The Godson Read online

  Robert G. Barrett was raised in Bondi where he has worked mainly as a butcher. After thirty years he moved to Terrigal on the Central Coast of New South Wales. Robert has appeared in a number of films and TV commercials but prefers to concentrate on a career as a writer.

  Also by Robert G. Barrett in Pan

  YOU WOULDN’T BE DEAD FOR QUIDS THE REAL THING THE BOYS FROM BINJIWUNYAWUNYA BETWEEN THE DEVLIN AND THE DEEP BLUE SEAS DAVO’S LITTLE SOMETHING WHITE SHOES, WHITE LINES AND BLACKIE AND DE FUN DON’T DONE MELE KALIKIMAKA MR WALKER THE DAY OF THE GECKO RIDER ON THE STORM AND OTHER BITS AND BARRETT GUNS ’N’ ROSÉ

  ROBERT G.

  BARRETT

  The Godson

  The author is again donating a percentage of his royalties to Greenpeace, an organisation he deeply respects.

  This is a work of fiction and all characters in this book are a creation of the author’s imagination.

  First published 1986 by Pan Books (Australia) Pty Limited This edition published by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd 1 Market Street, Sydney

  Reprinted 1988,1989 (twice), 1991,1992 (twice), 1993,1994,1995,1996 (twice), 1998,1999, 2000,2001,2002,2003,2004,2006, 2007, 2009

  Copyright © Robert G. Barrett 1986

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia cataloguing-in-publication data:

  Barrett, Robert G.

  The godson.

  ISBN 978 0 330 27162 2

  I. Title

  A823.3

  Typeset by Post Pre-press Group Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

  Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  This book is dedicated to John Sinclair for saving Fraser Island and to Dr Bob Brown for saving the Franklin River.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The author would like to thank the following people for their help in the writing of this book:

  Anthony and William, two brothers who wish to remain anonymous, who have been friends of the author for over twenty years. Thanks to them for their hospitality and for sharing the freedom of their magnificent Tweed Valley property.

  Ms Virginia Greig, headmistress of Spencer State School. The management and staff of the Pelican International Resort, Coffs Harbour.

  The management and staff of the Sebel Town House, Sydney. Mr Barry Pearce, curator of The Art Gallery of New South Wales.

  ‘HEY, Price. Wake up, mate. We’re almost there.’ Eddie Salita was smiling softly as he reached across the front seat of the Rolls Royce and tapped his boss gently on the shoulder.

  ‘Huhh?’ Price blinked his eyes open just as a large blue sign saying Australian Capital Territory whizzed past the window of the car. ‘Shit!’ he blinked again. ‘I must have dozed off.’

  ‘Yeah,’ chuckled Eddie. ‘You started to nod off the other side of Goulburn.’

  ‘Did I?’ Price yawned and stretched. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just on five. It’s almost dark too.’ Eddie nodded to the radio playing softly in the dashboard. ‘I’ve been listening to one of the local radio stations — 2CA or something. They said it’s two degrees with southwesterly winds and they’re expecting light rain, possibly snow.’

  Price peered out of the window as another sign set in stone blocks saying Canberra flashed past in the bleak twilight. ‘Bloody Canberra,’ he mused, rubbing his hands briskly together. ‘I could think of a lot better places to be in August.’

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Eddie. ‘So could I.’

  The previous day Price had got a phone call at home from an old friend, Laurence O’Malley. ‘Laurie’ and Price went back over thirty years to when they were young louts doing their best, running around Glebe and Balmain. Price got into a bit of minor crime and gambling, and ended up owning an illegal casino. Laurie got into law and politics, and ended up Attorney General of Australia. As a politician, O’Malley was one of the more popular figures in Australia: friendly, warm and a bit of a reformist with a lot of good ideas. He wasn’t particularly corrupt, but if he could he didn’t mind doing a favour or two for his old mates, and he’d done Price quite a few over the years. Now the Attorney General needed one himself. He didn’t elaborate over the phone and he couldn’t get to Sydney as the budget session was in progress. It was a little urgent, so could Price very discreetly come down to Canberra? Price being the sort of man he was, the bags were packed and in the boot of the Rolls and he and his number one hit man were on their way to Canberra not long after getting the phone call.

  Eddie put his foot down gently on the accelerator to pass an old panel van, then eased up a little further on in the light traffic as The Federal Highway curved slightly to turn into a long, wide, tree-lined boulevard flanked by motels and government office blocks.

  ‘You know where this joint we’re staying at is?’ asked Price. ‘The Country Club Motel?’

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Eddie. ‘It’s on this Northbourne Avenue. I don’t think it’s much further.’ A couple of Motels went past — The Rex, Park Royal — when Eddie spotted what he was looking for. A large white neon sign in front of a dark blue, vine-covered building. ‘Here it is. Country Club Motel.’

  He hit the blinker and turned left into a pebbled driveway facing a very opulent-looking establishment. The spacious white driveway, gables and long columns out the front almost gave it the appearance of an old Southern mansion in Georgia. Eddie cut the engine and they both sat there staring at each other for a few moments. Each knew what the other was thinking. Climbing out of the air-conditioned warmth of the Rolls Royce into two degrees of sleet with a sou’westerly behind it was going to be a bit of a shock to the system to say the least.

  ‘Well,’ Eddie finally said. ‘We gonna make a move or what?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Price nodded grimly. ‘Let’s go.’

  They pulled their tweed caps down tighter, zipped up their sheepskin jackets and burst out into the frigid Canberra evening.

  ‘Christ almighty!’ roared Price, almost disappearing in the clouds of steam coming from his breath. ‘It’s colder than a well-digger’s arse.’

  Eddie didn’t reply. He grabbed the two bags from the boot as quickly as he could, slammed down the lid and they both sprinted for the motel foyer.

  ‘And how are you, Mr Kelly?’ smiled the blonde girl behind the desk after Price had introduced himself. ‘Did you have a pleasant trip down?’

  ‘Yeah. It was all right, thanks,’ replied Price, still shivering slightly in the warmth of the foyer.

  ‘Two nights, Mr Kelly. Is that right?’ she said, checking the reservation. ‘Tonight and Friday night?’ Price smiled and nodded. ‘Would you just sign here please.’ As Price signed the book the girl moved a hand towards a bell on the desk. Eddie reached across and gently pushed her hand away.

  ‘That’s all right,’ he said, picking up the key. ‘We’ll be okay.’ Eddie couldn’t have been more gentle or polite but there was something in the way he touched her and the dark stillness of his eyes that slightly unnerved the blonde receptionist.

  ‘Oh … all right then. Well, if you should want…’

  Eddie gave her a brief smile. He picked up the two bags and her voice trailed off as he and Price stepped briskly across to the lift.

  ‘Not a bad digs,’ said
Eddie, after throwing their bags on the double bed in each room.

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Price. ‘Don’t look too bad at all.’

  The motel room was quite spacious and beautifully appointed. Two separate bedrooms faced a lounge room and a curtained verandah giving extensive views over the east side of the city towards Black Mountain Reserve. There was a bathroom and spa and a small kitchen with a well-stocked bar running off it.

  ‘Christ! There’s plenty of piss here if we want it,’ said Eddie, opening and closing the fridge. He moved into the kitchen. ‘Fancy a cup of coffee, Price?’

  ‘Yeah. But not that instant shit. Ring room service and get some percolated stuff sent up. And book a table in the dining room. I’m gonna get cleaned up then make a few phone calls.’

  ‘What time do you want to eat, Mr Kelly?’ smiled Eddie, picking up the phone.

  ‘Ohh, around seven’ll do,’ replied Price. He unzipped his jacket and went into his room.

  PRICE AND EDDIE had finished their meal by about nine, and were seated in the motel dining room sipping a bottle of wine. The dining room was comfortable and uncrowded, tastefully furnished in blue and white with a bowl of blue gardenias on each table. The service, like the food, was excellent. Eddie and Price didn’t go for anything exotic from the menu, each preferring, because of the cold, a nice New Zealand mussel bouillabaisse and a New York cut with pepper sauce and vegetables. Price ordered a bottle of ’76 Penfolds St. Henri claret which went down exceptionally well. In fact it went down that well he ordered another one after the meal. They were now both halfway through that bottle, feeling an inner glow of warmth and contentment as they contemplated their first night in Canberra and the circumstances that had brought them there.

  ‘So,’ said Eddie, keeping his voice down a little. ‘You still don’t know for sure what it is O’Malley wants you to do?’

  Price reflected into his glass of wine and shook his head slightly. ‘No. Not really. He couldn’t say much over the phone. But from what I can gather he just wants me to look after some young pommy bloke coming out for a couple of weeks. That’s all.’

  Eddie took a slow sip of wine. ‘Seems funny though, him bringing you all the way down here just to ask you to do that.’

  ‘There could be a bit more to it. But it wouldn’t matter if Laurie wanted me to drive to Gobe Island for him. I’d do it. I owe him. And he’s been a good mate for over thirty years.’

  ‘Yeah. He’s a top bloke all right,’ agreed Eddie. ‘Nothing wrong with him.’

  ‘One of the best, Ed.’

  They paused as the waiter appeared and topped up their glasses.

  ‘Anyway,’ continued Price, once the waiter had left. ‘I said I’d be out at his place at Red Hill at ten tomorrow. I’ll probably be there most of the day, so you can drop me off and pick me up at five.’ Eddie nodded. ‘That gives you seven hours to yourself in beautiful downtown Canberra. What do you reckon you’ll do?’

  ‘Probably drive round and round in circles like everyone else does here,’ shrugged Eddie with a laugh. ‘No. I’ll spend a bit of time in the War Memorial. Then go down the National Gallery — I promised Lindy I’d get her a decent print she could frame. I’ll get something for the kids too.’

  Price smiled. ‘I tipped you’d go to the War Memorial.’

  ‘May as well while I’m down here,’ shrugged Eddie.

  ‘Won’t bring back any bad memories?’

  ‘I never had any bad memories of Vietnam, Price. It was grouse. I’d go back tomorrow. I don’t mind killing people at all,’ he added with a sinister smile.

  ‘I know,’ said Price, flashing a smile as sinister as Eddie’s. ‘Why do you think I’ve got you working for me?’

  They raised their glasses just as the bill arrived. Price signed for it and slipped the waiter a twenty.

  ‘Well, Eddie,’ he said. ‘What say we finish this then I’ll give you a few games of German Whist and we’ll hit the sack. You can wake me up at eight thirty. Okay?’

  ‘Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.’

  They lingered over the second bottle of St. Henri then went to their room. After several games of cards, a bottle or two of beer and a bit of TV they were in bed by eleven. Feeling warm and comfortable and knowing it was like the Siberian Steppes outside, both men slept like the dead.

  EDDIE WOKE UP around six feeling pretty fresh. After he’d finished in the bathroom he made a cup of coffee which he took out on to the verandah — for about five seconds. That was all the time Eddie needed to know that although it wasn’t raining or snowing, it was bleak, miserable and absolutely icy out in the open. He finished his coffee in the warmth. Miserable and cold it might have been outside, but it was also good for something else — a run. He got changed into a tracksuit and his Tiger Trainers and put a beanie and a pair of gloves in the front pocket. Using the bar as a bench he swung his legs up and did a few stretches while he studied a map of Canberra. Ten minutes later Eddie was out the front of The Country Club Motel, heading towards Braddon and Limestone Avenue. He didn’t bother to take a gun with him, but force of habit made him slip a switchblade knife down the inside of his left glove.

  Anybody watching Eddie run would have probably thought he was the fittest bloke on God’s earth as he sprinted along, crossing streets in three steps and leaving clouds of steam from his breath in his wake. Wiry and light-framed, Eddie was a fast runner at any time but all he was trying to do now was warm up. He was going for twenty minutes at a cracking pace before even his blood seemed to start circulating let alone him getting a sweat up. It was a pleasant run, though. Wide, flat streets lined with hundreds of trees which accounted for what seemed like an endless carpet of brown leaves at every turn. Hedges in front of the houses and old fashioned street lamps gave it an almost old English, countryside look. After a while a copper-domed building, looming up on a tree-studded hill to his left told him he’d found the War Memorial. He sprinted across Limestone Avenue, up the driveway and into a park before coming back to stop at a display of tanks, artillery and a piece of old Bailey bridge to the left. With its two machine guns on top, a chipped armoured personnel carrier which had been blown up by a mine in Vietnam brought a smile to his face as he checked it out. But it was too cold to be standing around for long so he took off again.

  He went straight down a long, landscaped boulevard which headed towards Lake Burley Griffin and Parliament House with the sou’wester whipping along behind him. So much for the scenery, he thought, glancing at his watch. Arms pumping, he headed back to the motel.

  Eddie had only meant to go jogging for thirty minutes but it was after eight when he got back to The Country Club. He got showered and woke Price right on 8.30.

  ‘You been for a run, mate?’ said Price, noticing Eddie’s tracksuit and joggers in the lounge.

  ‘A run? It’s more like trying to survive out there. Christ, it’s cold. How’d you sleep?’

  ‘I didn’t move.’ Price yawned and stretched. ‘I’m gonna have a shower. You ordered breakfast?’

  ‘No, not yet. What do you fancy?’

  ‘Ohh, bacon and eggs, coffee — the usual. And get some porridge and prunes.’

  ‘Coming up,’ said Eddie, picking up the phone. ‘Or as the yanks say — you got it.’

  ‘Whatever. But tell ’em to hurry. I’m starving.’ Price disappeared into the bathroom.

  An hour or so later they were standing outside the motel next to the Rolls. Of all things to happen, the sun suddenly came out and for a few brief moments several skinny shafts of blue seemed to appear behind Black Mountain.

  ‘Hello, look at that,’ said Eddie, tilting his face towards the sky. ‘I knew I should have brought my cossies.’

  No sooner had he spoken than the sun disappeared again and a cold blast of wind whipped around their necks, almost snapping their ears off.

  ‘Eddie! Open the bloody car door, for Christ’s sake,’ said Price through gritted teeth.

  Eddie turned the heater
on full while he warmed up the motor. Across his lap was a street map of Canberra.

  ‘You know where this place is?’ asked Price.

  ‘Yep.’ Eddie pointed to the map. ‘See. La Perouse Street, Red Hill. I go through the city, past Parliament House, round that golf course and O’Malley’s place is right there. On the corner of La Perouse and Harvey Street.’

  ‘Right. Well let’s get going.’

  Eddie found driving in Canberra easy. There wasn’t much traffic and the streets were so wide and well-planned that even the worst driver in the world would be flat out to have an accident. The only annoying thing was that every street or road seemed to curve or finish in a circle, ending in roundabouts as big as football fields. Finally he found La Perouse Street, a quiet, curving road full of poplar trees turned brown and dotted with Olde English-style street lamps set on wide, green median strips. The area gave the distinct impression of wealth, style and cultivated elegance.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ muttered Eddie, as once again the street he was on began to arc into a circle. ‘Am I ever sick of going around in circles. I’ll end up getting car sick. And all these bloody trees. It’s like you’re forever driving around and around Centennial Park.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Price. ‘That architect Burley Griffin must have finished up with chlorophyll poisoning and curvature of the spine after he designed the joint.’

  Finally Eddie found the street and house he was looking for, a white two-storey residence fronted by a small, neat stone wall. A tall Canadian pine pushed up from the front yard and a bushy tree full of red berries stood to the right of it. Glass bricks set on either side of the wood-panelled front door reminded him of some of the houses you’d see in parts of Dover Heights in Sydney. There was a double garage to the left. Eddie crunched the Rolls Royce up onto the gravel driveway and cut the engine.

  ‘You needn’t bother coming inside, Eddie,’ said Price.