You Wouldn't Be Dead for Quids (9 page)

The attendant appeared from out the back. He was wearing the loudest Hawaiian shirt Les had ever seen along with a pair of yellow paisley pattern trousers — he looked like a walking green-house and was obviously gayer than carnival time in Rio.

‘Yessss,' he crooned, eyeing Norton up and down. ‘What can I do for yoouuu?'

‘What can you do for meeee?' replied Les derisively. ‘Just give me a couple of bottles of French shampoo, son. Dom Perignon 72. If you ain't got that, Veuve Clicquot will suffice.' What the hell, thought Norton, I got plenty, I may as well bung it on a bit.

‘Ooooh, I don't think we've got any of that,' said the attendant. The sight of Les's muscles and hairy chest bulging out under his T-shirt had him starting to gush a bit. ‘Would some Moet Chandon do you?'

‘Moet bloody Chandon,' sneered Les, really giving it the Leo Schofield treatment. ‘You're kidding. I wouldn't give that to my bloody dog. What year is it?'

‘Seventy-two,' replied the attendant meekly. ‘Is that all right?' Norton's aggressive macho act had him almost swooning. He was Norton's slave.

‘I s'pose it'll have to do, won't it?' replied Les. ‘All right, give us three bottles. And toss in a bottle of Tia Maria, too. You'd better bloody well have that.'

‘Oh of course we have,' said the attendant, fussing around like an old moll as he got the bottles out of the fridge and started wrapping them up. ‘Having a bit of a party, are we?'

‘Yeah. I brought me two hairdressers up for a few days,' said Les running his fingers through his thick red hair. ‘They're a couple of terrific young blokes, too.' He handed the attendant the money, making a big show of it as he pulled out the wad he'd lifted off the yobs.

‘Ooh, you might like to invite me around for a few drinks. Are they from Sydney, are they?' The attendant was gushing like a fountain by now.

‘Yeah. But you know the old saying, son,' said Les, pocketing the change. ‘Three's company, four's a crowd. I might see you tomorrow, though.' He gave the attendant a wink and left the shop.

As soon as Les walked out the door the attendant slumped down in a chair and started fanning himself with a magazine. He was completely shattered.

Christ, thought Les, chuckling to himself as he put the drink in the car, a man's lucky to get out of there with his cherry. He arranged the bottles securely on the back seat then went to a chemist, bought a bottle of Mennen, some under-arm deodorant and went straight home.

It was almost five o'clock by the time Les had made a cup of tea and put the drink in the fridge, so he decided to lie down for an hour. He wanted to be nice and fresh when he got there; besides this sister Sophia sounded interesting and if she was anything like Diane she'd be all right. A man might be half a chance too, he thought.

He woke up feeling a bit thick-headed just after six. The combination of the two schooners and the day in the sun had dried him out a bit so he had a drink of water, went downstairs and jumped in the pool — the water felt like ice but it freshened him straight up. After splashing around for a few minutes he trotted upstairs and got under a steaming shower.

Fifteen or so minutes later he finished showering and shaving and felt like a million dollars. He threw on a clean pair of jeans, sneakers and a lemon coloured Lacoste pullover he'd bought from one of the thieves at Bondi. Not half a bad sort, son, he thought to himself, checking himself out in the mirror as he slapped the Mennen on to his face and gave his armpits a liberal dousing of deodorant; not half a bad sort at all. All I need is a few gold chains round my neck and I'd look like Barry Gibb. He gave his dense red hair a quick detail with a plastic ‘bug rake' and turned out the bathroom light.

Les was whistling softly to himself as he got the chilled champagne out of the fridge and placed it in a carton alongside the Tia Maria. He checked the address Diane had given him in his UBD street directory. It was easy enough to find, so he tucked the carton up under his arm, locked up the house and was on his way; ten minutes later he was almost at Forresters Beach.

Shit, I'm getting nice and hungry, thought Les as he turned off The Entrance Road into Crystal Street for the short run to the beach. I hope they got plenty on.

Diane's sister's place turned out to be a large, purple brick two-storey house in Kalakau Road overlooking the whole of Forresters Beach and then some. A wide sun-deck surrounded by white Roman-style columns stood out the front, with a smaller but identical one underneath at the entrance to the front door. Not a bad digs, mused Les as he pulled up alongside Colin's car which was parked in the double driveway. She must be doin' all right. He got the drink out of the car, stepped through a white wrought-iron gate, trotted up a small flight of steps and rang the door bell. Ding dong, Avon calling, thought Les as he recognised Frosty's tiny bark coming from inside. The door opened and there stood Colin, a warm sincere smile amost glowing on his face.

‘Hello Les,' he said warmly, ‘good to see you, glad you could come.' He took Les's hand and pumped it vigorously. ‘How are you, all right? Hungry I suppose?'

‘Yeah, a bit,' replied Les. ‘How are you feelin' now anyway?'

Colin patted his ribs lightly. ‘Still a little sore but I'm okay. I know I'd be a lot worse only for you,' he said raising his eyebrows.

Frosty ran over and jumped up on Les's leg. Les picked it up under the stomach and let it give him a kiss on the chin. ‘You still won't chain this mongrel thing up will you?' he said.

‘Can't get a chain big enough,' laughed Colin. ‘Anyway, come inside.' He closed the door behind Les and ushered him down a thickly carpeted hallway, through a spacious lounge room full of expensive modern furniture and into a large modern kitchen, that would have suited Bernard King. Diane was fussing over some pots steaming on a stove.

She stopped what she was doing, walked over to Les and took him by the hand. She looked at him for a moment then reached up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘We're very, very pleased you could come Les, we really are.'

‘Ah, that's all right,' said Les feeling slightly embarrassed, ‘I had to anyway, your husband threatened to beat me up if I didn't.'

‘That's right,' said Colin, ‘and if I hadn't, Diane would.'

Diane gave Les's hand another squeeze and went back to the stove. ‘Sophia's just gone to the bathroom, she'll be out in a minute.' She turned to Colin: ‘Well, don't just stand there, Colin. Get the man a drink.'

‘I sure will,' said Colin, snapping into action. He took the carton from under Les's arm. ‘There was no need for you to bring anything Les, there's plenty in the fridge. What have you got here anyway.' He picked up one of the bottles. ‘My goodness, French champagne, Moet too, Diane look at this.'

Diane turned and looked at the bottles Colin had taken out of the carton. ‘Les, there was no need to do that,' she said. ‘It must have cost you a fortune. Tch tch, that's silly. We'll have to give you some money.'

‘Ohh that's okay,' replied Les casually, ‘I — ah found some money on the beach.'

‘Not with a metal detector surely,' said Colin putting the bottles in the fridge.

Les looked at the bruising round the knuckles on his massive right hand. ‘No. I didn't use a metal detector,' he replied.

Diane stopped what she was doing. ‘Oh Les,' she said. ‘This is my sister, Sophia. Sophia this is Les Norton.'

Les turned to face Diane's sister who was standing quietly in the doorway to the kitchen.

Sophia looked nothing like her sister. Where Diane was blonde and petite Sophia was a tall, willowy, olive skinned brunette; almost as tall as Les. She wore hardly any make-up, just a touch of rouge on her high cheek-bones, and just enough
eye-liner to accentuate a pair of deep emerald green eyes that seemed to burn into Les like two laser beams. Her hair was combed up on her head in a bun with a few lightly curled strands hanging softly round her ears, an expensive powder blue track suit fitted her snugly enough to emphasise two high, full breasts and a shapely behind. Framed in the doorway with her hands in her pockets she oozed haughty sophistication; several thin gold chains round her slender neck added to the image. Les guessed her to be somewhere in her late 20s, early 30s; and all woman.

‘Hello Sophia,' said Les pleasantly. ‘Pleased to meet you.' He held out his hand, Sophia's handshake was warm and firm and better than a lot of men's that Les had met.

‘So you're the hero of the day,' she said indifferently; the expression on her face didn't change.

‘I don't know about hero,' said Les. ‘I guess I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.'

‘Mmmhh.' Sophia eyed Les up and down then moved into the kitchen. ‘Did I hear someone mention Moet?'

‘Yes, Les brought some bottles,' said Colin quickly, getting one out of the fridge.

‘You brought this?' said Sophia, giving Les a derisive smile.

Les shrugged his shoulders. He could sense Colin and Diane were a bit overawed by Sophia's presence and she obviously wasn't too impressed with him. ‘It's a drink,' he said nonchalantly. ‘I'd just as soon have a glass of beer myself. But let's knock one off anyway.'

Les took the bottle from Colin and with his powerful grip quickly and easily uncorked it, making a barely audible ‘pop'. Colin had four tall champagne glasses ready; Les filled them and handed them around. ‘Well,' he said raising his glass ‘here's to the newly-weds. May all your troubles be little ones.' He clinked Colin's glass and they all took a sip. All except Sophia; about half of hers went down the hatch in one go.

Les watched her for a moment or two and tried to sum her up. She's a snooty bitch he thought, not my cup of tea at all and I'd just make a dill of myself trying to get on to her. Anyway, I'll have a good feed, a drink and piss off. That'll do me.

He reached over and refilled Sophia's glass, the others declined. ‘Diane tells me you're sisters,' he said. ‘If you don't mind me saying, you don't look very much alike.'

‘We're step-sisters actually,' replied Sophia. ‘Same father, different mother.'

‘Oh.' Les nodded towards the lounge. ‘Nice place you've got.'

‘Yes, my husband designed it. He was an architect.'

‘Was?'

‘He died about a year and a half ago.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry.' He looked at her momentarily. ‘He must have only been young.'

‘Yes he'd just turned 30.'

‘Shit, that is young. What happened, if you don't mind me asking?'

Sophia drained the rest of her champagne. ‘He had a heart attack,' she said quickly, shooting Diane a frosty look out of the corner of her eye. Diane seemed to blush slightly and looked down at the floor.

Norton was slightly astounded. ‘A heart attack at thirty. Christ!'

‘It can happen, you know,' sniffed Sophia. She moved over to the wall stove and glanced through the small glass window. ‘This should be just about ready soon.'

Les sensed that she wanted to change the subject so he refilled their glasses. ‘Well, that bottle went down quicker than a shark shot full of shit, didn't it,' he said turning to Colin. ‘I guess I'd better rip the top off another one.' So saying, he did and refilled all the glasses.

‘And what sort of work do you do Les,' asked Sophia, taking a healthy pull on her glass of Moet.

‘I work in a gambling casino up the Cross,' replied Norton.

‘What are you, a croupier?'

‘No, I work on the door.'

Sophia gave another derisive little laugh. ‘You're a bouncer.'

‘Sort of, yeah.'

‘And do you get to bounce many people, Les? I suppose you would.'

‘I don't bounce people,' replied Norton evenly. ‘I just bounce mugs.'

Les then went on to explain a bit about the Kelly Club before they started thinking he was some punch-drunk thug who went around belting people just for the fun of it. He told them about the owner and all the charity work he did and all the people he
had to bribe to stay in business and about some of the racehorses he owned. He told them about how his offsider Billy was an ex-champion fighter and some of the sights they'd seen round The Cross. He mentioned a little bit about some of the fights they'd been involved in — not making it too heavy.

Colin and Diane were almost mesmerised at some of Les's stories. Even the haughty Sophia became more than a little astonished when Les told them about the surprising number of rich and respected people who went there. The TV stars, film stars, church dignitaries, judges, barristers, politicians. Rich society women out with young gigolos, prominent Sydney businessmen out with sexy young call-girls.

‘So it's not just a sleazy gambling den,' said Les, ‘and I don't run around bashing people all the time either.'

‘Obviously not,' replied a slightly admonished Sophia.

As she spoke a timer in the wall oven rang. ‘Righto,' she said, clapping her hands together, ‘if you boys go out into the dining room we'll start serving this up. Les, there are two bottles of wine in the fridge, would you open one and put it on the table.'

‘Sure.' Les went to the fridge, took out a bottle of Black Tower, opened it and placed it in the middle of the oblong dining table, then sat down at one end to the right of Colin.

The table had been set tastefully and thoughtfully. Crisp white serviettes in serviette rings, expensive place-mats and a fragrant flower arrangement in the middle. The lack of candles pleased Les, they gave him the shits the way they flickered in your eyes while you tried to eat and the smell almost turned you off your food. Instead, a small crystal chandelier above bathed the table in a soft white light that made a perfect atmosphere for eating.