The Day of the Gecko (13 page)

‘Yeah, just down to the right.'

‘Thanks. That bloody coffee does go through you, doesn't it.'

During the major's absence Les sat and stared into his coffee. He didn't know whether to laugh, cry or just bang his head on the table. The Gecko had him completely flummoxed. He just never ceased to amaze. And if he'd only get that smile off his face when they were together, so Les could tell where he was coming from now and again.

The major returned, sat down and took a sip of coffee, then started picking at another bread roll.

‘So what do you fancy doing now, Garrick?' asked Les. ‘You want to go home and watch a bit of TV or . . .'

‘To be honest, Les, I wouldn't mind going for just a couple of quiet drinks. Not a pub or a club. Something different. You know a quiet bar round here?'

‘Actually I do know a place we can go.'

‘Yeah? Whereabouts?'

‘Just down the beachfront. It's called Redwoods. Come on, I'll tell you about it on the way down.'

‘Okay.' The major followed Les out the front doors of the club, then down Hall Street.

Redwoods had only been open about a month or so and Les had been a fairly regular customer since almost the first week. It was in Campbell Parade near the old Biltmore Hotel, about two doors from where some builders were currently renovating an old block of flats. Norton happened to be walking past one afternoon and a couple of blokes he knew were sitting just inside, so he joined them for a few cool ones and had been going back ever since. The place seemed to have something about it. Two removable sliding glass doors stood just above the footpath and inside was all solid wooden furniture, wooden floors and cream-coloured
stucco walls dotted with round decals of various sizes that looked something like old Aztec calendars. A long, L-shaped bar angled out from the wall on the right as you entered and ran down to a couple of steps leading to the toilets, the kitchen and another two eating areas out the back. The bar was more solid wood, with seating for about fifteen, and started under a glass cabinet holding a couple of Redwoods T-shirts and finished at the coffee machine. Behind this was a door which led to a fire escape and a storage area. The bar was well stocked with shelves full of liquor and was split by a large, solid wooden cupboard crammed with more liquor; the staff had pinned different banknotes to the shelves and placed a fluffy, brown muppet doll on the end of one. Speakers in the comers played easy rock, fans hummed languidly from the ceiling and, besides the soft restaurant lighting, several pinpoints of light hung over the bar, giving Redwoods a pleasant and extra touch of atmosphere.

The drinks were always good, the service friendly and the food was tops. You could get anything from a Cajun chicken burger with tabouli, yoghurt and tomato relish, to a grilled sirloin with onion chutney and wedges, to a mixed board of sushi, to tomato and boc-concini salad with basil and rocket. Another thing Les liked about Redwoods was the doorman. He was a big, black American called Jee. Jee was built like a linebacker or something for the LA Rams, with closecropped hair, but he had a huge infectious white smile that was almost as big as he was. Everybody liked him and he had the knack of making everybody feel welcome; especially Les. The owner was a different kettle
of fish — a tall, rangy bloke with dark hair and a broken nose, who everybody called Marty. The rumour was, Marty was a helicopter pilot and made a bundle flying choppers during the Gulf War, which was how he bought the restaurant. Les thought it was a good story; though at over six feet four he just couldn't picture Marty leaping in and out of helicopters in a hurry.

But the bar was always full of nice enough people and interesting characters and somehow or other, through Jee or the owner, Les got to meet a few of them. He was at the bar one night and Kylie Minogue ordered a drink almost next to him. James Packer would come in and have a meal with his girlfriend. Virginia Hey, James Reyne or Vince Sorrenti would have a drink or a meal there. Different actors, authors, film directors, models, boxing promoters, etc, would drift in from time to time. Definitely not your ‘pie and schooners' mob from the local boozer, yet there was no posing in the place and nobody tried to bung on any side. It was just a good place to have a meal and a drink.

Norton was impressed there one night, however. He was at the bar with a mate, talking, but mainly perving on this gorgeous little number in a tight vest, white satin shorts and cowboy boots who was boogieing around in front of Jee at the door. A fair lump of a bloke at the bar, near Les, in a white suit and white shirt done up at the collar, finished his drink, looked at his watch, then walked over to the girl, put her over his shoulder and tossed her into the back seat of a Rolls-Royce convertible parked outside; and they both drove off laughing like drains. Les declared to his mate that if Charles Bukowski was still alive, even he'd call
that style. The thing that impressed Norton most about Redwoods though, besides the food and the people, was that it was just down and around the comer from his house and he could fall out the front door blind drunk and be home in bed in less than ten minutes. Then stagger back for a good breakfast the next day.

‘So that's where I mainly go for a drink on my nights off, Garrick. I don't know if that's true about the owner. But if he's there you can ask him. He sounds like he might be in your line of business.'

The major looked thoughtful. ‘What did you say his name was again?'

‘Marty. That's all I know.'

‘Mmhh. Oh well. The place sounds interesting.'

‘What do you like to drink?'

‘Just Jim Beam and soda. Slice and ice.' The major smiled. ‘What about you, Les? Darwin Stubbies?'

Norton smiled back as they walked along. ‘You wouldn't believe it, Garrick, but since I got back from Hawaii, I got a taste for that Millers Genuine Draught. In the long neck.'

‘Seppo beer!?' retorted The Gecko. ‘Shit! What are you, Les? A bloody poofter or something?'

‘Yeah,' nodded Norton. ‘And they got it freezing cold round there. I drink crates of it.'

The major shook his head. ‘Oh well, to each his own, I suppose. You don't have a float in the Gay Mardi Gras, do you, Les?'

Norton shook his head also. ‘Not since the horse died.'

They wheeled right at the bottom of Hall Street into Campbell Parade. There were more people around now; walking, licking ice-creams, sitting in restaurants
or whatever. At Redwoods, the door was open and Jee was standing at the front in a pair of jeans and a brown silk shirt. His big friendly smile seemed to get bigger when he saw Norton.

‘Les, my man, how's it goin', brother?'

‘Pretty good, Jee. Okay if me and my friend come in for a couple of cool ones?'

Jee made a magnanimous gesture with his hands. ‘Please do.'

Norton tossed the major a wink. ‘What did I tell you? You don't get a much better welcome than that.'

‘You're not wrong,' agreed The Gecko, following Les inside.

‘Hey! Look at that,' said Les. ‘There's two empty seats at the bar.'

The place was reasonably crowded and before the major knew what was going on, Les had threaded them through the tables and the people and they were propped on two stools on either side of the comer; The Gecko on Norton's right at the short end; Les at the start of the long end of the bar. The barman knew Norton of old, gave him a smile and, before long, Les had an MGD in his hand and the major had his Jim Beam: slice and ice.

‘Well, cheers, Garrick,' said Norton. ‘It's nice meeting you. Certainly different, but nice all the same.'

The Gecko clinked Norton's bottle. ‘I think I'd have to say pretty much the same about you, Les.'

Norton's first beer went down pretty easily, so he ordered another. He remembered the major said he was more a moderate drinker so Les just left some money on the bar and told Garrick that if he wanted anything,
get it and take it out of that. The major nodded a thanks and seemed quite happy just to sip his bourbon and look at the people around him. Les took another swallow of beer and did pretty much the same.

There appeared to be the usual laid-back crowd having an early Wednesday night drink or a bite to eat. All the seats at the bar were taken, there were a few tables of girls on their own, or boys and couples picking at their beef carpaccio, chargrilled tuna or whatever. Les didn't notice anybody he knew, or the owner, or any singers, actors or young billionaires; just happy, casually dressed people enjoying themselves while a bit of M. People wafted from the speakers round the walls.

The only exception appeared to be five drunken men in working gear, dirty jeans, King Gee shorts, boots and whatever, swarming around the end of the bar near the coffee machine. One was wearing a BLF T-shirt and Les tipped them to be off the building site next door. They'd probably been working overtime, decided to have a couple of beers at Redwoods because it was handy, got the taste and stayed ever since. Now they'd reached the good old obnoxious-Australian-yobbo stage. Les had worked and played football with a lot of building workers. Most of them were okay and out to make a dollar the same as everybody else. But a lot of blokes Norton came across in the building game had the attitude that they were the only people in the world that did any work. And anybody that didn't pour concrete or whatever and drive round in a Holden ute with a concrete-mixer and a blue heeler in the back and drink fifty schooners in the public bar with ‘the boys' after work was a bludger and a soft cock.

The five men at the other end of the bar appeared to have that attitude. Especially a tall one with brown hair and an overgrown moustache plastered across a snarly, fat pie-shaped face. Les ordered another two drinks and he and the major sat there absently watching as the five yobbos gave the ‘bludgers and soft cocks' around them a bit of aggro; trying to hit on the girls, making lots of noise, spilling their drinks, etc, while they engaged in a bit of push and shove and gave each other a few friendly head butts. Good yobbo stuff. The patrons around them tried to ignore them as best they could. Jee came over a couple of times and politely asked them to settle down; they mostly ignored him then gigged him and gave him the finger behind his back when he walked back to the door. On the third trip back, Norton noticed Jee's usual sparkling smile was starting to fade and tipped they might get a bit of action in Redwoods before the evening was over.

‘Who are your mates down the end of the bar?' the major said to Les.

Norton shook his head. ‘I dunno. They're probably off that building site next door.'

‘Do you think they'd have a brain between them?'

Norton shook his head again. ‘If they did, it'd be in mint bloody condition.'

After two beers on top of all that food, Norton thought he might switch to bourbons also. He was about to order another round when he noticed The Gecko watching something at the end of the bar. ‘Pieface', the tall builder with the moustache, tired of annoying everybody else around, had decided to start on the staff and, with his yobbo mates egging him on,
was in an argument with the barman. Despite the music and the surrounding noise you could hear the builder bellowing at the top of his voice and it appeared to be over a dollar or so. The barman, a skinny kid with a black ponytail and a stud, who was probably a part-time model, was trying patiently and politely to explain to Pieface that if you ordered bourbon, you got house bourbon. If you wanted Jim Beam, Wild Turkey or whatever, it was extra; in this case it came to a dollar. But Pieface would have no part of it. He'd definitely been robbed and he had it all over the young barman who was just trying to do his job, so like a big man he was going for it. Making plenty of noise and making a complete flip of himself in the process. The other barman was helping the manager do something, so the barman with the ponytail was on his own. Les was trying to catch his eye when a blonde in a tight blue top, sitting on The Gecko's right, waved some money in the air. The barman, looking for an excuse to get away from Pieface, saw her, excused himself from the builder, and came up to take her order. Pieface would have no part of that either. As soon as the barman made it to the blonde, he elbowed his way through the patrons, charged round the comer of the bar and elbowed his way in between the major and the blonde to give the barman another gobful. With his face all red and his chest puffed up with belligerent confidence, Pieface jabbed his finger over the bar.

‘
You will not walk away from me
,' he bellowed, trying to sound semi-intelligent and extra-tough by emphasising each word. ‘You will be told. You won't tell me.'

‘Yes, all right,' said the barman. ‘Now, if you'll just
excuse me for a moment, I'll just see what this lady wants.'

Pieface looked like he was going to explode. ‘Hey, don't you try and ignore me. I work for my fuckin' money, more than you do. And I know the price of drinks.' Pieface jabbed his finger at the barman, waving his arm around and, in the process, knocked some of The Gecko's drink over his hand.

The Gecko looked at his hand for a second, then turned to Pieface, turned to Les, then back to Pieface. ‘Excuse me,' he said, tapping the builder on the shoulder. ‘What seems to be your problem, son?'

Pieface turned and glared down at the major. ‘No one's fuckin' talking to you.'

‘I know they're not. But they're spilling drinks on me, and I don't very much like it.'

‘Well, I don't give a fuck what you like. Mind your own fuckin' business.'

Jee seemed to sense something was going on from where he was standing at the door. But he was too preoccupied with another bunch trying to get in to come over. Les also got a sense that it might be a good time to slip his watch off.

‘You appear to be concerned over a dollar,' said the major, ignoring Pieface's last statement. ‘Well, there's five,' he said, taking some money from the bar and offering it to the builder. ‘Why don't you take that, settle down, and join your friends back at the end.'