The Boys from Binjiwunyawunya (26 page)

Finally the cop finished writing. ‘You ever had one of these before?' he said, handing Norton his part of the ticket. Les nodded his head. ‘Good. Then you know what to do.'

With Norton looking daggers at him, the cop closed his infringements book, slid his biro back down the side of his boot and walked back to his motor bike. Then, like Wyatt Earp climbing back on his horse after shooting it out with the James gang, he swung his ample backside across the seat, hit the starter button and did a U-turn back the way he had been going originally.

Steely-eyed, Norton watched him in the rear-vision mirror hoping he might hit a patch of oil or run into a truck; but it didn't eventuate. After a few moments he checked out his ticket. Failure to Produce Driver's Licence... $35. Well, well, well he chuckled tightly, that was an expensive run and a morning paper wasn't it. He folded the ticket neatly, then
put it in his pocket and continued home.

If Norton was seething when he got booked, he was absolutely ropeable by the time he got home. He barged through the front door like Elliot Ness, slammed it behind him and then stampeded down the hallway to confront an unsuspecting Warren, dressed and sitting at the kitchen table finishing a last cup of coffee before leaving for work.

‘G'day Les,' he said cheerfully. ‘How was the run?'

Norton glared at Warren as if he'd just called his mother a whore. ‘How was the run?' Here's how the fuckin' run was.' He took the traffic ticket from his pocket and tossed it across the table to Warren.

Warren nonchalantly took another sip of coffee and unfolded the brief. ‘Oowaah,' he said, a hint of a smile working at the corners of his eyes, ‘You've been a naughty boy, Les, haven't you. That'll learn you.'

‘A naughty boy!' bellowed Norton. ‘You should have seen the greasy fat turd that pinched me. Fuckin' jumped up telegram boy. I should've booted him right in his fat arse.' Les then went on to relate what had happened to him, his craggy face growing darker all the time.

Warren kept sipping his coffee and looking up at him impassively. He could see Les was in a vile mood and it was almost killing him to keep a straight face. He would dearly have loved to give Les some sympathy, but this was a golden opportunity for a stir. Warren waited until Norton had finished his tirade, then leisurely sipped some more coffee, slowly shaking his head from side to side.

‘Well, Les,' he said, very matter-of-factly, ‘you can't really blame the police officer. What's his name?' Warren checked the brief. ‘Constable Kennewell. You can't blame Constable Kennewell for doing his duty. They do have to check iden-tifications these days you know.'

Norton glared at Warren like he couldn't believe his ears. ‘Check identifications? What are you talking about. That cunt knew who I was. Whose side are you on anyway?'

‘I'm not on anyone's side,' replied Warren. ‘But how was he to know you were a law-abiding citizen? You could've been anyone. You could be some thug working at a casino in the Cross and an associate of known criminals for all he knew.'

‘Oh you're a funny cunt at times aren't you?' Norton waved his arm towards the front door. ‘Listen mate. All that prick wanted was to fill his bloody, lousy book for the morning.
Fuckin' thievin' bastards they are. Fair dinkum, they put those old World War II German airforce uniforms on and they think New South Wales is Poland in 1939. The cunts.' ‘Hey hold on a minute Les,' protested Warren. ‘When have you ever been dirty on the cops? You play touch football against the TRG and Armed Holdup blokes every second Tuesday. You were wrapping them the other day when they caught those brothers that raped and killed that nurse out at Fairfield. You reckon the RBT's good 'cause it helps keep the drunks off the road. And it wasn't all that long ago you almost got yourself killed saving one's neck up in Bondi Junction. Now they're all Nazis.'

‘Yeah, but they're good blokes. This thing was just a... just a motorised bloody parking cop. A jury fucker as the detectives call them.'

‘Ahh turn it up Les.' Warren got up from the table and rinsed his cup in the sink. ‘Look, you got done. Pay the $35 and cop it sweet.'

‘Cop it sweet, eh.' Norton tore the ticket up from the kitchen table, rolled it in a ball and flung it in the kitchen tidy. ‘There. That's how much I'm gonna cop it sweet. I won't pay the fuckin' thing. How's that grab you?'

Warren folded his arms and leant against the sink still trying hard not to laugh. ‘All right,' he shrugged. ‘Don't pay the bloody thing.'

‘I won't!'

‘Don't then. Go to gaol.'

‘I will!'

‘You'll what?'

‘I'll go to gaol.'

Now Warren had to laugh. ‘Ohh bullshit. Listen Les. You'd last about five minutes out in the nick. There's no Sealy Posturepedic mattresses and mugs of Ovaltine before you go to bed of a night out there old fella.'

‘That wouldn't worry me.'

‘Yeah?' Warren continued laughing. ‘What about all those old lags out there? They'd just love a big spunky redhead like you landing in their midst. They'd be into your blurter before you could whistle the first two bars of ‘Oh If I Had the Wings of an Angel'. Jesus you do carry on at times Les.'

Norton's face set and he stared at Warren evenly. ‘You reckon I wouldn't be game to cut out that fine in Long Bay do you?'

‘Ohh you'd be lousy enough. But not game enough. Anyway,
you're being silly now.' Warren moved across the kitchen towards the door. ‘And I've got to get to work. I'm running late.'

‘Hey hold on you little weazel,' said Norton, half blocking the door. ‘You reckon I'm not game enough to cut that fine out eh?'

Warren gave Les a tired smile as he pushed past him and moved on down the hallway. ‘I'll see you when I get home,' he called out.

‘Yeah. Well you just wait and see what happens — you little prick,' shouted Les.

‘Yeah terrific Les,' Warren shouted back. ‘I'll come and visit you.'

‘You needn't fuckin' bother.'

‘See you tonight — Wally. Be careful if you're thinking of driving your car again today.'

‘Get stuffed.'

The front door closed and Norton was alone in the house. Slowly nodding his head he kept glaring down the hallway before turning back to the kitchen tidy with the crumpled-up traffic ticket still sitting on the top.

‘All right, you smart little prick,' he muttered to himself, still slowly nodding his head. ‘We'll just see what happens. We'll just see what happens.'

And so, about two and a half months later, Les Norton, owing to the due process of the law, plus his own rather crass inexorability tinged with possibly a little parsimony, found himself at two-thirty in the afternoon on another Monday at Waverley Police station. Waiting to be finger-printed, handcuffed, flung bodily into the back of a paddy-wagon, and taken out to Long Bay Correctional Centre to be a guest of Her Majesty in the Central Industrial Prison for two days.

Norton got the message that he was required at Waverley lockup the previous Friday morning. He hadn't been long out of bed and was in the kitchen making a coffee when the phone rang.

‘Hello,' he said, still feeling a little sleepy.

‘Is that you Les? It's Des Smith, up at Waverley.'

‘Oh g'day Des. How you goin'?' Desmond Smith was a young fair-haired cop who played centre for Eastern Suburbs. Norton had got to know him through football and some other cops he knew.

‘Not bad,' replied Des. ‘Listen Les. There's a bluey up here for you.'

‘Really,' smiled Norton. ‘What's it for Des?‘

‘Failure to produce driver's licence,' chuckled Des. ‘It's $53 now.'

‘Go on eh? I must've forgotten all about it.'

‘Yeah. It's a shitty one isn't it. Anyway — when do you want to come up? Or if we're going past your place we can call in. Save you a trip.'

‘No. That's all right Des. But look, I won't come up over the weekend because of work. How about I call in Monday 'arvo?'

‘Good as gold Les. I'll be on duty then. I'll have a yarn to you.'

‘Okay Des. Hey, you had a good win on the weekend.'

‘Ohh, I didn't. The other blokes did. I pulled a hamstring when I scored that try in the first half.'

‘Yeah. How is it now? You playin' this weekend?'

‘No. I'm still getting physio.'

‘Oh, bad luck. Anyway Des, I'll see you on Monday.'

Yes, thought Norton, a strange half smile forming on his face as he stared at the phone for a few moments after he'd hung up. I'll see you on Monday all right Des. But unlike what the blokes say on TV, I won't be bringing my money with me.

Late the following Sunday afternoon Les and Warren were in the lounge room watching the first half of
Countdown
while they waited for the replay of Parramatta versus Balmain to start. Norton was into his third can of Fourex, Warren had just smoked a joint and was into his second Jack Daniels and Coke. The music had stopped and Molly Meldrum was umming and aahing his way through Humdrum when Les spoke.

‘Well Woz, old buddy old pal,' he smiled, ‘are you going to come out and visit me on Monday?'

Warren's eyebrows knitted as he looked at Les. ‘Visit you? Why, where are you going?'

‘I'm going out to Long Bay to cut out that fine.'

‘Fine? What fine?'

‘That one I got down the road for not having my driver's licence.'

Warren stared at Norton in slight amazement. ‘That was months ago. Haven't you paid the bloody thing yet?'

Norton shook his head. ‘I told you Warren. I had no bloody intentions of paying it.'

Warren eased back in his chair and stared at Norton sprawled along the lounge. ‘Are you fair dinkum?'

Norton nodded slowly.

‘You mean to tell me, you're going out to Long Bay Gaol to cut out a lousy $35 fine?'

Norton nodded again.

Warren continued to stare at the big Queenslander, then shook his head. ‘Fair dinkum Les. If you're going to go into Long Bay Gaol rather than pay a $35 fine, you would have to be the meanest man in Australia. No, hold on. I take that back. The meanest man in the world.'

Norton stared back at Warren. Then his face broke into a grin and he nodded again.

The following morning Norton was up early as usual and did his training. Warren had left early for work so he missed him when he got back. But there was a note on the kitchen table:

‘Les. I still don't know whether you're fair dinkum about cutting out that fine. But don't expect me to come and visit you. You can rot in chains for all I give a stuff. But if any of those old lags finish up rooting you, don't come back here with AIDS. Warren.'

Norton laughed to himself then screwed the note up and tossed it in the kitchen-tidy. Cheeky little prick he chuckled. After breakfast he pottered around the house. It wasn't much of a day so he watched the midday movie then had some lunch. He asked himself once or twice whether he should still go through with it, but he'd made up his mind to do it and he would. Before he knew it, it was two. He changed into an older tracksuit and took no more than $20 with him, plus an old Seiko watch. He left a note on the kitchen table saying ‘Thanks Woz. You're a real mate. See you Wednesday.' Then he locked up the house, walked down to Campbell Parade, and caught a cab to Waverley Police Station.

Des Smith was behind the counter with a sergeant and two other cops when Norton walked in.

‘Ah g'day Les,' he smiled. ‘You here to pay the bluey?'

Norton smiled back at him. ‘To tell you the truth Des, I'm not going to pay it.'

Des returned Norton's smile with a strange look. ‘What do you mean — you're not going to pay it?'

‘I'm not paying it. I'm gonna cut it out.'

‘You want to cut it out? Ohh don't be bloody crazy, Les. Look, if you're going bad I'll pay it and you can fix me up. Christ, it's only fifty-odd bucks.'

Norton shook his head adamantly, ‘No Des. A bloke bet me I wasn't game to cut it out, so I am. Anyway, it's only a couple of days,' he added with a shrug.

‘Les, it wouldn't matter if it was only a couple of minutes. Have you ever been out to Long Bay? It ain't the Sebel Town House, I can tell you.'

‘Don't matter Des. Just handcuff me and drag me away. Do what you want. Torture me. Starve me. Apply electrodes to me nuts. I don't care. I can handle it.'

Des looked at the other cops then back at Les. ‘Are you sure you know what you're doing?'

Norton nodded his head.

‘Suit yourself,' sighed Des. ‘All right come down here.'

Norton was led to the charge room. Trying to keep a straight face in front of his fellow officers, and at the same time hide his bewilderment at Norton's wanting to spend time in Long Bay, Des checked Norton's warrant and shook his head once more at the amount: $53. He stood him in the dock and entered the particulars in the charge book. Norton was then searched, his valuables removed and placed in a large envelope.

‘You're travelling very light Les,' said Des, entering the contents in a register before he sealed the envelope.

‘Yeah. Not much there for you to knock off while I'm inside eh,' Les winked.

‘Ohh I dunno,' replied Des. ‘That watch has got to be worth ten bucks.'

‘Have a bit of a heart Des. It was a present from me mother.'

‘I see you're not wearing a belt.' Des nodded at Norton's tracksuit, then at his sneakers. ‘If I let you keep your shoelaces, will you promise me you won't hang yourself.'

‘If I do you can keep the watch. Fair enough?'

‘Fair enough. Anyway, come on. We've got a nice room down the back for you.'

Norton was led through a barred door and along a passageway that led into a corridor facing four cells. Des opened the nearest cell and Les stepped inside.