Davo's Little Something (39 page)

Blackburn nodded in agreement. ‘Yeah, I know just what you mean, Greg.'

Middleton turned the starter and they sped through the traffic towards Darlinghurst.

While all this activity was going on between the police, the TRG, the morgue and the media, to Davo it was more or less just the start of another week. He got the afternoon papers,
cut out the clippings and put them in the kitchen drawer. What they said was much the same as the morning's; although the
Mirror
did come up with a bit of a new twist that had Davo grinning like a Cheshire cat.

It stated, from an unconfirmed report of course, that one of the slain detectives had managed to get off four shots and there was a broken night-stick left at the scene of the murders. It was now suspected that the Midnight Rambler was an STP (Angel Dust) freak and that was how he got his amazing superhuman strength. This was the first case of its kind in Australia. The journalist then went on to say what STP was doing to people in America and how the police in Australia were fearing this could be just the beginning of a new drug craze.

Well hats off to the
Mirror
thought Davo: that one definitely gets the award. How can you beat that? He put the latest killings behind him, although he still knew he was going to have to take it easy for a while, and went down to the garage for his afternoon session. He trained well on both Monday and Tuesday and was looking forward to when he could get out and kill again. But on Tuesday night he rang Colin Andrews.

‘Hello Mrs Andrews? Is Colin there please?'

There was a pause, then came the sour reply. ‘Just a minute, I'll get him.'

Davo heard her call out in her shrill nasally whine then after a few moments Colin picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?'

‘Hello Colin—it's Davo.'

‘Davo! G'day, mate. Jesus how're you goin'?'

‘Alright. How's things with you?'

Colin gave a bit of a droll chuckle. ‘Ohh you know. Still the same here in Dracula's castle.'

‘That sounded like the count just answered the phone.'

‘It was. She's just gone out to pour some boiling oil over the peasants. They're burning torches in the backyard again.'

‘Still as horrible as ever is she?'

‘Ohh, mate, don't talk about it. She opened the deep-freeze the other day and a packet of fish fingers jumped out and tried to strangle her.'

Davo laughed into the phone. ‘Fair dinkum, Colin. What
a rotten thing to say about your mother.'

‘She's not my mother. She couldn't be. She's just something that's married to me old man. Poor bastard.'

‘How's he handle her?'

‘How do you think. He's just had half a flagon of sherry and a dozen cans of Fosters. He's completely anaesthetised for the night.' Colin was laughing as he spoke: despite the misery of having to live at home Davo's phone call had cheered him up immeasurably. ‘So how come you're ringing up anyway Davo? What's on your mind?'

‘Well, mate, to tell you the truth. I've been starting to feel a little better lately. And I was wondering if you wanted to go out for a drink one night?'

‘Fair dinkum!!?' Colin's face lit up with a huge grin. The storm clouds had passed over. Good times were gonna roll again. Davo was getting better. ‘My oath. When did you want to go? What's wrong with tonight?'

‘Oh I don't know about tonight, Colin. What about Thursday night?'

‘Righto. Thursday night for sure.'

‘Yeah, but listen.' Davo thought he'd better bung the sick and still ailing act on a bit just to cover himself. ‘If I start to get crook or my headaches start coming on too bad, we come straight home. Alright?'

‘Yeah, mate—no worries.' Colin would have agreed to anything to get a night out on the tiles with Davo and the use of his flat. ‘We'll just take it easy, I'll go to the bar and get the drinks, save you having to shove through the crowd. We'll go in my car too.'

Jesus, chuckled Davo to himself. You are desperate to start getting out again aren't you. ‘Righto—fair enough.'

They chatted on for a few more minutes then Davo finally hung up telling Colin he'd see him round the flat about 8.30 on Thursday night.

Yeah, a night out with my old mate Colin won't hurt me thought Davo, staring absently at the phone. Probably do me the world of good. Straighten my head out a bit. He drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the bartable while he sat there. I'd still rather be out killing someone though.

At the other end of the line Colin was almost ecstatic. At last his old running partner was starting to come good. No more motels. No more humping in the back seat of his station wagon and no more having to go back to grotty flats and take his chances. It was going to be business as usual back at Davo's grouse unit. As he sat there beaming his mother's reedy picking voice whined out of the kitchen like a band saw telling him to get out there and clean up the tiny bit of mess he'd left while making a toasted sandwich—Davo had rung before he'd had a chance.

‘Ohh why don't you go and have a good shit,' he muttered under his breath.

‘What was that!!?' came the shrill reply.

By Thursday night Davo had another four gruelling training sessions under his belt, plus plenty of sleep and good healthy food and was almost jumping out of his skin. He was just hoping that he would be able to contain his vitality once he got a few drinks in him. There had been any number of articles in the papers, every day, about the Midnight Rambler, which he dutifully cut out, laughed over and put in the drawer with the others. I'll have to get a carton or a scrapbook for these now he mused, as he noticed how many there were. Davo's only real concern that night was whether to take his walking stick with him or not and how he was going to conceal his physique from Colin. The walking stick he decided to leave at home. There was no one much who would see him out at night and he could tell Colin he wanted to see how he went without it. He could always put on a bit of an act every now and again and take hold of Colin's arm for support. As for his strapping physique? Well, there wasn't much he could do about that. He'd just bought two pairs of jeans through the week and they fitted him like a glove. The trouble was they were two sizes smaller than what he usually wore. He'd taken nearly fifteen centimetres off round his waist.

He put on a loose-fitting long-sleeved collarless beige shirt which covered his arms and providing he didn't open the front up too far Colin wouldn't notice his rippling abdominal muscles and rockhard chest. As he was buttoning his shirt up and tucking it into his jeans Davo still couldn't quite believe the build he'd
developed. The only comparison he could think of would be an eighty-kilo Bruce Lee. Colin knocked on the door sharp at 8.30.

The rogueish truck driver looked his usual dapper self in a pair of designer jeans and a baggy garishly designed blue shirt with little epaulettes on the shoulders; he also smelled strongly of liberally applied daubs of Tabac.

‘G'day, mate,' he grinned, extending a warm firm handshake: happy as a lark at seeing Davo again, and his flat. ‘How're you goin'?'

‘Pretty good, Colin.' replied Davo, smiling as he returned Colin's handshake. ‘Good to see you, mate.'

‘Yeah, you too.' Colin's voice trailed off slightly as he stepped into the loungeroom. He stopped and half squinted at Davo: noticing first the colour of his cheeks and the burning clearness in his eyes, and something else he just couldn't seem to put his finger on. ‘Jesus, mate,' he said slowly. ‘You're looking well. You look sort of . . . different. What have you been doing? Swimming or something?'

‘I've just lost a bit of weight—that's all.'

‘Yeah?' Colin shook his head slowly as he kept looking at Davo. ‘You just look different. That's all.'

‘I feel a bit different too, Colin. Anyway, how about a beer.' Davo moved to the kitchen to try and change the subject.

‘Yeah righto.'

Davo returned with two cans of Swan Export Lager. ‘I might even have one myself,' he said, handing Colin his drink. ‘Cheers, Colin.'

‘Yeah—cheers.'

They sat in the loungeroom talking for a while, Colin mainly about his despicable home life and equally despicable sex life—which was to take a turn for the better starting that night—and how with a bit of luck he might be moving into a flat at Randwick with a mate of his who worked as a courier for TNT. Of course Davo couldn't say much. He'd hardly been going out at all, still being a bit laid up and all, and he was expecting to be a bit rusty tonight. He was also going to take a chance and leave his walking stick at home. Colin said not to worry, just take it easy and he'd look after him; any mugs tried anything he'd sort them out too.

Despite himself Davo couldn't help but find a sense of touching irony in this. Colin had always been a fairly good scrapper and very willing: much better than Davo. But to compare the two of them at the moment would be like comparing an Austin A40 to a turbo-charged Porsche. Gloves or no gloves, if anyone even laid a hand on Davo he would rip them to confetti. Yet here was Colin sincerely offering to protect him. Despite being touched Davo was almost cracking up inside.

Before long they'd knocked over six cans and it was after nine o'clock. Davo locked up the flat and they headed for the Cock n' Bull in Colin's car. Davo took it as slowly as he could walking down the stairs and along the street: he must have looked quite convincing because Colin even opened the car door for him when they left and when they parked in Bronte Road. Jesus, how long can I keep this up for thought Davo, as Colin opened another door again and they stepped inside the Cock n' Bull.

The place was fairly crowded with reasonably dressed people but not that packed that it was uncomfortable or you had too much trouble getting a drink. Colin suggested Davo prop near the front door, opposite the food servery that was now closed and said that he would get the drinks all night. Davo replied that he wasn't that much of a cripple that he couldn't get a shout but Colin insisted; while he was at the bar Davo checked out the crowd. They were a happy enough bunch that night, all bopping or singing away to the DJ playing the usual 1960s pop songs in the background. In the six or eight months or however long it was since they'd last been there things hadn't changed at all but Davo could see Colin would have a good run there that night because there was an abundant number of casually well-dressed and attractive girls around. He noticed some of them checking Colin out as he stepped towards the bar and a couple were even pegging over in his direction but quickly looked away when he looked like catching their eye. This could turn out to be a good night all round Davo smiled to himself.

Before long Colin was back with two bottles of Tooheys Draught grinning like a kid in an icecream shop, his head going
in all directions as he tried to check out every corner of the hotel at once.

‘Well, what do you reckon?' said Davo, taking a sip of beer. ‘What's it like inside?'

‘Ohh, mate, it's a smorgasbord' replied Colin enthusiastically. ‘There's a heap of sheilas here.'

‘Yeah, there's no shortage. You could have a head like an apple on a stick and still finish up with something here tonight. Where do you reckon we should prop?'

‘I reckon we should stay here. There's plenty of room and we can stick our drinks on top of this cigarette machine.'

‘Suits me,' said Davo easily. ‘I don't really feel like standing in there and getting jostled around. Not without my walking stick.'

‘You feeling alright are you?'

‘Yeah, I'm okay.'

‘Alright. Then we'll prop here and have a mag and a few beers. Something'll drift our way before long.'

They had another three beers each, which Colin insisted on getting and paying for, while the place steadily filled up, although there was still plenty of room where they stood. There were a number of girls of all shapes and sizes around them and Davo could sense that he and Colin were getting quite a lot of very heavy once up and downs behind their back. Colin, with his rugged good looks and cheeky smile, always got his share of attention from the girls, but now Davo, with his dynamite physique, healthy tanned exuberance and that odd gleam in his eyes, was becoming a bit of an attraction too.

He'd just got back from the toilet and they were on their fourth beer when Davo noticed a couple of girls standing sideon against the food servery just a few feet away from them. One was a sort of mousey faced blonde with short straight hair and a big, if not very firm, pair of boobs. Her girlfriend was a dark-skinned, stocky brunette, with flashing onyx eyes and a wide crimson slash of a mouth; she looked as if she could have had a bit of Maori or Islander in her. Both were wearing jeans, high heeled shoes and loose-fitting knitted cotton tops—and they were both showing more than a passing interest in Colin and Davo.

‘What about the two behind you?' said Davo, who was facing the two girls. ‘They look like they might be half a chance.'

‘Yeah, I sprung them earlier,' replied Colin, smiling craftily. ‘What do you want to do?'

‘I'm easy,' shrugged Davo. ‘They're as good as any of the other scrubbers in the joint. I'll go for the blonde with the droopy boobs. You want to grab the coconut?'

‘Righto. I'll get another couple of beers and we'll front 'em.'

Colin couldn't help but continue to be slightly puzzled as he walked to the bar; this was another thing he found curious about Davo that night. First, it was his build, back at the flat—he'd denied it and tried to hide it but it was blatantly obvious. Then there was the way he was walking. Colin wasn't certain but it seemed like a bit of an act and when he'd taken hold of his arm to help him out to the car it was like a cluster of steel rods and he could hardly get his hand halfway round it. Now it was Davo's unaccustomed assertive attitude: like with the two girls. You take this one, I'll take the other. Normally Davo would wait for him to make the decisions. Maybe he was imagining it, but for a cripple who hadn't been out of his flat for months Davo seemed to exude confidence. For the first time in Davo's company Colin felt almost intimidated.