The Boys from Binjiwunyawunya Read online

  Norton’s first shower since Sunday was like a stroll through paradise, and the grilled T-bone after it was heaven from the first bite. Warren hadn’t left a note, but there was a copy of Monday’s Sun near the kitchen sink. Les flicked through it until two familiar faces and a couple of paragraphs on page three made him put down his coffee and blink:

  ‘Stephen George Yiagnou and Vincent Brian Swales were arrested earlier today by members of the Armed Holdup Squad in connection with a series of hotel and service station robberies in the inner-city and Eastern suburbs. They have also been charged with possession of two shortened firearms and an amount of heroin...’

  Next to the article were two mug shots of the youths who had travelled out to Long Bay with Norton. So that’s what they were up to mused Les. Forgot what you were in for did you boys. Yeah. I’ll bet. Then Les chuckled over his cup of coffee. I wonder what Max is up to right now? Probably over visiting his drag queen friends. Mad bloody Max. I wonder if he’s fair dinkum about blowing up his family? Norton shook his head. Wouldn’t bloody surprise me. Suddenly another thought dawned on Norton, almost like he’d been hit over the head by a piece of four-by-two. The old sweeper’s envelope. Mousey’s present or whatever it was. He rose from the table and retrieved it from inside the CIP booklet he’d tossed on the table.

  A knife soon had the envelope open and next thing Les had a sheet of foolscap paper spread out on the kitchen table. It was divided in two by a line of biro, and the sections were two roughly drawn maps with even rougher printing on them. The smaller map was a half-circle with Melbourne written across it and four lines representing roads radiating out of it. Norton could make out Hume Highway on one, what looked like Upper Harrisburgh on another; the others he couldn’t read. The top map was a continuation of the Hume Highway with roads running off it, a little row of dots and more printing. Mousey’s printing was woeful to say the least. You had to be a professor in Ancient Egyptian hyroglyphics to make it out. There was an unreadable road running off the Hume Highway towards a circle saying what looked like Yin Yoe Residence. Follow this one mile. Turn left onto some other road at twin pine trees. Norton shook his head. Follow this half a mile to other twin pine trees. At least that’s what it looked like. Fifty yards south of pine tree on right. Dig here. The pine trees were signified by four circles. Next to dig here was a large X.

  Dig here eh, mused Norton, drumming his fingers on the edge of the paper. Bloody Mousey. He must’ve read Treasure Island or something. Pieces of eight. Spanish doubloons. Argh! There he be cap’n. Poor little bastard he’s been in the nick too long. What’d be there anyway? A case of Victorian Bitter? Some of those Four n’ Twenty pies they all eat? A little disappointed, Norton chuckled and shook his head again. Besides, it’s in bloody Melbourne and I don’t think there’s much chance of me ever going down there. Thanks anyway, Mousey. Still I suppose the poor old bugger meant well. Norton replaced the map in its envelope and put it in a draw in his bedroom. He then finished his coffee and cleaned up.

  Feeling a little tired after the run and the big meal, Les decided to have a nap. But he must have been tireder than he thought, or his own bed just felt good, because it was almost six when he woke up.

  He was a little groggy when he half-stumbled into the shower. But an extra close shave and a few bursts of cold water had him all bright eyed and bushy tailed when he got out. He made a toasted sandwich and a cup of coffee and was in the kitchen thinking Warren was a bit late when he heard the front door open. Next thing the fair-haired young advertising executive was standing in the kitchen doorway, a pizza carton under his arm, staring at him.

  ‘G’day Woz,’ said Norton casually. ‘You’re home late.’

  Warren blinked. ‘Yeah. Well...’ he replied slowly. ‘I... had to work back.’ He stared at Norton in silence for a few moments while he put his pizza in the oven. ‘There... were a couple of phone calls for you,’ he said hesistantly. ‘Hey,’ he blurted. ‘Have you really been out in Long Bay?’

  ‘Fuckin’ oath I have,’ intoned Norton. ‘Three punishing days. And not a visit. Not even a letter — or a card. You’re a nice mate Warren. Thanks a lot.’

  ‘Well... I...’ Warren made a self-conscious gesture with his hands. ‘Ohh look, bugger it. Anyone that’s mean enough to spend two days in the can rather than pay a lousy $53 fine doesn’t deserve a visit. So fuck you. Besides. I’ve been flat out at work anyway.’

  ‘Hmmph!’ grunted Norton. ‘It’s nice to know who me mates are.’

  Warren continued to stare at Les, then his face broke into a huge grin. ‘So what was it like anyway. What happened?’

  ‘Piece of piss,’ shrugged Norton. ‘I’d do it again any time.’

  While Warren made himself a coffee, Les told him most of what happened to him and what it was like in the Bay. He didn’t mention the fight or the sweeper’s envelope but he told him about Max, omitting his intended bombing of his family. In all, Norton made it out to be a fairly easy time actually; just sitting around reading, watching TV and eating good prison food.

  ‘So that’s about it roughly, Woz. I wouldn’t really recommend it. But it ain’t all that bad. The thing is though. The bastards never got my $53 did they? So it was definitely worth it — on principle’s sake. Anyway,’ shrugged Norton, ‘I’ll tell you a bit more about it tomorrow. I gotta get to work soon.’

  Warren shook his head. ‘Fair dinkum Les. You never cease to amaze me. I still reckon anyone that’d go in the can for three days, rather than pay a lousy $53 fine has got an empty breadbin for a head.’

  ‘Oh well. That’s your opinion and you’re welcome to it,’ replied Norton indifferently. ‘Anyway. What’s been happening while I was away? Any phone calls? What’ve you been up to?’

  ‘Billy rang a couple of times. I just told him you were out.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Apart from that — nothing. I’ve been flat out at work on this new campaign we’ve got going.’

  ‘Ohh yeah. And what are you and all the rest of your North Shore yuppie pals up to this time?’

  ‘Mate. This is going to be bigger than mastadon turds. Wait here and I’ll show you.’

  Warren went to his room and came back with a six-pack of wine cooler which he placed on the kitchen table. Norton took a bottle out. It was green with a white label. Across the label in mauve and lime was St Kilda Kooler, superimposed on a drawing of a fun pier. Along the side of the six-pack was: St Kilda Kooler. Kool Off With A Kilda.

  Norton rolled the smallish bottle round in his hand. ‘So what’s this shit?’

  ‘This shit,’ replied Warren dryly, ‘is going to be a very big selling drink in Victoria this spring and summer.’

  ‘I can just imagine.’

  ‘It will — don’t you worry about that. Here. Why don’t you try one?’

  ‘It’s warm.’

  ‘There’s some cold ones in the fridge.’ Warren took a bottle from the refrigerator, opened it and handed it to Les. ‘Try it Les. See what you think.’

  Norton took a hefty swallow and nodded slowly, without changing the expression on his face.

  ‘Well,’ beamed Warren. ‘What’s it taste like?’

  ‘Rat’s piss. With a dash of pineapple flavouring.’ He took another sip. ‘No, hold on. I think it’s tom cat’s piss. With turnips in it. Or is it potato peelings?’

  ‘Ohh you’d have to say that wouldn’t you — you nark. It’s sparkling white wine with pure mango juice.’

  ‘Mango! Listen mate...’

  ‘Yeah yeah. I know. You come from Queensland and they invented mangoes in Queensland. And if there’s any mango in there...’

  ‘Yeah that’s right. You can shove that six-pack up my arse.’

  ‘After three days in Long Bay it’d probably fit.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘All I know,’ said Warren, pointing to the six-pack, ‘is that St Kilda Kooler’s going to be a big seller. And the kids are going to love it.’
/>   ‘Oh of course they will,’ snorted Norton. ‘By the time you unscrupulous pricks have finished with them. They’ll be brainwashed into thinking it’s uncool not to drink this crap.’

  ‘That’s right,’ grinned Warren. ‘There mightn’t be a market there. But we’ll soon create one. You should be in advertising Les.’

  ‘And what’s your ad going to be like?’ asked Norton sarcastically. ‘Dawn shots of horses galloping along the beach in slow motion. Bored looking bags in bikinis wearing big sunglasses. Pretty boys in white sports coats with their sleeves rolled up to their elbows. What about a few slim young men in dressing-gowns? What’s the new image Woz? Tell us mate I’m all agog.’

  ‘Actually, we’re shooting it in Melbourne. We’re using a big Aussie Rules player.’

  ‘Well that figures,’ sneered Norton. ‘Aussie Rules players’d drink this shit.’

  ‘Well they’re not all beer-swilling thugs like you League players. Or should I say ex-League players?’

  ‘You’ve got me again Woz,’ conceded Norton. ‘There is definitely no matching your rapier-like wit. Anyway,’ Les picked his tuxedo jacket up from where it was sitting on the back of a kitchen chair, ‘this beer-swilling thug has to go to work and punch a few heads in up the Cross.’ It wasn’t long after Les had let everyone know he was at work that he and Billy Dunne were standing outside the door, waiting to welcome the punters and discourage the mugs. Billy finished the apple he was eating and turned to his taller workmate.

  ‘I rang you a couple of times to see if you wanted to go for a run. But Warren kept saying you were out. What’ve you been up to?’

  Norton grinned sheepishly down at the footpath for a moment or two before turning to face Billy. ‘If I tell you,’ he chuckled awkwardly, ‘you promise you won’t laugh?’

  ‘Well,’ Billy had to think for a second, ‘I won’t promise. But I’ll certainly do my best. Where were you?’

  ‘I was in Long Bay cuttin’ out a warrant.’

  ‘You were what?’ The ex-prizefighter screwed up his face as if he didn’t quite believe what he’d just heard.

  ‘I was in Long Bay. I went in Monday arvo, and got out this morning.’

  ‘How much was the warrant?’

  ‘Fifty-three bucks.’

  ‘How much?’

  Billy didn’t laugh, he almost cracked up. He fell against the wall behind them clutching at his ribs as he tried to get his breath; tears were starting to squeeze out of the corners of his eyes. Several patrons entering the club and a number of passers-by thought he was having a violent asthma attack. Finally he managed to regain his composure.

  ‘Fair dinkum, Les. Give me a break,’ he gasped as he massaged the aching sides of his throat. ‘You’re unbelievable. Does George know about this?’

  ‘Not yet,’ replied Norton. ‘The fat cunt’s going to have a picnic when he does though.’

  ‘Is he what?’ chuckled Billy. He shook his head as if he didn’t quite know what to say. ‘So what happened? What’d the coppers just catch you out in your car or something? Why didn’t you ring one of us. You wouldn’t have gone out there just to save fifty-odd bucks, would you?’ Billy gave Norton a suspicious look. ‘Surely?’

  Norton shook his big red head and had to look away. ‘I’m almost too ashamed to tell you Billy,’ he chuckled.

  Norton told Billy how he came to be in Long Bay. He didn’t say anything about what happened out there, just that in retrospect he wished he hadn’t done it and he swore he’d never do it again. When Norton had finished Billy didn’t quite know whether to laugh or cry but he settled mainly for laughter. He wasn’t all that amazed, though, because most of the outrageous things Norton did had ceased to amaze him long ago — especially where it concerned money.

  ‘Fair dinkum Les,’ said Billy. ‘You are unbelievable.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Norton. ‘I certainly have my moments at times — don’t I? But like I said, Billy, I don’t think I’ll be doing it again.’

  ‘No. Long Bay’s a prick of a joint ain’t it. I spent a week in the remand yard out there on an assault charge. Years ago.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yeah. Price squared it all up for me. That was about when I first met him. Does he know you were out there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Christ! Wait till he and George find out. Hey you’re going to have to let me do the lead up work when we knock off for a drink. It’ll make Brennan’s week.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ grinned Norton. ‘Go for your life. I deserve all I get anyway’

  The night went fairly uneventfully, as Wednesday nights usually do. Not even a cross word let alone a push and a shove or a fight. By three-thirty they had all the punters and most of the staff out and were seated in Price’s office having their customary after-work drink.

  Billy winked across the top of his bourbon and Coke at Norton sipping on a Fourex before turning to George.

  ‘Hey George,’ Billy said slowly. ‘Have you heard about Les’s latest little effort?’

  ‘No,’ replied the corpulent casino manager. ‘What’s the big goose been up to this time?’

  ‘It concerns money.’

  ‘Money.’ This was George’s cue. Immediately his ears pricked up and a grin spread across his face. ‘Hullo. What’ve you done this time Les?’ he said, looking directly at Norton. ‘You found a box of corn plasters, so you bought a pair of shoes a size too small for you?’

  ‘Worse than that George.’

  ‘His mother visited him over the weekend and he hid her false teeth so she couldn’t eat between meals.’

  Billy turned to Norton. ‘I think you’d better tell him Les.’

  Norton looked up at George. ‘It was nothing really,’ he sniffed. ‘I’ve been out in Long Bay since Monday cutting out a traffic warrant. That’s all.’

  ‘You what!’

  ‘He went into Long Bay for three days,’ chortled Billy, ‘rather than pay a $53 fine.’

  Brennan’s jaw dropped. He stared firstly at Billy, then at Norton. ‘You miserable big prick. Is he fair dinkum?’

  Norton nodded his head impassively.

  Suddenly Price sat bolt upright in his chair and even the normally reticent Eddie Salita came to life in the corner.

  ‘Hey hold on a sec Les,’ he said, tapping his index finger on the desk. ‘What you do in your own time is your business, but I don’t like the idea of my employees spending time in the can. Bit of an explanation here son. And it better be good.’

  Once again Les told his story about how he came to be in Long Bay and what it was like. Again he didn’t mention the fight with Chopper or the sweeper’s envelope, but the way Norton was telling the story and the inferences to his meanness had the others cracking up. With a bit of prompting he told them a few more things, especially about Max and his being sprung by Bernie Cottier and him promising to help train the kids this coming Saturday. But mainly, only for George’s sake, Les made out he did it rather than pay the $53.

  ‘So that’s about it George,’ concluded Norton when the laughter was replaced by amazed looks. ‘It was a piece of piss to tell you the truth. I’d do it again any time.’

  Price closed his eyes and rested his head back on his seat. ‘I’m completely lost for words.’

  ‘Me too,’ added Eddie.

  Billy remained silent but Brennan was nowhere near finished. ‘Les Norton,’ he intoned, ‘you are without a doubt the meanest man in Australia. Possibly the world. You wouldn’t help a blind spider back to his web.’

  ‘Whatever you say George,’ shrugged Norton indifferently. ‘But one thing I do know.’ He winked slyly across at Billy and pulled exactly $53 out of his coat pocket. ‘They never got my money though — did they George?’ Norton waved the money at the others before putting it back. ‘And there it is. Right bloody there,’ he added, giving his pocket a pat.

  Nobody could think of anything to say, except George. ‘Well good on you Les,’ he sneered. ‘Whatever turns y
ou on. Now what are going to do with it? I’ll bet you you don’t spend any of it.’

  ‘I won’t either. Don’t worry about that,’ agreed Norton. ‘This’ll go straight into the Building Society.’

  ‘Yeah bullshit. You’ll probably bury it.’

  ‘I might even do that too,’ shrugged Norton.

  ‘Hey!’ An excited look came across George’s face. He grinned and turned to Price. ‘Remember when the big hillbilly first started work here? He hadn’t been down from Queensland all that long and you told him to back that horse of your’s. The two-year-old. Poker Face.’

  ‘Yeah. I remember,’ smiled Price. ‘We almost had to put a gun to his head to get him to have a hundred on it.’

  ‘That’s right,’ chortled George. ‘His hands were shaking and he was sweating like he had malaria when he handed over the money. And it got up at 12–1. And Les had thirteen hundred dollars in his hand. He near shit himself. And you said to him, I suppose you’ll put that straight in the bank Les? And the miserable big prick said, “Ohh I don’t know, I think I might hold on to it for a while. I don’t trust banks.” I don’t trust banks. Hah!’ George was laughing almost fit to burst.