Between the Devlin and the Deep Blue Seas

Robert G. Barrett was raised in Bondi where he has worked mainly as a butcher. After thirty years he moved to Terrigal on the Central Coast of New South Wales. Robert has appeared in a number of films and TV commercials but prefers to concentrate on a career as a writer.

Also by Robert G. Barrett in Pan

YOU WOULDN'T BE DEAD FOR QUIDS THE REAL THING THE BOYS FROM BINJIWUNYAWUNYA THE GODSON DAVO'S LITTLE SOMETHING WHITE SHOES, WHITE LINES AND BLACKIE AND DE FUN DON'T DONE MELE KALIKIMAKA MR WALKER THE DAY OF THE GECKO RIDER ON THE STORM AND OTHER BITS AND BARRETT GUNS 'N' ROSÉ

This is a work of fiction and all characters in this book are a creation of the author's imagination

First published 1991 by Pan Macmillan Publishers Australia This edition published in 1994 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited 1 Market Street, Sydney

Reprinted 1992 (twice), 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 1998, 2000, 2001, 2003, 2006, 2008

Copyright © Robert G
Barrett 1991

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication Data:

Barrett, Robert G Between Devlin and the deep Blue Seas.

ISBN 9780330272308.

EPUB ISBN: 9781743548974

I. Title.

A823.3

Typeset in 10/11 pt Times Roman by Post Pre-press Group, Brisbane Printed in Australia by McPherson's Printing Group

 

 

 

 

This book is dedicated to Midnight Oil. Because the oils are oils. And always will be
.

As usual the author is contributing a percentage of his royalties to the environmental organisation, Greenpeace
.

The author would like to thank the following people for their help with this book:

Jens Ward, senior journalist at
People
magazine, Sydney.

David Winterflood, J.P. Sydney.

Dr. John Kearney, M.B.B., F.R.A.C.C.P., Sydney

And my barber, Karyn Booth, at Bateau Bay, NSW.

 

 

 

 

By rights it should have been all doom and gloom in Price Galese's office at the Kelly Club on that pleasant Saturday evening, the last day in October. A warm, balmy evening that was now fast approaching 4 am on Sunday morning the first of November. After all the Kelly Club was closing down and it was the end of an era so to speak. An era of illegal gambling, corruption, murders, associated crime and vast profits going into a certain grey haired gentleman's pockets. But still, the end of an era no less.

Not wanting to panic his faithful staff any more than necessary, Price had told them as they left a little earlier than usual that it would probably only be for two weeks; another political hiccup so to speak. They were all paid accordingly and told to ring George Brennan in a fortnight, he'd tell them what was going on. In the meantime have a nice holiday on the boss. But in the plush seclusion of his office amongst his inner core Price had told the boys it would be for at least a month, and this time more than likely for good. The Kelly Club had rolled its last dice, spun its last wheel, bribed its last cop and politician. It was enough to make you cry. Good, honest, hard working Australian men all about to lose their jobs through no real fault of their own, and employment prospects in Sydney at the present time were rather
skinny to say the least. Plus who would give you a decent job in Sydney when your last job reference said you worked in an illegal gambling casino for so many years. You couldn't exactly hope to start a new career at McDonald's or Coles or the ANZ Bank. It was truly a bloody sad picture all round. Yet why the levity?

George Brennan's double chins were working overtime as he laughed his way through vodka and tonic about number ten. Eddie Salita was happily devouring rusty nails. Billy was chortling away while he gave a bottle of Old Grandad an awful nudge and Les Norton was tipping stubbies of Fourex down his throat like he was expecting a brewery strike. Even Price, destitution and ruin staring him in the face in his twilight years was cracking all sorts of jokes as a bottle of Dimple Haig got lower and lower and going on as if he didn't give a stuff. It was a funny one all right.

Of course the boys had known something a little more serious than usual was in the air when Price had told them earlier in the week that they'd be closing down and had added to expect to have a bit of a late drink on Saturday night, which was why Billy and Les had left their cars at home. But then again, they'd heard it all before. The Kelly Club was always closing up for a few nights or a week here and there. And Price was always saying that this was definitely it. But no one was really expecting a month, and this time Price did seem a little more sincere than usual when he said that this time was definitely it. So there was absolutely no need for levity. No need at all.

‘So this is definitely it, eh, Price?' said Billy Dunne, easing back in his seat after pouring himself another quadruple Old Grandad and Coke.

‘Yep. 'Fraid so, Billy, old mate,' replied Price. He looked at Billy over the top of his glass and tried not to smile. ‘We're goners, the lot of us. Gowings.'

‘Yeah, but fair dinkum, Price,' said Les. ‘How many times have we heard this now? Eight hundred?' Norton shook his head and took another slurp of beer and looked
around the room. ‘I've been booked on cruise ships, got ready to go on camping trips in the bush — even lined meself up to take a sheila out. And then ring ring. On the phone. “Les. Les, old mate. It's Price. It's all sweet. I need you here tomorrow night.”' Norton took another drink and grinned at his boss. ‘This'll be the same. You wait and see.'

Price smiled at the Queenslander's cheeky, if not blunt honesty and shook his head. ‘No,' he said seriously. This time it's different. I got the drum from right up the top. And it's one hundred per cent we'll be closed for a month.' The grey-haired casino owner eased back in his seat and let his eyes run round the room. ‘There's gonna be a change of government in this State soon. I know for sure. The mob that's in don't want to win the next election anyway. You only got to look at the mug they've shoved in as premier since shitbags bailed out. He's got as much charisma as a dead cat. I wouldn't give him my vote if he promised me a bigger dick.' Price took a sip on his Scotch and soda ‘They'll let the other mob carry the can for a while — who are no better anyway. And seeing as there's no way this new pack of dummies can fix up the mess this State is in they'll get behind their favourite old smokescreen...'