Davo's Little Something

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘As a bean,’ grinned Colin. ‘In fact we’re going back to your place after this for a drink.’

  ‘Ohh that’ll be nice. Good thing I stocked the fridge up with Dom Perignon before we left.’

  ‘You got a bottle of bourbon and some cream?’ Davo nodded his head and smiled derisively. ‘That’ll do. I’ll shove a couple of quick Irish coffees down her throat and throw her up in the air in the spare room.’

  ‘Alright if I watch?’ asked Davo sarcastically.

  ‘Go for your life,’ chuckled Colin. ‘It’s your flat.’

  Davo shook his head and smiled. ‘I don’t think I’ll bother.’

  ‘Actually she’s not a bad little scout,’ continued Colin. ‘I might even drag her out somewhere for a drink on the weekend.’

  Davo shook his head and smiled again. ‘There’s not enough G’s in gentleman to describe you, is there.

  ‘I know. Anyway here they come.’

  Janice had obviously told Nickla her intentions while they were in the Ladies and she didn’t look too happy at all when they got back.

  ‘Well, Janice,’ she said indignantly, as if the two boys weren’t there. ‘Seeing as you’ve got other plans—I might just finish this and go.’ She started sucking lustily on her bourbon and coke, giving her girlfriend a look of intense disapproval over the rim of the glass.

  ‘I won’t be home late. I’m only going for a cup of coffee.’

  ‘You’re welcome to come back if you want to, Nickla,’ said Davo, knowing full well she wouldn’t but trying to be nice at the same time. Nickla looked at him like he’d just crapped his pants.

  ‘Well I’m going, Janice,’ she said haughtily, draining her drink and dumping the glass on a table next to them. ‘I suppose I’ll see you when you get home.’ She turned to walk away totally ignoring Colin and Davo.

  That was the last straw for Davo. They’d both bought her plenty of drinks and both gone out of their way to be nice to her; the least she could have done was say goodbye. But it was obvious she was just an ignorant, conceited bitch. Davo figured there wasn’t much chance he would see her or waste his time talking to her again.

  ‘Oh, Nickla,’ he said sweetly, tapping her gently on the shoulder as she went to leave.

  Reluctantly she turned back around. ‘Yeah—what do you want?’

  ‘Some friends of mine are having a fancy dress party this weekend. I was just wondering if you might like to come.’

  She looked at Davo as if she couldn’t believe that he’d be dumb enough to ask someone like her such a stupid question. ‘And just what would you suggest I come as?’ she snorted.

  ‘Ohh I dunno,’ replied Davo. ‘Why don’t you fill your cunt full of water and come as Sydney Harbour.’

  Nickla’s jaw nearly hit the floor as she glared furiously at the grinning Davo. She was about to say something but words completely failed her so she turned on her heel and stormed out.

  ‘What did you just say to her?’ asked Janice.

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Davo. ‘I just said I might see her up here again some time.’

  ‘She can be a funny girl at times, Nickla.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Davo, taking a pull on his beer. ‘Funny peculiar. Not funny ha-ha.’

  It was almost closing time so they finished their drinks and walked up to the car; Janice sat in the middle, resting her hand on Colin’s knee while he drove.

  ‘Gee, this is a nice place you’ve got Bob,’ said Janice, taking a quick look around as they stepped inside his unit. ‘Do you live here just on your own?’

  ‘Yeah. All on me lonesome,’ replied Davo, moving to the kitchen and switching on the electric kettle while Colin turned the FM stereo on in the loungeroom.

  ‘Our place is really poky compared to this. And we pay $120 a week for it.’

  ‘Good flats are hard to find,’ said Colin.

  ‘Don’t I know it.’

  Davo went to the liquor cabinet and got out some cheap Liquorland bourbon he kept in a Jack Daniel’s bottle especially for Colin and any scrubbers either of them should happen to drag back to the flat. There was a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in there and an almost full bottle of Old Grandad—amongst other things—but they weren’t getting any of that tonight. Not to make Irish coffees with anyway.

  The kettle boiled and Janice offered to help but Davo said it was alright as he spread the coffee, sugar and cream out in the kitchen. Before long they were all sitting cosily in the loungeroom sipping away on Davo’s version of Irish coffee.

  ‘Ooh, these are nice,’ said Janice, licking some whipped cream off her top lip.

  ‘Yeah. They’re not bad on a cold night are they,’ said Davo. ‘If you want another one just help yourself.’

  ‘I might do that. Thank you.’

  Colin wasn’t saying a great deal as he sat on the lounge next to Janice, but you didn’t have to have ESP to read what was on his mind. He was right what he said about her though; she wasn’t a bad scout at all. Happy, friendly, with a bit of a sense of humour and compared to her girlfriend Nickla she was Mother Teresa and Goldie Hawn rolled into one. Davo sat there talking while he finished his coffee and before long he was starting to yawn. He could see that it wasn’t doing Colin’s chances any good with him in the lounge, besides he was looking forward to going to bed anyway.

  ‘Well—I might leave you both to it,’ he yawned again. ‘I’ve got to get up early in the morning for work.’

  ‘Righto, mate,’ said Colin, trying to conceal his ardour.

  Davo put his mug in the kitchen then used the bathroom and cleaned his teeth. ‘I might see you again some time, Janice,’ he said, as he came back into the loungeroom.

  ‘Alright, Bob,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

  ‘You’re welcome love. I’ll probably see you on Friday, Colin.’

  ‘Okay, mate—I’ll give you a ring anyway. Have a good time tomorrow night.’

  As soon as Davo closed his bedroom door Colin turned off the lights in the loungeroom, switched on the table-lamp and turned the radio down nice and low. Davo had been right about Janice’s pervy eyes—she and Colin didn’t even make it into the spare bedroom. Davo thought he heard her give a couple of muffled, squeals of delight just before he dozed off; he certainly didn’t hear them getting dressed or closing the front door when Colin drove her home about 1.30.

  Despite not having had all that much to drink the night before, Davo still had a slight hangover and his mouth felt a bit scuzzy when the radio-alarm went off at 6.30 the following morning. Being a nonsmoker he put it down to all the cigarette smoke in the hotel.

  After two Alka-Seltzers and a Panadol, while he got cleaned up, he began to feel alright so he started getting some breakfast, switching on the kitchen radio to get the news over his Branflakes and poached eggs on toast. The main bulletin was pretty much a rehash of the night before. The unions were still going to stay out and the terrorists were still going to blow up the plane. The only difference was that the unfortunate gay who had got beaten up died in hospital without regaining consciousness.

  Davo’s slight hangover had completely disappeared after the Panadol and the hot food so he changed the station to some pop music while he had another mug of coffee and prepared a bit of food for lunch and morning tea. After giving the loungeroom a quick tidy and cleaning up a few bits and pieces from the night before it was time to go to work.

  It was bright and sunny enough when Davo stepped out of the block of units but the same bitter sou-wester was whipping straight across Waverley Oval and down Bondi Road, making him glad he’d decided to wear the big bulky cream sweater his mother had knitted him the year before. Despite the cold Davo was whistling cheerfully as he strode towards Bondi Junction. Tonight promised to be a ripper of a concert and there was still the chance of Saturday night out with gorgeous little Sandra. He even tipped the paper boy when he stopped to get the Telegraph.

  Everyone else was there when he walked into the butcher sh
op and threw his work bag under one of the counters. ‘Hello team. What’s doing?’ he said happily, slipping out of his sweater into a clean coat and apron. There was a general rumble of greetings in reply.

  ‘And how was the big night out last night, Davo?’ said Kathy. ‘The new haircut have all the girls hanging off you like chokos did it?’ She pursed her lips and blew him a kiss. ‘You big spunk.’

  ‘To tell you the truth groupie,’ replied Davo, trying to ignore Kathy’s sarcasm. ‘At one stage there it was almost a riot. I was knockin’ the rotten things back with a stick.’

  ‘Yeah?’ came a deep growling voice from behind him. ‘Well listen, Casanova. See if you can knock over forty lambs by morning tea.’

  ‘Do you mind if I get my gear on,’ said Davo, almost in a shout. ‘I mean I only just walked in the bloody door.’

  ‘No, I don’t mind,’ chuckled the big, red-headed manager, glad that he’d managed to get a rise out of Davo so early in the day. ‘Take all the time you like. Just have those forty lambs done by smoko—that’s all.’

  ‘Fair dinkum. Does it ever stop?’

  Davo sourly mumbled something else under his breath and opened the door of the cool room just as Len told the apprentice to go down the loading dock and take delivery of meat. While Davo was in there, changing the points on the running rails and figuring out which lambs he was going to do first, Eddie came in to get some rumps and loins that had to be boned out. Although Eddie was a happily married man and had lived in Sydney for over three years he was still a bit of a square headed country boy at heart and loved nothing better than a bit of supermarket scandal or to hear about Davo’s little escapades when he’d gone out on the run with Colin. He left the rumps and loins for a moment and edged up to Davo with a silly sort of smile on his face.

  ‘So tell us, what happened last night, mate?’ he asked. In the cold still air of the cool room Davo could distinctly smell the obnoxious odour of stale beer and cigarettes on Eddie’s breath.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ he exclaimed, waving a hand in front of his face. ‘What have you been drinking. Phenyl?’

  Eddie’s smile turned into a stupid grin. ‘Ohh I finished up in the pub till nearly nine o’clock. I couldn’t scratch myself in the end,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘A man’s a nice idiot. Me missus nearly threw me out of the flat.’

  ‘I don’t blame her. You smell like a blocked-up shithouse.’

  Eddie nodded sheepishly. ‘Yeah I know. Anyway, what happened to you?’

  ‘Ahh, I had a prick of a night to tell you the truth.’

  Davo related to Eddie what had eventuated while he shunted some of the lambs out onto one rail.

  ‘So,’ said Eddie, a bit nonplussed. ‘The sheila rubbished you eh?’

  ‘Ohh, mate, she would have rubbished Roger bloody Moore if he’d have fronted her. She was just a twenty-four carat turd. I think Colin went alright though. I thought I saw a few snail tracks on the lounge this morning.’

  Eddie threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘So are you still going to that Santana concert tonight with your hairdresser mate?’ he said, when he settled down a bit.

  ‘Bloody oath, I can’t wait. In fact I would’ve taken a sickie today but.’ Davo put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. ‘You know me I just couldn’t let my workmates down.’ Davo took his hand away and moved the points again. ‘Anyway, Eddie. Standing here talking shit to a hillbilly like you isn’t getting the work done. Is it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Eddie, cradling a rump and loin in his arms. ‘I s’pose you’re right.’

  Davo started running the lambs out of the room six at a time and began breaking them up on the band saw; by ten he had them all done except two. He decided to leave these until he came back from morning tea as the work, combined with his slight hangover, had started to put a bit of an edge on his appetite and he was keen to get something into his stomach. While he’d been working on the band saw Davo had noticed that Len seemed to be working a lot harder than usual and when he returned from smoko there was sliced steak and chops ready to be packed lying around everywhere. It looked as if another six butchers had been in there.

  ‘Jesus what’s got into you today?’ he said, as Len kept working away like a beaver while Davo put his coat and apron back on. ‘Someone shove a sky-rocket up your arse or something?’

  ‘I think he’s trying to kill us,’ said Dutchy, from behind all the meat stacked in front of her and the other girls.

  ‘To tell you the truth,’ said Len. ‘I’ve got to go out to Parramatta on business after lunch and I won’t be back. So I thought I’d catch up on this cutting—that’s the good news.’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Davo. ‘What’s the bad news?’

  ‘The bad news is—I’ve got to leave you in charge.’

  ‘Ohh Jesus, this is going to be nice,’ said Kathy. ‘The lunatics are taking over the asylum.’

  ‘Hey don’t worry groupie,’ said Davo, pointing at Kathy. ‘If I’m in charge you’re the first one I’m gonna sack.’

  ‘Listen, Davo,’ said Len. ‘By leaving you in charge, all I want you to do is answer the phone, sign the meat delivery dockets and make a note of what goes out the front. If that’s too taxing for that peanut brain of yours, see Dutchy and she’ll help you out. Alright?’

  ‘You need not worry mein herr gruppenfuhrer,’ said Davo, clicking his heels together and putting on a ridiculous German accent. ‘I vill to everysing to zer best of my ability. Unt zer vill be no prisoners.’

  ‘Just don’t root nothin’ up, Davo—that’s all. Anyway. I’m off to smoko I’m starving.’ Len washed his hands and got two massive corn beef sandwiches out of his bag in the cool room, then he and Eddie and the other girls went to morning tea.

  When he came back, Len wrote out a list of instructions for Davo and pinned them on the wall next to the phone. Satisfied that everything was in order he and Davo rolled some briskets and roasts of beef till lunchtime while Eddie and Dennis boned out a few sheep for mince and cut up a great stack of lamb forequarter chops; more than they usually did because the supermarket was running them as their main meat special, along with a lot of other specials, all that week.

  By lunchtime Davo was quite hungry again and glad to knock off for something to eat. He finished the casserole he had in the lunchroom oven pretty smartly then decided to go for a walk through Bondi Junction and maybe grab a satay stick or a cup of coffee and a donut. He avoided going past the chemist shop where Sandra worked in case she might think he was starting to hang around her like some lecherous old stage-door Johnnie. He was sweet there, no real need to worry about that, but it was best to cool it. Instead, he went over to the plaza in front of David Jones, where he bumped into another butcher he knew from one of the shops in the Junction, and they sat there talking shop and eating coffee and donuts till it was time for them both to go back to work.

  ‘Now remember what I told you, Davo,’ said Len, as he got ready to leave. ‘Just carry on normal and there’s the list of what I want you to do right there.’ He pointed dramatically to the phone. ‘If you get stuck see Dutchy. Okay?’

  ‘No worries, Len me old son. You can rely on your number one man. There is just one thing though.’ Davo narrowed his eyes and smiled murderously at Kathy.

  ‘Yeah, what Davo?’

  ‘Is it alright if I sack someone?’

  Len shook his head and started heading for the door. ‘I’ll see you all tomorrow.’

  ‘See you, Len,’ chorused the others, as the burly, redhaired manager disappeared into the supermarket and the second shift went to lunch.

  Left alone in the shop together, Davo and Kathy would normally have spent most of the time bagging each other or mucking around in general. Unfortunately, the lamb forequarter chops on special were being sold almost as fast as the boys could cut them, so Davo was forced to leave Kathy alone while he got more forequarters out of the cool room and whipped them through the band saw in an effort to keep the cabinet to
pped up. He had to do it on his own too because if he left Dennis alone on the electric saw he’d more than likely end up cutting his leg off. Over the whine of the saw Davo chose to ignore Kathy’s remarks that Santana were a band of wimps, and Davo being a wimp, who wouldn’t know rock music from rock cakes, would appreciate their schmaltzy, bongo-drum sound that sucked something dreadful and it was only to be expected that he was being taken to the concert by a poof.

  It wasn’t a bad roast from Kathy, just quietly, and Davo was dying to retaliate but he put his head down and kept working away on the band saw. He had to keep the meat up and besides he didn’t want to do the wrong thing by Lennie while he was away. It was just as well Davo kept going too because about fifteen minutes before the others were due back from lunch Mr Murray Brinsden, the pompous, boring general manager of the supermarket, came through the door of the shop.

  Framed in the doorway, you couldn’t miss Brinsden’s bulky thickset frame and bull neck, topped by a severe-looking face battered from years of playing junior league football and plastered with thick, wiry, dark hair streaked with grey and cut short back and sides like a director in a country bowling club. He had one of those penetrating, nasally voices that always carried over everybody else’s and it matched his overbearing personality perfectly. Brinsden was by no means the smartest kid on the block but by sheer dogmatic tenaciousness and quite a bit of sycophancy, he had succeeded at forty-five in clawing his way to the top of the Woolworths hierarchy and now managed one of their biggest stores with arguably the highest profit margin.

  Besides being a punishing bore Brinsden had one other outstanding fault. Now that he’d more or less made it to the top he was firmly convinced that everybody else in the world was an idiot except him; kind of the Australian tall poppy syndrome in reverse. It was for this reason the store manager was loath to enter the butcher shop. Everybody else in the store held him in reverence. The employees would grovel and scurry around if they ever saw him coming and it was always ‘yes Mr Brinsden’ or ‘no Mr Brinsden’ with quite a bit of ‘yes sir’ or ‘no sir Mr Brinsden’ as well. Except in the butchery. All the easygoing butchers called him by his first name: Murray. All except Davo—Davo called him Muzz.