The Real Thing Page 5

  ‘My oath,’ replied Norton, ‘they might be all right.’

  Eddie stopped the car and the two girls ran up alongside. ‘Where are you going to girls?’ asked Norton, as the window swished down.

  ‘Bondi.’ The two young girls couldn’t quite believe their eyes when they saw the gleaming, brown Rolls Royce.

  ‘So are we. Jump in.’ Les leaned over and opened the door as the two girls excitedly bundled in. While he was closing the door Norton checked the two girls out under the interior light.

  They weren’t bad little sorts, blondes, both about eighteen wearing tight fitting jeans, sneakers and denim shirts with little coloured plastic nicnacs pinned on the front. From their suntanned, pimple-free faces, Norton tipped them to be girls who, if they didn’t actually surf, spent a fair bit of time on the beach.

  ‘Where have you been anyway?’ said Eddie, as they moved off.

  ‘A party at Randwick,’ said the blonde behind Les.

  ‘Any good?’ he enquired.

  ‘No, it was up to shit.’

  It turned out that the girl sitting behind Les was Ricky and the other one was Lea: both had just turned nineteen. They both came from Newcastle but had been living in Bondi for six months — most of the time out of work, like now. They’d been invited to this party but in the girl’s words, it was a real drag. The guys they went with were creeps and kept hassling them. There was a fight so they decided to split and, not having much money, they either had to walk or thumb it to Bondi. They certainly weren’t expecting a lift in a brand spanking new Rolls Royce.

  ‘So where are you off to now girls?’ asked Norton, turning around to Ricky sitting behind him. ‘Going straight home, are you?’

  ‘S’pose so,’ said Ricky, smiling back at Les. ‘I don’t really want to but there’s nothing else to do, is there?’

  ‘Well, we’ve just been to a party ourselves,’ continued Norton. ‘A send-off for a friend of ours, but it was a bit formal and I’m just on my way home to get changed, then we’re going up the Cross for a feed.’ He gave the cigar a bit of a puff and smiled at both girls. ‘Would you like to join us? Have a nice steak and a couple of bottles of wine? What do you reckon Eddie?’

  Eddie looked at the two spunky young blondes in the rear-vision mirror and grinned at Norton. ‘I think it would only be the gentlemanly thing to do Les. Want to come with us girls? There’s a place we go’s got the biggest steaks and the best veal scallopini in Sydney.’

  Ricky and Lea both nearly fainted. ‘Reckon we would,’ they chorused. Since a week after they’d got their last dole cheque they’d been living on cheap fruit and whatever they could thieve out of supermarkets. The whole time they’d been living in Bondi no one had ever shouted them so much as a meat pie. They were just about ready to jump all over Eddie and Les.

  ‘Do you think we should book ahead?’ said Les, picking up the radio-telephone and winking at Eddie.

  ‘Oh there’s no real need,’ replied Eddie. ‘Maxim’s has generally always got a table waiting for us.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. If he hasn’t, I’ll buy the place and have him dismissed.’

  Ricky spread her cute little bum a bit more comfortably on the back seat and had a good look at the opulent luxury surrounding her in the Rolls Royce. ‘Wow, this is a really great car,’ she said. ‘What do you guys do for a living?’

  ‘Do for a living,’ replied Norton. ‘We own a film company.’

  ‘Oh wow!’ The two girl’s hearts started to soar again; this was the icing on the cake for them. Not only were they being taken out to dinner in a Rolls Royce by two rich, nice, mature men — now they could see themselves in showbusiness.

  ‘Yes, I’m a director,’ said Les, ‘and Edward here is a producer.’

  ‘Really? Oh wow! What sort of movies do you make?’ asked Lea.

  ‘Oh telemovies, documentaries, commercials,’ replied Eddie. ‘All sorts of things. In fact we’re starting production on a new movie next week.’

  ‘Fair dinkum?’ cried Ricky. ‘Wow! what’s it called?’

  ‘Ah — “Goodbye Vince”,’ said Les. ‘It’s about a guy who likes standing around watching aeroplanes.’

  ‘Wow! Any beach scenes in it?’ asked Lea.

  ‘Yeah sure,’ replied Norton. ‘The main guy in it is a surfie.’

  ‘Far out. Oh look, we surf. What about giving us a part in your movie?’ Lea was almost squealing with delight.

  ‘Yeah go on, why don’t you?’ said Ricky. ‘And we got terrific bodies, too. Look.’

  As they slowed up for the lights at Charing Cross, Ricky and Lea undid the fronts of their faded, denim shirts and thrust their chests up at Norton, who nearly fainted. Right before his eyes burst four of the firmest, brownest, most beautiful boobs he’d ever seen in his life. They looked like four huge grapefruits, with a tiny, delicate, pink strawberry sitting on each.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, nearly biting the end off his cigar, as Eddie, looking on goggle-eyed in the rear-vision mirror, almost ran up the arse of the old Ford station-wagon in front of them. Ricky and Lea started undoing their jeans and sliding them down over their hips.

  ‘Just hold on there a sec girls,’ said Norton quickly. ‘I think we might be better off discussing this back at my place.’

  ‘You sure?’ said Ricky.

  ‘Oh yeah. We’ll sort it out over a nice bottle of French champagne.’

  Ricky shrugged her beautiful, brown shoulders. ‘All right, she said, back at your place.’ The girls started putting their clothes back on.

  ‘Well? What do you reckon Edward?’ said Norton, turning to Eddie. ‘We going to give the girls a part in our movie or what?’

  Eddie was wild-eyed and gripping the steering wheel like he was going to rip it out of the dash. ‘Give them anything they want,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, go on Les. Give us a part in your movie,’ said Ricky.

  ‘Yeah, give us a contract. Go on,’ said Lea.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about a contract,’ said Norton.

  ‘Oh, go on,’ said Ricky. ‘Give us a contract.

  ‘If they want a contract, give’em a bloody contract,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Well, we’ll see what happens back at my place,’ said Norton. He pulled the thousand dollars out of his pocket and gave the girls a hundred each. They both sat back slack-jawed. ‘I suppose we could give the girls some sort of work on the movie,’ he said. ‘But there’s just one thing.’ Norton turned to Eddie, took a puff on his cigar and blew a large smoke ring towards the roof of the car. ‘At this stage of production, I don’t think we should offer the girls anything concrete.’

  First Day in the D’s.

  Although it wasn’t the best of days Detective Constable Fred Mooney was feeling pretty good inside. He and Detective Sergeant Len Simmiti were cruising along Bronte Road in the squad car heading from Charing Cross to Waverley police station. With his styled, rather lengthy blonde hair, pudgy, almost baby face and a bit of a twinkle in his pale blue eyes, Fred looked more like a young advertising executive than a detective on the tough Waverley beat. The only thing that added any obvious hardness to his twenty-five years, apart from his solid build, was a slightly broken nose and a faint scar under his chin, a legacy from his rugby-league days with South Sydney, and later Easts. Behind the wheel, Detective Simmiti’s thinning, dark brown hair, piercing hazel eyes and permanent five o’clock shadow on his craggy, slightly jowled face gave him the appearance of someone who had definitely been a detective for twelve years; twelve years and a day more than his partner.

  The main reason for Detective Frederick Mooney’s increasing feeling of self-satisfaction was that today was officially his first day as a detective. Certainly he’d put in some time on the A-list and the ungraded list but now he could put his blue uniform in mothballs. From now on he was a detective and just quietly, there was no one else in the force he’d rather be assigned to as a partner than Len Simmiti. Although Len was a bit of a hard-nose and li
ked to keep to himself he was one extra smart cop and a tough one, and the majority of villains in the Eastern suburbs were a wake-up to the fact that if you knew what was good for you, you didn’t try putting any shit on ‘Simmo’. And he was Simmo’s partner. He glanced out the window of the Ford Falcon at cold, windy Bronte Road and smiled to himself once more. Detective Fred Mooney. Yes, he thought, nodding his head slightly, it’s definitely got a nice ring to it.

  Les Norton, on the other hand, wasn’t in the best of moods. He pulled the collar of his leather jacket up against the wind and strode moodily along Bronte Road also in the direction of Waverley police station. The look on Norton’s face was a cross between a dingo with its foot caught in a trap and someone who had just started to eat a packet of Lifesavers and discovered they were a roll of corn pads. He’d just put his old Ford in at Ronnie Phillip’s garage for a quick tune-up and what should have been a cheap thirty-dollar job was now going to be closer to $250. ‘Chicka’ had told him his generator was stuffed, so was the coil, there was a crack in the distributor cap, the petrol pump was on the way out and he needed a new set of plugs. And don’t worry about picking it up at lunchtime, try four o’clock that afternoon. Great. And if that wasn’t enough to give you the shits, tucked in the back pocket of Norton’s jeans were two parking tickets for another eighty dollars. What a bloody ripper, thought the big red-headed Queenslander spitting bitterly into the gutter. Three hundred straight down the drain. He gazed up at the cloudy, bleak, July sky and gave a mirthless smile. You sure like to kick a bloke when he’s down don’t you boss, he said to himself, and slowly shook his craggy red head.

  It wasn’t as if Les couldn’t afford the $300. It’s just that there were better things to do with it than give it to Chicka and the coppers, like put it in the building society at eleven-and-a-half percent and hope you live to be 200. Still, he thought, with a bit of a wry smile, apart from the lost $300 it wasn’t as if Tuesday was going to be a complete disaster. That night he’d arranged to take a girl out to dinner, a good-looking, well-stacked blonde from Coogee he’d met at a party in Edgecliff on Sunday. She’d been all over Norton like ants at a picnic so he knew he was on a fairly good thing that night. Though ostensibly what was going to be a nice dinner in a decent restaurant over a couple of bottles of good wine, would now be a Chinese feed somewhere in Bondi Junction — probably the Sun Kuong — and a few drinks at the Woolahra and listen to the band afterwards.

  He checked his watch — it was just after ten — then jammed his hands back inside the pockets of his jacket and quickened his pace because of the chilly south-west wind. But there was plenty of time to slip into Waverley police station and pay the fines, then catch the train into town and take in an eleven o’clock movie. He’d been up since seven for a run and a training session with Billy Dunne and had only had a very light breakfast of fruit, so he decided he’d slip into the Athenia and have a nice feed of Greek lamb and vegetables after the movie to stop the rumbling that was just starting in the pit of his stomach. After that, a bit of a perv on the office girls in town for a while, then his car should be ready. I s’pose there’s worse ways of spending a winter’s day, he thought, even if it does mean having to go to the bank and make a withdrawal. That eggplant and okra’s gonna taste good by 1.30. A little saliva started to form in his mouth.

  Travelling along in the squad car, Detective Mooney was feeling pretty much the same way. He’d been up a little late playing cards and having a few drinks with some mates the night before, and apart from a bit of coffee and toast, he’d missed breakfast as well. Although today was a bit of a big day for him and he didn’t have to start till 8.30 on the day-shift he’d still been slightly hung-over and too cold and lazy to get out of bed.

  ‘Hey Len’, he said, turning to his partner. ‘How about we duck up the Jungo and get some toasted sandwiches? I’m starving. We can eat them back at the station while we type up those B and Es.’

  Detective Simmiti nodded his head impassively. ‘Yeah righto’, he said. The boring task of typing up what lately seemed to be a never ending list of break and enters at no time enthused him, and some coffee and sandwiches would help make it a little less tedious. He put his foot down slightly on the accelerator when Detective Mooney, recognising the broad shoulders and red hair of a certain person striding along the footpath adjacent to the car, tapped Simmiti on the shoulder. ‘Hey hold on Len, just pull up alongside that bloke in the black leather jacket’, he said with a bit of a smile. ‘I think it’s an old football mate of mine.’

  All that was on Norton’s mind as he hurried past the bus stop outside Waverley public school was how good the fetta cheese salad was going to taste at the Athenia, when the sudden squealing of tyres stopping alongside him made him spin round with a bit of a start.

  ‘Good morning Mr Norton. Mind if we ask you a few questions?’

  Norton looked at Fred Mooney’s face smiling up at him from the car window for a second or two, then a derisive grin spread across his own craggy face.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ he laughed. ‘If it isn’t one of New South Wales’s finest. What’s doing Moon?’

  ‘Not a great deal. Just cruising around looking for villains. I don’t think we’ll go any further.’ Detective Mooney gave a bit of a laugh. Norton stepped up to the car window. ‘Anyway how’s things Les?’ he said extending his hand. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t complain I s’pose’ replied Norton, giving Fred’s hand a quick shake. ‘Just pluggin’ along, gettin’ a quid the best way I can. How’s it goin’ with you?’

  ‘Pretty good mate. I can’t whinge either.’

  Suddenly Norton noticed Fred’s smartly cut Harris-tweed sports coat and matching trousers. ‘Hey what’s with the grouse clobber Moon?’ he said, giving the sleeve a pluck between his forefinger and thumb. ‘Don’t tell me they’ve made you a D.’

  Fred grinned up at Norton. ‘Yep. I finally got there, and this is my first day more or less.’

  ‘Your first day in the D’s eh?’

  ‘Yeah. Detective Fred Mooney.’ He pointed his finger at Norton. ‘So watch out.’

  Les threw back his head and laughed. ‘Jesus Moon. It won’t be long now and you’ll have a couple of blocks of flats at Surfers, a Swiss bank account, probably a diamond mine in South Africa.’ He gave Fred a knowing wink. ‘I always said you were more than just a pretty face Fred.’

  Detective Mooney smiled and shook his head. ‘Don’t give me a hard time Les. Not on my first day.’

  ‘Just don’t come up the Kelly Club annoying me and poor old Price,’ continued Norton. ‘Things are tough enough as it is.’

  ‘What Kelly Club?’ replied Detective Mooney indignantly. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘Oh yeah, that’s right I forgot Fred. The commisioner said there’s no such place, didn’t he?’ They both had a bit of a laugh.

  ‘Anyway Les. You met my partner Len? Len Simmiti: Les Norton.’

  ‘No. I’ve seen you around before though.’ Norton reached across and took Detective Simmiti’s firm handshake. ‘Pleased to meet you Len.’

  ‘Les. How are you? I’ve heard a bit about you.’

  ‘All good I hope,’ replied Norton. Detective Simmiti smiled back evenly.

  Norton jammed his hands back into the pockets of his leather jacket and leant up against the car to have a bit of a mag to Fred for a while; not about anything in particular, mainly football and a few funny incidents when they played together for Easts and how the team was going that year, which wasn’t too bad for a change. They talked and laughed about several other things, although, naturally enough being on completely opposite sides of the social spectrum, there were a lot of things Les couldn’t mention to Fred and vice-versa. Nevertheless Norton did say how he was going down to Waverley police station to pay two parking fines, and he hoped the rotten bloody building would fall down once he was back outside. Finally, Detective Simmiti’s fingers drumming on the steering wheel
told Fred, in a subtle sort of way, that there were sandwiches to be bought and reports to be typed up and it was time they got going. Norton saw it, too.

  ‘Anyway Moon,’ he said, ‘I s’pose I’d better let you go.’

  ‘Yeah righto Les. Why don’t you call over one day and have a drink? You know where I live.’ Fred shared a flat with another young cop about two streets from Norton.

  ‘Yeah I’ll do that for sure. Anyway, I’ll see you Moon. See you again Len.’

  Detective Simmiti nodded and smiled back as Fred wound up the window. They started to edge back out into the fairly heavy traffic inching along Bronte Road. Norton gave them a bit of a wave and continued on his way.

  He was completely lost in thought as he strode along the gusty street laughing to himself about a funny incident that happened at the Sports Ground one Sunday when he and Fred were playing against Wests. Fred had only had a few games in first grade and one of the Wests forwards, knowing Fred was a young cop, was giving him a hard time. Norton shortened the big Wests forward up, but the referee thought it was Fred and sent him off and Fred got a month’s suspension, mainly because of the horrendous injuries sustained by the Wests forward. Norton was chuckling away to himself when he realised he’d walked right past Waverley police station and was almost outside a small grocer’s shop not far from the council garbage depot.

  ‘Ah, shit,’ he said, as he propped and slapped at the two parking tickets in the back pocket of his jeans.

  Not completely watching what he was doing, he almost collided with an old foreign lady coming the other way and carrying two string shopping bags full of groceries and vegetables. With her dumpy build and a huge red scarf wrapped round her rosy, wizened face, she looked like she’d just walked out of a TV commercial inviting you to ring mum in the old country ISD.

  ‘Oh, sorry love,’ apologised Norton, taking the old girl gently by the arm to steady her.

  She was about to say something when unexpectedly a dark haired, vicious-faced youth wearing scruffy jeans and one of those cheap, khaki army jackets burst out of the grocer’s shop, and bumped into Les causing him to cannon into the old foreign lady. She let out a wail and screamed something in either Hungarian or Serbo-Croat as she went up in the air in a shower of eggs, potatoes, onions, celery, almost all the contents of her two string shopping bags.