The Godson Page 3

  ‘So what do you want me to do, Loz?’

  ‘Take him out in the bush somewhere, say up the North Coast where it’s warm and isolated. You must know someone who can look after this Beecham’s pill for a couple of weeks?’

  ‘Yeah, I can fix it up. No trouble at all.’

  O’Malley couldn’t help but clap his hands together with relief. ‘Good man. Well, I’ll let you know when he’s arriving and what he looks like and all that.’

  ‘Okey-doke. Consider it done.’

  ‘Good on you, Price.’

  The silvery-haired casino owner held up his empty glass. ‘So how about a drink?’

  Happy and relieved at knowing that everything was now in Price’s capable hands, O’Malley cheerfully topped up their glasses and once again the conversation went back to old times. Another hour or so went by — the rest of the Bowmore was gone, and Price and O’Malley were starting to roar.

  ‘Okay, Price,’ said O’Malley getting to his feet. ‘Now that we’ve got that other business out of the way, how about I shout you to a nice lunch? You hungry?’

  ‘Yeah. All this piss and cold weather. I’m starving,’ replied Price.

  ‘Good. Well, I’m going to shout you to the best fish meal in Canberra.’

  ‘At a restaurant?’ Price looked at O’Malley quizzingly. ‘That’s a bit dicey isn’t it? You being seen out in public with me?’

  ‘Hah!’ The Attorney General held up a commanding finger. ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought of that.’

  O’Malley went to a cabinet at the other side of the room leaving Price staring at the fire. He rummaged around in a drawer for a few moments then walked back over and stood in front of Price.

  ‘Well, what do you reckon?’

  When Price looked up, the Attorney General was wearing a loose fitting black wig, horn-rim glasses and a false moustache. He stared at him expressionless for a moment and shook his head.

  ‘Is that a wig, or did your cat die? You look like Lamont Cranston’s father-in-law.’

  ‘Yes. But I don’t look like me — do I, Price?’

  ‘What about the nose, Loz?’

  ‘I’ve booked it a separate table.’

  ‘And does it pay for its own food?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Then let’s go.’ Price stood up and put on his jacket. ‘And where are you taking me? They got a No Names in Canberra, have they?’

  The Attorney General slipped an arm around his old friend’s shoulders. ‘Price,’ he said. ‘I am going to take you where they’ve got the fattest, juiciest Clyde River oysters you’ve ever tasted. And they do a Braidwood Rainbow trout in lemon butter that’ll give you a horn a foot long.’

  ‘Fair dinkum. Where is it?’

  ‘It’s a bit of a sneak go. The Alislie Hotel. Over near the War Memorial? Yvonne,’ he called out towards the study.

  BARELY TWO MINUTES drive from the War Memorial, Eddie pulled the Rolls up in a small car park at the front of the Alislie Hotel, a single-storey building, spread out over almost the entire block. With its red, pink and white decor, rambling vines and well-manicured gardens, it looked like one of those gracious old hotels you would find in England or on parts of the continent. There was a covered driveway where a set of steps ran up to a polished double-oak door, but there were no parking spaces.

  ‘Go round the back,’ said Dutchy. ‘There’s plenty round there.’

  Eddie found himself in a large parking area at the rear of the hotel. He locked the car and followed her through the back entrance and along a maze of corridors that ran past a large garden with a fountain bubbling away in the middle which the hotel appeared to be built around.

  ‘What made you pick this joint?’ asked Eddie.

  ‘It’s quiet. It’s very nice. It’s low key, without being sleazy and there’s a lot of people always coming and going.’

  ‘Just the sort of place you’d stay if you were in Canberra getting rid of five thousand “Stevie Nicks”.’

  ‘Right on, Eddie baby,’ agreed Dutchy, as they arrived at her room. She fumbled in her bag for the key and pushed the door open.

  Dutchy’s room wasn’t exactly huge, but it was comfortable and warm. A double bed faced a TV, a small fridge and a well-stocked mini-bar. There was a separate shower and bathroom; through the curtains behind the bed, Eddie could see the fountain bubbling away in the courtyard.

  ‘Not too bad, Dutch,’ nodded Eddie.

  ‘Yeah,’ she replied, a little indifferently, throwing her bag and rabbit skin jacket on the bed. Without any further ado, Dutchy went to the bar, grabbed a mini-bottle of Jim Beam, Green Label and poured the lot into a glass. She got some ice from the fridge, gave it the merest whisper of ginger-ale and downed the lot in two swallows. ‘Ohh boy,’ she said, with an appreciative toss of her head. ‘Did I need that.’ Eddie stood there with a slight smile on his face, and watched her repeat the performance; this time taking only one good swallow. ‘Ohh yes. That’s better.’ She sat back on the bed and motioned towards the bar with her drink. ‘Help yourself, Ed. You don’t need me.’

  ‘Yeah, okay.’ Eddie checked out the bar, looked in the fridge and settled for a bottle of Reschs Premium Lager. He took the top off and raised the bottle to Dutchy. ‘Well. Good to see you again, Dutch.’

  ‘Yeah, you too Ed.’

  They each took a swallow and Eddie grinned as he saw the tension leaving his old flame. ‘So, Dutch,’ he said. ‘You’re in town doing a little dope scam, eh?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She opened her bag and pulled out a large envelope full of fifty and hundred dollar bills. ‘A nice, lazy fifty grand,’ she winked. ‘Not bad for a couple of days work.’

  ‘Very nice,’ agreed Eddie. ‘And what’s your wedge?’

  ‘My wedge?’ Dutchy grinned and tossed the money casually on to a table next to the bed. ‘The lot.’

  ‘The lot?’ Eddie looked surprised.

  ‘Yeah, I nicked them. These dealers have rented the unit next to mine. I’ve never spoken to them, but it sticks out like dogs’ knackers what they’re up to. I just happen to have a key to their flat and one day, when I knew they weren’t home, I went in, and hello — there’s a tea-chest half-full of “Stevies” and all these green plastic, garbage bags with numbers written on them. I grabbed one with five thousand on it. Made a phone call, and here I am in Canberra minding my own bloody business I might add, and then you turn up.’

  ‘Yeah,’ grinned Eddie.

  ‘But you needn’t worry, Eddie. Even though you now know all my business, I won’t ask you yours.’ Eddie kept grinning, but didn’t say anything. Dutchy looked at him for a moment then put her drink down and got up from the bed. ‘Ohh, bugger this,’ she said and threw her arms around him. ‘Jesus, it’s good to see you again, Salita — you little shit.’

  ‘You too, Dutch.’

  At five feet ten and wearing high heels, Dutchy was a good three inches taller than Eddie. She looked down into his eyes as he returned her embrace then kissed him full on the mouth, moving her lips slowly from side to side and taking her own sweet time about it.

  ‘Eddie, there’s a bottle of champagne in the fridge and you and I are going to drink it.’

  Eddie scarcely had time to nod before Dutchy had a bottle of Taittinger out of the fridge, and had popped the cork and poured them both a glass. They drank that and then another, laughing while they reminisced about old times. Dutchy turned on the radio and music drifted through the room. The first song finished and cross-faded straight into another. It was an old Tamla-Motown hit, The Foundations singing ‘Now That I’ve Found You’.

  ‘Oh, Eddie,’ Dutchy squealed, putting down their drinks. ‘I remember this from Vietnam. We used to do it in the show. Come on, let’s have a dance.’

  With Dutchy crooning throatily and Eddie doing his best they sang and danced their way around the motel room. The song ended, leaving them standing there looking into each other’s eyes. Finally Dutchy spoke.

  ‘I
heard you were married, Eddie,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah. Got a great missus and two terrific kids,’ nodded Eddie. ‘And incidentally, Lindy would cut my nuts out if she knew I was in here with you. And so would my bloody boss,’ he added, ‘if he ever found out.’

  ‘My marriage lasted four years. But I finished up well in front, and there’s no hard feelings.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  They held on to each other, smiling, looking into each other’s eyes. Neither tried to break away.

  ‘How long before you have to leave?’ asked Dutchy.

  ‘About half-past four. I’ve got to pick Price up at five.’

  ‘My plane goes at 6.30. That gives us about four hours.’

  ‘Four hours,’ smiled Eddie. ‘To do what? I am married you know.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ agreed Dutchy. ‘But say something happened here this afternoon; you wouldn’t really be playing up behind your wife’s back.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. You’d just be collecting on an old debt. And I do owe you one you know.’

  They kissed again. This time Dutchy slipped her tongue into Eddie’s mouth, to be immediately met by Eddie’s. He ran his hands up under her pullover, undid her bra and cupped his hands around her breasts, gently massaging her nipples with his fingers.

  ‘Oh, Eddie,’ she sighed and ran her tongue in his ear. She pulled Eddie in to her then sighed again. ‘Oh, Eddie. Are you carrying a gun, or are you just glad to see me?’ She put her hands in the small of Eddie’s back and pulled him in harder against her pelvis. ‘Ooh, Eddie,’ she giggled. ‘You are glad to see me.’

  Eddie unzipped the front of her designer jeans. The zipper burst open and his hand quickly moved down. Beneath his touch he could feel the bristle of her ted, warm and moist through her knickers.

  ‘And just what have we got here, Miss Richtenburgh?’ he asked, giving it a gentle stroke as he kissed her breasts.

  ‘That,’ heaved Dutchy. ‘That’s classified. It’s my army intelligence map of Tasmania.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Eddie moved his tongue down her stomach and over her navel towards her crutch. ‘In that case,’ he said, easing her jeans down over her backside at the same time. ‘I’d better eat it. The enemy could overrun us again.’ Before he started, he looked up at her and winked. ‘This first one might be a bit quick, Dutchy. But like you said, we’ve got four hours.’

  * * *

  YVONNE SWUNG THE Attorney General’s Fairlane smoothly up the driveway in front of the Alislie hotel, stopping without turning off the motor.

  ‘You needn’t bother opening the door for us,’ said O’Malley, wriggling out of his seat belt. ‘No need to make a big show of us arriving.’

  ‘Good idea, sir,’ she replied, smiling a little as she watched Price and the Attorney General climb unsteadily out of the car.

  O’Malley glanced at his watch. ‘Pick us up back here at, say, three o’clock.’

  ‘As you wish, sir. See you then. Enjoy your lunch. You too, Mr Galese.’ Price gave her a wink and the Fairlane moved off, then he and O’Malley walked up the front steps, weaving a little as they entered the warmth of the hotel foyer.

  With its lush red carpet and polished oak panelling, the Alislie dining room had a noticeable feeling of natural warmth. The gold wallpaper, red and white decor and the vase of fresh flowers on each table gave the room a distinct air of elegance and old-world savoir faire. Within seconds of their arriving a politely efficient, but unobtrusive, head waiter appeared.

  ‘Mr …?’ he smiled.

  ‘Menzies,’ replied the Attorney General.

  The head waiter smiled in acknowledgment. ‘Of course, sir. This way please.’

  He ushered them to a table next to a small, enclosed patio overlooking the courtyard and fountain, directly opposite room 306 where Dutchy and Eddie were sipping champagne, less than fifteen metres away.

  ‘Very nice,’ said Price, looking around. ‘I’m impressed, Loz.’

  ‘Yes. It’s a pity it’s so bloody cold. We could have sat out on the patio. It’s beautiful out there.’

  ‘Any cocktails before eating, sir?’ asked the head waiter, placing a wine list on the table.

  ‘Yes, two margaritas,’ said O’Malley.

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  ‘I like it here, Price,’ said the Attorney General, when the head waiter was out of earshot. ‘It’s classy without being pretentious. You haven’t got hoardes of wallies gawking at you. And,’ he added enthusiastically, ‘the food has got to be the best in Canberra — and no one’s twigged to it yet.’

  A tuxedoed waiter arrived with the drinks. O’Malley ordered a bottle of Roxburgh Chardonnay, plus a dozer oysters Rockefeller each and the Braidwood trout with vegetables in season for both of them. They finished their margaritas and the wine arrived; which they ripped into with great gusto. It wasn’t long before the oysters were at their table.

  ‘By Jesus, Loz. These are a good oyster,’ said Price.

  ‘Told you, didn’t I?’

  Price polished off his oysters in less than ten minutes and was starting to look at the shells. ‘In fact, these oysters are that good, Loz… seeing as you’re paying — I’m going to have another dozen.’

  ‘Order a dozen for me, too.’

  Price had just put his hand up to catch the waiter’s attention, when his eyebrows knitted and he cocked his head towards a partially open window not far from their table. ‘Did you hear that, Loz?’

  The Attorney General cocked an ear towards the window. ‘Sounded like a woman screaming.’

  ‘There it goes again,’ said Price.

  ‘Do you think there could be a murder going on?’

  Price listened intently for a moment then chuckled. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard that sound before. They’re probably a couple of honeymooners.’

  The waiter arrived, Price ordered and they continued with the chardonnay while they waited for their oysters.

  ‘Maybe we should get a couple of dozen sent round to that bloke’s room,’ laughed Price, as another scream filtered across the courtyard and through the window. ‘And a gallon of stout.’

  ‘Whoever that bloke is,’ said the Attorney General, putting down his glass to attack the second lot of oysters, ‘he doesn’t need any bloody oysters. In fact, I’m going to close the window — I’m starting to get a fat.’

  They finished the first bottle of Roxburgh Chardonnay just as the fish arrived, so O’Malley ordered another. The trout in lemon butter sauce with chopped herbs straight from the garden was one of the best fish meals Price had ever had. And he told O’Malley too. Even the accompanying vegetables, which were steamed to perfection, seemed to have a flavour all of their own. They took their time with the meal, savouring every morsel while they finished the wine, and then ordered Drambuies and coffee. By three o’clock the head of state and the distinguished racehorse owner from Sydney were howling like wolves. O’Malley settled the bill and the head waiter led them to the front steps which they went down like a mob of sailors coming back from shore leave. Yvonne had the car out the front and when she saw the state they were in she decided it might be best if she did open the door for them this time.

  ‘Home, James,’ hiccupped O’Malley, as he and Price sprawled onto the back seat.

  ‘Home it is, sir.’

  As Yvonne got back behind the wheel of the car, Price caught a glimpse of her face in the rear vision mirror watching O’Malley wobbling around in the back seat. Even in the state he was in, Price could tell by the smile on her face and the warm look emanating from her eyes that this wasn’t just a job to her. She had a genuine affection for the likeable, if quite drunken, Attorney General of Australia.

  SOME TIME AFTER four, Eddie Salita, his hair matted, and his face streaked with sweat, was sitting on the edge of the bed in room 306 doing up his shirt. Dutchy was laying back under the bedcovers watching him through half-closed eyes. She had a look of dreamy contentment on her face; she also l
ooked like she’d just been ten rounds with Sonny Liston. Eddie stood up to tuck his shirt in and smiled down at her.

  ‘So, how are you feeling, Dutch?’ he said.

  ‘How am I feeling? Fucked is how I’m feeling, Eddie. And I mean that quite literally.’

  Eddie chuckled. ‘Well. I thought that was the idea of the afternoon.’

  ‘Well it was. And when you said the first one would be a bit quick I thought, fair enough. And I was keen for the second. But the third and fourth. Christ! You stopped twice in four hours — and that was just to drink two bottles of beer.’ Dutchy wriggled her bum slightly beneath the sheets. ‘Jesus! How am I going to walk to the plane? I’m that bowlegged, you can hang me over the front door for good luck.’

  ‘Sorry, Dutch, but I just can’t help it, mate. Poking a pussy in my face is like giving Popeye spinach.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ groaned Dutchy.

  Eddie put his cap and jacket on and stood looking at his old flame for a moment. He smiled, sat next to her on the bed, put his arm around her, and kissed her.

  ‘Dutch,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t quite know how to say this. But I have to go. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to see you again, love.’

  ‘That’s okay, Ed. I understand. I got a bloke who runs a shoe company in Sydney who wants to marry me anyway. I think after this I might take him up on the offer.’

  Eddie kissed her again. ‘I gotta get going, Dutch. And you’ve got a plane to catch.’

  She twined her arms around his neck and kissed him for the last time. ‘See you, Ed.’

  ‘See you, Dutch.’ The door closed and he was gone.

  Eddie was smiling to himself as he sat in the Rolls waiting for the motor to warm up a little, then a thought hit him. Christ! I’m supposed to have been in that Art Gallery this afternoon. And that bloody print I promised Lindy. Shit! Where is the joint? He snatched the NRMA road map of Canberra from on top of the dash and quickly scanned the streets. There it is. King Edward Terrace, just on the other side of Lake Burley Griffin. And it’s on the way to Red Hill. Grouse. He glanced at the clock as he tossed the map back on the dash. I’ve got just under half an hour.