The Story of Danny Dunn (67 page)

Danny crawled into bed beside her. ‘Well, at least it's not another man,' he grunted, then started to laugh. ‘I guess I'll get over it. I still love the bastard, he's still my mate, but, Jesus, I'm still gobsmacked.'

‘Speaking of gobsmacked, darling,' Helen said, running her hand down his chest. ‘How about getting that gob smacking? It's high time I tested your French. If you don't use a language, you lose it.'

‘Sure you don't want to call in one of your girlfriends?' Danny said, kissing her softly on the mouth.

‘Certainly not,' she said sleepily. ‘We'll start tonight with lesson number sixty-nine, darling.'

The meeting with Billy, Dallas, Brenda, Hester and Helen went well, and they agreed unanimously to set up the HBH agency – the first initials of the three directors – for the Willy Billy duB machines. The new agency was to be a subsidiary of Brokendown Street Property Investment Pty Ltd.

When Dallas warned them that things could get a bit rough and that they were going to need a security team, they took it in their stride. ‘Gangsters from Germany I know already,' Hester said; Brenda had witnessed more pub fights than she'd had hot breakfasts; and Helen had had military training. These were not three women who would be easily intimidated.

‘Danny used an ex-police detective sergeant, Bumper Barnett, when he was investigating Riley. Perhaps you should interview him, Dallas? He knows the crime scene in Sydney well and he's got a fearsome reputation,' Helen said.

Hester was quick to agree. ‘Ja, Franz also, he is saying so.'

‘What – a bent cop?' Dallas said, alarmed. ‘Helen, ma'am, they're a breed not to be trusted.'

‘No, he's straight – no convictions – but he's somewhat in disgrace. To use a Billy word, he “misconceived” what was happening outside a brothel in Kings Cross and beat up the eighteen-year-old son of one of our assistant police commissioners. It was a matter of being sent to the bush or resigning from the force. Now he acts as a freelancer and commands a lot of respect on both sides of the legal fence.'

‘Will he come on board? I mean, as permanent staff? This ain't no freelance job.'

‘I don't know – we'll have to ask him.' Helen turned to Hester. ‘Can you ask Franz to give you his phone number? I'd prefer to keep Danny completely out of this. You never know who's watching, with him standing for parliament. We've learned that misconstruction is one of the sharpest knives in the political armoury. Danny calls it, “Calling a man a pig”.'

Dallas laughed. ‘That's from Texas, ma'am, Vice-President Johnson. He's the expert at hog-calling.'

Billy said, ‘You know, ladies, we've never had an all-female Willy Billy duB agency; in fact, we've never had a woman executive. Dallas and I are greatly looking forward to our association with the HBH Agency.'

It was agreed that Brenda would work with Dallas on the security arrangements, but that Half Dunn would run the sales operation and be the troubleshooter, dealing with the club committees if anything went wrong. He would return to the States with Billy and Dallas and be placed on the Willy Billy duB sales team for three months to familiarise him with sales and slot-machine training. As Danny said later, while this was the first job his father had ever had outside the pub, he'd been, in a sense, training for it all his life. Half Dunn could hardly stop beaming; he was being taken seriously at last, and, what's more, in a business for which he could dress in his Runyonesque style.

Dallas and Brenda interviewed Bumper Barnett the day after the meeting. The interview took place upstairs at the Hero, and it was a no-fuss affair conducted around the kitchen table. While Bumper was surprised that Danny wasn't present, Brenda was well enough known in her own right as a Balmain publican, and he paid her due respect as she explained the business. She finished by saying, ‘We want someone exclusively, Mr Barnett. You will not be free to work for anyone else. This is a legitimate business and we plan to keep it that way, and so we want you to respond in the same way as you did when you were in the force. Before Dallas briefs you, I have to ask, do you want the job?'

‘Well, Mrs Dunn, I've never worked for a woman and —'

‘Three women, Mr Barnett,' Brenda cut in.

‘Ah, yes, but who will I answer to?'

‘Me,' Brenda said, ‘and in my absence, my husband, Mick. Are you interested?'

‘Definitely, madam.'

‘It's Brenda or Mrs Dunn; I don't run a brothel,' Brenda said, in one stroke asserting her authority. ‘I don't want you to make up your mind until Mr Honeywell has outlined your duties. After that we'll settle on a suitable salary. I expect you to haggle, but don't expect to win.'

Bumper laughed. ‘My mum was Irish and I never won an argument with her. I'll tell you what I hope to take home every week and you can decide, Brenda.'

Dallas was impressed. ‘Detective Sergeant Barnett,' he began, paying homage to Bumper's former police rank, ‘y'all would know security ain't about physical presence; it's all about perceptions – what's goin' on in the would-be perpetrator's head.'

Bumper Barnett beamed. ‘You're right, mate,' he said. ‘The silent threat; it's how good law-keeping works.'

‘Exactly, that's why Vegas is the most law-abiding town in America; the small-time hoods know if they gonna make trouble, they gonna end up disappeared without leavin' a farewell note for their family. You need the bad guys to know that if they try anything they're gonna get hammered.'

‘Yeah, right. But I have to be honest with you both, Sydney isn't that kind of city, and if I tried anything like that, the cops would have my guts for garters. Besides, a one-man law enforcement agency is not gunna work.'

‘Right on, buddy. What you've just said gives me confidence you know the game. But we don't want a bunch of ragtag hoods with brain damage looking after our slot machines. We need people the punks know they cain't take no liberties with, with reputations but not crime records, who can back you up when needed. This is your town – have you got any ideas?'

Bumper thought for a moment. ‘Lennie McPherson, he's a local Balmain boy . . . Abe Saffron . . .' He thought again, then shook his head. ‘Nah, not right them two . . . Oh Jesus, yes! Er, excuse my French, Mrs D. Of course, Perc Galea. Bloody perfect! He's a colourful racing identity, he has no form, he loves Danny Dunn, and he's got the right reputation and organisation to back him up. But . . .'

‘But what?'

‘He don't strike me as the kind of bloke that's going to work for a salary.'

Dallas looked over at Brenda. ‘I'm sure we can find a way to interest him. Can y'all organise a meeting?' he asked.

‘Sure, when?'

‘Tomorrow?'

‘I'll try, mate.'

‘Day after if you have to, no later,' Dallas said. ‘Time's gettin' real short. Don't pay to be away too long.'

Bumper Barnett wasn't present when Brenda and Dallas met Perc Galea, upstairs at the Hero. Galea listened as they outlined the business. ‘I'm horses and dogs,' he said when they finished, ‘but I don't suppose the pokies are all that different. Probably knock into a mate or two.' He sighed, shaking his head slowly. ‘Afraid I can't do it for five per cent, Mrs Dunn, Mr Honeywell – ten per cent of the business and I just might be interested.'

To Dallas's surprise, Brenda laughed. ‘If we offered five per cent to any big businessman in this town he'd snap it up and pay good money for the privilege. It's a more than decent offer for the use of your reputation, Mr Galea. If Mr Honeywell is right and it's all about perceptions, there'll be very little work involved. We've given you a set of sales projections, and I should add they're very conservative.' Brenda looked directly into his eyes. ‘Now, I'm going to make you one more offer, Mr Galea. We'll give you seven per cent if you agree right here on the spot. If you want to go home and crunch the numbers and come back to us tomorrow, then it will revert to a five per cent share. If that's not acceptable, I quite understand, no hard feelings; we'll simply make other arrangements.' She continued to stare down the colourful racing identity. ‘This is not a one-horse race, but Danny trusts you implicitly and wanted me to give you right of first refusal.' Brenda held her gaze as she waited for Galea's reply.

Perhaps there was something in his Italian background that made him respect older women, or perhaps it was his respect for Brenda's son. ‘You're a tough lady, Mrs Dunn. Maybe you should come work for me, hey?'

Brenda, still unflinching, sniffed. ‘The only time I ever worked for anyone else I was sixteen and found myself on my hands and knees scrubbing floors.'

‘Okay, you got a deal, Mrs Dunn; we'll shake hands on seven per cent. Now, maybe Mr Honeywell here can tell me what to expect.'

The American's respect for Brenda was growing by the minute. ‘If'n y'all don't mind, I'd be obliged, now we're in business together, if you'd call me Dallas. Can I call you Perc?'

Galea grinned. ‘Yeah, so long as you don't call me Percy.'

‘Thanks, Perc, welcome to the Willy Billy duB family. I guess it ain't gonna be much different to Stateside. What we'll require is for the heavy hitters to know you are in business with Willy Billy duB slot machines.'

‘I see – what you want is a bit of respect. But if it ain't shown it can be followed up with a bit of biff. Is that right, mate?'

‘That's right, Perc. Bumper Barnett will tell you when the biff is needed,' Brenda replied.

‘Ah, a good man,' Galea said. ‘A very good biff man himself. Matter of fact, I got a lotta respect for him; as a cop he didn't take no apples.'

Billy, Dallas and Half Dunn left for New Orleans a week later, with their new agency established and the promise of the first shipment of machines arriving in the warehouse shortly after Half Dunn's return. Christmas came and went and it would take a good six months of the following year to get the Willy Billy duB agency up and running.

By March the next year Helen had finished renovating three of the houses in Brokendown Street (now its official designation). They were painted white, and neat as a new pin. Bullnose had seen to the landscaping and planted jacaranda trees outside each of them. ‘It'll take a few years for 'em to grow, but it'll look bonza with them purple flowers and the white houses.'

Lachlan's new wife, Erin Walsh, who had somewhat outrageously kept her maiden name, persuaded Lachlan to buy one of the houses as their first home. She was a young fashion designer who sensed the start of a new age; fashion for young women was coming out of America and London that she described as ‘Beat and Peer'. She had read Jack Kerouac's
On the Road
and embraced the Beat generation, the precursor to the hippy explosion. She was designing dresses, pants, T-shirts, shorts and shirts in outrageous colours, florals and geometric patterns that ignored all the fashion dictates from France and Italy, and were intended for young people rather than the privileged rich. She was designing clothes that said it was okay to look for personal freedom, and that whispered about sex, drugs and jazz.

She named her fashion label Brokendown,
after the street she and Lachlan now lived in, and opened a shop (she refused to call it a boutique) in Darling Street, in partnership with Pineapple Joe. Balmain housewives out doing their grocery shopping visited it for a laugh, and the staff at Freda's Frocks called it an eyesore, a disgrace and an insult to womanhood. ‘Entirely appropriate name for that label,' they would sniff, ‘entirely lacking in any sense of style or decorum.'

However, younger people loved it and on Saturday mornings shoppers sometimes had to queue to get into the shop. It soon became apparent that the young women Lachlan termed the ‘early adopters' were coming from all over Sydney to shop at Brokendown. Pineapple Joe's foray into T-shirts had been mad enough, the locals thought, but this new venture was really over the top. That crazy young woman wore beads and bangles and colours that clashed hideously, and she obviously didn't wear a step-in under those sacks that passed for dresses; why, the way her body moved was nothing short of obscene.

When she introduced miniskirts and vinyl boots that were inspired by the London fashion designer Mary Quant, they reckoned she had finally gone too far. They loved Joe, but the gossips now suggested there might be a streak of dirty old man in him that nobody had been aware of before. Otherwise, why would he partner in business with a young woman who was obviously not quite right in the head, who wore skirts up to her crotch that ought to have her arrested for indecent exposure.

But Erin Walsh had started something that wasn't going to go away. The next two renovated houses in Brokendown Street were snapped up by two young couples in advertising, friends of Lachlan. Helen soon had deposits from young married couples on six more homes which were yet to be renovated. While the first three renovations were financed by Brenda and Hester, Harry Farmer from the Bank of New South Wales was happy to finance the next six once he'd seen the deposits. When they were eventually sold, Brenda would have recovered the money she'd paid for all twenty-eight houses.