Between the Devlin and the Deep Blue Seas (20 page)

Norton glanced at his watch. It was about time to go and see his old mate from Romania.

Grigor's restaurant wasn't hard to find; Les got held up in the Enmore Road traffic just before the lights at the Enmore Hotel. Unlike the Romanian flag the place was all dark brown, edged with red and white. There was a solid, double wooden door on one side, a plate glass window on the other with a number of plants and palms on a ledge at the bottom. Above this was a sign in red saying The Seven Gypsies Restaurant and an image of a caravan and a man with an earring in one ear, a red scarf on his head, and a violin tucked under his chin. Norton took a left at the lights into Edgeware Road and found a parking spot on a lot behind the Enmore Medical Centre. The door to the restaurant was locked when Les walked back. Les knocked. When the door opened a minute or so later, the person standing
there wasn't Grigor and his nickname definitely wasn't Smiling Jim. He was about six feet twelve with oily, black hair, high cheekbones and typical jowly, Slavic features.

‘Yes?' he said bluntly, looking down at Norton.

‘Is Grigor in?' asked Les. ‘He's expecting me. My name's Les Norton.'

‘Moment.' The heavy closed the door and was back about half a minute later. But this time he was smiling. ‘Please to come in,' he said, with a slight bow of his head and a gesture with his arm. ‘Sorry you must wait, but —'

‘That's okay, mate,' replied Les and stepped inside.

The restaurant was fairly dark and it took a moment or two for Norton's eyes to adjust. The ceiling was black and the carpet was dark brown. There were mirror tiles on one wall, paintings, murals and Romanian flags on the other. Three rows of chairs and tables led to the kitchen and a servery at the rear, square tables on the outside, round ones in the middle. Les was peering around, still trying to adjust to the darkness when a voice boomed out from a cubicle in the far right-hand comer.

‘Les! Down here, my friend.'

With a friendly grin on his face and wearing a brown, check suit, Grigor was seated next to his brother. Like the heavy on the door, Grigor too had oily, black hair and the same, jowly Slavic features. A pair of bushy eyebrows topped a pair of dark brown eyes and a slightly broken nose. Unlike the heavy, Grigor was shorter and stockier with a barrel chest and a paunch. Between his days hustling Scotch fillets and being a restaurant owner, it was obvious that Grigor hadn't gone without too many feeds since he arrived in Australia. Sitting next to him in a dark blue suit Vaclav looked much the same only a little leaner and without the broken nose. They both stood up and Grigor offered his hand.

‘Hello, Les. It is good to see you.'

‘Yeah. You too Grigor.' Norton took the Romanian's strong, friendly grip and he did the same with his brother. ‘G'day, Vaclav. How are you mate?'

‘Excellent,' replied Vaclav. ‘And may I say it is a pleasure to see you at our place for a change.'

‘Yeah. And during daylight too,' agreed Les.

Grigor said something to the heavy in Romanian and turned to Les. ‘You want coffee, Les? Good coffee.' Norton nodded, Grigor said something else to the heavy then motioned for Les to sit down.

‘So, how is it to be out of work, Les?' asked Vaclav.

‘It's a tough old world, Vaclav,' winked Norton. ‘But I think I'll get by somehow.'

‘I am certain you will,' chuckled Grigor.

They exchanged small talk for a while, the Kelly Club, their restaurant, old times at the meatworks etc, as the heavy returned with a pot of coffee and other things on a tray which he placed on the table before disappearing once more into the kitchen. They finished one cup of coffee and were started on another when the conversation began to settle down a little and Grigor decided to get to the nitty-gritty.

‘So, Les, my good friend. Now what is it my brother and 1 can do for you?'

Norton took another sip of coffee then put the cup down and looked directly at the Romanian. ‘Are you still handy with a box of matches, Grigor?'

The two brothers looked at each other for a moment then roared laughing. Grigor reached across and gave Norton a friendly slap on the shoulder that almost knocked him out of the cubicle.

‘By golly, I like this man,' he laughed. ‘Are we still good with the box of matches? Of course we are. We are the
best\
We are number one with the box of matches.' They both roared with laughter again, then Grigor continued. ‘So, Les. Tell us your problem.'

Over the rest of the pot of coffee, Norton told them all about the block of flats. Where it was, the condition, how big it was, who lived there. What the council intended doing, how much the place was costing him and what he intended doing.

‘So, that's it, fellas. The place is a complete fuckin'
lemon and I want to torch it for the insurance. I know you're the best. How much do you want to do it?'

Suddenly both brother's faces went very serious.

‘What was that you just said Les?' intoned Vaclav.

‘I said how much do you want do to it?' repeated Norton.

Grigor reached across the table and gripped Norton's forearm. ‘You must never mention money to us, Les,' he said, slowly and deliberately.

‘Your money is no good in this restaurant,' added Vaclav. ‘Here or any place else where my brother and I are.'

‘Well, I just thought...' shrugged Norton.

‘Don't even think of money, let alone discuss it before we two Ciotsa brothers,' said Grigor.

‘Okay, fair enough,' said Les. ‘It's just—'

‘You are family to us, Les Norton,' said Vaclav. ‘We are the ones in debt to you.'

‘All right. I'm sorry.'

‘So you should be,' Vaclav nodded.

There was silence for a few seconds, then Grigor spoke. ‘So, Les. You say this old block of flats is over at Randwick?'

‘Yeah. Not far from the hospital, just near the Royal Hotel.'

Grigor turned to his brother then back to Les. ‘What is wrong with us going there now?' He gave a shrug. ‘We have a look. Then we know one hundred per cent what we are to do.'

‘Righto. Suits me,' said Les.

‘Where are you parked?' asked Vaclav.

Les told them where his car was. Grigor said to wait in it, they would get theirs and follow him back to Randwick, but just park a hundred or so metres down the street. Les said he understood then finished his coffee and the heavy opened the door with another smile and Norton stepped out into the busy street.

Well, that's all right, he thought, as he walked back to his car. The boys are going to do it for nothing.
I'm in front already. Just as long as they don't fuck up. Nah, I can't see it — not those two villains. And I reckon they might do an extra special job on this one. Norton grinned to himself. And why shouldn't they? After all, honour is honour. I almost drowned saving Vaclav's kid in those mountainous seas.

Norton was sitting in his car when a dark blue Mercedes saloon with tinted windows cruised into the parking lot. The driver's side window was down and Les could see the heavy behind the wheel. Norton gave him a nod and drove back out into Edgeware Road. Less than half an hour later they were parked just down from the garage opposite the old block of flats. Les waited in the car as the two brothers walked up to him.

‘Is that the place on the corner?' asked Grigor, nodding in the direction of Blue Seas Apartments.

‘Yeah, that's it.'

‘You wait here, then. We shall not be long.'

Norton switched on the car radio and read the paper.

They were back in less than twenty minutes. Grigor got in the front, Vaclav sat in the back; both had smiles on their faces.

‘Well? What do you reckon?' said Norton.

‘It is, how you say?' said Grigor ‘A piece of piss.'

‘Yeah?' Norton was pleased and at the same time surprised that there was nothing to stuff things up.

‘Those old wooden stairs,' said Vaclav. ‘The tar roof, the gas coppers in the laundry. I am curious an old place like that has not caught fire on its own. It is a death trap. There were some women sunbaking on the roof too. But they did not see us.'

‘Don't worry about them,' said Les. ‘They live there.'

‘I tell you one thing,' said Grigor. ‘When it does go, nothing will stop it. She will be off like the rotten fishcake,' he added with a laugh.

‘Suits me,' replied Les. ‘I'm only sorry I bought the fuckin' joint in the first place. So what do you intend to do? Or should I just mind my own business?'

‘That is all right,'said Grigor. ‘Do you know something of explosives, Les?'

‘I've used gelignite and I know how to make a homemade bomb.'

‘Have you heard of Semtex?' asked Vaclav.

‘Semtex.' Norton had to think for a moment. ‘Isn't that what the IRA and the terrorists use on the planes?'

‘Correct,' nodded Grigor. ‘It comes from Czechoslovakia. What we use is the next grade up. RT-66.'

‘RT-66?' shrugged Les. ‘Never heard of it.'

‘Nor should you. It is the new generation of explosive. I helped to develop it when I was in the army. Only four people besides my brother know the formula; and three of them are dead.'

‘It is two explosives in one,' said Vaclav. ‘Do you know of the toothpaste called Stripe? How it comes from the tube?' Norton nodded. ‘Tins one is much the same in appearance. The two components, they are counteracting each other, causing the implosion rather than the explosion.'

‘I think I get the picture,' said Les.

‘We put it in the right places,' said Grigor. ‘First comes like the small explosion. Then all the gasses build up and three minutes later a massive fireball will hit the tar-covered roof, comes one more explosion then the lot comes down on those old gas coppers... and that is it, Les. The whole rotten place will fall in. Three minutes at most. Insurance company will think gas explosion. Beautiful.'

‘What about the people inside?'

‘That is not our concern,' shrugged Grigor.

‘When do you wish us to do it, Les?' asked Vaclav.

‘Shit! I hadn't really thought,' replied Norton.

‘We must know before the weekend,' said Grigor. ‘On Sunday we take our families to Tasmania. My brother and I we go trout fishing.'

Christ! What a couple of nice blokes. Blow up a block of flats, too bad if almost a dozen people get killed — that wasn't their concern. Then go off trout fishing
as if nothing had happened. Shit! Just what have I got myself into? Les had to think for a moment.

‘How about I ring you tomorrow afternoon?'

‘Two-thirty at the restaurant?' said Vaclav.

‘Okay,' agreed Les. ‘Two-thirty tomorrow. I should know by then.'

Grigor slapped Les on the back and laughed. ‘Then it is done.' He and Vaclav once again shook hands with Les to cement the deal. ‘We go now and organise things. Give us a minute or two before you yourself leave.'

‘Okay. Well, thanks, Grigor. And you too, Vaclav.'

‘It is our pleasure. We hear from you tomorrow.'

They got back in the Mercedes. Les watched them leave then after a minute or two headed for Bondi himself. As he drove past the Royal he snatched a glance at the old block of flats in the rearview mirror. Jesus, just what have I got myself into here? he thought.

The ramifications of what he was about to do and the chain of events he was going to set in motion now began to weigh on Norton's mind. It had all more or less started out as a bit of a lark. Bum down the old block of flats, collect the insurance then have a drink and a laugh and a joke about it afterwards. The people that happened to live in the flats had scarcely entered his mind; except in rancour. If this thing went wrong eleven people could die, and he was now dealing with ruthless, hardcore men to whom killing meant little more than changing their socks. As Grigor quite succinctly put it, ‘that is not our concern'.

If this thing soured, Les would be left to well and truly carry the can. He couldn't shelf Grigor and his brother. Forget about the honour and family bullshit; if it came to saving their own necks they would kill him with no more feeling than if they were swatting a fly. There'd be a police investigation and if the insurance company smelled a rat and he got convicted the wash up was he'd get life imprisonment and go down as one of the most notorious mass murderers in Australian history. It would be the Whisky Au Go Go all
over again. It wasn't too late to pull out, but then it would be back to square one with that dead albatross in Randwick around his neck again and Grigor and his brother thinking he was just another flip with big ideas who possibly knew a little bit too much about them for his own good. Shit! Norton was suddenly beginning to find himself stuck between a rock and a hard place.

This all weighed heavily on Norton's mind, even when he was down the beach in the afternoon, trying to enjoy a swim and a perv. It took the edge right off his appetite, which was why he didn't bother cooking any dinner at home that night. Warren noticed this when he arrived from work and made his disapproval known. ‘Sandwiches! Fuckin' sandwiches. You expect me to come home after working my cunt out all day and eat rotten, fuckin' roast beef sandwiches. You got to be fuckin' kidding, haven't you?'

Seated at the kitchen table, Norton looked up impassively from a can of orange and mango mineral water he was sipping.

‘You don't like sandwiches, Warren?' he said slowly.

‘I...' Warren was about to say something but changed his mind. ‘Fair dinkum, what would be the good of me saying anything. You'd only come out with some smartarse Stryne remark like, “Gamgeddapizza”, or “Donfuggineadem”, or “Stiggeminyerarseyagund”. So rather than put up with the thrust and parry of your brilliant, Queensland, verbal repartee, I'll eat the fuckin' sandwiches.'

‘Good idea, Warren.'