Four Fires (29 page)

'We know Bozo's young, Nancy, but this isn't the Olympic trials, it's a weekend of boxing to see the depth of Victoria's talent. There'll be expert coaches and it will be a great opportunity for your son to be seen

and remembered. There's an Olympic Games every four years, the one after Melbourne Bozo could be ready for.'

'That's different,' Nancy says, 'Bozo will be eighteen then.'

'I understand your concern,' Big Jack says soothingly, 'but this weekend isn't about Bozo going up against older and more skilled boxers, it's about the coaches seeing him, marking him down for the future. Maybe suggesting a good coach who can train him?'

Nancy's no fool. 'Don't insult my intelligence, Big Jack! How are they going to evaluate my son without putting him in the ring with someone?'

'Someone, yes, but probably a sixteen-year-old also being put through his paces for the future.

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Bozo can handle someone like that on his ear, like I said, he's beaten all the sixteen-year-olds in the Owens Valley and as far as Albury.'

'Oh yeah, a local sixteen-year-old maybe, but the sixteen-year-olds at the trials will be like Bozo, the best in their district and not easy beats. No, I've made up my mind, the answer's "No!"'

'Wait on, let me finish!' Big Jack Donovan is just a bit jack of her being so stubborn. He's a cop and doesn't take too kindly to being constantly interrupted. 'You see, Australia's never done much good at Olympic boxing and, to be perfectly honest, we probably won't do much better this time. Australia hasn't won an Olympic medal for boxing since 'Snowy' Baker brought home a silver from the 1908 Olympics.'

'So there's your answer, ain't it?' Nancy says, unimpressed with Big Jack's journey through Australian Olympic boxing history. 'We're not very good at it, so there's no point Bozo getting his teeth knocked out and his nose busted and his brains mashed by someone who's tougher than him but who is not going to win at this year's Olympics in Australia anyway.'

At about this point I've finished painting the wheels and Bozo didn't say nothing about what colour he wants the bodywork, so I drop the brush in a jam jar of turps and tell myself I'll go back and clean it later and sort of creep down to the verandah and sit to the one side and try to be invisible.

Let me finish, Nancy, it's not for nothing,' Sergeant Donovan says.

That's the whole point! Bozo's gone about as far as he can go here in Yankalillee, he needs additional coaching. We've got to find him the right coach!'

Sarah, who has said nothing, now interjects. 'He's got Bobby Devlin.'

'Bobby Devlin is a good coach, but he's a fighter at heart and has his limitations,' Big Jack replies. 'What Bozo needs is a really good trainer who'll take him up a notch or two. The boy learns very fast, one such weekend could make a heap of difference to his boxing and get him noticed at the same time.'

But with the mention of Bobby Devlin's name, Nancy is suddenly off in a different direction. 'If Bobby bloody Devlin is a good coach then I'm Sophia Loren!'she exclaims. 'Bobby Devlin is a petty thief and a pug with fifteen wins, all on points, two draws, thirty losses, twenty-seven by knockout!' she says, reeling off Bobby's statistics. 'He didn't win a fight in the last five years of his so-called career. He's a Joe Palooka, Sergeant Donovan!'

I'd clean forgotten that Bozo's father was the welterweight boxing champion of the American Marines and so Nancy knows something about boxing and that must have been about the time that Bobby was around. Nancy can sometimes surprise you about what she knows. How'd she know about his boxing record for instance? I mean, exact, all his fights, wins, draws and losses?

It's fairly obvious there must have been something between them two but until now she's never said, even though he's been training Bozo, the Boy Boxer, all this time.

Big Jack shrugs, he must know Nancy knows about boxing because he doesn't try to bullshit her.

'Don't give me a hard time, Nancy,' he says, 'I agree with you, Bobby Devlin isn't exactly Joe Louis or Sugar Ray Robinson, but he's done a good job on the kid. Now Bozo needs someone who can bring out the natural talent we all know he's got. Bring out the finesse, eh?'

Nancy's got on the same rock-hard face she has for Father Crosby, 'Sergeant Donovan, I'm glad you think Bozo's got talent and a future as a boxer, but his head is still soft, I don't want my boy hurt.'

Big Jack sighs then says, 'Nancy, with the greatest respect, you don't understand. Now is the time he needs to learn his skills. Bozo's

an instinctive fighter with a lot of courage and some real natural skill well beyond a lad of his age. All I'm asking is that he go to these unofficial trials so they can see him work out. See him spar. See if we can find someone interested in taking him further.'

Big Jack makes a last effort to talk sense into her. 'Bobby Devlin is the first to agree with me on
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this, Nancy! He knows he was never a classy boxer, never had the brains or the boxing skills to be anything but a Saturday-night club fighter, but he's taught Bozo all he knows, put a lot of time into the boy It's as if Bozo were his own son, he loves the lad and only wants the best for him, he wouldn't send him out to be clobbered.'

'You're wrong, Sergeant, that's exactly what Bobby would do! What stopped Bobby getting to the top was absolutely no talent, solid bone from the eyebrows up, too much Saturday-night grog and Saturday-night women and a not very gifted set of very light Saturday-night fingers!

He'd think Bozo getting smacked around a bit would be good for him.'

'Nancy, Bobby's not like that, he may be a crim, but he has the boy's welfare at heart.'

Nancy looks up at Sergeant Donovan, 'Don't tell me what Bobby Devlin's like, Sergeant. I bloody ought to know, he nicked me a gold bracelet once, right under the pawnbroker's nose!'

Nancy's got her 'here comes a story' look on her face. Big Jack Donovan doesn't know it, but he better settle back and drink his cup of tea because he's here for a while.

Nancy grins, 'Bobby's asked me to the fights and this particular night he's won a tenner on a very doubtful decision. So we're flush and having a quiet drink in the Acland Street RSL in St Kilda where they staged the fights. We'd both had a few and Bobby starts to talk engagement rings.

Him and me have been out a few times, which I haven't took serious, but I must have been more sloshed than I thought because I think at the time it's a romantic idea. There's a pawnbroker just across the road that stays open until ten o'clock of a Saturday night. We go in and tell him we want to look at engagement rings and, when the old bloke's turned away to get the tray of rings a little way down the display counter, Mr Light Fingers has this gold bracelet popped into the pocket of his sports jacket quick as you can blink.

'The old bloke behind the counter glances up and says the engagement rings we're looking at ain't any good, mostly garnets, to wait on, he's got a tray out the back in the safe that he'd like to show us. He walks past the counter and we hear a sort of zizzing sound that don't mean nothing, then he goes into a little office. Next thing we hear the little ding as he picks up the telephone. "We're out of here, sweetheart, he's callin' the cops,"

Bobby says and we make for the door, but it's like deadlocked, it won't bloody open. "Shit!

What now?" Bobby says. Well, he's half-pissed and that panic-stricken he doesn't even notice when I dip into his jacket pocket and take the bracelet out and lift me skirt and drop it into the back of my knickers.' 'Mum!'Sarah calls out, shocked.

But Nancy takes no notice, she's on a roll and nothing can stop her until the end. 'The old bloke comes out, he's smiling like nothing's happened and has this tray of rings. "Here, I got special, I guarantee already this ring's quarter carat, Miss," he says, calm as you like.

'"Look, we've just remembered an appointment," I say, "We'll come back later."

'"Yeah, it's with the doctor," Bobby says.

' "It is already ten o'clock at night? This doctor, he works hard, I think," the pawnbroker says.

See what I mean about Bobby? Dead stupid!' Nancy doesn't wait for Big Jack to reply, but goes on, ' "Be so good then to return for me the bracelet before you goink to the doctor, younk man," the pawnbroker says and holds out his hand nice and polite.

'"Bracelet? What bracelet?" Bobby asks, all innocent-like.

' "The one you are taking, please, no jokes, younk man. You give me the bracelet, you can leave before the police they comink."

'"You saying I took something belonging to you?" Bobby yells, like he's angry and the old man is accusing him. The pawnbroker just nods his head and puts out his hand again and smiles, "You give the bracelet, no police." He's looking at both of us so I can't up me skirt and get his flamin'

bracelet out of my knickers, can I? We're in a real pickle. Bobby doesn't know the bracelet isn't in his pocket and I can't tell him to give it back, which I would do if it were still in his pocket. I'm pretty sure the old bloke is fair dinkum about letting us go if we return the bloody thing and Bobby's too dumb and too drunk to figure this out.

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The cops must have been just up the street when the police radio call went out because suddenly they're hammering at the door. The old bloke doesn't take his eyes off us as he pushes a little buzzer under the counter and there's the little zizz again and the door unlocks and two cops walk in. It's Sergeant O'Callaghan, built like the proverbial. He's the law around St Kilda and is known not to stand for any shit. With him is a young constable with a pencil moustache, don't know why I remember the moustache, black.

' "Oh, gawd!" Bobby mutters, seeing who it is and thinking about the bracelet in his jacket pocket, knowing it won't take O'Callaghan two minutes to find it. I can see he's already accepting he's for a night in the slammer.

'"Been up to your old tricks, Bobby?" O'Callaghan says before anyone's even opened their mouth.

The old man points to Bobby, "A bracelet he is stealink," he shouts, now that he's got the courage to be angry. He points to the place in the glass display box where the bracelet had been,

"From zere he is takink."

The sergeant tells Bobby to lift his hands above his head and proceeds to search him, going through his pockets. I can see the surprised look on Bobby's face when he doesn't find the bracelet.' Nancy laughs. Then O'Callaghan makes him take off his shoes, drop his daks and his underpants, then remove his jacket and shirt so he's standing bollocky in the pawnshop with his hands cupping the family jewels. The sergeant winks at me and nods towards Bobby, "Nothin'

here you wouldn't have seen plenty of times before, love. Pathetic, ain't it, hiding with two hands what don't need more than one?" I guess anyone going out with Bobby Devlin is going to make a cop jump to conclusions whether they deserve it or not. The sergeant turns to the old bloke.

"Well, it ain't here, Mr Jacobs, less he's swallowed it," he says, bending down and picking up Bobby's clobber and shaking the lot before dropping it back on the floor. Suddenly he reaches out and grabs my handbag out of my grasp and hands it to the young cop, "Empty it on the floor," he says.

The young cop hesitates, not sure what O'Callaghan means. Empty the flamin' handbag, upend the bloody thing, everything on the

floor!" He turns suddenly and lunges at me, both his hands grabbing my boobs and he gives me a feel-up, thinking the bracelet may be in my brassiere. He flips the waistline of my skirt and does a quick fumble around my body, back and front. "Righto, drop your knickers, lady," he orders.

'I can tell you I'm a bit flabbergasted and took completely by surprise. But I lift me skirt so my hands are underneath but they can't see them. Even then I'm a pretty big lass so, making like I'm pulling down my knickers, I wedge the bracelet between me cheeks, so to speak.'

'Mum! That's going too far!' Sarah exclaims, and starts to leave. But me and Bozo are giggling and Tommy damn near falls off his chair, even Big Jack is rocking with laughter. Nancy loves an audience.

'You're disgusting!' Sarah shouts at us, though I'm not sure she includes Big Jack in her disgust.

'Ah, sit down, love, the worst is over,' Nancy says to Sarah. Then proceeds again, 'So I drop me knickers to me ankles. "Open your legs," O'Callaghan commands. Well, that's it, game's up, I think. I open my legs as wide as they'll go with my knickers stretched to the limit, expecting to hear the tinkle of a gold bracelet dropping to the floor. But no such thing happens, there's enough good old bacon fat there to keep it wedged in place.

'But the old cop isn't through yet. He points to the contents of my bag strewn on the floor. "Pick up your stuff, put it back in your bag, keep your legs apart," he orders.

'"Can't open them any further!" I protest, pointing to my knickers which are stretched as wide as they'll go already.

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' "Step out of them," he commands.

'What can I do? So I do what he says.

' "Legs wide, lady!"

'Next thing he's going to make me squat down and then there's no clamping possible.'

'"She ain't took it!" Bobby shouts. Oh gawd, I think, he's going to confess to save me further embarrassment.

'But the old cop isn't listening to Bobby. "Shut your mouth, son, or I'll have to do it for you!" he bellows. O'Callaghan's overweight and even Bobby would have dropped him in a fair fight.

'"Look," Bobby protests, "she didn't . . ."

'O'Callaghan cracks Bobby over the head with the flat of his hand. "You heard me, son, now shut the eff up!"

'I use the altercation between them two to keep me legs straight while gripping the you-know-what. It's a real test of character I can tell you, good thing the nuns wouldn't let us go to the toilet during class, because somehow I'm managing the deed. I guess I must have been pretty supple from a lifetime of milking cows because I can bend down with my legs straight and quickly fill me handbag.

'By this time I've sort of got my second breath so I pull myself together and point to Bobby, who's still got his hands cupped over his privates. "If you're going to undress me like him, I'm going to make a formal complaint," I warn O'Callaghan. "I ain't got a police record, I ain't a whore and I didn't steal the old bloke's flaming bracelet!" Then I add for good measure, giving a little sniff like I'm about to cry, "We only come in to look at engagement rings!"