The Real Thing Read online

  For exercise Norton opted to run a few lengths of Bondi with Tom the beach inspector, then have a work out in North Bondi Surf Club. After that he sat around North Bondi on his banana-chair and had a mag to some of the wharfies, a few of the East’s footballers — and a few other ‘shifties’ who always seem to find plenty of time to hang around the north corner enjoying the sun and the good life.

  While Norton was enjoying the afternoon bludge in the sun at North Bondi, in a spacious, white brick house settled into a quiet cul-de-sac in Edgecliff, just up from Cooper Park, Eddie Salita was happily running the lawn mower over his well-kept back yard. He switched the motor off, began to rake up the leaves and grass clippings then called out to his wife who was working inside the house.

  ‘Hey Lindy! Bring us out a can of mineral water, will you?’

  Lindy, an attractive blonde in her mid-twenties, came to Eddie’s side with his drink.

  ‘Garden’s looking good Ed,’ she said, admiring the rows of neatly trimmed edges and flowers. Eddie took a lengthy pull on the can. ‘Especially those roses. That new fertiliser’s working a treat.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Eddie belched. ‘That’s that chicken shit I was telling you about. It’s the go all right.’ He walked over, took one of the roses in his hand and took a deep sniff, then had another swig from the can of mineral water. ‘Listen, when the kids get home from school, you want to get them and Fritz and we might go down Centennial Park for a while? I wouldn’t mind going for a bit of a jog.’

  ‘Yeah righto, that’d be good Ed,’ replied Lindy enthusiastically. ‘The boys’ll be rapt. They love it down there.’

  ‘I’ll get cleaned up when we get back,’ said Eddie, running his dirt-caked hands over his jeans. ‘Then we might just have a bit of chops and salad for tea eh? It’s too hot for anything else.’

  ‘Righto.’ Eddie drained the last of his mineral water and Lindy took the empty can and went back inside the house.

  About an hour later Brenndan and Martin arrived home noisily from school on their BMX bikes. They were still making plenty of noise when Eddie bundled them and Lindy, plus their pet schnausser Fritz and a soccer ball into the Mercedes and headed for Centennial Park. He drove into the Birrel Street, entrance and parked underneath the spreading shade of an old Moreton Bay fig tree, just up from one of the ponds. After playing with Fritz and watching the boys kick the soccer ball to each other for a while, Eddie told Lindy he was going for a jog and he’d be back in about thirty minutes. He wrapped a sweat band round his head and trotted off.

  With his wiry frame and easy running style Eddie looked just like any other fit person in his thirties running round the park; the type that seems to thrive on training and looks like he can run all day. However, when he reached the Randwick Racecourse side of the park near the kiosk, he stopped, walked down to the edge of one of the ponds where some people were throwing pieces of bread to some ducks and swans and started looking among the flowers and plants at the water’s edge. The people sitting there glanced idly at him at first, then continued feeding the birds. After searching for a while he found what he was looking for — a small, brown, vine-like plant with a purple flower growing right at edge of the pond. He reached into the water and carefully dug it out with his hands taking extra care not to damage the small bulbous root at the bottom. When he had it out he snipped the vine off with his thumbnail, then, taking a small plastic bag from his running shorts, he put the bulb (about same size and shape as a radish) inside and tucked it into the crutch of his underpants. Then, after an instinctive glance at the people around him, he made sure the package was secure and jogged back to his family on the other side of the park.

  Eddie did a few exercises then sat around with his wife playing with the kids and the dog, just like any other normal man enjoying an afternoon in the cool, green seclusion of Centennial Park. After an hour or so he bundled them all into the car, kids laughing, dog barking and headed home.

  ‘What time will tea be ready?’ Eddie asked his wife, as he came from the shower and into the kitchen.

  ‘About half an hour,’ replied Lindy. ‘Why? Are you in a hurry? I remember you said you have to go to the club tonight.’

  ‘Yeah. But there’s no rush. If you want me, I’ll be in the garage.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Eddie clicked on the fluorescent light above his work bench and removed the small, white plant-bulb from the plastic bag placing it on a flat piece of board. After checking his fingers thoroughly for any cuts or scratches he dissected the bulb with a small, sharp knife, scooped out the greenish middle which he placed in an old cup and started to crush into a creamy green paste with the heel of an old sheath knife. When that was done, he put it to one side and, taking another flat piece of board, cut out a section roughly the same size as a fiftycent coin, only thicker. Cutting a small piece from one of the kid’s old bike tyre-tubes he carefully tacked a small strip of rubber across the circular piece of board and slipped his middle finger throught it. Satisfied it held securely against his fingers he removed it then, using a small plastic-handled screwdriver, worked a thin, four-centimetre screw through the centre. He lay it back down on the workbench and by working downwards with a small three-sided file sharpened the end of the screw almost as finely as a needlepoint. After gingerly pricking the point against his left thumb he put the file down and with a paddle-pop stick started smearing the acidic-smelling green paste in the old cup into the thread of the screw, making sure none went near the pinprick on his left thumb. It didn’t take much and when the thread was full of paste he covered the screw with cotton wool and placed it in a small thick, cardboard box which he then placed inside another small plastic bag. Whistling softly to himself Eddie put the cup, the paddle-pop stick and anything else that had come in contact with the green paste into a plastic bag which he dropped inside the garbage bin. Then, after cleaning up any remaining mess, he switched off the light and went into the kitchen where he placed the plastic bag containing the cardboard box at the back of the deep freeze on top of the fridge.

  ‘That was good timing,’ said Lindy. ‘I was just about to call you. This’ll be ready in a few minutes.’

  Eddie slipped his arms round his wife’s waist and nuzzled her neck. ‘Sure smells all right,’ he said. ‘Watch out when I finish dinner, I don’t have you for dessert. I’m feeling pretty frisky after that run.’

  ‘Watch out I don’t switch the stove off and have you for an entree,’ replied Lindy, patting her hand lightly against Eddie’s fly. Eddie slapped his wife on the backside, got a twist-top from the fridge and went into the lounge where the kids were watching TV.

  ‘Righto Martin,’ he growled, ‘who said you could sit in your father’s seat.’

  ‘Sorry dad.’

  ‘What are you watching anyway?’

  ‘Would you believe — Maxwell Smart, chief?’ replied Brenndan.

  ‘That’ll do me 99,’ laughed Eddie, and eased himself into his favourite lounge chair to wait for dinner.

  Back at North Bondi Norton packed up at about five o’clock, went home, had a nap for an hour or so, then got cleaned up. After two schooners at the Royal in Bondi Road and a gigantic steak at the Boka across the street he got to the Kelly Club just on eight. Price and Eddie were already there — Billy arrived about five minutes later.

  ‘Now there’s nothing to worry about,’ said Eddie reassuringly, as they stood in Price’s office drinking coffee before the punters started to arrive. ‘Just hang out the front like a normal Friday night or any other night. I’ll be standing at the top of the stairs all night though, just in case. But I can’t see any trouble tonight. Tomorrow night’s the night.’ Eddie put his cup down, grinned and stood back in front of the boys with his hands out by his sides. ‘Anyway,’ he said ‘what about my grouse new suit? How do I look? Tops or what?’ Eddie was wearing an immaculately cut, char-grey, three-piece suit with a thin, matching check tie and highly polished Italian casual shoes.

  Norton stood
back and smiled. It was the first time he could ever remember seeing Eddie out of a T-shirt and jeans. ‘You look different Eddie, I’ll give you that,’ he said. ‘What did you do? Cover yourself in super-glue and walk through your wardrobe?’

  ‘Dark colours don’t suit you either Eddie,’ chimed in Billy Dunne. ‘You’re too thin. You look like a rolled-up umbrella.’

  Eddie smiled icily. ‘I’ve got a little something rolled up here for mugs,’ he said, letting his coat fall open far enough to just reveal the shiny black butt of a nine-millimetre Ruger automatic. ‘Now get down the front where you belong,’ he added, with a jerk of his thumb, ‘and bash up a few cripples, before I give you both a third ear hole.’

  ‘That sounds like a good idea to me,’ said Billy, draining his cup of coffee. ‘What do you say Lester?’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more William,’ replied Norton.

  Behind them Price Galese shook his head and smiled at George Brennan. Despite the veiled threats, the roasting and the tension in the air he felt safer than a mouse in a malt heap.

  Eddie was right in his prediction about Friday night and it went along as smoothly as silk. There was only one bit of trouble all night. A couple of young, off-duty coppers who should have known better came up wanting to get in. They were both drunk so Billy barred them. The biggest one started to get a bit stroppy and tried to push Les out of the way. With all the tension in the air the boy’s nerves were a bit on edge. They weren’t in the mood for being stuffed around, so Norton gave the copper a quick back-hander that loosened all his fillings, split his bottom lip open and flipped him backwards over the bonnet of Eddie’s Mercedes parked out the front. When the young copper got to his feet he flashed his badge and threatened to do all sorts of things. Billy noted the policeman’s name and number.

  ‘Do you know what I am and what I can do?’ he screamed, as he stood mopping the blood from his mouth with a hanky.

  ‘Yeah, I know exactly what you can do smart arse,’ said Billy. ‘You can get yourself a nice big road map of New South Wales, cause when I tell Price about your little performance you’re gonna need it.’

  Billy gave Price the young copper’s name and badge number and a week later, Probationary Constable Kevin Dengate found out just how much pull Price Galese had when he was getting the stitches taken out of his mouth in a doctor’s surgery in Tipooburra.

  ‘So apart from that, it was a fairly quiet night for you lads,’ said Price, as they were having a quiet drink in his office after they’d shut the club up and got the money in the safe.

  ‘Yeah, it was good,’ said Billy. ‘And no sign of Rossiter either, or anyone that looked like him.’

  ‘He was out there all right,’ said Eddie quietly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I spotted him out the window, on the other side of the road. Twice.’

  ‘Jesus,’ exclaimed Norton. ‘What was he doing?’

  ‘Nothing. Just walking past, casing the joint for tomorrow night. He had on an old pair of overalls and a beanie. Like a street cleaner.’ Eddie gave a bit of laugh. ‘He’s a cunning cunt all right.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said George Brennan, taking a hefty pull on his Scotch and dry.

  ‘No worries George,’ said Eddie, giving the casino manager a light pat on the shoulder. Price watched from his desk slightly amazed at Eddie’s statement. ‘I don’t think Vince is going to like the cake I got for him though. Anyone want another drink?’ he asked. A ripple of laughter ran round the office.

  After getting everyone a fresh drink Eddie gave Les and Billy a few brief instructions about what he wanted them to do on Saturday night — which wasn’t a great deal — then they decided to go home. The only difference from the night before was that this time, Price went home in Eddie’s Mercedes.

  The following Saturday afternoon — just after the first race at Rosehill — Les and Billy were going hell for leather across Bondi on a couple of surf skis they’d borrowed from some clubbies Les knew in North Bondi Surf Club. Their paddling style wasn’t the best but what they lacked in finesse they more than made up for with sheer strength, fitness and determination. They were just finishing their sixth and final lap and (as the boys were full of ‘ag’ at the time) they were giving heaps to that final lap coming back from the baths.

  The aggravation was understandably brought on by Vince Rossiter. It wasn’t so much that their job was to look after the security of the Kelly Club and some nutcase from Melbourne was making things hard for them, but what had the boys absolutely filthy was to think that some prick — who was completely in the wrong anyway — was going to try and kill the one person, apart from those in their immediate families, who the boys genuinely loved. So they were trying to release as much of the ‘ag’ as they could with a good hard paddle.

  The summer nor’easter had begun to increase noticeably when they churned up to the boat sheds. It was starting to form countless ‘white horses’ and whipped across Bondi Bay steadily forcing the murk, from the sewerage treatment works underneath the golf club, up against the rocks.

  A couple of skindivers were oblivious to the increased cloudiness of the water as they searched for any drummer or morwong among the green shallows of Ben Buckler. They surfaced near by with a great ‘whoosh’ of water from their snorkels. The boys bobbed gently up and down in the sheltered waters near the big rock on the point getting their breath back while the solitary mermaid on the big rock seemed to be staring forlornly over the top of them. One of the blokes in the boat sheds recognised Les and gave him a wave. Les waved back, scooped up a huge handful of water and splashed it over his sweating face.

  ‘No wonder they call them fuckin’ iron men,’ he said, his ample chest heaving up and down while the paddle lay loosely across his thighs. ‘This is bloody hard work.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ puffed Billy.

  They sat in silence for another minute or two, taking in huge gulps of air, their legs dangling over the sides of the surf skis, and enjoying the warm summer sun. It should have been a carefree, pleasant afternoon at the beach except that one thing was burning on their minds.

  ‘Eddie seems pretty confident about tonight,’ said Les. ‘I mean there’s not a real lot he wants us to do. Remember what he said last night?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s a funny one all right,’ replied Billy, blowing his nose into his hand and flicking the contents into the water. ‘You start out the front with me at eight. Danny lobs at nine and you go upstairs with Eddie. We keep Price’s Rolls parked out the front with the doors unlocked. Eddie hits Rossiter in the club somehow, you bring him downstairs, put him in the Rolls then you and Eddie drive off.’ Billy shrugged his shoulders. ‘Eddie said he’d tell you what to do after that.’

  ‘Sure sounds easy don’t it?’ said Les, shaking his head slowly. ‘Too easy if you ask me.’ He screwed his face up slightly. ‘I mean how’s he gonna get Rossiter out of the club without a great commotion? Shoot him, stab him, what? It’s got me fucked.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry too much,’ smiled Billy. ‘If Eddie says he’s gonna do it in the club, he’ll do it in the club. He’s the best in the business.’

  ‘Oh I’m not disputin’ that. It’s just that . . . I dunno. It’s a funny one, that’s all. Still, I s’pose everything’ll be sweet.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Billy, looking at his watch, ‘that race is on in a couple of minutes. We goin’ in to listen to it?’

  ‘Yeah, righto.’

  ‘Did you back Eskimo Joker?’

  ‘Yeah. I had $200 each way with Billy Harris.’

  ‘You got on with The Brute, did you? Jesus he’ll scream if it gets up. Come on, I’ll race you in to the beach.’

  ‘You’re on.’

  With the help of a flying start and a bit more paddling experience, Billy beat Les to the beach by about the width of TAB ticket, where they arrived just in time to hear Price’s horse win by two lengths — at thirteen to two. The Brute certainly screamed all right.

&nbs
p; Despite the understandable air of tension in the air that night, Price and the boys were in reasonably good spirits as they stood around the office sipping coffee just before they opened the club.

  ‘Bad luck all this trouble’s about, Price,’ said Les. ‘It’d be a good day otherwise, with your horse winning and all that. I had a few bob on it, too. Thanks for the tip.’

  Price shrugged his shoulders and smiled. In view of what could happen to him if anything went wrong he was surprisingly cool and relaxed.

  ‘Don’t worry Les,’ he said quietly. ‘It’ll still be a good night. A ripper in fact. Won’t it Eddie?’

  Eddie winked and smiled, but behind the wink there was a hardness and a steely glint in his dark eyes. ‘It’ll be a beauty Les, and why shouldn’t it? It’s someone’s birthday, isn’t it?’

  A murmur of nervous laughter rippled quietly round the room. They finished their coffee, and it was time to take up their positions. Les and Billy out the front, Eddie at the top of the stairs. At bang on nine o’clock Danny McCormack arrived.

  Danny’s hands were in his trouser pockets and he had his usual cheeky grin plastered across his craggy face as he walked up Kelly Street.

  ‘So, what’s the story boys?’ were the first words he said, as he walked up to Les and Billy standing at the door. ‘Gettin’ a bit too much for you two big sheilas is it? Got to put a real man on for a change?’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right again Danny,’ smiled Billy. ‘As soon as Price said get a good man for the night you were the first bloke we thought of.’

  ‘Fair enough too,’ replied Danny, with a nod of his head.

  ‘Les is feeling a bit crook to tell you the truth,’ said Billy. ‘He might be going home a bit early.’

  ‘Bit crook are you, love?’ said Danny, turning to Les. ‘Oh, that’s no good. Might be just a bit of PMT coming on.’

  ‘Dunno what it is,’ said Norton. ‘I’ve been like it ever since I changed me pill. I’m going upstairs anyway.’ Les threw a straight left at Danny which stopped about a centimetre from the big wharfie’s already badly broken nose. ‘I’ll tell Price you’re here,’ he winked.