It was another perfect Queensland day: warm and sunny with one or two clouds drifting along before a noreaster that was as gentle as a kiss. From a distance, Norton would have looked like anybody else enjoying themselves on the beach, floating around in the surf, bobbing up and down beneath the easy rolling waves. But up close, Norton’s face, as he schemed while he washed away his aches and bruises along with the blood, looked more like a very mean, very hungry crocodile that had just missed out on breakfast. He left the beach, had a shower in the flat then got into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt while he made a cup of tea. A look at his watch told him it was well and truly time to make that phone call. Mug of tea in one hand, he pushed the buttons and waited as it rang.
‘Yeah hello,’ came a familiar voice at the other end.
‘G’day, Muzz. It’s Les.’
‘Les. How are you mate? Jeez, it’s good to hear from you.’ Murray sounded even happier than usual at the sound of his brother’s voice.
‘Not bad, Muzz. How’s things with you?’
‘Good. I was just thinking of ringing you myself, to tell you the truth. How’s things in Sydney?’
‘I’m not ringing from Sydney. I’m in Surfers Paradise.’
‘Surfers. Shit! What the fuck are you doing there?’
‘Getting my head punched in by a team of cunts. And I’ve got the shits.’
Les gave his brother a run down on how he happened to be in Surfers, where he was staying, a little bit of what he’d been up to, then what had happened last night. Judging by the tone of his brother’s voice, Murray guessed that not only was Les’s cup of happiness not running over, it had completely evaporated and there was a big crack in it as well.
‘Yeah, Muzz, I’m tellin’ you those dirty, fuckin’, white-shoe cunts would have near killed me, only for those other blokes jumping in. You ought to see my bloody head as it is.’
‘Yeah. Sounds like it,’ said Murray.
‘So what’s the chances of coming down and giving me a hand to sort these cunts out? Can you get away for a couple of days? I’ll make it worth your while.’
‘Aah you needn’t worry about that. Yeah, sure. Elaine’s taken the boys up to St George for a swimming carnival for a couple of days, so I’m on my own.’ Murray paused for a moment. ‘The thing is I ain’t got a car. How about coming out and getting me?’
Les winced. Drive out to Dirranbandi and back. Shit! That’s not quite a run up to the Blue Mountains on a Sunday. And it would also mean no date with DD tonight. Then again his head didn’t look all that good and he’d probably frighten the shit out of her anyway. He looked at the car keys sitting next to the phone and drummed his fingers for a second. ‘Look, give me an hour to think it over and I’ll ring you back — okay?’
‘No worries, Les. I’ll still be home. I’ll hear from you in an hour.’
‘See you then, Muzz.’ Les hung up the phone. ‘Fuck it!’ he cursed out loud. From here to Dirranbandi and back was around 1,400 kilometres. Then he’d have to run Murray back home again. Christ! How long would that take? He looked at the car keys again. In that brand new Jag? Mmhh. But Les had counted on Murray coming down because in the meantime he’d have to sniff around and find out where Haircut and his team drank so they could take them by surprise. Les didn’t doubt for a minute he and Murray would kick the shit out of Stinnett and his team, but it was still six against two and they’d need to get the jump on them. No good asking KK and letting on to him what he had in mind; Norton still didn’t trust the little weazle all that much. So how to very discreetly find out where Stinnett and his bunch hung out. Les gazed into his mug of tea, and the old grey matter swirled around inside his bruised and lacerated head. I reckon there’s one bloke up here might know for sure. And I can have a nice breakfast while I’m at it. Les put his cup in the sink and went to his bedroom. He had one of those baseball-type caps with the adjustable back and 2MMM on the front in his bag. He pulled that down over his eyes, spread some coloured sun cream around his face and put on his sunglasses; unless you looked close, you’d hardly know he’d been in a fight. Norton locked the flat and strolled up to Peggy’s.
Whatever the fight might have done to Norton, it definitely didn’t dampen his appetite. He ordered scrambled eggs and bacon, pancakes and syrup, toast plus fruit-salad, washed down with fresh orange juice and two cups of coffee. It was still early so Les got a table out the front and while he was eating he watched Price’s old mate Jimmy Martin whistling cheerfully as he set his gear up on the beach ready for another day. What did KK say? Everybody on the Gold Coast knows Jimmy Martin. Well, in that case I imagine it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that Jimmy Martin would know just about everybody on the Gold Coast too. Les finished his second cup of coffee and sauntered over.
Jimmy was sitting in a deck-chair, reading a magazine, the same as he was on Thursday, and sitting next to him was the same bloke talking into a cellular phone, same as he was on Thursday also. Jimmy spotted Norton coming across the sand and smiled up from his magazine.
‘G’day, Les,’ he said cheerfully. ‘How’s things, mate?’
‘Pretty good, Jimmy,’ replied Norton. ‘I was over the road having breakfast, so I thought I’d come over and say g’day. How are you?’
Jimmy waved his arms around at the sun and the sky. ‘What could be better than this? You wouldn’t be dead for quids, would you?’
‘Better than cooking oysters a la Amos, I’d reckon.’
Jimmy tossed back his head and laughed as Norton nodded a hello to his mate talking on the phone, getting a wink and a smile in return.
‘Hey listen, Les. You’ve got to tell me this,’said Jimmy. ‘Was that your picture I saw in the local papers? You’re not up here with KK, are you?’
Les nodded. ‘Yeah. I’m staying at his block of flats just down the road.’
‘God strike me. How did you get mixed up with him.?’
‘By accident I suppose,’ shrugged Norton. ‘But it’s all a bit of a hoot really. All I do is drive around in a limo, eating good food, drinking piss and keeping the mugs and the press away from him and his silly bloody sheila while she’s out here making some pop record. It’s a piece of piss to be honest. There’s no trouble. She just bags the shit out of everybody, that’s all. But she’s quite a funny babe at times.’
Jimmy nodded slowly. ‘And how do you find young KK?’
Again Norton shrugged. ‘Take him or leave him, I suppose. I just know him from the game. But he’s looking after me and it’s got to be one of the easiest earns I’ve ever had.’ Les gave Jimmy a wink and a smile. ‘Not as easy as you’ve got it of course, James. But it’s only till Tuesday then I go back to Sydney.’ Norton looked at his watch. ‘Anyway, I have to hit the toe. I’ve got to run around with them again today.’
‘Aahh’ said Jimmy, sounding a little downcast. ‘I was hoping to have a mag to you.’
‘Ohh don’t worry, mate. I’ll make sure I see you before I go. I want to have a mag to you myself.’ Les snapped his fingers. ‘That was something I meant to ask you the other day. I’ve got another message to deliver. Would you know where I can find a bloke called Terry Stinnett?’
Jimmy looked evenly at Les. ‘Where do you know him from?’
‘I don’t,’ replied Norton. ‘It’s just one of the sheilas at the game gave me a card to give to him. You know, one of those silly greeting cards. She showed it to me, it’s quite funny. She just said if I should bump into him somewhere to give it to him. She said he’s a tall bloke with dark hair. Got a mate called Jasper. I wouldn’t know them for a bar of soap.’
Jimmy pondered for a moment. ‘I’m not sure, Les. Terry and his team work weekends flogging real estate and that. They used to drink a bit at Fisherman’s Wharf. I haven’t seen them around much lately.’
‘You’ll find them every Monday night at the Boule-varde in Begonia Street,’ said Jimmy’s mate, folding up his phone.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Les. ‘I didn’t quite catch
that.’
‘The Boulevarde. It’s a bar in Begonia Street, just round from Cavill Avenue.’
‘Opposite a little health-food restaurant?’
‘That’s the place,’ nodded Jimmy’s mate. ‘They’re in there every Monday night at nine. One of their team’s brother works on the door and they do their divvying up or whatever in there. They drink down the end of the bar near the back door. Terry’s tall like you said. Jasper’s shorter but solid with a thick mop of hair. You can’t miss them.’
‘Thanks, mate,’ smiled Norton. ‘Thanks a lot. That saves me a lot of trouble.’
Then the bloke looked at his watch. ‘Jesus Christ! Is that the time? I got to get going myself.’
‘Not sticking round in the sun?’ enquired Norton.
‘No,’ said the bloke getting to his feet. ‘I’ve got to catch a plane to Cairns. Business.’
‘Okey doke. Well, I’ll get going. I might see you tomorrow, Jimmy.’
‘Righto, Les. See you then.’
Les smiled at Jimmy’s mate. ‘Have a good time in Cairns.’
Norton was whistling to himself, and the day seemed even sunnier as he strolled back to his flat. Well, how about that, eh. Terry and the boys have a quiet drink on Monday night a the Boulevarde. How nice. And I think it’s only fitting that I join them for a cool one myself. Me and Murray. Which definitely means driving out home and getting him. Then snookering him round here somewhere just in case there’s a bit of trouble after we have the said quiet drink. Les rubbed the swelling on his jaw. Especially with Jasper. So I can’t involve Muzz and I can’t really put him up in the flat. Mmmhh.
Norton was mulling this over when, as he got near the flats, he noticed a white Ford sedan on the driveway out front. Hello, who’s this? Fuckin’ reporters I’ll bet. Then he noticed Frank and Steve, Black’s heavies, sitting in the front. For some reason Les propped behind the wall in front of a high-rise and waited. A minute or two later Crystal and KK came out, got in the Ford and drove off. No limo, no BMW? thought Les. Then what did Crystal say? The topless shots weren’t on. They’re just keeping inconspicuous. Fair enough. When the car was out of sight, Les trotted up the stairs to his flat to find a note shoved under his door: ‘Les. We didn’t want to wake you up. We hope you are feeling all right. If any reporters or that come round will you tell them Crystal’s sick and I’ve taken her to a friend’s place to rest. See you tonight or whenever. KK’
Yeah, right, KK, thought Norton, screwing up the note and tossing it in the kitchen-tidy. I’ll do just that. He picked up the phone and pressed the buttons.
‘Yeah, hello,’ came the same voice.
‘It’s Les, Muzz. Okay, I’ll come out and get you.’
‘You fuckin’ beauty. I mean… that’s good. When do you reckon you’ll be here?’
Les looked at the car keys then at his watch. ‘I reckon around four or so.’
‘What are you driving? A fuckin’ F15?’
‘No. A new Jag. I’ll pick you up at your place. Then we should have time to duck in and see the oldies.’
‘They’re up in St George with the kids and Elaine.’
‘Oh. Oh well, I’ll catch up with them next time.’
‘Listen, Les, instead of calling out my place, how about I meet you in the Rotary Park at the back of town next to the river. The less people know you’re in town the better. And you never know who might call out my joint.’
Les thought for a second. ‘Yeah, you could be right. Can you get there okay — not having a car?’
‘Yeah, no worries.’
‘You might have to stay here a couple of nights. I told you that.’
‘Yeah, that’s okay.’
‘All right. Well, I’ll see you next to the Balonne around four. Then we’ll get back here, sort these white-shoe cunts out, and maybe have a drink or two and a mag after. For a week if you want?’
Murray chuckled over the phone. ‘Sounds alright to me. I’ll see you this arvo, Les.’
‘See you then, Muzz.’
Norton sat looking at the phone for a few moments and an idea formed in his head. Well, he thought, finally getting up and walking to the bedroom, no good sitting around here picking my toes. The sooner I get going the sooner I get there. He threw a spare T-shirt and jeans into his overnight-bag. Some fruit from the kitchen and his remaining four tapes; wishing now he’d never given Crystal the other two. He made sure he had all his money then locked the flat and walked down the front.
Apart from a few passers-by and the general traffic, there was no one around, and definitely no reporters or photographers. Probably after all the abuse from Crystal and the smack in the mouth he’d given one of them they decided to brush her. Les had the garage open, the big Jag purring gently on the driveway and the garage locked again in about two minutes. He smiled to himself as he hit the blinker to go right along The Esplanade towards Main Beach. I think this is the quickest way to that nice lady’s boarding house.
Norton parked just off the main road and strolled round the front. Mrs Llivac wasn’t in the front garden but the same grey cat was asleep on one of the lounges on the front verandah. The front door was open, Les trotted up the stairs and rang a bell next to the fly-screen door. A few seconds later Mrs Llivac came down the hallway. The landlady didn’t look half bad in a pair of jeans and an old sleeveless shirt; a white scarf holding her hair in place suggested she’d been doing some housework. She looked at Les for a moment then smiled.
‘Oh hello,’ she said pleasantly. ‘You’re the young gentleman I was talking to out the front on Thursday.’
‘That’s right. How are you, Mrs Llivac?’
‘I’m fine. Come on in.’ She opened the fly-screen door. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’d like to rent a room for three days. If that’s all right?’
‘Sure. No problem at all.’ Mrs Llivac wiped her hands on her shirt and started to fuss a little. ‘Come into the office.’
Les stepped inside Mrs Llivac’s boarding house. A hallway with rooms on either side ran down to what looked like the kitchen and dining-room area. There was a loungeroom to the left with comfy old furniture and the same blue carpet as in the hallway. A TV, fishtank, lamps, paintings on the wall and other home comforts were all freshly dusted and spotlessly clean. The office next to the door and the loungeroom consisted of a bar with a pay-phone on top, a few tourist brochures in racks and a dozen or so pegs, some holding keys, on a wall to the left, next to a window facing the street.
‘A friend of mine, a Mr Thomas, is driving down from the country,’ said Les. ‘He told me he wanted to stay somewhere away from all the hustle and bustle. So I suggested here.’
‘Oh he’ll like it here. It’s lovely and quiet,’ assured Mrs Llivac.
‘It looks very nice all round,’ said Les. ‘I like your fishtank too. I’ve got one at home just like it.’ He pulled a wad from his pocket. ‘I’ll pay you the three days in advance, if that’s okay? How much?’
The landlady seemed a little surprised. ‘Well, it’s $45 a night with breakfast. Is that all right?’
Les peeled off the money and handed it to Mrs Llivac. ‘There’s two hundred dollars just in case he stays an extra night. I’m not sure what time Mr Thomas will be arriving. It could be very early this morning and he has to call into my place first. If you let me have the keys, I’ll give them to him, save waking you up.’
‘Sure. That’s no problem at all.’ Mrs Llivac wrote out a receipt and handed it to Les plus the keys. ‘It’s room number 3 on the right. Would you like to have a look? They’ve all got their own shower and TV. They’re very nice.’
‘And you make the best deep-dish apple pie on the Gold Coast, right?’ smiled Les.
‘Why, that’s right,’ beamed Mrs Llivac.
‘No, I’ll take your word for it. I have to get going, to be honest. I’m here on business. But it’s a Mr Thomas, and he’s a very nice man.’
The landlady breathed a very heavy once
up and down at Norton. ‘If he’s a friend of yours I’m sure he must be.’
‘Okay, Mrs Llivac,’ smiled Les, jangling the keys. ‘Thanks very much. I’ll probably be around to see Mr Thomas.’
‘Any time. Oh, I don’t even know your name.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Les smiled syrupily again. ‘It’s George. George Menzies.’
‘Thank you Mr Menzies. Bye.’
‘Goodbye, Mrs Llivac.’
Well, chuckled Norton, as he got behind the wheel of the car and took off his cap and sunglasses, brother Murray should be quite comfortable in there. It’s out of the way but not too far from the Boulevarde. And not too expensive either. But there’ll still be a nice little drink for Muzz when it’s all over. I’ll see to that.
Les got onto the highway, drove past Cavill Avenue and pulled up at a garage not far from the Neptune’s Casino turn off. He filled the tank, put a little extra air in the tyres, made sure everything else was all right and grabbed two bars of chocolate with his change. He didn’t need a road map. Les, like the rest of his family, knew every short-cut and back-road between Dirranbandi, Brisbane and the New South Wales border. He looked at his watch and moved off along the highway. Not too much later, Les had taken the turn-off to Tambourine Mountain and was cruising along in air-conditioned comfort towards Beaudesert.
Motoring along in the big English saloon was even better than Les had imagined; the car handled like a dream, with power to burn. Getting up Tambourine Mountain, past the old mill near Lamington Park, was a breeze and he wasn’t even pushing it. He didn’t bother putting on his tapes just yet, the Jag had one of those scanners and was picking up all sorts of things on Brisbane and local radio stations: country and western music, light pop, some talk-back show with an old bloke from Bundaberg playing a gum leaf. But Les wasn’t all that interested; driving the Jag was a hoot in itself.
White Shoes, White Lines and Blackie Page 15
