard-on at first while he stroked the underside of her thigh and primed her with his fingers. Then when they could wait no longer she would guide him into her black-thatched hole and he would fuck her slowly, teasingly, on fully-extended arms so that they could both see the shaft of his swollen cock sliding in and out of her pubic zone. At intervals he would stop moving, not just to hold back his orgasm but to press against her gorgeous body and kiss her mouth, as open and receptive as a bird’s. Invariably she would ask to be licked. Holding one of her hands he would bury his face in her saturated cunt, find the magic button with his tongue and make her gush spontaneously in his face. This would drive her out of her mind and was the reason he held her hand. Karen could become distraught from tongue-fucking, so much so that he would have to stop and hold her tightly so that she would calm down enough to fuck normally without getting hysterical. Dennis sometimes thought she was too highly-sexed for her own good, that she could actually harm herself in some irreparable way if she ever completely let go.
But now instead he woke in the night with his eyes full of tears and the feeling that he’d been talking in his sleep. He would turn his head to one side, letting the tears run across his face and onto the pillow. Even in dreams he knew she was gone. Each night she would appear in precisely the same form and they would go through the same routine. She would smile pityingly down on him with a face made even whiter in death, a perfect face with lips more black than red, and he, immobilised, would beg her to come back from wherever she was.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, darling,’ she’d say. ‘You know that’s impossible. Don’t you?’
‘Yes. But why? Why you?’ His eyes would fill then.
And she’d say, ‘That’s for you to find out, darling. You’re good at that, remember? Follow your instincts. That’s what you taught me once.’
‘I still love you, baby.’
‘And I still love you. Think of me sometimes, won’t you?’
She would be gone then and he would wake, staring into darkness, wondering how she could ever have imagined that he would be capable of forgetting her. He would lie there for the remains of the night, like a man who had been buried prematurely and could only wait for the enclosed space around him to be filled with the smell of his own rotting flesh.
Later in the afternoon, during the running of the Cup, Dennis took a break in the small yard behind the hotel. It was a cool day and fresh gusts of wind carried rain specks to his face. That made him feel better. He had needed to get out of there, escape the heat and noise and the pressure of people whose shouted talk and idiotic laughter had got to him. His breathing had become shallow and rapid and he’d started seeing spots. Twice he had gone to the toilet to dry-retch, and now had a foul taste in his mouth. This was the real beginning. His body was telling him that the message was getting through at last. The king-hit would not be long in coming.
There was a shed with logs of firewood stacked against it, a laundry and a small grassed area bordered by flowerbeds. The flowers had all been planted by Karen. Leaning on the verandah post he shook loose a Peter Stuyvesant and lit up with the gold-plated Zippo they had given him on the day he left City West for the last time. That was what his worth came down to after nineteen years. His boss, Clarrie Vernon, had made a brief, diplomatic farewell speech to an assembly of whoever had been around at the time, Dennis accepted the lighter, said thank you and goodbye, then went out into the street and walked away without looking back. Three months later he received a letter from the Chief Commissioner that summarised his career, expressed sincere gratitude for his outstanding service and wished him well. The divorce had been amicable.
He went onto the grass. At dusk during the Indian summer when they’d just arrived and taken over the licence they had liked to sit right here on wooden chairs, smoking and drinking a cold bottle of the local white wine while the sky changed colour from pink to purple to indigo. This was a time for congratulating each other and exchanging biographical details that had not yet had time to assert themselves in this sudden and complete transformation of their lives.
Teddy and Elaine had an ordinary day at Flemington. Every horse Teddy backed straight out came second or third, and if he took one each way it came fourth. Because of the big crowd they’d decided early on to stay in the cocktail lounge upstairs, where they could use the on-course totalisator and watch the races on closed-circuit TV. They’d worked their way through five bottles of Great Western champagne by three-thirty, Cup time. Teddy had backed two horses each way in the big event and taken all sorts of combinations in quinellas and trifectas, but no dice, no way. Nothing. In desperation he put five hundred on an even-money favourite in the next race, and sat watching the fucking thing travel three wide all the way and then just lose by a half-head. Teddy cracked the shits properly then and slammed his fis
t on the table, sending empty bottles and glasses crashing onto the floor. Elaine jumped right out of her pants.
People looked nervously at this thuggish little man with the tattoos and wished he would go away, quit spoiling their day. Teddy shouted and shook his fist and swore at the TV screen and at anyone game enough even to glance in his direction. The jockey, widely considered as a rogue anyway, was a filthy maggot, a cocksucker and the syphilitic son of a shit-eating whore. So it went on unremittingly. When the horses returned to the ring he shouted ‘Fucking maggot!’ so violently that people quickly vacated their tables and headed for quieter parts. He carried on swearing and spitting until an attendant politely asked him from a safe distance, having seen KILL and MAIM on this lunatic’s wrists, if Teddy wouldn’t mind controlling his language, and Teddy told him to shove it up his arse backwards and get ready to back himself with his fucking fists if he was going to try and tell Teddy what to do. Elaine just sat there holding her face and hoping to die. Then two men in suits turned up, one put a hand on Teddy and Teddy shook it free and told them to back off, he was going anyway and no one better touch him or they’d find out what happened to pricks that tried to mix it with Teddy Van Vliet. Hadn’t they ever heard of the Kane brothers? Then when he stood up he staggered against the table and dragged it down with him and in the end there was a great deal of unrest and confusion in the lounge. The two guys tried to pull Teddy up and he swung a punch and one of the guys pulled Teddy’s hair and got a headlock on him; Elaine was yelling now too and clawing at the guys. One of them gave her a whack in the teeth with his elbow; Elaine hit the plate glass. Punters backed away against the walls. Then two more suits appeared and the four of them got a good tight hold on Teddy and dragged him out through the double glass doors with his arse half out of his jeans and one shoe gone, and Elaine, who’d gone white from hitting the glass, sat down and howled amid the ruins.
