And De Fun Don't Done (36 page)

‘Yeah?' a throaty voice crackled over the intercom.

‘Is that you, Tony? It's Ricco.'

‘No it's Frankie. Stay there, Ricco. I'll be right out.'

Ricco looked at Laverne for a moment, then got out of the car and leant against the front. Les seemed to sense another odd vibe in the air, so he sat back, not looking at Ricco, not saying anything, but keeping his wits about him. A smaller door set in the massive double gate opened and out stepped a man in a white shirt and slacks smoking a cigar. He looked like a shorter, stockier version of Vinnie. He didn't say anything to Laverne and he didn't seem to notice Les in the back seat. Whoever it was had a worried look on his face that was more than just worry and, looking at him, Les somehow figured the guy wasn't all that bright.

‘Hey, Frankie,' said Ricco. ‘What's the matter? You look like shit. Where's Tony?'

Frankie squinted his piggy eyes at Ricco. ‘What are you talkin' I look like shit? Ain't you heard?'

‘Heard? What the fuck would I hear? I been out the fucking gulf in a hurricane half the fucking day.'

‘Ohh yeah, I didn't think for a minute.' Frankie's face dropped further. ‘Angelo went down. That sonofabitch judge gave him thirty years.'

Ricco was speechless. Laverne gave a double, triple blink. Norton made out he didn't hear anything, but the big Queenslander's hearing was good at any time and after sitting next to two pounding Evinrudes coming through a storm, he was now picking everything up crystal clear.

‘Jesus Christ!' exclaimed Ricco. ‘Thirty fucking years. You're bullshitting me.'

‘I wish to Christ I was,' replied Frankie. ‘Tony flew out to New York before lunch with Henry. Anyway where's…?'

Ricco seemed to hesitate for a moment but Norton could sense his brain tap-dancing at about a hundred
miles an hour. ‘Well that's what I was about to tell you. We got fucked over too. A coastguard helicopter arrived so the plane kept going. Then that fucking storm hit us like you wouldn't fucking believe. I managed to get back and I been searching up and down the Keys for hours. Look at me. I'm half drowned already.'

‘You don't mean…?'

‘Yeah. It wasn't there. The fucking coastguard then the fucking storm fucked everything up.'

‘Oh Christ!' Frankie threw his hands up in the air. ‘That's all we fucking need on top of that other shit.'

‘Hey!' Ricco looked helpless. ‘What the fuck could I do?'

Frankie took a heavy puff on his cigar. ‘Yeah, you're right. Anyway you'd better split.'

‘Yeah. I'll call Tony in New York and give him the rest of the bad news. Shit! That's bad, really bad about Angelo.'

‘Yeah. Everything seems to fuck up at once, don't it? Okay. I'll see you, Ricco.'

Frankie disappeared back through the door, Ricco got back in the car and looked at Laverne who was staring back at him. Then they drove off. Les just looked out the window like he was miles away, before catching Ricco's eye again in the rear-vision mirror.

‘So where to now, Ricco?'

‘Huh? Oh yeah, right. I'll take you straight home, Les. I got a few things I got to take care of.'

‘Suits me,' answered Norton nonchalantly. ‘I'm dying to get out of this wet gear.'

Not a great deal was said on the ride home. Ricco put the radio on this time but seemed to be driving a lot more carefully than before, obeying all the traffic laws, though at times he looked like he was going to lay an egg. Laverne looked at him every now and again as if she was getting ready to lay it for him. Norton kept his thoughts to himself. However, he did thank Ricco for the ride in the boat, made a comment about how nice his buddie Angelo's house looked and half pie apologised for
blowing up a bit earlier. Ricco said that was okay and to make sure he came down the coffee shop at lunchtime tomorrow. Trying his best to sound enthusiastic, Norton reluctantly agreed. Before long they were at the condo.

‘Okay Ricco. Thanks for the day,' said Les, closing the car door behind him. ‘I'll see you around twelve tomorrow.'

‘Yeah. See you then.' Ricco was fairly abrupt at the best of times. This time he was starting to reverse the car as he spoke.

‘Goodbye, Les.' Laverne pressed the automatic switch, the window hissed back up and they were gone.

Back inside the condo Les got out of his wet clothes and had a shower, then, with a towel still around him, got a Corona from the fridge and sat on the lounge drinking it steadily while he had a think. You didn't need to be a Rhodes scholar to work out what was going on.

Ricco had gone out in the gulf to pick up a bag full of mob money, probably to pay wages and bribes or do deals with back in America. It could have been laundered money or it could originally have been counterfeit to be exchanged overseas for the real thing. The plane had pontoons on the bottom so normally it would have been a smooth transaction and Les, the dumb Australian tagging along, would have been fed some bullshit and expected to be none the wiser. Plus Ricco and Vinnie considered him a fairly cool-headed guy, who'd keep his mouth shut anyway. This time round though the coastguard had got onto the plane — it was more than likely just a routine patrol — and picked it up, because there was no back up. On top of that, the storm came up out of nowhere. They would have had some sort of contingency plan or code in case the plane couldn't land because of rough seas or such. They wouldn't use a radio so the code was more than likely the pilot waggling his wings twice as he went over. The pilot, knowing the helicopter couldn't stick around in a storm like that, dumped the bag with the homing beacon on it in the Keys, fairly confident Ricco would be able to find it, then kept the helicopter on his
tail. When and if they did pull the plane over or land next to it the pilot would say he was just running from the storm. With visibility as bad as it was and the distance between the plane and the helicopter, the coastguard wouldn't have seen the pilot throw anything over, so when they searched the plane what would they find? I understand your concern, officers, but are you sure you've got the right person? Les swallowed more beer. Ricco, being on the ball as well as having some, and despite the mini-hurricane, had found the bag then delivered it as usual like a good little mafioso. But when he'd found out the Godfather in New York was in the slam he had taken advantage of the situation, the storm, the confusion in the mob, half of them out of town, and clouted on the loot. And who would dispute him? Frankie? Frankie would probably think Levi jeans was a Jewish folk singer. He looked like pure muscle and nothing else, plus he'd witnessed the storm and seen Ricco arrive half drowned. Ricco would ring Tony, or whoever it was in New York he was supposed to deliver the money to, tell him what happened then say he went out again in the afternoon and he'd have another look all day tomorrow. But the dough's gone.
Arrivederci denaro
. It would be the first time it had happened, plus Ricco already had money so he could splash some more around if he wanted to and still cover his shifty arse without attracting any attention. Then one fine day he and Laverne could just go and do their thing anywhere in the world and live happily ever after. How much was in the bag? Les shook his head. Millions — at least. But stealing money from the mob? Les swallowed some more beer, shook his head again and reflected into the bottle. He'd heard, and seen, enough things with the mini versions of the mob back in Australia. No, Ricco. I'm glad it's you and not me, old son. Maybe it was a good thing that bloody storm did come up. When I think back about some of the things Lori baby said, and didn't say, you can bet he's under some sort of surveillance. And I've got to go and have a cup of coffee with him tomorrow. Oh well. It's only for an hour
or so. Christ! I hope he doesn't still want to go out for dinner tomorrow night.

Norton finished that beer, got another one then sat back down and reflected some more on the day's events. It had certainly been different, even with Ricco pulling the stroke that he did. Les had never been out at sea and seen or been in a storm as fierce or treacherous as that, especially the way it just came and went. He looked out across the verandah to where it was quite sunny outside now and about half a dozen people were splashing around in the pool. And what did Laverne say when they were coming back up the Key after the dolphins had gone? Florida was due for a big cyclone any time now. It had been over ten years and they generally came in ten- year cycles. Well, if that's a small quick one, I'd sure hate to see the real thing. Norton's second beer was that good he decided to have another one and listen to the radio for a spell while he figured out what he was going to do that night. There would have to be some action in Sepposota on Thursday night: and it's certainly good drinking weather. Then Norton started to cackle into his beer. I should give Hank a ring, see what he's doing. Norton's cackling turned into a horrible laugh. I wonder if he's still home?

Three quick beers on an empty stomach kind of bowled Les a little so he thought he might grab forty winks before he went out. He turned off the radio and ended up sleeping for around two hours. When he got up he had a swim followed by a shower and a close shave. Although his stomach was rumbling a bit by now, Les still didn't feel all that much like eating because of the heat. But a good feed of vegetables wouldn't do any harm, and there was still plenty left. By a stroke of luck Les discovered that what he first thought was some sort of a minidishwasher was in fact a microwave oven; all the buttons and gauges on the front were different from the one back home that Warren had snookered off some advertising job. This didn't deter Norton from peeling too many potatoes, onions and carrots, etc. Half he put back in the
fridge, the other half he put in the microwave then heaped butter and cajun dressing all over them. All up, not too bad at all. One can't go out pouring piss down one's throat on an empty stomach, mused Les, as he washed another piece of cauliflower down with some more orange juice. He followed this with a cup of coffee then a large delicious and more country and western after he'd cleaned up.

After he finished his first bourbon, Les poured another bigger one, then thought a little more on where he might go that night. He wasn't necessarily out to meet another girl; after coming across Hank then putting up with Ricco, Les just felt like finding a laugh somewhere and listening to a band; and having a few drinks of course. Club BandBox would definitely not be the place to be seen; if it was still open. Gator Man's could be okay. But what about that little place over at St Almonds Circle? Reggae Mambo's. The band there was good, so were the drinks and the punters. Plus, with the front open, you could go outside and get a bit of fresh air. Still sipping his bourbon Les looked at the card sitting next to the phone then dialled.

‘Hello? Is Joey there please?'

‘This is Joey.'

‘G'day, Joey. Do you fancy running a poor, lonely Australian tourist over to St Almonds Circle?'

Joey started chuckling into the phone. ‘Les, my man. Hey, how are you doin'?'

‘I'll be doin' it on foot if you don't get your arse over here in say… thirty minutes.'

‘Thirty minutes? You got it, big guy.'

‘See you then, mate.'

Well that's that, smiled Les, putting down the phone. Now it's time to frock up and rev up. He finished his drink while he pressed a clean pair of jeans, a blue button-down collar shirt and ran a wet sponge over his sneakers. There was another milkshake container under the cupboard so Les made another gigantic, travelling delicious. He was test driving it while John Anderson drawled and twanged
his way through ‘Steamy Windows' when there was a knock on the door. Les picked up what he needed, turned off the lights and opened the door. Joey had pretty much the same jacket and driver's gear on as before.

‘G'day, Joey,' smiled Les. ‘How are you goin', mate?'

‘Hey Les,' beamed Joey, as they started walking to the limo. ‘Look at you, baby. You look like a million dollars.'

‘Yeah. All green and wrinkly. You know how to get to a place called Reggae Mambo's, over at St Almonds Circle?'

‘Hey. Are you kiddin'? I can take you anywhere you want and get you anything your little aussie heart desires — mate.'

‘Good. Well get me over there in one piece and I might even let you bring me home afterwards. And there might even be a drink in it for you.'

Joey pointed to the drink in Norton's hand as he opened the back door. ‘I thought that might have been for me.'

‘Not tonight, Josephine.'

Norton climbed in the back and they cruised off towards town. Joey gave Les the old mates treatment on the way — good to see you again, how have you been, etc, thought he probably meant it. Les didn't let on too much. He remembered when he first met Ricco and how Ricco had said Joey Hubcaps had told him about Les and Lori number one. He told Joey he'd hired a car and that was why he hadn't needed the limo. But tonight he was out on the town again and he'd be needing a ride home or whatever at closing time, which was midnight. Joey was keen and said he'd be waiting out the front. Before Les knew it they were there and Joey had pulled up right outside. The punters drinking out the front and a few others coming and going gave an interested glance when Joey came round and opened the back door; possibly they were expecting Madonna or MC Hammer and didn't quite know what to think when Norton climbed out holding the last of his travelling delicious. Les didn't know what the fare was. He just handed Joey two
twenties and the empty milkshake container, said he'd see him later and stepped through the crowd. The same solid bloke in shorts was on the door; he gave Les a smile and a very approving once up and down as he walked in.

Reggae Mambo's was bopping away just nicely. It wasn't quite packed but close enough, with pretty much the same kind of casually well-dressed crowds as before and a number of good sorts standing around. The same band was down the back finishing the last portion of their ‘attitude check' before slipping into a more up tempo version of Garth Brooks's ‘Nobody Gets Off In This Town'. Les found a space at the bar next to two spunky black girls in blue bum-huggers that hugged their solid little bums delightfully, and had no trouble at all ordering a margarita and a Wild Turkey highball. The margarita went down in about four swallows; the highball took a little longer. Clutching his drink Les found another spot at the bar, not far from the front door, where he sipped his highball and thought some more about his trip to America while he checked out the punters. It was a good spot to stand, a bit of fresh air was coming in from the front and the music was drifting down from the back while the crowd sort of milled around him, ebbing and flowing and having a good time. It was kind of odd in a way, being in a strange bar on the other side of the world, not knowing a soul. But Les, a little revved up from the drinks, was enjoying it. He would have enjoyed it more, however, with a couple of mates; the heads on some of the seppos and their mannerisms were nothing short of amazing at times. Norton was checking out some bloke with a black crewcut and hornrim glasses, wearing the most atrocious pair of green and pink shorts he'd ever seen, worse than anything in
Revenge of the Nerds
, when he heard a voice slightly to his left.