The Godson (30 page)

‘Fancy yourself as a tough guy, do you?'

Norton turned slowly around. Standing next to him was a bearded man wearing a khaki army shirt. He had two black eyes, stitches in his face and his jaw was wired up. Behind him stood a tall, skinny bloke with an earring and a black T-shirt trying to look tough. Les gave the beard a quick once up and down. ‘You talking to me, matey?'

‘Yeah. Because of you I've got ten stitches in my face and a broken jaw.'

Peregrine looked edgy. Les continued to sip his beer. ‘It could have been a lot worse,' he said casually.

‘Worse?'

‘Yeah. At least you didn't get your good shirt ripped.'

Beard sucked in a breath. ‘Listen, tough guy …'

‘Hey, hold on with this tough guy, shitbags,' cut in Norton. ‘You and your pals were all keen to have a shot at my mate here — who's half your size. I just thought I'd step in and even things up a bit. Bad luck you got in the way.'

‘Okay. Well, listen, tough guy. If you fancy yourself, my brother's out in the beer garden. He'd like to see you, if you're game.'

Norton took another sip of beer and shrugged. ‘I'm not going far.'

‘Good.'

The beard and his mate gave Les a last dirty look and walked off. As they were leaving, Les blew the one in the black Tshirt a kiss.

‘I heard part of that,' said a worried Peregrine. ‘What's going on now?'

‘I'd say that must be the bloke who's brought his brother down.'

‘What do you intend to do?'

‘Finish this drink, then I'll probably have another one. Then I might go and see what's worrying this chap in the beer garden.'

‘Oh forget it, Les. Why don't we just finish these and go?'

Norton gave the Englishman a strange smile. ‘Peregrine, I'd rather let them carry me out of here toes up, than crawl out on my belly. We'll have another drink.' He motioned to the publican.

‘Same again, mate?'

‘No. A gin and tonic for him. And I'll have a double OP rum and Coke. Plenty of ice.'

Peregrine timorously sipped his gin and tonic. Norton knocked off his OP rum in about four swallows, swirled the ice around in the glass for the last few drops, then placed it on the bar.

‘Okay, Peregrine,' he said, slipping his watch off into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘I'm gonna go out and see what's up with the local rocket scientists. You'd better go and wait in the car.'

The Englishman shook his head and finished his drink. ‘No. I'll come with you.'

‘Okay. But don't you get involved. This is my doing.'

There was a bit of a hush when they stepped out into the beer garden. Les noticed a couple more of his opponents from Friday night scowling at him from behind more bandages than an Egyptian mummy. The beard was at a table of about a dozen men and women to His right. Seated next to him was his skinny mate in the black T-shirt. On the other side of the table however, was the biggest bloke Norton had ever seen in his life; even sitting down he was head and shoulders above the others and would have had to have been at least twenty stone. He had short, scrubby black hair and a stubble of black whiskers across a puddingy, baby-face. His mouth was a snarl of crooked, twisted teeth and Les could tell by the way his beady eyes blinked slowly as they focused on different things about him that he was either a simpleton or an inbred brought
down from the surrounding mountains to fight him. So, you're Gorgo eh? mused Norton. I'll bet a week's wages you read the Melbourne
Truth
.

Norton's eyes ran around the table of faces then riveted on the beard's. ‘All right, whiskers,' he said. ‘I'm here. What do you want?'

‘I'd like you to meet my brother, Emmett,' he replied, nodding to the monster sitting next to him. ‘But we call him Gorgo.' Norton turned to the big inbred. ‘Hello Emmett,' he smiled. ‘How are you, mate?'

Gorgo blinked at Norton a couple of times. ‘Y … you hurt my brother,' he said.

Les nodded slowly. ‘Well, maybe I did, Emmett. But it was just a fight in a pub. And he'll live.'

‘W…well you shouldn't have done it. And n … now you're gonna have to fight me.'

The hesitant manner in Gorgo's voice and the way his eyes kept avoiding Norton's when he spoke indicated to Les the big inbred was mostly bluff, this was a gee-up and he wasn't all that keen to fight anybody. There could be a way out of this.

‘Well, if that's the way you want it, Emmett. But I haven't got any argument with you, mate.'

‘Yeah, you're not so tough now, are you?' said the beard.

Norton glared at Gorgo's brother and felt like giving him a quick backhander and opening up a few stitches again. If he ever spotted him some-where on his own he just might too.

‘W … what did you do it for?'

‘Like I said, Emmett, it was just a fight in a pub. And if anyone got hurt I'm sorry.' The crowd was hooing and hahhing a bit around him but Norton could see this was fast developing into a Mexican standoff between himself and Emmett. May as well go along with the bullshit and save them both a lot of torn clothing and aggravation.

‘W … well s … say you're sorry to my brother.'

Norton turned to the beard and although he almost choked on the words, somehow he managed to get them out. ‘Sorry … mate. Now is it all right if I go back inside and finish my drink, Emmett?'

Gorgo was about to say something when Peregrine, who had been keeping a very nervous silence so far, decided to put his head in.

‘Why you blithering bunch of country dunderheads,' he blurted out. ‘My man here could go through the lot of you
with a balloon on a stick. And as for you,' he said, turning to Gorgo, ‘you preposterous, pie faced, piecan. He'd roll you in flour, dunk you in hot oil and serve you up with chips and peas, you unspeakable, fat spoofer.'

Norton shot Peregrine a look as if to say ‘Shut up you dopey fuckin' idiot,' but it was too late.

The beard jumped to his feet. ‘Emmett! Did you hear what he just said?' he shouted out.

‘Yeah,' thundered the massive inbred, lumbering to his feet. He pointed a huge, dirt-caked finger at Les. ‘Come on. Outside.'

‘Yeah, give it to him, Gorgo,' came a voice from the crowd.

‘Smash the bastard!' yelled another.

Norton sized up the hulking inbred standing in front of him; there was only one way to fight a monster like that: kick out his knee-caps or get him in the balls, throat-slash him, or gouge his eyes. If it came to the worst, smash a chair across his temple or jab a broken glass in his jugular vein. Fuck any of that fair go shit. This was now street survival: kill or be killed. But in all reality Emmett was just a simpleton, nothing more than an overgrown child and to seriously maim a poor unfortunate like that would be no better than bashing up a drunk or shooting a poor, defenceless animal. On the other hand, the sheer size of Emmett indicated that he would have enormous strength and if he grabbed hold of Les he could possibly crush him or break his back with his sheer bulk. There was one way of beating Gorgo without hurting him too much. If Les pulled it off properly, the only ones who would get hurt would be the mugs looking on and the bastards who brought poor Emmett down there to fight Les in the first place. It was time for a bit more fancy stuff, or as Bugs Bunny would say, ‘Time to use a little “stradgity”.'

Another fighter who used to train privately with George Osvaldo was a nuggety Scotsman called Mick McTigue. Mick's training was unfortunately curtailed when he finished up a guest of her majesty in Goulburn for a Clayton's crime; conspiracy to conspire to be a conspirator to something or other — the crime you commit when you're not committing a crime. But before Mick came to Australia he was Middleweight Judo Champion of Scotland and runner up in the Commonwealth. He and George taught the boys plenty. Being a boxer and quick on his feet, Billy took to judo like a duck to water. Norton wasn't quite as quick as Billy, but what he lacked in speed he more than made up for with strength and sheer tenacity. One thing Norton knew, as he watched the massive inbred
getting to his feet, he was a lot faster than Gorgo.

‘All right, Emmett, I'll fight you,' said Norton, having a quick look around him. There was a clearing amongst the chairs and tables, a bandaged face at a table to his left, another at a table behind him and the beard was to his right. The rest was a circle of drunken onlookers. ‘But fuck going outside anywhere. We'll get into it right here, in front of all your mates. You game?'

Gorgo blinked at Les then around the crowd in the beergarden. This suited him better still, his brother and all his mates behind him.

‘Yeah. Let's go.'

The crowd moved back, Les exchanged a quick glance with Peregrine and stood facing Gorgo, hands open out in front of him and rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. The inbred shaped up awkwardly and let go with another, cumbersome right haymaker. It was just as Norton expected, plenty of weight behind it and powerful enough to take your head off if it landed — even the breeze as it went past was strong enough to give you pneumonia. But it was that slow coming you could have knitted a pullover by the time it went past. Norton laughed to himself as he ducked under it. Now should come a big left. It did, and Norton easily slipped under that too. Gorgo bunched his fists and blinked at Les. His shoulder went back and he fired out another cumbersome straight right. This was the one Norton was waiting for. He took Gorgo's arm by the wrist, twisted it up as he stepped inside, turned and pulled it over his right shoulder, then gave it one good yank and bent over. Gravity and Gorgo's momentum did the rest, and twenty stone of inbred flew over Norton's shoulder in a simple shoulder throw.

There was a roar from the crowd as Gorgo slammed down onto a table of drunks, splintering it to matchwood. Glasses smashed and drinks went everywhere as his flailing arms and legs flattened four of the crowd and his right heel caught one of Les's opponents from Friday night across his bandaged head. He screamed with pain as the stitches were ripped out and blood started spurting down his face.

Through the beer, blood and confusion Gorgo hauled himself to his feet. He blinked at Les wondering what had happened; Les again rocked on his toes, evenly eyeing the big inbred.

This time, Gorgo threw a big left hook. It rattled past Norton's face like an express train, leaving him right in position for Gorgo's right. As it looped towards him Les blocked it
with his left arm, stepped inside Gorgo again, wrapped his right arm around his waist and tucked his hip into his stomach. He pulled Gorgo's arm down, bending over at the same time, and got the startled inbred in an almost perfect hip throw. Les gave a little extra flick with his hip and let go of Gorgo's arm. Gorgo's legs flipped up over Les's head and he crashed down onto his brother's table, smashing it to pieces and flattening three or four drinkers, including black-shirt. His brother managed to duck out of the way, but a piece of table flew up and hit him in the mouth, knocking out a couple of teeth and ripping the wiring out of his jaw. He howled in agony and threw his hands up to his face trying to hold it all back together again.

Gorgo knocked several more people over and stood on their hands and heads as he rumbled to his feet again. His face was a twisted mask of confusion as he blinked at Norton standing in front of him, still rocking gently on his feet. Les almost felt sorry for him, but he had an idea what Gorgo's next move would be. He snatched a quick look behind him to make sure there was no broken glass on the ground and enough room; it would be a bit tight but he could do it.

Les was right. Gorgo gave a little snort of anger and charged at him like a wild bull. Les let him get to him then grabbed him firmly by the front of his T-shirt. He stepped back with him a pace before jumping up and planting his feet into Gorgo's chest then fell back, and as Gorgo came down with him, Les kicked out with his legs. It was a little clumsy, but effective enough, for a stomach toss. Norton let go of the T-shirt and Gorgo barrelled through the crowd, smashing outdoor furniture and scattering the drinkers as if they were ten-pins.

By now the back of the hotel was starting to look as if a tornado had hit it. Gorgo may not have managed to hurt Les but he'd almost wrecked the beer garden and flattened at least fifteen drinkers. But the strain was starting to tell and it was a very tired, bruised and confused Gorgo who staggered to his feet to face Norton from about five metres away. I reckon one more ought to just about do it, thought Les, as Gorgo slowly lumbered towards him once again.

Gorgo blinked at Norton waiting in front of him, sized up where his head should be and threw out another looping right. It was even slower than the others. With all the time in the world Les stepped beneath it, grabbed him by the shoulder of his T-shirt and bent down, hooking his right arm under Gorgo's crutch, then taking the inbred's huge body over his
shoulder, he straightened up as he pulled forward, and flipped him over his shoulder with a spinning wheel or fireman's throw. Gorgo gave a yell and crashed through another table landing on his back amongst the debris, his legs up against the barbecue pit. The fight should have ended there with Emmett winded but not too badly hurt. But a big, fat woman who had got up on a table for a better look, overbalanced as he sailed past and fell on her ample backside onto one of Emmett's legs. It broke behind the knee with a horrible crack that was heard all through the beer garden. This wasn't what Les intended and he felt sick in his stomach when he heard it.

Gorgo let out a howl of pain. He grabbed at his broken leg and started sobbing like a baby, tears streaming down his face.

‘Jesus Christ!' cursed Norton. He quickly went over to Gorgo and cradled his massive head in his arm. ‘You okay, Emmett?'

Gorgo howled and reached up pitifully for Les. ‘Help me,' he sobbed. ‘It hurts.'