The Real Thing Read online

  ‘Is Les fair dinkum crook?’ enquired Danny, as Norton disappeared up the stairway into the club.

  Billy looked at Danny for a moment. ‘Come here Danny,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you exactly what’s going on.’

  Eddie was standing quietly at the top of the stairs. He pulled Norton aside as soon as he got to him.

  ‘Danny here?’

  ‘Yeah. Just arrived.’

  ‘Good. Now you know what to do. Just stick around me, not too close, make out you’re not really with me. I’ll give you the nod, and as soon as you see me walk towards Price follow straight behind. Okay?’

  ‘Good as gold.’

  ‘Righto then.’ Eddie clapped his hands together lightly. ‘Let’s just wait for Rossiter and see what happens.’

  With about six or eight feet separating them they stood sentry-like at the top of the stairs giving everyone who entered a thorough perusal: Norton in his tuxedo, Eddie in a light brown sports coat and matching trousers. Eddie, being hardly known to most of the patrons was able to keep his ominous presence fairly unobtrusive. Norton, on the other hand being almost part of the furniture at the club, had to put on a bit of a casual front so as not to alarm any of the regulars who might get a bit worried if they were to see him scowling at the top of the stairs all night instead of out the front greeting them and having a joke with Billy. Around them the beautiful Kelly Club hostesses in their slinky, black evening gowns would glide effortlessly among the well-heeled, well-dressed gamblers taking orders for the drinks the club supplied or getting change or plastic chips. Every now and again one of the croupiers or dealers would look up from the rattle of the dice, the clicking of the roulette wheel or the flicking of the cards on the blackjack tables and glance curiously, through the blue cigarette haze which swirled in the lights above the green felt tables, at Les and Eddie standing grim-faced, menacing and unmoving at the top of the stairs. They were all certain something was going on, but a lot of things went on in the Kelly Club that didn’t really concern them so they did their job and minded their own business; if it had been anything worth worrying about, they were sure Price would have told them.

  If Price himself was worried he didn’t show it. He was his usual urbane, pleasant self moving easily among the patrons, sharing a bit of a joke with the men, sometimes going for his kick to lend a punter a stake, but mostly chatting with the small crowds of adoring women who seemed to follow him everywhere. Occasionally, if he was going to the office to cram some more money into the safe, he’d look up and catch Eddie’s eye; Eddie would shake his head almost imperceptibly and they’d carry on as normal. To anyone who didn’t know, it looked like a typical, possibly a little busier than usual, Saturday night at the Kelly Club.

  By around midnight the place was just about packed. Billy and Danny on guard out the front were letting in a few more than usual to make sure they didn’t inadvertently knock Vince Rossiter back, and ruin Eddie’s plan to kill him. The extra crowd didn’t make it any easier for Les either. Having to carefully scan all the additional faces was difficult enough, but while he was doing this some of the punters and a few others who just liked to dag heavies, would see him inside on his own for a change and would come over and try to get a mag on with him. Norton would be as pleasant as he could under the circumstances for a few seconds but by his aloof manner and politely ignoring them they all soon got the message that he preferred to be left alone and drifted off to rejoin their friends; all except Pattie Franks.

  Pattie was a good-looking, gay divorcée in her early thirties; she’d been married twice. Her first husband owned a big trucking business but was accidently killed at work leaving Pattie a motza. Her second husband was a rich SP bookmaker who also sprayed Pattie with plenty of money before he gave her the elbow and left her with a new BMW, a wardrobe full of jewels and furs, and a three-bedroom penthouse overlooking Tamarama Beach. A pixie-faced, well-stacked, slightly auburnish blonde, Pattie, in her modelling days, used to be one of the best sorts in Sydney. Even now, thanks to liberal injections of silicone, aerobic dancing and the odd face-lift once in a while, she was still a bit of a stunner. Pattie’s main pleasures in life were spending money, hanging around the Kelly Club and throwing as many good-looking young men up in the air as she could get her well-manicured hands on. One bloke she was red-hot keen to get her hands on for some strange reason was Norton — possibly because, being a big fit bloke, she imagined he’d be all right in the cot but mainly because he always seemed to avoid her. Pattie, in a subtle sort of way, must have put the word on Norton almost a hundred times in and out of the club but Norton would always politely find some excuse not to go back to her place for a drink or a smoke or a whatever.

  This both mystified and frustrated Pattie. With her money and looks she had hordes of good-looking young men literally clawing over each other to get to her, yet here was a bloke, nothing more than a bouncer in an illegal gambling casino and in Pattie’s eyes a half-baked Queensland hillbilly as well who wouldn’t wear her if she was a mink coat.

  However it wasn’t as if Pattie didn’t turn Norton on; Les would have loved to get into Pattie’s pants and gone for a spin in the nice new BMW. It was just that Norton wasn’t too keen to screw any of the women who worked at or hung around the Kelly Club. It could lead to complications. Les was a firm believer in Billy Dunne’s advice: ‘never shit in your own nest’. Besides, there were that many women living in Bondi he didn’t have to bother anyway. But Pattie had noticed Les standing inside on his own instead of out the front and tonight, of all nights, she was determined to get the big red-headed Queenslander one way or the other.

  The minute she spotted Les, walking up the stairs of the club around eleven p.m., her baby-blue eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and she tried to get him for a bit of a conversation. Norton in his usual polite manner, maybe a little more aloof than normal, spoke to her for a short while eventually managing to move her along; but she kept coming back — five times in the next hour. Norton was always affable enough but would continually find some excuse to get rid of her. This only got under Pattie’s skin all the more; Norton was inside the club, on his own and she was determined to get through to him no matter what. Finally, at about 12.30, and with about ten brandy alexanders under her belt, she stormed back up to Les and put it straight on him.

  ‘Les Norton, why have you been avoiding me?’ she said defiantly. ‘You’ve been positively rude to me all night. Aren’t I young enough or good-looking enough for you?’ she sniffed.

  Les smiled wearily at her. ‘I haven’t been avoiding you Pattie,’ he replied slowly. ‘I’m just busy that’s all. I mean, I do work here you know.’

  Standing there in front of him, her eyes swimming from the brandy alexanders, Norton took a good look at her and for the first time noticed what she had on. Pattie was wearing the skimpiest pink-knitted top you could ever imagine and no bra — which made absolutely no difference at all to her ample silicone-reinforced boobs. The rest of her was tucked tightly into a pair of black leather pants which looked as if they’d been sprayed on and fitted her so snugly round the crumpet she must have poked the edges in with a sharpened pencil.

  ‘And as for your looks Pattie,’ he added, ‘in that outfit you look hornier than a longboat full of Viking’s helmets. It’s just that I’m busy tonight. That’s all.’ He turned away and tried to ignore her continuing to check out the people coming up the stairs. But Pattie was persistent.

  She took a deep breath and moved up closer to Les poking her massive boobs in his chest. ‘Les,’ she cooed ‘what’s the matter with me? Don’t you find me exciting?’ She moved in closer again. ‘Have you ever been excited Les? When was the last time you were excited?’

  Norton looked at her quizzingly. He didn’t quite know what to do. Maybe if he said something stupid to her she might go away. ‘The last time I was excited Pattie?’ he said. ‘Let me think. That would have been when I was playing second row for Dirranbandi against Cobar. We were down sixt
een to fourteen with two minutes to go, and I ran the length of the field to score a try. That was exciting.’

  Pattie Franks let out a little sigh of frustration. ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she said, gritting her teeth slightly. She moved in closer to Norton and pushed her self up against him rubbing her boobs across the lapels of his tuxedo. ‘I mean really excited Les. When was the last time you were really excited?’

  Norton looked at her again for a moment. More people were starting to come up the stairs and he was beginning to get a bit annoyed. ‘Really excited eh? All right. I was playing front row for Dirranbandi against Goondiwindi in the grand final. We were behind ten-to-six with a minute to go, and I managed to crash over from dummy-half and score a try right under the posts, making it ten-to-nine. That was really exciting.’

  Pattie gave another sigh of frustration. She couldn’t believe Norton’s stoicism and the answers he was giving her. ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she said angrily. ‘Come here.’ She took Norton’s hand and placed it fair on her prominent crutch, pushing it hard into the fork. ‘There’ she said ‘that’s what I mean Les. Can you remember the last time you felt a nice cunt?’

  Norton looked at her and slowly nodded his head. ‘Yeah. When I missed the conversion . . . Now look Pattie, will you piss off and leave me alone? I’ve got work to do.’ He turned away from her. She spun on her heel and disappeared in the crowd. She was almost in tears.

  With Pattie finally out of the road Norton was now able to concentrate his attention on the people coming up the stairs. So far he hadn’t noticed anyone who aroused his, or Eddie’s suspicions. Around them the place was still quite crowded and although Les had been intently scanning everybody who came up the stairs, gazing into the well-dressed assemblage milling about the club he began to notice just who was there. There were at least a dozen well-known TV and media personalities. They seemed to be mingling among a heavy concentration of wealthy racehorse owners — trainers and jockeys. Scores of bejewelled socialites were rubbing elbows with some notorious villains and over near a blackjack table, Price was standing with his arms folded one hand cupped round his chin having a joke with two bishops. Christ, thought Norton, if Rossiter does go off in here before we can get to him it’ll make headlines for the next six months. He glanced over at Eddie with raised eyebrows. Eddie caught his eye, grimmaced slightly and shook his head almost imperceptibly from side to side.

  A tall, leggy, blonde model, playing roulette with the editor of a leading men’s magazine caught his attention momentarily when, out of the corner of his eye, Norton thought he saw Eddie stiffening at the top of the stairway; he quickly switched his attention to what Eddie was staring at. As he got to the top of the stairs Les could see it was an old bloke, possibly somewhere in his sixties, wearing a conservatively cut, blue, pinstriped suit and tinted horn-rimmed glasses. On his arm was a sexy-looking redhead old enough to be his daughter. From his experiences around the Cross, Les tipped her to be a high-class hooker.

  They stood at the top of the stairs for a moment then the old bloke said something to the redhead and she moved off towards the ladies’; the old bloke remained, either getting his bearings or waiting for her. He didn’t look like an old bloke thought Les, watching him as he stood there; he was ramrod straight; there was no stoop at all and no sign of paunch. He looked across and noticed Eddie was staring intently at the old bloke, too.

  On the other side of the room Price was still talking to the two bishops. The old bloke seemed to notice Price, slipped his hand under his coat and moved towards him. As he moved out into the crowd, Les wasn’t sure but he thought he noticed a slight dip in the old bloke’s shoulder. He was about to draw Eddie’s attention to this when like a phantom Eddie zoomed in behind the old bloke. He was about a third of the way towards Price when Eddie reached him, he whispered something in the old bloke’s ear, the old bloke froze, turned his head slightly then Eddie seemed to pat the old bloke in the small of his back with his right hand and gripped him under the armpit with his left. Eddie had scarcely touched the old bloke when Norton appeared on the other side, took the old bloke under the right arm and they started moving him towards the door.

  As they eased him through the crowd Les was surprised at the way the old bloke, whoever it was, put up absolutely no struggle at all. His legs seemed to be moving but the rest of him felt uncannily limp. His eyes stared straight ahead and he just had a slightly surprised look on his face, almost mild shock. Apart from that his face was expressionless. He never said a word or uttered a sound — it was almost as if he was in a trance.

  Effortlessly, and without anyone in the club noticing a thing out of the ordinary, they walked the old bloke to the top of the stairs where Eddie stopped, turned towards Price and nodded his head briefly. Under his tight grip Norton could feel the muscled hardness in the old bloke’s arms; a quick glance close up revealed a pair of very surprised, bright green eyes behind the tinted horn-rimmed glasses.

  ‘Is this Rossiter?’ he asked, as they started moving him down the stairs.

  ‘It’s him alright,’ replied Eddie tightly, then called out to Billy to open the car door.

  They didn’t rush; they just moved the still trance-like Rossiter down the stairs, through the door and out onto the footpath. Big Danny, standing grim-faced in doorway, gave Les a knowing wink as he went past to let him know he knew exactly what was going on. They shuffled Rossiter across the footpath to where Billy was standing, holding the rear door of the Rolls open. They sat Rossiter on the back seat. Billy closed the door and Les walked round and got in the other side. As he did he noticed Eddie say something to Billy and point towards the club then jump in behind the wheel. From the time they spotted Rossiter in the club, to Eddie hitting him and them getting him into the Rolls wouldn’t have taken more than two minutes.

  ‘That was pretty smooth mate’, said Les, his adrenalin still pumping slightly.

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Eddie, as he started the motor. ‘I just told Billy to grab that sheila Rossiter came in with, give her a hundred bucks and tell her her gentleman friend took sick suddenly, had to go home and left her the money for a cab.’

  ‘Who do you reckon she was?’

  ‘No one. Just some escort he’s grabbed for the night to make sure he could get into the club.’ Eddie snatched a quick glance in the rear-vision mirror, slipped the Rolls into drive and made a U-turn back up Kelly Street. ‘Righto,’ he said, ‘let’s go and get rid of the cunt.’

  With Rossiter propped up next to the window on the back seat, still staring straight ahead and Les alongside watching him out of the corner of his eye, Eddie turned the gleaming, brown Rolls right into Bayswater Road, up Victoria, past the fire station and headed for South Dowling Street. He didn’t speed; he just cruised along at a nice leisurely pace almost as if they were all going for a pleasant Sunday afternoon drive in the country.

  ‘Where we goin’ anyway?’ asked Les, as they stopped for the lights on the corner of South Dowling and Oxford.

  ‘Out the airport,’ replied Eddie.

  ‘Kingsford-Smith?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  As they waited at the lights Norton noticed the people in the cars alongside staring at them. At first it unnerved him slightly, then he realised they were only admiring the shiny new Rolls Royce and probably wondering who the toffs were inside. This is the style, he thought, winking at a young girl sitting in the front seat of a battered old Kingswood propped alongside; she giggled and said something to her pimply-faced boyfriend who scowled back jealously at Norton. Rossiter was still propped up next to him staring straight ahead, looking calm and relaxed and appearing for all the world as if he knew exactly what was going on around him. A few tiny bubbles had formed around one corner of his mouth and even though he was completely motionless, his face still had plenty of colour. At one stage Norton thought he saw him blink.

  ‘Hey Eddie,’ he said, a little trepidatiously as they pulled away from the lights. ‘Is he dead, or wha
t?’

  Eddie laughed quietly to himself. ‘Yeah, he’s dead all right.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Eddie smiled at Les in the rear-vision mirror. ‘Course I’m sure. I’m fuckin positive.’

  They cruised further along South Dowling till they stopped for the lights at the start of Moore Park Road. Rossiter was still gently rocking from side to side but as they pulled up at the lights his neck gave a twitch, and in the reflection of the passing cars Norton thought he saw Rossiter blink again.

  ‘Hey Eddie,’ he called out. ‘I don’t think he’s dead y’know.’

  ‘Les, he’s deader than Sunday in fuckin’ Melbourne I’m tellin’ you. Stop worrying.’

  ‘Yeah, I dunno,’ said Norton, still staring at the motionless Rossiter. ‘I don’t like the way he keeps lookin’ at me. I reckon we ought to have a meetin’ about this.

  ‘Ah, you fuckin’ old sheila Les. All right, I’ll pull over down the road and show you. I want to check him out anyway.’

  They crossed Cleveland Street and a bit further on past Moore Park golf links Eddie found a spot by the side of the road and pulled over. He turned the motor off and left the parking lights on.

  ‘Righto,’ said Eddie, swivelling around in his seat to face Rossiter. ‘Vince, are you dead or what?’ Rossiter just sat motion-less, still staring straight ahead.

  ‘I doubt if he’s gonna tell you whether he’s dead or not Eddie,’ said Norton. ‘Not even Houdini could tell you that. I just don’t reckon he is meself. That’s all. Look at the colour in his face. He don’t look dead to me.’

  Eddie laughed and shook his head. ‘Have I got to prove it to you, have I? All right.’

  He reached down to his sock and pulled out a small switch-blade knife, As he brought it up he thumbed a catch on the side and a glistening silver blade, about ten centimetres long shot straight out of the handle. He reached over and rested the point of the blade against Rossiter’s chest, just where his heart was. ‘Now watch this Les,’ he said, and plunged the blade up to the hilt in Rossiter’s heart. Norton expected a great torrent of blood to start bubbling out but not a drop came through as Rossiter still sat staring vacantly into space. The bubbles on the side of his mouth started to solidify and turned into a trickle of saliva that glistened as it ran down his chin, but that was hardly a sign of life.