The Godson (9 page)

Norton looked at Peregrine for a moment and shook his head. ‘That doesn't sound like Pratt's style. He's generally pretty polite.'

‘Well,' conceded Peregrine, ‘I must admit I
was
rather drunk… Anyway, he said he was an announcer for radio something or other. I looked at him in his black outfit with his boring, droning voice and told him I thought he looked
more like an out-of-work magician. One word led to another and, I don't know, maybe I was tired, or maybe it was the champagne. So I conked him.'

‘You what?' Norton had to blink.

‘I nutted him. You know.' Peregrine slipped straight into a full on cockney accent like something out of Minder. ‘I nutted the geezer — din't I guv. Your muwer got a sewing machine, squire? Well get that stitched. Oi!' Despite himself Norton couldn't help but smile. ‘Anyway, I don't think anyone has ever laid a hand on this blithering bandersnatch before because he let out this most diabolical howl. It was despicable. So I kneed the bounder in the cods. And I might add, he went down like the jolly Titanic.' Norton stared and shook his head. ‘The next thing I know, this other toad with a head like a soccer ball and a face like a bent smiley button, has appeared out of nowhere with some other wally and started taking photos. Then Security arrived. I insisted they throw the entire rabble out and retired to my room forthwith. Next thing I know it's morning. I'm enjoying my breakfast kipper and the whole thing's in one of your local bin-liners. It's all very boring really.'

Norton shook his head and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘I don't bloody well believe it,' he groaned.

‘Believe what you like, old boy,' said Peregrine. ‘But I absolutely insist on one thing. It wasn't my fault.'

Peregrine took a deep breath and submerged beneath the foam, leaving Norton staring at a skinny white arm holding a glass of champagne above the surface. Despite himself, a giant ripple of laughter shook his entire body. Peregrine might be an awful snob, but he was definitely a man after Les's heart. And where had Norton heard those words before? It wasn't my fault.

‘Anyway, Peregrine,' said Les, when the Englishman surfaced for air. ‘You're definitely going to have to lay low now, mate. No going out. And no leaving the room.'

‘
Au contraire
, old boy,' insisted Peregrine. ‘After all that sleep and a few tipples, I feel absolutely tip-top. So I'm off into the city and then it's out on the tiles tonight. Let's get something straight between us, Les.' Peregrine fixed Norton with an even look. ‘I appreciate what you're doing, though I do think it's a great load of waffle all round. But I am not your prisoner. Okay? So I'm off into town. Because I know that tomorrow you're dragging me off to some remote part of this godforsaken wilderness for two weeks.' Peregrine drained his glass. ‘Gad! It's all too ghastly to even contemplate.'

Norton's face began to scowl. ‘Listen, Peregrine,' he said evenly. ‘I think you'd better get something into your head.' Les was about to continue when the phone rang next to the bath.

Peregrine picked it up. ‘Yes?' He listened intently for a moment then looked quizzingly at Les. ‘It's for you. Someone called Saliva?'

Norton smiled and nodded. ‘I know who it is. Tell him to come up.'

‘Very good. Send him to my room,' answered Peregrine and hung up.

‘You mind if I make myself a cup of coffee?' asked Les.

‘Help yourself, old boy.'

Norton went to the bar and began fossicking around for a jug and some instant coffee while Peregrine continued to splash around in his bubble bath. After a minute or two there was a knock on the door. Les opened it and got an inquisitive smile from Katherine.

‘G'day, Les. How's it going?' said the man next to her.

‘All right Eddie. Come on in.' Les smiled back at Katherine and closed the door.

Wearing black jeans and a matching leather jacket, Eddie Salita walked into the suite, looked briefly around and stood at the end of the spa-bath.

‘Peregrine,' said Norton. ‘Here is someone I want you to meet. This is Eddie. Eddie's going to help look after you too.'

‘Hello, Peregrine,' said Eddie, his face a solemn mask.

‘Hi.' Peregrine nodded briefly and indifferently through the soapsuds.

‘I'm just making a cup of coffee,' said Norton to Eddie. ‘You want one?'

‘Yeah, righto. It's fuckin' freezin' outside now.'

Norton moved back round to the bar and motioned with his head for Eddie to join him. While he was making their coffee, he quietly told Eddie more or less what Peregrine had told him and described his attitude to what was going on around him. Eddie listened and nodded grimly then they took their coffees back to the side of the spa-bath.

‘Got your photo in this morning's paper, mate?' said Eddie, taking a sip of coffee.

Peregrine shrugged moodily from under the soapsuds without answering Eddie. It was bad enough Norton being there invading his privacy; now he had another stranger to contend with and he was making sure his feelings were known.

‘Oh well,' continued Eddie. ‘Doesn't matter all that much I suppose.' Then he turned to Norton. ‘You may as well piss off, Les. You gotta pick up the car and pack your gear and that. I can look after things here.'

‘Okay,' said Les, pleased in a way to be getting out of the place. He put his half finished cup of coffee in the sink. ‘I'll see you later then, Peregrine. Don't forget, mate. We'll be leaving early in the morning. Probably around six-thirty.' Peregrine nodded but didn't reply. ‘I'll see you after, Eddie.'

‘Righto, Les. Give us a ring round six or so.'

‘Okay. See you then.'

The door closed and Les was gone.

Eddie began walking around the Sir Robert Helpmann suite, sipping his coffee while he admired the furnishings. ‘Nice place you picked to stay in,' he said nodding approvingly. ‘Very nice indeed.'

‘It's adequate,' sniffed Peregrine.

‘Yeah, right. Adequate.'

Eddie gave a short laugh and moved towards the balcony. He hit a button and the electric curtains swished back to give a superb view over Sydney. Eddie opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. ‘Nice view you got too,' he called back pleasantly to Peregrine while he sipped his coffee in the chilly sou'wester whipping across the balcony.

‘I say! Would you mind closing the door?' Peregrine called back. ‘There's quite a draught coming in here.'

Eddie smiled over at Peregrine and stepped back inside leaving the door open. Still slowly sipping his coffee he strolled to the end of the spa-bath.

‘Les tells me you're thinking of going out for a bit of a drink tonight.'

‘I'm not thinking of going out. I
am
going out. Till late. Very late.'

Eddie gave another little chuckle and sipped some more coffee. ‘Yeah, well, why wouldn't you?' he smiled. ‘You're young. You're rich. You're not a bad looking bloke. If I was in your shoes I'd probably be doing the same thing.'

‘Exactly,' said Peregrine bluntly. ‘Now would you mind closing that blessed door.'

Eddie smiled benevolently at Peregrine then finished his coffee and put the empty cup to the side of the bath. ‘The door?' he said ‘Oh yeah. I forgot the door.'

Like a snake striking, Eddie reached across the spa-bath and with his left hand, took Peregrine by the hair and yanked
him out of the water making him yelp with shock and pain. With water dripping everywhere off his naked body, Eddie frog-marched Peregrine out onto the balcony and with a grip of iron forced him up over the edge. With his right hand, Eddie whipped a .38 revolver from a holster beneath his jacket and rammed the muzzle into Peregrine's date. It was bitterly cold out on the balcony. There was nothing under the Englishman's face but ten floors of thin air, he had the cold barrel of a Smith and Wesson wedged in his bum and a not too happy Eddie Salita holding him by the scruff of the neck like a dog with a rat. Sir Peregrine Normanhurst III was absolutely terrified and about twenty seconds away from shitting all over the barrel of Eddie's gun.

‘Now you listen to me, you fuckin' pommy prick,' Eddie hissed right into Peregrine's ear. ‘There's a lot of people going to a lot of trouble to look after your skinny fuckin' neck while you're out here. Me, I don't give a fuck about you one way or the other. I'd just as soon throw you over the edge and make it look like suicide, and save us all a lot of fucking about all round. You listening?' Peregrine gasped a reply and tried not to look at the pavement ten floors below. ‘Now I don't know what sort of pricks you run around with in England. But out here, we ain't got time to be fucked around. So what d'you want to do, shithead? Behave yourself and have a nice two-week holiday in Australia? Or go hang-gliding au naturale, with your bowels blown up through the top of your head?' Eddie nudged the barrel of the .38 a little further into Peregrine's quoit. ‘Make up your fuckin' mind, knackers. I ain't got all day and it's freezin' out here.'

‘All right. All right. Whatever you say,' gasped Peregrine, choking back a tear.

‘Good.'

Eddie pulled Peregrine back from the edge of the balcony and pushed him inside, sliding the door closed with his heel at the same time. He marched him back across to the spabath and lowered him into the water. ‘Now,' smiled Eddie, putting the .38 back in its holster. He picked up a towel and began wiping the water from his leather jacket and jeans. ‘Isn't it nice to know we've both got a perfect understanding?'

Peregrine's eyes were still bulging with fear. His face was flushed and a small tear trickled down his cheek. He flinched suddenly as Eddie reached for the ice-bucket behind his head.

‘Well, well, well, what have we got here?' smiled Eddie, picking up the almost empty bottle. ‘Cristal. My, you
have
got good taste, Peregrine, This is Elton's favourite, you know.' Eddie finished what was left and dropped the empty bottle back in the ice-bucket. ‘I'll tell you what, old bean. Why don't we have another one?' He picked up the phone at the side of the bath. ‘Hello. Room service? Yes. Could we have a bottle of '68 Cristal to room 1012 please.' The little hit man picked up a piece of smoked salmon from the tray and popped it in his mouth. ‘And some smoked salmon too. And while you're there…'

A
BOUT AN HOUR
or so after leaving Eddie with Peregrine at the Sebel, Les had left his car at home and was in a taxi heading along the Princes Highway to Tempe. He had the slip of paper Price had given him and was trying to recollect who the car dealer was. Bill Kileen? Yeah, I know him now, not a bad style of a bloke. Loves a drink. He comes up the game every now and again; punts about fifty dollars and drinks about another five hundred's worth of bourbon. He must either owe Price a favour or Price is getting him back for all the free piss he's gone through. Oh well, Norton chuckled to himself. He's got a car yard and I've got the pick of the cars. There's got to be a Mercedes there, or, seeing as we're going up the bush, a nice new four-wheel-drive.

His train of thought was interrupted by the taxi driver. ‘Hey, mate. Did you say this place was opposite the Tempe bus depot?'

‘Yeah,' replied Norton, looking up from the slip of paper.

‘Well, there's the bus depot,' said the cab driver, nodding out his window. ‘That must be it on the corner.'

He stopped the taxi next to a car yard near a set of lights where a number of coloured plastic flags fluttered in the chilly sou'wester. Above the Australian flags was a white on black sign: Kileen's Prestige Kars.

‘Yeah, this is it all right,' nodded Les. ‘What do I owe you?' He paid the cabbie and got out.

If Norton was expecting Kileen's Prestige Kars to be the BMW or Bentley dealership at Tempe he was in for a bit of a surprise. The car yard, like its owner, had definitely seen better days. A black, wrought-iron fence, part of which was missing, housed about fifteen or so clean, but fairly nondescript cars. For some reason a sign saying
Free Firewood
was wired where the length of fence was missing. The cars — Holdens, Fords, Mazdas, Toyotas etc — all had the usual spiel pasted across the windscreens.
Make Me An Offer. Save $$$. Ready
For Work. Four On The Floor. This Week's Special
. The piece de resistance appeared to be a yellow, Daihatsu Hi-Jet mounted on blocks at the front of the yard. There were no new, fourwheel drives and definitely no Mercedes. As Norton stood there surveying a very uninspiring scene, a slightly-built figure with straight brown hair and a wispy blonde moustache, shuffled from a white office at the rear to a small white caravan in a corner of the yard. Yeah, that's him all right. Killer Kileen. Hope he's sober. It's well after lunch. Norton waited till the figure in jeans and blue V-neck sweater shuffled from the caravan back to the office and went in after him. He gave the door a bit of a tap and before he had a chance to speak, Kileen jumped up from what he was doing and greeted Les like he was a long lost friend.

‘Les! G'day mate. How are you goin'? How's things?' He had bright, inquisitive brown eyes and a cheerful but gruff voice that spoke of cigarettes, late nights and booze.

‘Not too bad, Bill,' replied Les, with a brief handshake.

‘You're out here to pick up that car, right?' Les nodded. ‘Righto.' Kileen gestured to the yard. ‘Help yourself. They're all the grouse, too, I might add.'

‘Okay, thanks.'

As Les said that a phone rang in another room. ‘I'll be back in a sec,' said Kileen and went to answer it.

Norton nodded a reply. He was about to go out into the yard when something near the table Kileen had been sitting at caught his eye. He moved over for a closer look. In a plastic kitchen-tidy were a dozen empty bottles of Jim Beam. Next to these in another kitchen-tidy was a solitary empty bottle of Diet Pepsi. Christ, thought Norton, this bloke
does
like a drink. If ever he dies they'd better not get him cremated — it'll take them six weeks to put the fire out. He shook his head and walked out to the yard.