‘The sheila with big boobs.’
‘That’s her. I’m helping them with the media rattle. Till she goes back on Tuesday.’
‘Have fun.’
Norton sipped his drink. ‘So how’s the pedi-cab business, Des? How much would you make a night? If you don’t mind me asking. I suppose you’d do all right?’
Des looked at Norton a second. ‘I only lease the thing. It’s not mine. By the time I pay the company and that,’ she shrugged, ‘I might make a hundred. Hundred‘n’fifty. Whatever.’
‘How about I make you an offer, Des?’ The girl continued to look at Norton over her soft-drink. ‘How about I hire your pedi-cab for the night? Only, leave the pedi-cab behind and we’ll go by taxi.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Here you are.’ Les handed the girl $200. ‘I’ll hire you. Come out with me for the night. It’s got to be better than pushing that thing around in the traffic.’
The girl looked at Les through her sunglasses, then her mouth turned down. ‘Who the… hell do you think you are? Here.’ She flung the $200 back at Norton. ‘Take your money and stick it in your arse.’ Les managed to catch the two hundred. But not the can of Solo. It got him right in the chest. ‘And your soft-drink too.’ The girl glared at Norton dripping Solo. ‘You mug tourists. You’re all the same. Hire me for the night. What you’re looking for, shithead, is in the local yellow-pages. Under M. For mug. Get stuffed.’
The girl got up on the pedals as Norton grabbed the handlebars. ‘Hey, look, Des, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. You’ve taken me the wrong way.’ Des glared at Norton, but he had the handlebars in a grip of steel and she wasn’t going anywhere. ‘All I meant was, come out with me for dinner. And have a few drinks, if you wanted. I’ve got a heap of money. Kramer’s paying for it all. You could have a nice meal and you wouldn’t lose a night’s wages. If you thought I meant something else, I’m sorry, Des. I really am.’ Norton looked at her for a moment then let go of the handlebars.
The girl continued to glare at Norton from behind her dark glasses, then settled down a bit. ‘Okay, fair enough. It’s just that…’
‘That’s okay. I do make a bit of a mug of myself at times. But I’m still fair dinkum.’ Les handed her the $200. ‘Here, take the money anyway. And if you still want to come out for a bit of nosh…?’
Des looked evenly at Norton for a moment. ‘Okay,’ she answered, slowly nodding her head. ‘You’re on. But if you so much as…’
Norton made a gesture with his hands. ‘On my bank manager’s life. Dinner and drinks, anywhere you like. Home when you like.’
‘I live down towards Main Beach. You know where that is?’
‘I’ll be in a taxi anyway.’
‘Here’s the address.’ Des took a notebook and biro from beneath the seat. ‘And my phone number.’ She handed it to Norton and smiled. ‘What time?’
‘What time suits you?’
‘Eight?’
‘See you at eight.’
‘Okay, Les.’
‘Hey, before you go.’Norton reached down and picked up the can of Solo Des had flung at him. ‘You want to finish your drink?’
Des looked at Norton grinning and grinned herself. ‘How about I have some of yours?’ She grabbed Norton’s can of soft-drink, took a swig then handed it back to him. ‘See you tonight.’
Les barely had time to wave before she turned into The Esplanade and headed towards Cavill Avenue.
Well, raise my rent, smiled Les to himself. How about that. I’ve got a nice dinner date for tonight. And nothing wrong with her either. Let’s just hope she doesn’t wear that singlet. But with my $220 in her kick, she could buy herself another dozen. Norton’s smile got bigger. Who gives a stuff. Let’s just hope she turns up. There is something about that girl I like. And it isn’t just the view. He had another look at the piece of paper Des had given him. Les was still looking at it, sitting by the phone, as he pulled his joggers off in the lounge-room.
After that long, hot walk, the ocean, from out the balcony window, looked bluer and more inviting than ever. As soon as he had his shorts off, Norton had a towel over his shoulders and was jogging across the soft white sand at the back of the flats. The water was absolutely beautiful. No hint of a chill, clean and sweet. Like swimming in a mixture of velvet and perfume, mused Les as he splashed around happily. He caught a couple of waves and just had a wallow in general as he watched some surfers a little further out and the people walking past, all taking advantage of the afternoon’s coolness by the sea following a fairly hot day. The big Queenslander felt good; the dinner date with Des making it better again. He followed this with a long, steamy shower and a close shave then rubbed a bit of cream on his moosh.
With his hair still wet and a towel around him Les went to the kitchen, got a bottle of Red Stripe from the fridge and decided it was time to make a phone call. For some reason the STD pips didn’t sound on the other end of the line.
‘Yeah, hello.’
‘How are you, Price? It’s Les.’
‘Les. Where are you ringing from? Up there?’
‘Yeah, and it’s all right too. What are you up to?’
‘Ohh not much. Just sitting here watching TV. Bit of something on my mind.’
‘Yeah. What’s that?’
‘I’m getting a bit sick of this Boris Battinof. He’s no good. I think I might get Eddie to go pay him a visit.’
‘Yeah, you’re not wrong. He’s a dropkick all right.’
‘All the time — make big trouble for Moose and Skvirrel. I think I fix.’
‘Sure you do. And Natasha too.’
‘Yeah. His rotten sheila’s just as bad.’ Price gave a bit of a silly laugh. ‘Hey, before I forget. I want you to do something for me while you’re up there.’
‘Sure.’
‘You’ll see a bloke right on the beach at Surfers. He runs the beach hire, and sprays people with suntan lotion. His name’s Jim Martin.’
‘Yeah?’
‘He’s an old mate of mine. Go and say hello for me, and ask him if he’s had any oysters Amos lately.’
‘Oysters Amos?’
‘You got it.’ Price chuckled away again for a moment or two then quietened down. ‘Now what’s going on?’
‘Does the name Meyer Black mean anything to you, Price?’
Norton told his boss about his brief meeting with the South African and his two heavies. Describing him right down to his accent.
‘Meyer Black, eh.’ Price chuckled again. ‘Yeah, I know him. I’ve done a bit of business with him myself. He’s a nogoodnik. He’s a smuggler. Among other things.’
‘A smuggler?’
‘Yeah. Gold kruggerands, diamonds, arms. He lives up there most of the time. But he flits between Sydney, Hong Kong and South Africa. Calls himself an importer. I haven’t seen him for a while, so I wouldn’t be surprised what he’s up to now.’
‘So forget about the record business, eh?’
‘Hah! The only record’s Meyer’s interested in is how many he can break making money. He loves the stuff. And he’s absolutely ruthless too. If that greasy little reffo’s mixed up with him, watch yourself.’
‘You needn’t worry. I’ve already thought of that.’
They chatted on a little longer. Price added what he could about Black. Les said to say hello to Myra and he’d give that message to the bloke on the beach. And he’d be in touch if need be.
So, thought Norton, after he’d hung up, Meyer Black — smuggler. Well, that’d be right. What comes out of South Africa? Gold, diamonds and arms, I imagine. Les snapped his fingers. That’s probably why Manny was coming up. Maybe they were doing an arms scam and now there’s a hassle because Manny’s got himself nicked in WA. I notice KK didn’t bother to introduce me as his brother either. Mmmhh. Anyway, I’ll just keep acting the big, dumb minder. But I’ll be keeping my big, dumb minder’s eyes open. Les looked at the phone again and this awful, cunning, evil smile bega
n to flicker round his narrowing brown eyes. Funny how those pips didn’t sound. I think I might make another phone call while I’m at it. He went to the bedroom and got a piece of paper from his wallet. Gee, it was nice of Annie to give me her cousin’s phone number, just in case I might have to ring her there sometime. Stopping himself from smiling, he pushed the appropriate buttons on the phone.
‘Hello,’ came a man’s voice.
‘Is that John?’ Norton spoke a little softer and closer than normal.
‘Yeah.’
‘Mate, you don’t know me. I’m an electrician. I worked on a few jobs with you and I always found you a good bloke.’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘Mate, I don’t know how to tell you this, and maybe it’s none of my business, but my wife said I should. Did you know your girl’s seeing another bloke behind your back?’
‘What!?’
‘It’s been going on for a while, mate. He lives at Bondi, and he’s a real little cunt too.’
Norton could hear the bloke’s teeth grinding over the phone and the steam hissing out of his ears. He gave him his address and said if he got there around eight on a Friday night he’d catch them at the front door. He told the bloke again he was sorry to have to do this, but it was mainly his wife’s idea and they both didn’t like to see a good bloke being dumped on.
‘So that’s it, John. You can work it out for yourself.’
‘I will, mate, I will. You needn’t fuckin’ worry about that.’
Then the phone went dead.
Norton looked at it for a moment and took another swig of beer. Well, at least if he punches up Warren out the front, he won’t wreck any furniture. And I can always wash the blood off the front steps. Besides, how many times have I told Warren he’s gonna have to learn to fight sooner or later. Well, here it comes. Lesson number one. Always keep your guard up.
He finished his beer, went back to the bathroom, combed his hair and splashed a little Tabac on his face. The face looking back at him in the mirror definitely wasn’t the face of a good bloke. Jesus, you’re a cunt, Les. You really are. Suddenly Norton’s face burst into a grin. No, I’m not. I’m Jewish. And I’m proud.
By the time he changed into a pair of blue slacks, the blue Italian casuals and a light denim button-down-collar shirt, then had another half a bottle of beer and watched the ABC news, it was about time to call a taxi. Ten minutes later it was bipping the horn out the front and Les was on his way to Main Beach.
The address the girl had given him wasn’t far from the shops where Les had had a can of soft-drink during his afternoon walk. He got out and told the driver to wait. It was a squat brick block of six with a low brick fence and a small yard out the front, not unlike some blocks you see around Bondi Junction. A short, steep flight of steps, with no landing, led up to Flat 1 on the bottom left. Les knocked then came back down a few steps. The door opened and a tallish sort of girl stood there; Norton couldn’t make her face out because of the light behind her.
‘Yes?’ she said, looking down at him.
‘Is Des there, please?’
‘Who?’
‘Des. The girl with the pedi-cab. She’s expecting me.’ The girl continued to look down at Les. ‘No one here by that name.’
Norton’s heart sank slightly. I knew it. I just fuckin’ knew it. ‘This is Flat 1/177…?’
‘Oh come in, you big dope. You’re looking at her.’
The girl stepped aside to let a slightly puzzled Les inside and closed the door. But it definitely wasn’t the girl wearing the daggy shorts and sweaty singlet Norton had shared a can of soft-drink with earlier. This one was wearing a tight, sleeveless, yellow dress with a zig-zag front, cut just above her cleavage and matching high-heeled shoes. It came past her knees where a split up the side revealed two sensational tanned legs and no stockings. The scraggly brown hair was washed and braided to a softness that brushed lightly across her shoulders, and hidden behind those dark glasses earlier were the deepest, most beautiful green eyes Les had ever seen. They were like dampened emeralds in moonlight. She wore the barest hint of lip-gloss, plus enough eye make-up to make things interesting, and the tantalising scent of some fragrant, sweet body oil hung in the air from her neck and smooth brown shoulders, so shiny they almost glowed. Norton could hardly believe what he was seeing.
‘Des… you look… different.’
‘Well, I’m sorry if I didn’t wear the old shorts and singlet. I’ll get changed if you like.’Then Des gave Norton one of those stupid, whimsical looks across the shoulder pretty women are apt to give men after they’ve just spent two hours making themselves look sensational and they know it. ‘Anyway, I don’t know what you’re going on about,’ she said, giving her head a tiny toss that made the braids catch the light as they danced silkily across her shoulders. ‘All I did was have a shower, wash my hair and iron an old dress.’
‘Yeah, right,’ answered Norton, still half in a trance at her good looks and half wanting to kick one of the walls in he was that happy it was her.
‘Come into the kitchen.’
‘Okay.’ Les followed her down the hallway, and if the view in the pedi-cab had been worth a million dollars, in the yellow dress and high heels it just increased about ten times in value.
The flat had a long corridor, the bedrooms and bathroom ran off to the right then a decent size lounge-room with the kitchen off it. The furniture was average and comfortable with a fairly modern TV and stereo; but it was neat and tidy and the carpet looked like it got vacuumed regularly.
‘Would you like a beer — or something?’
‘No, that’s all right, thanks,’ replied Norton, leaning slightly against the fridge. ‘I got a cab waiting outside. There’s no mad hurry though,’ he added.
‘I’m just about ready anyway.’ There was a red handbag sitting on the kitchen table with a pair of white earrings next to it. Des picked them up and began working them into her ears.
‘Where are the other two girls?’ asked Les.
‘Work,’ said Des, giving Norton a bit of a checkout herself. And liking what she saw. ‘They’re both waitresses.’
‘You ever done any waitressing?’
‘Yeah. A pub in Townsville. Another one in Cairns.’
‘Better than driving a pedi-cab?’ Norton let a bit of cheeky smile cross his face.
Des returned Norton’s half-smart smile. ‘The tips aren’t as good.’
You cheeky, rotten mug, thought Les. He felt like getting her in a bear hug and kissing her face off.
‘Okay. I’m ready. Let’s go.’
Des turned off the kitchen light and was about to do the same in the loungeroom, when Norton noticed a canary half covered over in a cage, and stopped dead. ‘What the…?’ The canary was hanging upside down.
‘You noticed, did you? That’s Seymour. He belongs to one of the other girls.’
‘Yeah. But what…?’ Norton continued to stare at the little bird; eyes closed, sound asleep, still hanging upside down.
‘He comes from a farm out near Tambourine Mountain. They raised him with a couple of flying foxes.’ Des covered the cage right over and looked at Les. ‘So if you think you’ve got problems, sport, we’ve got a canary thinks it’s a bat and hangs by its feet.’
Norton laughed and shook his head. ‘You should make it a little cape.’
‘We have. A black one with red lining. He puts it on at midnight.’
Des left the light on in the hall. Next thing they were in the cab.
‘You know a good place for a feed?’
Des nodded and leant across to the driver. ‘You know Grandma’s House, in Martha Street, Mermaid Beach?’
‘Sure do,’ replied the driver, slipping the taxi into gear.
‘That’s where we’re going.’ Des turned to Norton. ‘You’ll like this place, Les. It’s only been open a little while and the touros haven’t got onto it. But the food’s good. You like steaks, Les?’
‘Reckon. The bigger t
he better. I’m that hungry I’d eat a greyhound and chase the mechanical hare. What about you?’
Des’s beautiful emerald eyes lit up. ‘After pushing that pedi-cab round all week, I’d jump into Bass Strait with a broken bottle and fight a white pointer shark for a lump of horse meat.’
‘I know the feeling.’
They chit-chatted on a bit after that. The driver figured the big, red-headed bloke in the back had money and wasn’t in any particular hurry so he took his time, getting caught at as many lights as possible while Norton and Des waffled on to each other.
Des did come from Taree. She was twenty-seven, but not wanting to throw the towel in at nineteen like her girlfriends and raise a tribe of kids, she’d spent the last few years travelling round Australia with a couple of quick trips overseas. She’d spent almost a year in Surfers; it was fun, and she’d managed to save a few bucks. But now she was looking forward to going home where her father had a panel-beating business. How long she’d stay there she wasn’t sure. At least six months. This time she might even stay for good. Which Norton interpreted as: if the right bloke came along, settling down in a quiet country town and raising a tribe of kids after sewing all your wild oats might not be such a bad idea after all. No worse than pushing a glorified rickshaw around in the Queensland heat.
Les told her the truth about himself. He came from Queensland, worked as a bouncer in Sydney, where he owned a house at Bondi, and although he hardly knew KK all that well, took the five days in Surfers on as a bit of a hoot. After meeting her he was glad he did. He didn’t mention the drug scams, murders and other things he’d been involved in; he lived a bit of a quiet life actually. Like her, he’d managed to squirrel away a bit of money and he might settle back down in Queensland himself. You’re right, Des, home is where the heart is. As the meter ticked over they were getting on famously.
Then Norton looked at her evenly. ‘Des, when I said earlier that you looked different, I really meant something else. You took me by surprise. You don’t just look different, you look…’ Norton was having trouble with the word; ‘you look beautiful,’ he said, with a smile and a bit of a shrug.
White Shoes, White Lines and Blackie Page 5
