White Shoes, White Lines and Blackie Read online

  ‘So KK,’ said Les, as Kramer settled down with his coffee and Danish. ‘What brings you here? Wait, don’t tell me, let me guess. You got one of the lost Dead Sea Scrolls. Carbon dated, fully kosher and everything. And it’s for sale at the right price.’ Les smiled as KK stirred his coffee. ‘You’re not here for the apricot Danish.’

  KK took a sip of coffee and looked evenly at Norton. ‘I suppose I could ask you the same bloody thing.’

  ‘I’m a member — already,’

  KK had to blink. ‘You a member. Christ! And they call me a conman.’

  ‘Actually,’ replied Les, ‘I’ve just booked to see Yaffa Yarkoni in the King David Room. It should be a good night.’

  ‘What are you going to do? Steal all her dresses.’ Norton conceded the point and tried not to grin.

  ‘No,’ continued KK. ‘To tell you the truth, I’ve only been back a few days and I was supposed to meet my brother down here.’

  ‘Ohh yeah, Manny,’ faked Norton. ‘How is he these days? I haven’t seen him for a while.’

  ‘He’s… good. But he hurt his back in a car accident and couldn’t make it.’

  Norton shook his head sympathetically. ‘Shit! Bad luck. I like Manny.’

  ‘Yeah. So I was supposed to meet one of his mates and he can’t make it either.’ KK shook his head also. ‘It’s stuffed me up a bit.’

  ‘What do you mean — “stuffed you up”? Have they got the scroll, have they?’

  ‘No, Einstein. Manny was supposed to look after me for five days. I’ve got Crystal coming out to Australia. You do know about me and Crystal Linx, don’t you, Les?’

  ‘Sure. Every time I’m in a Mt Druitt barber shop and I pick up People, Picture or the Melbourne Truth, her tits come belting out at you like Kenworth headlights.’

  KK fixed on Norton through his glasses. ‘Going by your big boofhead, I’d say you’ve been hanging round quite a few Mt Druitt barber shops lately.’

  Again Norton was forced to concede the point. For some reason he’d let Annie give him a trim and he ended up looking like a cross between a baboon and a roadie for the Sisters of Mercy.

  ‘Like I said, Bela Lugosi,’ smiled KK, ‘I’ve got Crystal coming out promoting her new single. We’re staying in a block of flats my family owns in Surfers, which are empty at the moment. I’m doing the whole rattle on the Gold Coast. She gets in Friday and flies back to the States on Tuesday. Manny was going to be my minder.’

  ‘Minder?’

  ‘Yeah. You know, just help us handle the media crush while we do all the publicity shots and that. Get us in and out of the limo and make sure no mugs try to get their hands on Crystal’s giant, enormous et-sa.’

  Norton took a sip of coffee. ‘Bad luck your brother hurt his back. Sounds like a bit of fun. Five days on the Gold Coast, galavanting around in the sun, sipping champagne. You still drink plenty of bubbly, KK?’

  ‘All I can get.’ Then the little Jewish conman sighed. ‘But he’s been hurt and his mate can’t make it either. I’m more or less up shit creek.’ KK took off his glasses, massaged the bridge of his nose, then put them back on again. ‘I suppose I’ll find someone.’

  There was silence between them for a moment. A voice crackled out over the club intercom. ‘Shlomo Podovodski, to the foyer please.’ Suddenly Norton felt KK looking at him like he was a kangaroo caught in a spotlight.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Les screwed up his face. ‘Me?’

  ‘No… the piece of fuckin’ chocolate cake sitting on your plate, you goose. Yeah, you. What are you doing for the next five days?’

  ‘How exactly do you mean… KK?’

  ‘Do you want to come up and mind me and Crystal for five days? Someone told me you’ve got half a brain and you’re not bad at bashing up drunks. I also heard there’s not much doing at the game lately. You want to come up to Surfers for a few days. Get yourself a bit of an earn?’

  ‘What’s a bit of an earn?’

  KK’s expression didn’t change. ‘I’ll give you $1,500 in the hand. Plus your exes.’

  Norton couldn’t believe it; it was truly the prophecy. And in here of all places. It was as if Moses himself had parted Norton’s Red Sea of troubles. Five days away from the curry queen. In the sunshine, living it up, and a nice little earn thrown in; even if you didn’t need it all that much. The way Norton was feeling lately, he’d have given KK $1,500 to take him with him. He could leave Annie a note saying he’d caught an infectious disease and was going into quarantine on Thursday Island. I’m not good enough for you, get yourself another man. Or, just don’t be here when I get back. And your hairdryer. He might even ring Gianna’s boyfriend long distance and tell him what was going on. He’d come round and give Warren a slap, and with Norton not being there, he wouldn’t have to act the hero with some poor mug who was in the right in the first place. It would serve Warren right anyway, and just might put a stop to the whole sorry saga. Yes, this was truly a blessing from above; or wherever it comes from when you’re in the domain of God’s chosen people. That’s it for me, thought Les, I’ll never crack another anti-semitic joke again.

  ‘Okay, Kelvin,’ said Les, offering his hand across the table. ‘You’re on.’ KK’s handshake was a bit like grabbing five peeled prawns, but there was a modicum of warmth in it. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘We catch the 10 a.m. plane tomorrow. I’ll pick you up in a taxi at nine. Where do you live? It’s just up the road somewhere, isn’t it?’ Norton told KK the address. ‘You’ll use my brother’s ticket. And if anyone asks who you are, just say you’re my brother. Not that you’ll have to say much to anybody anyway.’

  ‘Menachem Norton,’ grinned Les. ‘I like it already. Shit! What a day. I’ve been ordained.’

  ‘That’s right, Les. Just keep saying to yourself “I’m Jewish and I’m proud”.’

  ‘I’ll go straight down and get myself a black frock-coat and a pair of white shoes. I’ll be the only Orthodox Jew in a pair of white shoes. I mean, it is the heart of white-shoe territory where we’re going. I wouldn’t want to look out of place.’

  KK wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. ‘Listen, Les,’ he said evenly. ‘Do me a favour. When we get there, knock up on the jokes about white-shoes. All right?’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The people I move around with up there have heard it a million times. And it goes over like a boil on your arse.’

  Something in the tone of KK’s voice told Norton he meant it. ‘Okay,’ he nodded, ‘I’ll behave myself.’

  ‘No white-shoe jokes.’

  ‘You got it, KK. One black frock-coat. Hold the white St Louies.’

  ‘Good. Well, I’ll see you in the morning, Les.’

  KK rose from the table when Norton pulled him up. ‘So what about a little something up front? I’m skint at the moment. You wouldn’t want your brother to lob with the arse out of his pants, would you?’

  KK hesitated for a moment, then fished a wallet from his back pocket. His plump little fingers deftly flicked out five $100 bills, which he discreetly pushed across the table to Les. ‘I’ll give you the rest on Tuesday.’

  Norton had the money in his jeans quicker than KK got it from his wallet. ‘Thanks, mate. You needn’t worry, I’ll do the right thing.’

  Ironically for all the banter, KK never doubted Norton’s word for a moment. ‘I know you will. Well, shalom, Les. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  ‘Yeah, KK. Shalom. It’s been good to know you.’

  The last Les saw of KK was him disappearing past the fountain in the foyer and out the front door. His spirits raised, Norton got a fresh cup of coffee and finished his piece of chocolate cake. He left the club, took a stroll up to McKenzies Point in the sun, watching the joggers and the distant surfers and people on the beach while he had a think. And it was all good. Sensational in fact. He had an appointment at four with a hairdresser he’d taken out a few times — to get the job Annie had done on him straightene
d out. He was there on time, but the boss had gone home sick so Les got the junior. But no matter what she did, it could only be an improvement. She took up his sideburns, combed it into a kind of part in the middle and managed to square it off and even it at the back. In fact he came out looking that good he tipped her $5.

  Les was home by five and immediately started putting T-shirts, a spare pair of jeans and some other clothes and odds and ends into a large overnight-bag. No white shoes, but he did throw in a pair of blue slacks and blue Italian loafers worth about $300 which he’d purchased from a gentleman in a hotel for $60. He also managed to cram in his ghetto-blaster. About the only good thing to come out of his affair with the curry queen was her other cousin, Benoit, who worked in an import record shop in Five-Ways, Paddington.

  Benoit looked a bit like Annie, skinny with a chubby face. The boys carted him out a couple of times and he didn’t really give a stuff what was going on because if it hadn’t been Les or Warren, it would have only been someone else. Les slung Benoit $150, gave him half a dozen cassettes and told him to tape him up some good music. Benoit came back with some Stones, Paul Norton, the Herbs, some old soul tracks and this and that, plus a heap of Southern Boogie and Zydeco: Sugar Ray and the Bluetones, Anson Funderberg and the Rockets, Queen Ita, Nathan and the Zydeco Cha Chas, plus a heap of others. Norton hadn’t heard all the tapes, but what he had so far he liked. Benoit told him some of that southern-fried boogie’d make him think his back ain’t got no bone. And Les believed him.

  He packed a few toiletries and things and that was about it. While he’d been packing Les had been thinking, so he got a writing pad and biro and scratched out a brief note which he put in an envelope and placed on his dressing-room table. Feeling a bit peckish by now he got a bottle of Eumundi Lager from the fridge and drank that while he knocked up a spaghetti and waited for Warren to come home so he could tell him the good news. Or bad news. Whichever way Warren chose to take it. As he sipped his beer while the sauce was simmering, Les started thinking again so he made a quick phone call, getting straight through on the ‘hot-line’.

  ‘Yeah, hello.’

  ‘Hello, Price, it’s Les. How are you?’

  ‘Les. How are you, mate? What are you up to?’

  ‘Not much. What about yourself?’

  ‘Just sitting here with my feet up, watching Rocky and Bullwinkle. Tea’s just about ready.’ Price moved the phone a little closer. ‘So what’s on your mind?’ No one rang Price on the hot-line unless it was reasonably important.

  ‘I bumped into an old mate of ours down the Hakoah Club today. Kelvin Kramer.’

  ‘Ohh, little KK. How is the shifty little reffo shit?’

  ‘He looked all right from where I was sitting. And he was cashed up.’

  Norton told Price about the offer KK had made him in the club: going up, using his brother’s name, staying at the family flats, he even mentioned about KK pulling him up over the white-shoe gags.

  ‘So what do you reckon? He is a shifty, but it’s a nice break, and an earn.’

  Price thought for a moment over the phone. ‘Yeah. Well, we both know that KK’s a bit of a lad. But he’s also a low thing when it comes to dudding people. But his brother Manny. That’s a bid odd. We both know he’s just been nicked in WA. And he’s a heavy-duty dude. Eddie’d cut your lungs out and use them for leg warmers. But Manny’d eat them. He just doesn’t seem the type of bloke who’d want to spend five days in the spotlight with the Yank bimbo.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a thought. But it is his brother.’

  ‘True. But Manny Kramer minder; it doesn’t jell somehow. Still, go up, have a bit of fun. But just keep your meat pies open. There’s a lot of shifty cunts up there. And a lot of money gets around at times.’ Then Price laughed. ‘No, it should be okay. Go up and have a laugh.’

  ‘I will. But if anything doesn’t seem too kosher, I’ll give you a ring.’

  ‘If you don’t get me here, you’ll catch me at the club.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll give you a call anyway. Might send you a T-shirt.’

  ‘Do that. Anyway, here’s tea. You wouldn’t believe it either, we’re having roast pork.’

  ‘And me a Jew. See you, Price.’

  ‘See you, Les. Have a good time.’

  Norton returned to the sauce and opened another Eumundi Lager. While he was stirring slowly, he started thinking again. Bloody Price, he’s a wise bloody old owl at times. Manny Menachem minder? Mmmh. Oh well, it’s not like I’m bound to some iron-clad contract. If it gets too punishing I can just catch a plane home. I’m five hundred in front no matter what.

  Warren arrived home around seven in jeans and T-shirt, much like Les. ‘G’day Les,’ he said, breezing into the kitchen. ‘How’s things?’

  ‘Pretty good, mate. How was work?’

  ‘Not bad. The Eumundi Lager promotion’s coming along better than we thought.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Norton took another swig of beer and grinned. ‘It’s a good drop. Bring as much home as you like.’ ‘So I’ve noticed. Is there one left in the fridge?’

  ‘Might be.’

  Warren opened a bottle of beer, took a pull and looked into what Les was stirring. ‘That smells all right. What are we having?’

  ‘Spaghetti à la No Names. You hungry?’

  ‘Yeah. I am a bit.’

  ‘Good. And get into it. It’s the last decent feed you’ll be getting for a while. I’m going away for about a week.’

  ‘You are! Where?’

  ‘Surfers Paradise.’

  While Warren finished his beer, Les told him about the offer he’d been made, leaving out the bit about Manny. It was just a job and he was getting paid for it.

  ‘Shit! Five days in Surfers perving on Crystal Link’s megasonic gazonkas. Wait till you see those in the flesh. You’ll think all your birthdays have come at once. Fuck, I wish I was going with you.’ Warren put his empty in the kitchen tidy. ‘Have you told Annie?’

  ‘Why don’t you have your shower and we’ll discuss that after we’ve had tea. They’re not coming around tonight anyway, are they?’

  ‘No. Wednesday night they go to aerobics then do the books.’

  ‘Good. Well, have a tub and we’ll get into this.’

  Warren scrubbed away the dirt and grime from a hard day at the advertising agency, spent mainly doing lunch and drinking coffee while they watched semi-erotic Italian game show videos. He changed into a grey track-suit, and it didn’t take long for both of them to each demolish two plates of pasta. After that piece of chocolate cake at Hakoah, Norton didn’t feel like sweets. So, after cleaning up they settled back in the kitchen over coffee. A bit of light FM drifting in from the stereo in the lounge.

  ‘I’ll get straight to the point about the Tandoori twins, Woz. I’m giving Annie the arse.’

  ‘Ohh, that’s nice. You know the poor girl’s in love with you.’

  ‘I realise that, Warren. And it’s tearing me apart.’ Warren looked at Norton over his coffee. ‘So what’s brought this on?’

  ‘She’s a dud fuck. She stinks of curry. And she’s a wog. Do I need another reason?’

  ‘Well, that’s putting it bluntly. You certainly haven’t lost your tact.’

  ‘No, fair dinkum, Woz. She’s not for me. In fact this whole deal’s not our go. You porking that bloke’s sheila behind his back, it’s not going to get you anywhere.’

  Warren shrugged. ‘I’ll worry about… ’

  ‘But you needn’t let it cruel your thing with Gianna. Keep bringing her round here, I don’t give a stuff. What you do as a paying boarder in this house is your business. Just count me salmon and trout with Annie. That’s all.’ Warren thought for a moment. ‘Fair enough,’ he shrugged. ‘How are you going to tell her?’

  ‘I’ve left a note.’

  Norton handed Warren the brief letter he’d written while packing his bag. Warren opened it and started to read it out loud:

  ‘“Dear Annie. I hate to have to t
ell you this, but I have just found out I have a girl pregnant back in my home town. We used to be engaged and I thought it was all over between us. Now she’s about to have my baby. And I will have to marry her. I never told you about Yirrinbinni. I suppose I should have. I don’t know how long I’ll be at Fitzroy Crossing. At least till the baby arrives. In the meantime, find yourself another bloke. Someone who deserves you better than me. Love Les. PS. I have left your hairdryer and stockings in a plastic bag near the front door.”’

  Warren folded the letter up, put it back in its envelope and placed it on the table. ‘Touching, Les, touching. Especially the part about her hairdryer and stockings.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t want to leave them laying around. You’d only start using them. So just give that to Annie. When are you seeing them? Tomorrow night?’ Warren nodded. ‘That’ll do.’ Norton looked at his watch. ‘You fancy watching the movie? I’ve got to be up reasonably early tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah. So have I. We’re having a power breakfast at eight-thirty.’

  ‘Make sure you wear your power tie.’

  They took their coffees into the lounge and settled down in front of the TV. If Warren had anything on his mind during James Bond in From Russia With Love, he never mentioned it. Their main topic of conversation was that Sean Connery was definitely the best James Bond.

  They were both in bed not long after eleven. As Norton closed his eyes and scrunched his head into the pillows, he had to smile. Well, this time tomorrow night I’ll be in Surfers Paradise. I wonder what it’ll be like? His smile turned into a bit of a laugh. I reckon it’ll be all right — despite what Price said. Les had been up at six a.m. to train with a couple of blokes down North Bondi Surf Club. A couple of very fit young detectives, who paddled skis and ran like they were being chased by internal investigators. He had no trouble getting to sleep.

  Les and Warren bumped each other in the kitchen around seven. Warren was only having coffee; Norton wasn’t all that hungry either, figuring he’d get fed on the plane anyway. Warren was gone before eight. ‘See you later, Les. Have a good trip.’ ‘You too, Woz. Make sure Annie gets that letter.’