The Godson (53 page)

Les checked up on the football results then decided to make a couple of quick phone calls and get cleaned up before he cooled off too much. He rang Price and got his answering service, so he left a message. He rang Billy Dunne and got his wife. Billy wasn't home — he was having a run and workout with some blokes from North Bondi Surf Club. She'd get him to ring him when he got back. Les had a bit of a chat to Louise for a while then hung up and got under the shower. He'd just finished breakfast and was sitting there in a clean tracksuit reading the paper again when the phone rang. It was Billy.

‘Hello, Les,' he said happily. ‘How are you, mate?'

‘Good, Billy. How's yourself?'

‘Terrific. When did you get back?'

‘Yesterday. But I was too tired to ring anyone. How's it going at the club?'

‘Good as gold. Danny's still up there. So you can come back when you feel like it.'

‘I tried to ring Price. He's not home.'

‘No. He's in Muswellbrook looking at some horses.'

‘Oh. Listen Billy, can you do me a favour?'

‘Sure. What is it?'

‘I got to take that car back to Bill Kileen's. Can you follow me out and bring me back?'

‘Yeah, no sweat. Can you give me a couple of hours? I just walked in the door and I've got to run the young bloke over to his grandma's.'

‘Okay. Do you want to have a feed and a beer after?'

‘Righto. You can tell me about the trip.'

‘Okay, mate. See you then.'

Norton hung up and thought for a moment. That's what I can do. Wash all my dirty gear from up there. He did that, tidied up the house, made some more coffee and before long he heard Billy's knock on the door.

‘Hello, mate. How are you?' was the first thing he said.

‘G'day Billy,' replied Les. ‘Come in, mate.'

Billy propped at the door. ‘You took a white Ford station wagon up there, didn't you?' Norton nodded. ‘Is that it out the front?' Norton nodded again. ‘It's full of fuckin' bullet holes. What happened?'

‘Didn't Eddie tell you?'

‘Eddie's in Melbourne.'

‘Oh. Well, come in and I'll tell you about it.'

Billy took another look at the car over his shoulder then followed Les into the kitchen.

‘You want a cup of coffee?' asked Les.

‘I wouldn't mind a beer.'

‘Yeah. I might have one myself.' Les got two beers from the fridge, opened them and handed one to Billy. ‘That silly bloody Peregrine sent his sheila in England a postcard telling her where we were. Somehow those IRA blokes got hold of it and followed us up there. I ended up in a machine gun fight. I'm dead set lucky to be alive.'

‘Bloody hell!'

‘Ohh mate, you should have seen it. It was like something out of a Vietnam movie. Grab a seat.'

Billy sat down and Les told him all about the gunfight. How Ronnie saved the day, burying the bodies, Eddie getting up there by helicopter. The last thing he did was go to his bedroom and get the two balaclavas.

Billy sat there open-mouthed, shaking his head. ‘God strike me,' he said, picking up one of the balaclavas. ‘That's almost unbelievable.'

‘Yeah,' nodded Les. ‘And the bloody little caretaker — most inoffensive bloke you'd ever want to meet. He saved my neck.' Billy poked a finger through one of the holes. ‘Doesn't look like his mates were too inoffensive.'

‘Funny thing,' said Les. ‘If they walked in the door I wouldn't even recognise them, with all that black shit they had on their faces.'

Billy kept shaking his head and staring at the two balaclavas.

‘But it wasn't all drama,' smiled Les. ‘I had a bloody good time as well.'

‘Did you?'

‘Reckon. But how about we piss that car off and I'll tell you all about it over a couple of beers?'

‘Righto.'

* * *

T
HE SAME TATTY
flags were fluttering in the breeze and the same
Free Firewood
sign was wired to the fence when they pulled up outside Kileen's Prestige Kars at Tempe. The back driveway was open, Les swung the car straight inside. Billy parked in front of the entrance. Kileen was just getting off the phone when Norton strolled into the office.

‘G'day, Les,' he said brightly. ‘How are you mate? How was the trip?'

‘Real good,' replied Norton.

Kileen spotted Billy. ‘G'day Billy. How are you?'

‘Not too bad, Killer. How's yourself?'

‘Terrific.' Kileen turned to Les. ‘So you had a good time, did you?'

‘Yeah,' nodded Les. ‘It was tops. Weather was grouse.'

‘Car go all right?'

‘Like a Swiss watch.'

‘Like a Swiss cheese'd be more like it,' said Billy, looking at the wall.

‘Anyway, thanks a lot, Bill,' said Les. ‘Here's the keys and the rego papers. We gotta get going. I never had a chance to get it greased, and it needs a wash. But everything else is all right. Okay?'

‘Yeah, that's nothing,' replied Kileen. ‘I'll walk out the front with you.' Kileen got to the door of his office, propped and gave a double, triple blink. The first thing he saw was the windscreen. He gave another double blink and walked across to the station wagon as if in a trance. ‘What the… What's all this?' he said, and walked around the car. ‘Jesus! They're all over it.'

‘Ohh, yeah, those,' said Les. ‘Well, there was a bit of trouble up there at one stage.'

‘A bit of trouble?' wailed Kileen, still looking at his bullet-riddled car. ‘Where did you fuckin' go? Afghanistan?'

‘No, just up the coast a bit,' replied Norton innocently. ‘But the car still goes all right. And those holes are sweet. No rain gets in.'

‘No rain gets in.' Kileen was starting to spin out. He kept looking at the station wagon in disbelief. ‘Where did these all come from, for Christ's sake?'

Billy poked a finger in one of the holes. ‘From a gun, I'd say,' he said, very matter of factly. ‘More than one, too, by the look of it.'

‘Oh, Christ!' howled Kileen. ‘How am I bloody well going to sell this?'

‘Easy,' said Billy. ‘Just shove a price ticket on the window and stick it out the front. You own a car yard, don't you?'

‘Ohh great,' said Kileen, closing his eyes for a moment. ‘And who am I going to sell it to?'

‘Buggered if I know,' shrugged Billy. ‘Why don't you take it out to that mosque at Lakemba? Sell it to one of those Lebanese. All the cars look like that in Lebanon. They wouldn't know the difference. They'd probably snaffle it up 'cos it reminded them of home.'

‘Oh shit!'

‘Maybe one of those punk bands might buy it,' suggested Les. ‘They go for that bad, mean look. Run some studs into the upholstery. Slash the interior up a bit.' Les and Billy exchanged rum looks as Kileen still stood there shaking his head. ‘Anyway, we got to get going, Bill,' said Les. ‘Thanks again. And if you got any beefs, give Price a ring.'

‘Yeah. If he can't come out, he'll probably send Eddie,' said Billy.

‘See you mate,' said Les.

‘Ta ta, Killer,' said Billy.

As they walked to Billy's car, Kileen's body seemed to shrink as his face got longer. Out of consideration and sheer good manners Les and Billy waited till they were about five hundred metres up the road before they burst out laughing.

‘Poor bastard,' said Les.

‘Don't worry. He'll be up there attacking Price's bourbon after this,' answered Billy.

They were still laughing when they reached the turn off at St. Peters.

‘So, where do you fancy going for a feed, Billy?' asked Les.

‘What's wrong with The Diggers? We can have a few beers as well.'

‘Okay,' nodded Les. ‘I might even shout.'

‘Jesus,' said Billy. ‘What were you smoking while you were up there?'

‘That's another story too,' winked Les.

I
T WAS ALMOST
five when Les and Billy left The Diggers. Billy had a T-bone, but after two weeks of barbecues at Cedar Glen, Les couldn't look at another steak so he went for the roast pork and vegetables. The rest of the afternoon was spent drinking steadily and doing their best to avoid the eyes of the other drinkers in the club who kept looking over their way
and wondering what the two rather solidly-built gentlemen were roaring about, especially the shorter, dark-haired one.

Les didn't big note too much about the sexual romps, but he did give Bill a blow by blow description of what happened with Marita and Coco. He also gave Billy a blow by blow description of the two fights at the local pub, which Billy loved. Billy made Les give him another bullet by bullet account of the gunfight at the farmhouse, with Billy seriously concluding it was a bloody close thing. Both he and Les raised their glasses to that. By late evening both of them had a reasonably good head of steam and Billy said he'd better get home, have a quick nap and get some coffee into him to be ready for work that night. Les picked up a barbecued-chicken when Billy dropped him off; stuff cooking anything — he still had to relate the entire story to Warren yet. He told Billy if he didn't see him later in the week he'd give him a ring over the weekend.

W
ARREN ARRIVED HOME
with a bottle of Jack Daniel's around six and a look of expectation and hunger on his face to find Norton pottering around in the kitchen.

‘Righto, Les,' he said. ‘I want to know exactly what happened up there. From the moment you left and how that car got to be in such a state.'

‘Okay,' nodded Les. ‘But get changed first and then have something to eat. A lot of this you shouldn't hear on an empty stomach.'

‘All right then.'

Warren had a quick clean up and got changed into a pair of jeans and a jumper.

‘What's for tea anyway?' he asked, returning to the kitchen.

‘Roast chicken, mashed potatoes with mayonnaise and my special salad.'

‘I thought you might have cooked another casserole. It's cold enough.'

Norton looked at Warren impassively. ‘Woz, we had that last night. Do you seriously think I'd serve stew to a gourmet advertising executive two nights in a row?'

‘I never thought of that,' considered Warren. ‘It appears that between myself and Sir Peregrine not only your manners but also your code of ethics is improving. Slowly. But definitely improving.'

‘Have a beer anyway,' winked Les.

‘Yeah. Good idea.'

The meal was washed down with Stella Artois. After they'd cleaned up, Les sat back down at the kitchen table and opened two bottles of Corona.

‘Okay, Woz,' he said, taking a mouthful. ‘Where do you want me to start?'

‘Right from the beginning. The morning you left here.'

Norton thought for a moment. ‘All right, then. You know that surf photographer who hangs out at Tamarama? Tony Nathan…'

I
T WAS ALMOST
midnight when Les finished giving Warren the entire story of the trip. They finished up in the lounge room with the heater and the stereo softly on 2MMM where they managed to knock over four more beers, all the Jack Daniel's and two bottles of Moet. At one stage Les thought he was going to have to get an oxy-viva for Warren he was laughing so much, especially at the part when Les told the girl from Port Macquarie that Peregrine had Melon Syndrome and what he did to the one who gave him the flick at the same time, right up to the look on Kileen's face when he took the station wagon back covered in bullet holes. Warren even got a laugh out of the shoot-out, until Les showed him the two balaclavas. They finished up with Warren still wheezing with laughter and Les half-falling off the lounge.

‘So, Woz, old mate,' he slurred. ‘That was my two quiet weeks in the country with Sir Peregrine Normanhurst III. Who is now back safely in England recovering from his tick bite with his sheila Stephanie whatever-her-name-is, and his precious painting of the Chinaman. And bloody good luck to him too. There's a lot worse blokes in the world than me mate Pezz.'

Warren wiped his eyes and tried to talk, but found he was too drunk and his throat was too sore to speak. There was a drunken silence between them for a while, broken only by the soft music from the radio, when Norton spoke.

‘Warren,' he hiccupped. ‘If I can make it to my room, I am going to bed. I am that drunk I can't even scratch myself.'

‘S'orright for you,' mumbled Warren. ‘I got to go work in the morning.'

Norton heaved himself up from the lounge. ‘G'night, Woz. Will you turn the lights and the heater off?'

‘If I can find the switch.'

Norton weaved his way into his bedroom, crashed on the
bed and dragged the blankets over him. He didn't even bother to take his running shoes off.

T
HURSDAY MAY HAVE
been the first of September and the beginning of Spring, but it could have been doomsday for both Les and Warren. They bumped into each other in the kitchen at about eight-thirty, both feeling as seedy as raspberries and with breath that would have stripped the chrome off a bumper-bar. Warren had the macrobiotic, vitamin-enriched breakfast he usually had when he was hungover: a glass of soda water, two Codral Reds and a cup of black coffee. Les opted for the soda water and a bowl of porridge. They both agreed their condition was worth it in a way as it had been a funny night. After belching and farting around the kitchen like two old molls for about twenty minutes, Warren shuffled off to work and Les told him he'd see him when he got home. Thank Christ I don't have to go to work today, mumbled Les to himself as he heard the front door close.

It was still cold and bleak outside and Les knew the only way he was going to get rid of his hangover was to sweat it out of himself. He couldn't be bothered driving anywhere so he slipped into a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt then jogged from his place down to Curlewis Street and did a lap of Rose Bay golf links. After a few sit-ups back at his place and a shower, Norton was feeling decidedly better than when he got out of bed, if not quite one hundred percent. After a pot of tea and some toasted chicken sandwiches, he was feeling even better again. He was sitting in the kitchen reading the paper when the phone rang. It was Price calling from Muswellbrook.