Between the Devlin and the Deep Blue Seas (31 page)

It took him three attempts to kick the door in — the first one loosened it, the second one splintered it around the lock and the third smashed it in. Les found his way to Burt's bedroom in the light from the flames. Instead of finding a terrified blind man and his howling dog, Norton could only see two inert figures. Burt was blind all right — he was sprawled out across the bed, blind drunk, and so was Rosie. Christ, he cursed. I could have left them in here and they wouldn't have known a thing. Shit! Burt was in his trousers and singlet snoring his head off; Rosie's paws were tied to the front of the bed with leather thongs and she was out like a light, snoring her head off and slobbering into the pillows. Even through the smoke, the smell of cheap brandy was almost overpowering. Filthy, drunken old pig, fumed Norton. Typical, he's fallen asleep on the nest. As the inferno raged through the flats and the heat intensified, Les found he couldn't get Rosie untied or even wake her up; she'd just roll her fat stomach to one side and her tongue would loll out. In desperation, Les ran into the kitchen and ripped all the drawers out till he found a sharp knife. The crackling noise now sounded like a tropical monsoon lashing a tin roof. Frantically Les hacked at the leather thongs as the smoke choked him and stung his eyes. Finally he cut through, then hoisted old Burt up on his shoulder in a fireman's carry and began dragging Rosie along the floor by her collar.

The foyer was a mass of flames and thick acrid smoke with visibility less than two metres; Les choked and gagged as the fumes burnt his eyes and the heat seared
his lungs. He gritted his teeth, got a grip on Burt and Rosie and made a charge for the door just as part of the ceiling above him gave way in a shower of sparks and burning debris. Somehow he managed to make it through the door and out into the front of the flats. Safely in the street Les stopped to catch his breath and looked behind him in time to see a huge fireball envelop the old block of flats. It spun and boiled around the outside, rose about ten metres above the roof then, as the roof collapsed from the intense heat, the flames seemed to suck back down into the hole like a small, nuclear explosion in reverse, and the entire block of flats collapsed in on itself in a blinding cauldron of flames that rapidly began to burn itself out.

It was precise, almost surgical, and, in a terrifying way, quite beautiful to watch. The two swarthy men standing not far from the hotel carrying what looked like a couple of children's toy walkie-talkies certainly thought so. They pushed the aerials in on their ‘walkie-talkies', pocketed them and complimented themselves on a good job, as they looked forward to their trout fishing holiday in Tasmania. It was definitely one of, if not the best, they had ever done.

‘That has to be one of the bravest things I've ever seen, Len,' said Sandra, as she, Syd and the girls in the band came running over to give Norton a hand with Burt and Rosie.

‘Man, you've got some balls, all right,' agreed Syd, ‘I wouldn't have gone into that building for all the money in the world.'

‘Ahh, I dunno,' shrugged Norton modestly. ‘I just couldn't stand here and let the old bloke and his dog bum.'

Dapto had it on film, the whole crowd saw it and Norton was everybody's hero; he could do no wrong. There was even talk about handing the hat round. With old Burt and Rosie safely on the ground, somebody
managed to find a couple of blankets. Norton was singed and the back of his sweatshirt was smouldering, but he was okay. However, not that okay that he couldn't play on his injuries if he had to.

‘Do you think we'd better get Burt over to the hospital?' said Gwen. ‘He looks like he's suffering from smoke inhalation.'

Franulka sniffed the air. ‘If you ask me, they both smell like a couple of Christmas puddings.'

Part of the crowd returned and gathered round, including the hippies. In the background, what was left of Blue Seas Apartments burned steadily on and everybody seemed more interested in watching the old block of flats in its death throes. Nobody had ever seen a gas main blow up before and all agreed it was a truly wondrous thing.

‘Good thing we managed to save our instruments,' said Isla, the glow from the flames reflecting on her face. ‘'Cause every-fuckin'-thing else is gone.'

‘Yeah. Absolute Gowings, man,' nodded one of the hippies.

‘Don't worry too much,' said Norton. ‘Every flat's got a fire insurance policy on it for twelve and a half thousand.'

‘What was that, Les?' said Franulka.

‘It was part of a special clause the owner put in all the leases. You all get over twelve grand. So the agents told me when I got the job.'

‘Are you fair dinkum, Les?' asked Alastrina.

‘Yep. Plus you've still got the rest of that money coming for the gig. I'll get that to you tomorrow.'

Alastrina and the others brightened up immediately. ‘Well, that's okay,' she said. ‘I wouldn't have had more than twelve and a half bucks worth of stuff in the flat.'

‘Yeah. Me either,' said Riona.

‘I kept all my good stuff across the road,' said Sandra. ‘After all those break-ins.'

The hippies looked like they'd just won the lottery. Their loss on the night would have been a wok, a bong, some brown rice and a couple of bags of bean sprouts.

‘You should have that money in about two or three weeks,' said Les. ‘There'll be no hassle with the insurance company. We all saw the gas mains go up, right?' There was a profound general chorus of agreement. ‘So, have you all got somewhere to stay?'

‘My friends across the road can put us all up,' said Sandra.

‘Okay. Well, just leave it all to me.'

In the background, Norton could hear the approaching wail of two fire engines. After that would probably come the cops and even if he was the hero of the day, he wasn't quite in the mood for playing questions and answers with the wallopers.

‘Look,' he said. ‘Can you people look after Burt and Rosie?' He threw in a bit of a grimace. ‘I'm going over to the hospital and get something for these burns.'

‘Yeah, good idea, Les', said Syd. ‘You want a hand?'

‘No, I'll be right, thanks, mate. I should be back later and I'll find you in those block of flats opposite. If not, I'll catch up with you tomorrow.' Acting as if he was in a fair bit of pain, Norton stood up and the girls all crowded around him.

‘You're a brave man, Les,' said Franulka.

Norton was about to say something along the lines about if he'd known more about her and Syd she was definitely right but changed his mind. ‘Anybody would have done it,' he shrugged. ‘I'll see you when I get back.'

Norton lost himself in the crowd as he walked in the general direction of the hospital, then doubled back to his car.

Christ all-bloody-mighty, panted Les, as he sat inside his old Ford and wound the window down for a bit of air. How bloody close was that. He reached over and also wound down the passenger side window. The ramifications of what had just happened and how close he'd once again come to death dawned on him. Fuckin' Burt and his rotten bloody dog. I'd clean forgotten all about them. About another half a minute and I'd be
in there with them. Phew! Les let out a burst of air, looked up at the night sky and made a mental sign of the cross.

But he'd done it. Blue Seas was gone and not a soul got so much as a scratch. It was bad luck that a few people had to lose their possessions. But... that's the way things go. And there would be no hassle with the insurance company or the police. If they sent round an investigator or someone from the arson squad, they wouldn't even find a spent match. Those two bloody Romanian gypsies would be ten lengths in front of anyone in this country. Plus there were at least five hundred people who would swear they saw the gas mains explode as the result of a power overload from a rock 'n' roll band running their leads into the laundry. Norton had done it. He'd pulled off the perfect crime. He sat in the car shaking his head, not knowing whether to laugh or what. It was hard to imagine. Barely a fortnight ago he'd found himself out of work with his big investment in real estate not worth a zac, and even costing him money. Now it was gone — just a big glowing pile of smoking ashes.

But what a weird old two weeks it had been. Brawls with bikies, a horrible, vicious fight with a giant, maddened roadie. A drug rip-off that could have gone either way. A couple of good roots. Then those two creeps in that grottsville restaurant. And lies. Christ, who hadn't he lied to? He made Tom Pepper look like George Washington. But now it was ail over. So how much was he in front? Forget about mental arithmetic; Les was flat out writing down the date. The place was insured for about $120,000; the land was valued at $75,000; he had about $70,000 at home, less what he'd promised Billy and those sheilas in the band. How much was that? The best part of $250,000. Norton couldn't help but grin at himself in the rear-vision mirror. A quarter of a million, eh? Not a bad earn, Les, old son, not a bad sort of an earn at all.

Les was just about to start chuckling when the grin
disappeared to be replaced by a look of horror, as something else, something catastrophic also dawned on him. He'd told everybody in Blue Seas that each flat was insured for twelve and a half grand. Ohh no, he groaned, how could I be such a dill? Christ it's a good thing Jimmy the bikie's dead or he'd be in the whack up too. Shit! What was I thinking at the time? It was just a spur of the moment thing, too — just to get everyone's attention away from their own predicament and in absolute agreement about the gas mains exploding. And now he had to pay for it, when he needn't have given the cunts a cracker. It was all sweet anyway. And he'd have to pay up because you can bet your life if he didn't they'd be up at Hymie and Fymie's real estate agency asking for it. And when the two kosher kids told them to piss off, the stench of a rather large rat would pervade the air. Norton shook his head and cursed himself. Fifty bloody grand. Christ! That's taken the edge off my earn. Fuck it! Why me all the time.

Then a very strange look crept across Norton's face. It was thoughtful and edged with a very sly smile; and related to something that had been nagging at him for almost all of the last two weeks. Yes, he thought, as he drummed his fingers slowly on the steering wheel, why should I fork out the extra fifty thousand dollars? Norton glanced at his watch then up towards Perouse Road. It was getting on for twelve-thirty. Yeah, why indeed. I think I know someone else who can put his hand in his kick for the fifty grand. He fuckin' deserves it, too. He locked the car and walked back up to the Royal Hotel.

There were still plenty of people milling about, watching what was left of Blue Seas Apartments slowly disappearing into the night sky in a cloud of grey smoke, steam and glowing ashes. The police had arrived and were keeping the crowd away and the traffic moving. Two fire engines had hoses going everywhere, but only two were pouring water on to the shell of what had once been home for six different lots of people, about
twenty million cockroaches and an unknown number of rats and other wee beasties. The police didn't seem all that concerned and the firemen were going methodically, but unhurriedly about their business. It was all over bar the shouting.

Standing outside the hotel, watching the lights flashing on the police car and the two fire engines, for some reason Les still couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of sadness for the old block of flats. Like he had surmised earlier, the old building probably contained memories from a bygone era in Randwick, and it was the first thing he'd ever invested in in his life — even if he was never all that interested in it and despite the fact that it turned out to be a giant lemon. However, Norton wasn't standing outside the hotel just to be nostalgic or in an attempt to embellish the moonlit scene around him with some sort of gentle ambience. His eyes may have been drifting over the crowd, the flashing lights and what was left of the flats, but Norton was concentrating more on the road coming from Randwick Junction; and according to his watch, what he was looking for should be coming from that direction any minute now.

The grey BMW cruised slowly across Coogee Bay Road into Perouse Road, then slowed down even more as it got to opposite the Royal Hotel. Norton followed its progress and smiled as the driver did a U-turn and nosed into the hotel driveway before the cop on duty had a chance to wave him on. Barely a metre away Norton stayed in the shadows and amongst the other people, and with a smile that was trying hard not to turn into a grin, watched as the familiar spritely figure in the trench coat and hat, got out and locked the car. Les could sense his confusion as he stepped gingerly between the people watching and stood on the edge of the footpath, gazing across at what had once been Blue Seas Apartments. Oh well, thought Norton, guess I'd better go over and say hello. See if I can be of any assistance. The poor chap does look awfully confused.
Les stepped between the people and tapped the figure in the trench coat lightly on the shoulder.

‘Hello, Price,' he said quietly. ‘How's things?'

Slightly startled, the silvery-haired casino owner turned quickly around. He blinked at Norton for a moment or two before he spoke. ‘Les? I... what? What are you doing here?'

‘What am I doing here?' answered Norton. He jerked a thumb towards where the fire brigade were playing a hose on what had once been Blue Seas Apartments and was now not much more than a cloud of steam and ashes spiralling into the night sky. ‘That's my block of flats, remember? I'm the owner.'

‘I... ohh, yeah. Right,' blinked Price Galese.

‘I heard about it on the radio, so I came straight over.'

‘Yeah, right. Yeah.' Price continued to blink at Les then turned back to what was left of the old block of flats. The impromptu stage was still there with the Prince Charles Birthday Bash banner still flapping behind it. ‘Christ! What happened?'