Between the Devlin and the Deep Blue Seas (6 page)

Norton gave a double blink at the wizened shape in the doorway. ‘Are you Harry Olsen?' he asked.

‘Yeah,' was the tight reply.

The caretaker being so puny Norton felt worse than ever. ‘Ahh... look, mate,' he said hesitantly. ‘I've been sent down by the estate agents.'

‘Yeah?' The caretaker's voice was tighter than ever. ‘And what do those two arseholes want?'

Les was taken slightly aback. ‘Well, mate. They're ahh... they're thinking of putting on another caretaker.'

‘Oh, are they?' sneered the caretaker. He gave Les a pretty heavy once up and down. ‘And I suppose you're it, are you?'

‘Well, yeah — kind of, in a way,'replied Les sheepishly.

‘And do you think I really give a stuff?' The little caretaker puffed out his chest and raised himself up defiantly.

‘Well...'

‘Well, I bloody don't. So there.'

Norton gave another double blink. ‘Well, good for you.'

The caretaker half smiled at Les. ‘Come in anyway, big fella. And I'll tell you what's goin' on. And what you can tell those two slimy reffos to do with their greasy caretaker's job.'

Norton followed the caretaker into a gloomy sort of a bedsitter. The carpet was a threadbare brown and there was a grey vinyl night-and-day shoved against one wall with a small laminex table and two chairs. The cold water kitchen had a gas heater, a small stove and a fridge and from the sickly yellow glow of a single light bulb, in a white shade hanging from the ceiling Les noticed a bit of a wardrobe against another wall and a door that probably led to a bathroom. A large bottle of opened beer sat on the table and, oddly enough, a suitcase half full of clothes sat on the night-and-day. The Ritz it wasn't and the stark poverty of the surroundings made Les feel quite uncomfortable. So this is how the other half live eh? Yet what the little caretaker had said about the two estate agents made him curious.

As the caretaker moved around the table and poured himself another beer, Les noticed he had a pronounced limp.

‘So what's your name anyway, son?' he asked.

‘Les.'

‘I'm Harry,' replied the caretaker, offering his hand. ‘But everybody calls me Hoppy.'

Norton took his callused handshake. ‘Nice to meet you... Hoppy.'

The caretaker looked evenly at Les. ‘So, how come you got the job?'

‘I... just saw it in the local paper,' lied Norton. ‘I didn't really know what was going on. I hope I'm not doing you out of a job.'

‘Hah! You're not doing me out of job, mate. I was pissin' off anyway.' Acting like he'd just got one up on Les, the little caretaker continued to pack clothes into the suitcase.

‘My sister's husband just died up in Newcastle. Left her a big house and plenty of money. She's on her own and I'm going up to join her.'

Norton's day suddenly brightened up. ‘Ohh, that's real good then.'

‘Reckon. I can get out of this flea-bitten dump.' Hoppy looked at Les a little suspiciously. ‘So you're gonna be the new caretaker of Blue Seas, eh? You sure don't look like you're short of a quid.'

‘I just got divorced, Hoppy. The bloody moll took the house, the kids and every zac I had. I'm doing it tough, mate, don't worry about that.'

‘I know what you mean. I got divorced myself. I also used to be a pretty good jockey once, till a couple of horses went over me at Rosehill about thirty years ago.'

‘Shit! That's no good, mate.'

The little caretaker patted his right leg. ‘That's why the limp. And why they call me Hoppy.' He took a mouthful of beer. ‘You want a glass?' Les shook his head. ‘Coffee?'

‘Yeah. I could go a coffee.'

Olsen nodded to the kitchen. ‘Well, help yourself while I finish packing.'

‘Okay.'

Norton fossicked around in the kitchen finding the jug, coffee and a clean mug. As he waited for the jug to boil, he thought it might be a good time to pump the caretaker for a bit of information.

‘So, how longVe you been here, Hoppy?'

‘Close enough to three years.'

‘You know who owns the joint?'

‘Haven't a clue. I think it's one of the estate agent's reffo mates. But I'm glad it's not me,' he added with a chuckle. ‘The place is a dump.'

‘Yeah, I got to agree with you there,' said Les, trying
not to sound depressed. He made his coffee and pulled up a chair while the caretaker finished packing. ‘When are you leaving?' he asked.

‘Soon as I finish packing this suitcase,' replied Olsen. ‘I'm off, quicker than Moshe Dayan's foreskin.'

‘What about your furniture and that?'

Olsen laughed. ‘Mate. It's all fuckin' yours.'

Norton had to laugh back. ‘How are you getting to Newcastle?'

‘Train.'

‘I can give you a lift to Central, if you like.'

‘Okay, Les. That'd be good.'

‘On one condition.'

‘What's that?'

‘You've got to tell me a bit about the place. Who lives here and all that.'

The caretaker gave a wheezy laugh. ‘Who lives here? I'll tell you who lives here. Some of the greatest weirdos I've ever come across. Wait till you meet them. You'll love 'em.'

Norton sipped slowly on his coffee. ‘Like who, for instance?'

The caretaker rolled up several pairs of tatty socks and pushed them into the comers of his suitcase. ‘Okay. We'll start with downstairs. Firstly, in flat two, you got old blind Burt and his guide dog, Rosie. He's on the pension and he sells papers. He's not all that blind, but he's blind enough.' The caretaker seemed to laugh at some private joke. ‘You're gonna love old Burt.' He took another mouthful of beer. ‘Then in flat three, you got Sandy. She's an artist.'

‘An artist?'

‘Yeah. Not a bad sort, either. Sandra Jean Garrett's her real name. She's got a boyfriend — or two. She's also got some old bloke comes round and porks her just about every weekend. I think he's got a fair bit of money. He buys nearly all her paintings.'

‘Like a rich benefactor?'

‘Something like that. Right, now upstairs in flat four
you got an all-girl rock 'n' roll band. The Heathen Harlots.'

‘The fuckin' what?' exclaimed Les.

Olsen laughed out loud. ‘Wait till you meet the Heathen Harlots, Les. You'll love them too. They look like fuckin' vampires and dress like aliens from another planet. They
could
be vampires too. I can't remember the last time I saw them in the daylight.'

‘Christ!'

‘Flat five's empty. Used to be a bikie lived there.' The caretaker shook his head. ‘Bad lot too, him and his mates. There was a terrific stink up there about a month ago — screamin' and yellin'. These other bikies took him away and I ain't seen him since. Just between you and me, I think they killed him.'

‘Shit!'

‘Though, when I think about it, Jimmy wasn't all that bad a bloke. Only a little fella for a bikie; not all that much bigger than me. Just before it happened he got me to put some stuff in the storeroom for him. Bits of a motorbike and that.'

‘Is it still there?'

‘Yeah.' Olsen finished the bottle of beer. ‘And in flat six you've got a team of hippies.'

‘Hippies?'

‘Yeah, just like out of one of those sixties movies.'

Hello, thought Les, here we go again. I'm back in Yurriki. ‘How many living up there?'

Hoppy shrugged. ‘About half a dozen — I think. They drive an old blue kombi, it's generally parked out the front. Wait till you meet them. They wouldn't have a brain between them and I don't think any of them have had a bath since the War of the Roses.'

‘Un-fuckin'-real.'

‘They're all on the dole and all they do is get out of it and sit up on the roof playing didgeridoos.'

‘Didgeridoos? You're kidding.'

‘Wait till you hear it when they go off. Albert Namatjira'd roll over in his grave.'

Norton shook his head and stared into his coffee. Christ! What have I got myself into here?

He looked up as Hoppy threw an old pair of tan shoes into the suitcase, shoved them down then closed the lid and turned the locks.

‘Well, that's it,' he said, picking up a cardigan from the back of a chair. ‘I'm packed and out of here.'

‘That's it?' echoed Les.

‘Yep.' The caretaker gave the suitcase a tap. ‘That's it.'

Bloody hell, thought Norton. Poor little bastard. Three years in this dump, he's half a cripple nearing the end of his life and what's he got to show for it? A lousy suitcase full of old clothes. Well, at least he's going somewhere decent. Then a guilty thought struck Les. What if Hoppy didn't have that sister in Newcastle? He was going to toss him out on the street. Les swallowed hard and looked at the little caretaker standing there putting on his cardigan.

‘What about the rest of your stuff?' he said, nodding to the kitchen.

‘Like I said, Les. It's all yours.' Hoppy smiled at Norton. ‘You're gonna need it, mate. You've got alimony payments and all that coming up. I remember my divorce. I know what the bastards are like.'

Les gave the little caretaker a soft smile. ‘Ohh, that's what I meant to tell you. The estate agent said to give you this. I think it's a bit of a square-off from the owner.' He fished into his jeans and pulled out two hundred dollars which he handed to the caretaker. ‘Better than a poke in the eye with a chopstick.'

‘Well, bugger me!' said Hoppy, staring at the money. Then he laughed. ‘This proves one thing for sure. Whoever the owner is, he couldn't possibly be a mate of the agents. 'Cause those two pricks wouldn't give you the steam off their shit.'

‘You still want that lift into Central?'

‘Yeah,' nodded Olsen. ‘Let's go. And don't even drive past the agent's. If you hadn't come round I wouldn't even have closed the door behind me.'

Norton picked up the ex-caretaker's suitcase, switched off the light and led him out towards the car. As they got to the front, Olsen stopped in the doorway, unzipped his fly and pissed all over the front of the flats.

‘You're the caretaker now,' he winked at Les. ‘You can clean it up.' He zipped up his fly and followed Les over to the old Ford.

On the way into town, Hoppy gave Les the key to his flat and the storeroom. There was no master key to any of the other flats but he did have a key to flat five; the bikie had left it with him when he put his stuff in the storeroom. He told Les when the garbage went out and one or two other things. All in all nothing for Les to get too enthused about. Then they were at Central.

Olsen said there was no need for Les to help him with his bag, there'd be a train before long and he wanted to sit on his own and have a couple of beers and read the paper while he waited. They shook hands. Les wished Olsen all the best in Newcastle and Olsen wished Les all the best with his new job at Blue Seas and hoped his divorce worked out okay. Then as if by magic, the little caretaker was swallowed up in the crowds of other country travellers coming and going with their suitcases among the platforms at Central Railway.

Norton sat in his car for a moment and had a think. There wasn't all that much to think about, except that he was now another two hundred down the drain. He started the car and for some reason headed back to Blue Seas Apartments.

Well, me old mate Hoppy sure travelled light and didn't believe in too many luxuries, mused Les, as he had a bit of a browse round the ex-caretaker's flat. There was nothing in the wardrobe except a few coat hangers and an old copy of the
Herald
. The remains of some coffee sugar and detergent sat in the kitchen and the fridge contained a bit of milk, margarine and half a tomato. There was no TV, no radio and no blankets. Then again thought Les, he probably knew he was splitting and got rid of all that, if there was any, before
he left. He had a quick look out the kitchen window into the backyard: there was still no one around and he hadn't noticed anybody when he came in. Norton left the fairly dismal scene and decided to check out the storeroom.

The key fitted and there was a light switch near the door. The storeroom was windowless, gloomy and just as grimy and dusty as the laundry, with possibly more cobwebs and dead flies. Boxes of old newspapers and bottles Uttered the floor along with some paint tins and dried-up brushes. A battered empty suitcase and a couple of empty overnight bags sat in one comer near a yard broom, a rake, a mop and bucket and an old push mower. Up against a wall was Jimmy the bikie, or late bikie's motorbike. Les was expecting a Harley Davidson or a BMW; instead he was surprised to find a rusting old BSA Bantam resting on its forks, the wheels and flat tyres behind it. Christ, thought Les, when was the last time I saw one of those? Old Tom, the postman back in Dirranbandi, that's right, he used to get round on one. Wonder what a big, bad Sydney bikie was doing with an old BSA Bantam? Norton ran his hand over the handle bars and empty saddlebag. Probably restoring it. He shook his head. The remains of the gutted motorbike seem to fit in perfectly with the whole cheerless scene. Les switched off the light and left.

Well, thought Les, standing out in the light of the foyer, while I'm on the subject of bikes and bikies I may as well check out whatever's left in the alleged late Jimmy baby's flat. There was still no one around as Les trotted up the stairs, but he thought he could hear a radio playing in flat four.

The two bedroom flat was a corridor as you walked in with a bedroom on the left then the bathroom, the lounge room, another bedroom off it and the kitchen adjacent.

Norton didn't know what to expect when he stepped into flat five but he sure as hell wasn't expecting what he found. It was complete chaos. The flat had been tipped
upside down and absolutely wrecked. It looked like one of those scenes in a movie where the drug squad hits a place and gives it a thorough going over, except flat five had been methodically almost destroyed. It didn't appear as if there'd been a great deal of furniture in the lounge in the first place, but what was there, was smashed and splintered. Posters had been ripped from the walls, the carpet was torn up and even the cheap curtains had been yanked down. Then Les noticed the dried blood spattered across the white walls of the lounge room. It was the same in the kitchen. Every cupboard and drawer had been tipped out, ransacked and smashed. Cutlery, plates and what few pots and pans there were were strewn all over the floor and even the fridge and stove had been ripped apart with rotting, mouldy food and water from the ice-cube trays spread amongst the debris strewn all over the kitchen floor.