Between the Devlin and the Deep Blue Seas (15 page)

‘It's a bludge, like I told you. The front door's closed, I just sit up the top of the stairs near a phone and keep an eye on things. Don't even wear a tux. There's only Price and George and about six of his mates in here. Drinking wine, talking shit and trying to take each other's money at five hundred. I'm even reading books.'

Norton laughed. ‘Listen, Billy. What are you doing tomorrow?'

Billy noticed the tone in Norton's voice. ‘Not much. Nothing I can't get out of. You're not in any strife, are you?'

‘No, no, nothing like that. But do you reckon you could meet me somewhere tomorrow?'

‘Sure. Where?'

‘You know The Royal Hotel at Randwick?'

‘Yeah.'

‘How about out the front at twelve o'clock?'

‘Yeah, no worries. I'll be there.'

‘Thanks, mate. And Billy...'

‘Yeah?'

‘Don't tell Price or anyone I called.'

‘Okay. If they ask me who it was I'll say it was me missus.'

‘Good on you, mate. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.'

‘See you tomorrow, Les. Twelve o'clock.'

Les strolled slowly back to Blue Seas Apartments, noticing that the old white utility was back. Jesus! They sure come and go in here, he thought. But at least she missed all the drama. He made a cup of coffee, put the radio on and tried to think. He was tired but at the same time his nerves were on edge. He switched off the light, lay back on the night-and-day and did his best to get to sleep; managing after a while to half doze off. He'd been that way for three-quarters of an hour or so when the noise of the front door made him open his eyes. There were hurried footsteps, then a discreet tap on Sandra's door. Hello, thought Les, one of Ms Garrett's late night lovers. Next thing I'll be getting pinched for having premises for the purpose of.

He dozed off when not long after the door opened again. This time the voices told him it was the girls in the band back from the hospital. Les couldn't hear Syd's voice. Thank Christ for that, he thought. I wouldn't have answered the door to those sheilas anyway. Les glanced at his watch. He'd been there just over an hour. Again he half dozed.

Again the noise of the door opening woke him up. That and his neck. The old pillow from home wasn't all that good at the best of times, but tonight with his neck the way it was it was worse. There was an old cushion in the car he used on the front seat, he decided he'd get that for a bit of extra support. Somehow he
dragged himself up from the night-and-day and walked sleepily out the front. As he stood there, he noticed the same grey BMW he'd seen the previous night and the same figure in the hat and trench coat getting into it. Only this time the figure had the back door open and was placing what was obviously a painting wrapped in brown paper on the seat. Norton stepped back into the shadows and watched with something a little more than just curiosity. The figure got the painting in, closed the door then got behind the wheel and the next thing the BMW cruised off towards Randwick Junction.

That's all it is, Les thought sarcastically. He's an art dealer. Sandra's just selling all these blokes paintings. And to think I should have such a dirty, suspicious mind. Les shook his head and spat in the gutter. Yeah, that'd be right.

He got the cushion from the front seat and went back inside. Ahh yes. That's better. More support. This time Norton did manage to get to sleep. Like a log.

It was after ten when he climbed out off the night-and-day and cleaned himself up. Cleaning his teeth in the mirror, Les could see his left eye had coloured up nicely overnight and it looked like he'd swapped top lips with Mick Jagger. His throat was sore but the bruises weren't all that bad and could almost have passed for love bites. Apart from that — okay.

He got into a T-shirt and jeans and walked out to get the Sunday papers. It had turned out another nice, sunny day. Sandra was out the front standing in front of an easel, daubing at an oil painting. She couldn't have missed Norton coming out the front door but she didn't bother to look up from what she was doing.

‘G'day, Sandra,' said Les pleasantly.

‘Huh!' Sandra barely shifted her eyes away from whatever she was painting. ‘Oh. Hello, Jim.'

Norton frowned slightly. ‘Jim?'

‘Oh, Len, Les. Whatever.'

Terrific, thought Les. I really have made a hit with
her, haven't I? The bitch can't even remember my name. Moll. Slightly miffed, Norton was about to walk on, then changed his mind. ‘What are you painting?' he asked.

‘Not much,' was the whimsical reply.

‘Mind if I have a look?'

Sandra shrugged a reply that was neither a yes, or a no. Oh well, thought Norton, maybe artists are a bit funny like that. He moved around and had a look at what Sandra was painting. It was Blue Seas Apartments at night. Sandra might not ever get anything hung in the Louvre, but she'd managed to capture the old block of flats in a sombre, night mood of mainly blues and yellows. Coming out the front of the flats was, of all things, a figure in a trench coat and hat. The face, like the rest of the painting, was very abstract, but there was an uncanny familiarity about it that Les couldn't help but stare at.

‘Hey, that's not bad Sandra,' he said, after a moment or two. ‘It's the block of flats, all right. Who's the bloke coming out the front door?'

‘Just a friend.'

‘A friend?'

‘That's right.'

Norton was about to say something and changed his mind. ‘You're quite good, Sandra. Do you sell many paintings?'

Sandra continued to daub away. ‘A few,' she replied absently. ‘My friend buys most of them.'

‘He's got good taste.' Yeah, for a Bulgarian, Norton thought to himself.

‘Thanks.'

‘Does it take you long to do a painting?'

Sandra shrugged. ‘I hope to have this finished by next Saturday. It's going to be a birthday present to myself.'

‘Is it your birthday next Saturday?'

Sandra nodded without looking up from the painting. Norton did a little mental arithmetic.

‘November fourteenth?' Sandra nodded again. Norton
thought for a moment. ‘Isn't that Prince Charles' birthday too?'

This brought a slight smile to Sandra's face. ‘That's right. If he ever becomes king, there'll be a public holiday on my birthday.'

‘And right royally so,' smiled Les. Norton was going to carry on the conversation, but he somehow sensed Sandra didn't seem all that interested. ‘Anyway, I'll see you later.'

‘Okay.'

Norton left her and walked off to get the papers. The painting played on his mind all the way down to the shops — especially Sandra's ‘friend'. No, he thought, shaking his head. It couldn't be. I'm seeing things. Then he stopped in mid-stride. Or fuckin' am I?

On the way back he gave Sandra a brief smile and got pretty much the same back in return. He went inside, poached some eggs and went through the Sunday papers while he listened to the radio. Before long it was around quarter to twelve. Sandra was packed up and gone from out the front and so was her utility.

Les walked across to the hotel and found a table near the Perouse Road entrance. A few minutes later, Billy's station wagon pulled in front of the hotel opposite the park.

Norton almost didn't recognise Billy when he came walking towards him. Like Les he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt but he looked about a stone lighter and almost ten years younger than the last time he'd seen him. Billy saw Les staring at him and grinned.

‘Hello, mate. How are you?'

‘Good. Jesus, you're looking well Billy.'

‘Yeah.' Billy pulled up a seat then noticed Norton's face and his grin got bigger. ‘Hello, what happened to you?'

Norton grinned back and shrugged. ‘What do you reckon?'

Billy shook his head. ‘Well, if you've copped that, I'd hate to see the other bloke.'

Still grinning, Norton gestured with his thumb. ‘He's in the hospital across the road if you want to see him. Anyway, you feel like a beer?'

Billy shook his head. ‘Just a mineral water'll do, mate.'

Les went to the bar and came back with two bottles of Hepburn Spa, and middy glasses full of ice and slices of lemon.

‘Well, cheers, Billy,' he said, raising his glass.

‘Yeah, cheers, Les. Good to see you, mate.'

Norton couldn't help but stare at his workmate. ‘I just can't get over how well you look, shifty. What's going on?'

Billy smiled as he drank his mineral water. ‘Well, I've been off the piss. I haven't had a drink since we wrote ourselves off last Saturday night.'

‘Can't say I blame you.'

‘And with all this extra time I've got and the early nights, I've been training twice a day. Running in the morning and sparring down Clovelly Surf Club in the afternoon. And fuckin' hard. I've ripped off nearly a stone. I'm punching like Mike Tyson. Fair dinkum, I've never felt better in me life.' Billy grinned and shaped up to Les across the table. ‘I might even make a comeback.'

Norton smiled back at Billy. ‘You do look extra good,' he conceded. Then his eyes narrowed. ‘But there's something fuckin' else.'

Billy ran a hand through his hair. ‘You noticed the Barney, did you, mate? Lyndy cut me hair the other day and stuck some Redken or something in it. And away went all those distinguished touches of grey.' Billy reached over and punched Les in the arm. ‘Fair dinkum. I was walking down the street yesterday and some sheilas in a schoolbus started whistling me. They thought I was George Michael.'

Norton roared. ‘George Brennan'd be more like it. You fuckin' larrikin.'

‘Just don't tell anybody, will you?'

They laughed and continued on their spa waters.

‘So what's doing, Les? What did you want to see me about? I rang a couple of times but you weren't home. Warren said he didn't know where you were.'

Norton nodded behind him to Blue Seas. ‘I've been holed up in my old block of flats.'

‘I figured it'd have something to do with that.'

Les stood up. ‘I'll get us another couple of spa waters and I'll tell you what's going on. I just want to get some of it off my chest.'

Norton returned with the drinks and gave Billy the whole smear. How the place was losing him money. The state it was in. What old Hoppy had told him. The estate agents. The weirdos that lived there. Flat five. His night with Nola. How he'd met the Heathen Harlots and the rest of them. Syd. The fight. The fuck with Franulka. And more. By the time Les had finished they were on a third bottle of spa water and Billy didn't know what to think.

‘Yeah. It's been a lot of fun, Billy, I can tell you,' said Norton.

‘Bloody hell!' Billy had to shake his head. ‘You sure packed it into a week, didn't you?'

Now Norton had to shake his head. ‘Fuckin' prick of a joint. I wish I'd never bought it.'

‘I remember when you did. I was nearly gonna say something, but I thought, no, fuck it. It's none of my business. No wonder you never talked about it.'

‘Yeah,' sighed Les. ‘Anyway, finish these, and I'll take you over and give you a guided tour.'

‘You reckon those sheilas in the band might be up on the roof?' hinted Billy.

‘If they are,' replied Norton, ‘I'm certain they won't want to talk to me.'

‘Who said anything about you? I'll go up and tell 'em I'm the new caretaker.'

‘You're a happily married man, remember, Billy.'

Billy Dunne grinned and ran a hand through his thick black hair. ‘I'm too young to be married.'

‘Get out you fuckin' thing.'

Laughing and joking they crossed Perouse Road. Seeing Billy and having a good talk was just the tonic Les needed. His blues from the night before and the other things weighing on his mind were starting to lift already. It sure was good to see his old mate again.

‘So, this is your penthouse suite, is it?' said Billy, looking around the caretaker's flat. ‘Nice, isn't it? You'd get a grand a week for this during the season.'

‘What? The duck season?'

‘Christ! Have a look at the wardrobe.' Billy toed at some pieces of wardrobe and table that had got smashed the night before plus some clothes and other things which Les hadn't bothered to clean up. ‘You and your mate Syd sure had a good time in here last night.'

‘I was having a terrific time until he turned up. Come on, I'll show you the rest of the joint.'

Les gave Billy a quick tour of the flats: showing him the backyard, the laundry, pointing out the hippies' old kombi-wagon. He didn't bother to show him the dusty old storeroom and he was glad there was no one around when he took him up to the roof.

‘Yes, it's a real nice place, Les,' chided Billy, gazing over towards Coogee. ‘Let me know when there's a vacancy and I'll move in.'

‘You wouldn't be that crooked on yourself, would you? Now, come down and have a look at this. See what you make of it.'

Norton took Billy down to flat five, closed the door behind them and gave him a quick look around then stood with him in the lounge room. ‘Well? What do you reckon? Nice, isn't it?'

‘Bloody hell!' Billy Dunne could scarcely believe his eyes. ‘What a fuckin' mess!'

‘They did a good job, didn't they? And I've gotta clean it all up.'

Billy shook his head in astonishment. ‘And you porked that writer in here?'

‘Yeah. Right on the lounge.' Norton grinned and gave
what was left of the sofa a pat. ‘It got her all fruity. Plus my good looks, of course.'

‘Of course.' Billy shook his head again. ‘Listen, I might have a bit more of a look around. This is unbelievable.'

‘Go for your life,' shrugged Norton. ‘I'll try and figure out the best way to clean the shit up.'