You Wouldn't Be Dead for Quids (26 page)

‘Yeah. Her sister's married to a builder up there. The two young blokes went with her, took their surfboards. They reckon some place called Catherine Hill Bay's got unreal tubes, or lefts, or rights or something.' Billy shook his head and smiled. ‘Fair dinkum, I don't know what they're talking about half the time.'

Norton laughed. ‘Yeah, they're funny all right. They love goin' away but, don't they?'

‘Reckon.' Billy paused again for a moment, stroked his chin thoughtfully and looked at Les. ‘You fancy going for a drink after work?'

‘What's wrong with having a drink upstairs?' replied Norton, his eyes slightly narrowed, a subtle smile on his face — he had half an idea what Billy was hinting at.

‘No, I mean like somewhere with a bit of music and a few people around. Just for a bit of a change.'

‘And a bit of crumpet.'

‘Not necessarily.'

‘Like where?'

‘What about the Mandrake Room?'

‘THE MANDRAKE ROOM!' said Les raising his voice. ‘Christ Billy, it's that dark and dingy in there even the kitchen rats put Murine in their eyes.'

‘Turn it up. It's not that bad.'

‘Yeah. It's not that bloody good either.'

The Mandrake Room was a nightclub in a narrow lane off Macleay Street, Kings Cross, about half a kilometre from the Kelly Club. It was for late-niters only and they called it the Drake for short. The place itself wasn't all that bad, just some of the people who went there were a bit off. It had a disco as well as live entertainment and although they closed the doors around 4am, they didn't close the bar until the last punter got swept out with the butts and used drink coasters — generally around 8am. A good rock band always played there and the place was a haunt for musicians and entertainers finishing gigs and needing a late-night drink and a bit of a ‘yahoo' to wind down. There was no drug dealing on the premises but it was a pretty sure bet that the vast majority of the patrons in there had a lot more coursing through their bloodstream and minds than red corpuscles and brain tissue. But although it was a bit smoky and dingy, and the patrons a trifle seedy, it was very popular and not quite as bad as Norton made out.

‘Jesus, you're a nark Les,' said Billy. ‘You wouldn't wrap a Christmas present. The joint's not all that bad.'

‘Mmmhhh.'

‘Come up and have two drinks. It won't kill you. We'll be out of here by 3.30am, you can have a couple up there and you'll still be home with your mug of Ovaltine and tucked into beddy-byes by five, you big sheila.' Billy threw a straight left at Norton's chin then quickly stepped back grinning. ‘Come on, don't be an old tart. Just have two drinks.'

Norton turned away and shot Billy a derisive look out the side of his eye. ‘I can't figure it out,' he said. ‘A bloke with a missus as good looking as yours and you want to go out chasing those cane toads hangin' round the Drake.' He shook his head. ‘You'll probably pull some slag out of there, throw her up in the air and finish up with the jack. Don't make no sense to me.'

Dunne's wife was an ex-model and a country girl from Grafton, in northern NSW. They'd been married almost ten years and although they had two sons, Louise still had her looks and shape and in photos for some modelling assignments which she still occasionally did, she didn't look a day over 18. A lot of guys around Sydney town would have given anything to get into Louise's pants but no one would touch her with a 40 foot barge pole. They knew if Billy ever found out they'd spend the rest of
their lives in a wheel-chair. But Louise would never play up, she was too much in love with Billy and although Billy was a little reluctant to admit it, the feeling was very, very mutual.

Unfortunately, however, Billy was a ladykiller. He didn't really mean to be; it just happened that way and being married to a beautiful ex-model it just seemed to spur the girls on all the more. He had a ton of personality and rugged, tanned good looks, a sort of a Burt Reynolds without the moustache, in fact Billy's legacy from years of professional boxing, a broken nose and a bit of scar tissue around his eyes, only seemed to add to his masculine charm. In a town full of increasing numbers of boring posers, gays and pretty boys with streaks through their hair, Billy attracted women like a prawn trawler attracts seagulls. There wasn't a girl working at the Kelly Club wouldn't let Billy slip his shoes under her bed for the night.

But there was no doubt Billy was a happily married man and for all the sex he could have got on the side he very rarely played up behind Louise's back. However, Billy was still a bit of a rogue and having to watch all those beautiful women coming and going at the Kelly Club and being offered a bit more than just a cup of tea and an Arrowroot biscuit with a bit of butter on it if he'd like to go back to their place with them, there were times when Billy would weaken and not be able to help himself. Tonight was one of those nights.

‘Hey just a minute, Les,' said Billy. ‘Who said anything about me going up there just for the sake of doing a bit of stray tooling?'

‘Well, you're not going up there just to listen to the band.'

‘I might. I like music.'

‘Oh arseoles.'

‘Look, mate. I just feel like having a little drink after work. Besides, it's going to be awful when I go home tonight, Louise and the kids not being there. I'll be lonely in that big house all by myself.'

‘Ohh Jesus Christ,' Norton spat in the gutter. ‘I've never heard so much bullshit in all my life.'

‘And another thing,' continued Billy, ignoring Norton's last remark. ‘That's not very nice to refer to the ladies that patronise the Mandrake Room as cane toads.'

‘Well what are they?' snorted Norton contemptuously. ‘What about the last time you dragged me up there and you tipped me
into that blonde. I got her back to my place and she had “Harley Davidson Motorbikes” tattooed across her arse in inch-high letters. They filled me that full of penicillin a week later all my clothes went mouldy.' Norton spat in the gutter again as Billy's face broke into a grin. ‘Yeah, you can laugh, you clown but I'll tell you what, if I pull anything out of there tonight back to my place it'll be gettin' a Dettol bath first.'

‘That means you're coming,' said Billy quickly.

‘I'll think about it.'

‘You'll be there.'

‘I'll think about it.'

By 1.30am the rain hadn't eased up and although there had been a fairly steady stream of punters going into the club they were only arriving in ones and twos and it was nowhere near crowded; Billy was right in his prediction that it was going to be a quiet one.

Just before 2am, Pattie Cameron, one of the female croupiers, came down the stairs with a thermos full of hot coffee for the boys. Pattie was one of the best sorts that worked in the Kelly Club, a well stacked blonde with a wide, sexy, crimson slash of a mouth. She looked a bit like Hotlips Hoolihan out of M*A*S*H on TV, but with a ten times bigger pair of boobs.

‘Here you are boys,' she said, handing the thermos and cups to Les. ‘Price said to get stuck into it, it's got some Jack Daniels in it. He also said it's pretty quiet upstairs so you can slam the bag about 3am. All right?'

Billy winked at Les. ‘See, I told you.'

Pattie took a quick glance up and down the still almost deserted Kelly Street, noticing the milky lights from the buildings and passing cars being reflected in the inky blackness of the wet road. The wind had picked up slightly, putting a chill in the air as it bowled the wispy rain before it and scattered the vaporous haze across the flowing gutters and into the darkened buildings like a movement of grey ghosts.

‘Ooh,' she said, rubbing her arms and shivering as a chill ran up her back. ‘Isn't it an awful night.' She moved over to Billy and linked her arm in his. ‘I hear your wife's gone away for the weekend, Billy,' she purred.

‘Yeah. Be back Monday.'

‘My flatmate's on a stopover in Perth and I'm all on my own too, in a great big unit.' She tightened her grip on Billy's arm.
‘Would you like to come back for a cup of coffee and tuck me into bed. I get scared on my own.'

‘Nah. I'd better go straight home, I think. You'll be all right.'

‘Well anyway,' Pattie smiled, kissed her index finger and placed it gently on Billy's lips. ‘If you change your mind you know where to find me.' Billy slapped her on the backside and she laughed and ran up the stairs.

‘I can't figure you out,' said Norton, handing Billy a steaming cup of coffee. ‘You've got the best sort in the joint hangin' off you and you'd rather go up the Drake. Are you sure you're all right?'

‘Listen mate,' said Billy, taking a large sip of coffee. ‘There's one thing you've got to learn. Never shit in your own nest. All those sheilas upstairs and my missus, all get their hair done in the one salon in Double Bay. Stylish Coiffure. And the way they gossip, it'd take about five minutes before Louise found out something had been going on and my nuts'd finish up in the dog's bowl.' Billy shook his head and took another sip of coffee. ‘I wouldn't even be game to kiss one of those sheilas upstairs if it was her 21st birthday, let alone have a root.'

‘Fair enough,' replied Norton. ‘Jesus, this coffee's all right ain't it?' Les could feel the flush from the Jack Daniels in his cheeks.

A few more people entered the club while they finished their coffee but just as many left, disappearing into the darkness of Kelly Street. Billy checked his watch and turned to Les.

‘Well, it's after two. I'd say it's all over bar the shouting now. Not even an hour to go.' He stepped out from under the awning. ‘The rain seems to have eased up a bit too. It's been an easy one tonight, Les.'

‘Yeah, but it's always nights like this when you least expect it something happens,' replied Norton sagaciously.

‘Christ, what could happen? Have a look, there's hardly a soul around.'

‘I'll relax when we've got the last one out of the club.'

Billy shook his head and smiled. ‘Jesus, you're an old sheila at times Les.'

It hadn't been five minutes since Billy spoke when around the corner into Kelly Street came four blond headed German seamen — all very big, all very mean and all very drunk.

They were off a Danish freighter berthed at Walsh Bay to pick up a cargo of wool and canned fruit. They were sailing with the tide on Sunday afternoon and as this was the last night out in Sydney they were keen for a bit of action — and the more active the better. They spotted the blue light and the awning outside the Kelly Club and figuring it to be a disco sauntered up to Billy and Les.

Norton noticed them coming up the street first. ‘You wouldn't believe it,' he said to Billy. ‘Not a soul around and have a go at this coming up the street.' Norton might have been a bit of a slow-talking Queensland country boy at times but he could smell trouble a mile away.

‘She'll be sweet,' replied Billy. Billy was game at the best of times but with Norton backing him up he wouldn't have cared if a truck load of gorillas armed with baseball bats had pulled up out the front.

The four Germans ambled up to the boys like they owned Kings Cross. The biggest one spoke. He was a monster. Well over six and a half feet tall with a huge bull chest, a bit of a paunch and a big surly blond head, about the same size and shape as an Otto bin. He was dressed in faded denim jeans and a heavy flannelette shirt, much like the others. He spoke reasonable English and being the biggest he was obviously the spokesman for the group. Not that the others were much smaller.

He just about stood on top of Norton when he spoke. ‘This is disco, yes?' He nodded his big head in the direction of the club then back to his mates. ‘We come in, yes?' The others shuffled forward as Les stepped back and put his hand up in front of him. Billy moved round a few paces to the group's left.

‘Sorry boys,' said Norton slightly apologetically. ‘It's not a disco, it's a gambling casino.'

‘Gambling casino?' Ridges like in a piece of corrugated iron appeared on the big German's forehead as he tried to fathom out what Les had just said.

‘Yeah. You know, roulette, baccarat, cards.'

The big, slow-thinking seaman turned to his mates and they had a brief conversation in German. Then he turned back to Les.

‘So we come in. Gamble. Maybe play some cards.'

Norton shook his head. ‘Sorry boys, but it's a private club. Members only.' He could just imagine what it would be like
inside once the horny Germans got full of free drink then spotted Pattie Cameron and the rest of the girls walking around in their low cut, backless evening gowns. Pandemonium.

‘Members only?' repeated the big German.

‘That's right, old mate,' said Les.

Just as he spoke, two regulars came up behind him, nodded to him and Billy and stepped smartly inside. The big German noticed this and a heavy scowl darkened his already brutish face. He jabbed a finger about the same size as a banana towards the door.

‘You say members to us. They going straight in.'

‘I know 'em,' said Les. ‘They're regulars.'

‘Fucking shit. Liar bastard,' snapped the huge German. Behind him his almost equally as big mates were starting to shuffle their feet — they looked as if they were starting to get a bit restless too.

‘Look mate,' said Norton, slowly and deliberately. ‘It's a private club. There's no women in there, just gambling. And we close in less than half an hour. You and your mates are better off going down to the Arizona Tavern. It's open till six and there's heaps of girls in there. There's none in here.'

The big German turned to his mates again and they had another quick conversation in their own language. One of them put his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. They were starting to see reason and with Norton emphasising that there were no women inside it was starting to get through to them and they were starting to lose interest. All would have been sweet only Billy, who had been conspicuous by his silence, decided to put his head in. He was starting to get a glow from the Jack Daniels laced coffee and with his wife being away and knowing he was going out on the run after work he was obviously in one of his cheeky moods.