And De Fun Don't Done (28 page)

‘What am I doing?' Les couldn't believe his ears, much less his eyes. ‘I'm going out. With a girl.'

‘The same one you were with the other night?'

‘No. A different one.'

‘Oh. Then you don't want to go out for a few drinks?'

Les shook his head. ‘Look, to be honest, Hank, I'd just as soon stick on my own from now on. You know. Go my own way, do my own thing. Or let me put it to you another way, Einstein. You're probably the most miserable, know-all cunt I've ever come across in my life. I'd have more fun rolling in dog shit or being holed up in a
contagious disease ward than I would going out with you. People queue up to hate you. An artificial flower would die on you. Even your own shadow keeps away from you. You pick fights in bars and about the only thing you can accomplish on your own is BO. I can't kid to you any more, Hank. You're an arse. And don't ask me to invite you in. Laverne told me to keep you out of the place. So did Ricco.' Les took another sip of bourbon and diet.

Hank blinked a few times and the wooden cogs inside his head clonked round a couple of notches. It was a pathetic sight, as if he was looking for sympathy. ‘So what do you want me to do now?'

Christ, thought Les. What have I got to do to get rid of this prick? ‘I don't know. And to be honest I don't give a fuck either. But I'll tell you what you could do: Why don't you try shooting yourself?' Hank blinked around again. ‘No, I mean it. This place is full of guns. You love guns. Why not shoot yourself?' Norton was half joking and half fair dinkum. But he was starting to have a bit of fun. He took a sip of bourbon and tried not to laugh openly at the look on Hank's bruised and battered face. ‘Or look at it another way, knackers. You've got no money, no girl, no job and no friends. You're thirty and you look closer to sixty. You live in a wooden shack on a swamp that you wouldn't breed greyhounds in, and the bank's going to repossess that. So things aren't going to get any better. Plus your family can't stand you. Not even your mother. I've only been here for a few days and you definitely don't ring my bells either. So think about it, Hank. You'd probably be doing yourself and everyone else a favour. Just stick a gun to your head and pull the trigger. You'd probably love it. And you couldn't miss. You're a good shot — better than me. Plus you've got a heap of guns. If one doesn't work, try another. Use all kinds of different bullets too. You'll get it together sooner or later. Even a dill like you. What do you reckon, Hank? Grouse idea or what?'

Norton was expecting some sort of a stupid reply or a ‘get stuffed' or whatever. Instead, Hank blinked around,
huffed something under his breath and limped off. Les watched him for a moment then closed the door, went to the kitchen, and put some more ice in his drink. He was sort of half laughing to himself, but still quite incredulous. Christ! What about that idiot turning up? I thought he'd be half dead. Or hopefully a hundred per cent dead. I know what's keeping him on his feet though. Pills. And plenty of 'em. What a bloody moron. Anyway, I reckon that's got rid of him. Bloody hell! If he comes back after that I'll piss on his leg. Guns or no guns. Then a thought struck Norton. Shit! I still got to go out to Swamp Manor and get my Walkman. But that's only to see his mother. I should be able to avoid Captain Rats. He took another sip of bourbon and went back to the TV.

All Les could get was the same programs as before and this time the sport was American baseball, which didn't turn him on all that much. He threw another tape on and ironed a clean pair of jeans and a blue, button-down collar shirt. He was enjoying another bourbon and diet, and King Biscuit Boy's ‘Blue Light Boogie' was fading into Canned Heat's ‘Red Headed Woman' when there was another knock on the door. This one was carrying a small denim handbag and a much better sight than Hank. Much better.

Lori was spray-painted into a pair of Levis, black cowboy boots and a kind of white pleated shirt that fitted her exactly where it was supposed to and was undone enough in the front again to show exactly what it was supposed to oozing out of a lacy white bra. She gave Norton a pouty smile. ‘Hi, Les. How are you?'

Norton's eyes sprung out like two party whistles. ‘How am I?' he replied, giving her a monstrous once up and down. ‘Don't worry about how
I
am. How are
you?
And come inside before you get arrested for being so good- looking.'

‘Oh, Les. You're such a sweetheart.'

‘That's me,' agreed Norton. ‘Sweet li'l ol' Les.'

Lori came inside and Les closed the door. ‘Hey, this place is really nice. Who owns it?'

‘I got it through a friend of a friend. It's mine till I leave.'

‘I love the furniture. And those paintings.'

‘Yeah, it's pretty schmicko. Got a nice big pool out through there too.' Lori had another look around then sat down on one of the lounges. ‘So can I get you a drink or something? All I got at the moment's bourbon and vodka. Or Coors Cutter.'

‘A vodka and orange would be nice.'

‘Okey-doke. No worries.'

‘Yeah,' smiled Lori. ‘No worries.'

Les went to the kitchen and started pottering around with a glass and some ice. ‘Did you have much trouble finding the place?'

‘No. I only live about fifteen minutes away.'

‘Christ! I got lost about ten times trying to find my way home,' lied Norton. ‘I'm glad you called over. I'd've probably got to your place around midnight. You would have starved to death waiting.'

‘I figured that. So we'll go out in my car.'

‘If you want to.' Les handed Lori a drink and watched her take a sip.

‘Mmhh. That's nice.'

They chit-chatted away about nothing much in particular; Lori seemed more interested about life in Australia and listening to Les talking than telling him about life in Florida on the marina. Les blathered along, feeding Lori the first line of bullshit that came into his head, while he checked her out along with the odd corny joke or two. Lori lapped it up and giggled away as she sipped her drink. Norton liked making her laugh. She had a hearty Texan one and every time she did laugh her tits nearly fell out the front of her shirt. They had one more drink then decided to make a move.

Of all things, Lori drove a maroon VW beetle in fairly good condition. Les pointed out the car he'd hired and offered to take it if she wanted to. Lori checked the T-Bird out and said her bug was more fun. This suited Norton admirably. Lori's car stereo was pretty good,
with a graphic equaliser, but all she had was one old Diana Ross and the Supremes tape. As they scooted through the traffic with ‘The Happening' bouncing out of the speakers Norton tried to figure out what TV show or what movie he was in tonight. If he'd put a floppy hat and some lovebeads on Lori it could have been
Alice's Restaurant
.

‘Hey, where do you fancy going for a feed? asked Les. ‘I'm a nice, ill-mannered lout. I haven't even picked a place out.'

‘You like seafood, Les?'

‘Yeah. I'm on a seafood diet. I see food and I eat it.' ‘We'll go to Vinnie's Stone Crab Corner. It's nice.' ‘Sounds alright. It reminds me of my favourite song back home.'

‘What's that?'

‘Don't wait up for the shrimp boats, Mum. I'm coming home with the crabs.'

Lori shook her head. ‘I don't think I know that one. But the food's great, plus it's got atmosphere. All these Mafia types that have retired to Florida go there. It's quite funny. I've been there a few times.'

As they zipped through the night traffic something struck Norton as curious. ‘This Vinnie. Is he the owner?'

‘Yeah.'

‘What's he look like?'

‘Oh, a little under six feet, about two hundred pounds, black hair receding. Got a gravelly kind of voice. Why?'

‘Oh, nothing Lori,' shrugged Les. ‘Nothing at all.'

They seemed to be heading towards a different part of town, over a smaller bridge alongside an unfamiliar bay or harbour with the odd shop or restaurant on the side of the road or nestled on the corners. Diana Ross was warbling ‘Where Did Our Love Go?' when Lori turned off the road, down into a dusty parking lot, and pulled up. There was an expanse of brackish water on one side with a few trees, mangroves and parkland around. The restaurant was single-storey white timber, built out over
the water, with an enclosed verandah out the front covered in vines and bright-coloured flowers. Above the front was a red and white sign saying ‘Vinnie's Stone Crab' next to a couple of American flags; parked out front was a monstrous green Cadillac. The front door was sort of upholstered red vinyl; Les opened it for Lori and they entered.

Inside it was fairly well lit, the furniture was mainly solid wooden benches with small, checked tablecloths. Lanterns and fishnets hung off the ceiling above white timber walls dotted with soft lights, paintings and US travel posters. It was about two-thirds full with the usual hubbub of people eating and waitresses in blue shirts, jeans and grey checked aprons darting around the tables and in or out of a kitchen in the far corner. There was a fair size bar near the door and a small desk. Les was about to ask Lori if she'd booked when he heard this familiar gravelly voice behind him.

‘Hey, hey, Les! What 'cha doin', huh?'

Norton turned around and Vinnie was getting up from a table of four other men. This time it was white trousers and a yellow silk shirt with pink and green parrots on it, and jutting out from his jaw was the familiar cigar like a French loaf. He grinned and made an expansive gesture with his arms.

‘So what brings you here, Les?'

‘I dunno,' shrugged Norton. ‘Someone said the food's half alright and you wash the plates on Tuesday night.'

‘The food's alright and we wash the plates. What the fuck! Come here, you aussie sonofabitch!' Vinnie wrapped a hairy arm around Norton's shoulder and gave him a squeeze, then he spotted Lori. ‘Hey. Who's the lovely lady?'

‘Vinnie, this is Lori. Actually Lori just happened to pick your restaurant. I didn't even know you owned it, mate. Lori, this is Vinnie.'

‘Hey. Pleased to meet you, Lori,' said Vinnie, oozing genuine politeness and manners to make Norton look good.

‘You too… Vinnie,' replied Lori. For some reason she appeared a little nervous.

Vinnie snapped his fingers at one of the waitresses; she looked like a tall version of the mouthy barmaid in ‘Cheers'. ‘Bernice, I want you to look after this guy. See that he gets the best table and the best service. You treat him like number one. You know what I'm sayin'?'

‘Sure, Mr Rizzitello.'

Vinnie put his arm back around Norton's shoulder and got close to his ear. The smell of his cigar was that thick Les could taste it. He was half laughing when he spoke. ‘Hey. Ricco told me what happened today. He reckons you're the coolest sonofabitch he ever met. That nigger was gonna ice you and when he whacked him you just drove off like nothing had happened, with the prick's gun still sitting in your lap. Grandma Duck.'

Norton shrugged. ‘The light had turned green. What was I going to do? Sit there like a stale bottle of piss holding up traffic? Besides, Vinnie. I always drive like Grandma Duck.'

‘You crazy sonofabitch. Enjoy your meal.' Vinnie gave Les another squeeze then went back to his table full of heavies.

Bernice led Les and Lori to a quiet secluded table overlooking the water. There was a marina next to the restaurant full of boats gently bobbing up and down in the moonlight and although the restaurant was pleasantly air-conditioned the window was open just enough to let a pleasant breeze in and any smoke or fumes out. Their waitress put down the menus, which doubled up as bibs you tied round your neck. Les was about to check what was on them when Lori spoke. She seemed even more nervous now and it sounded worse because she was trying to keep her voice down.

‘Where do you know Vinnie from?' she tried to whisper.

‘I hired a car from him and he's helping me find some horses.'

‘You're doing business with Vinnie Rizzitello?'

‘Yeah,' shrugged Norton. ‘What's wrong with that?'

‘Does he own the condominium?'

‘No. His mate Ricco does.'

‘Ricco?'

‘Yeah. Ricco DiCosti.'

Lori gasped. ‘You're doing business with him too?'

‘Sure. What's wrong with that?'

‘Do you know who those guys are?'

‘Yeah. Vinnie's got a caryard, and Ricco runs a coffee shop down Salmo.'

‘Les, they're Mafia. They wash all the illegal money down here. They take it to the Bahamas and bring it back in again.'

‘Okay. So they're in the laundry business. What's the big deal?'

‘Les…'

‘Hey, I thought you said you liked it here because of all the funny Mafia types from out of town that come in.'

‘Yes. But I didn't think…'

‘Hey, Lori, listen to this cause I ain't gonna tell you no more. You're here now, so shut your goddamn mouth, eat your goddamn meal or I'll have your goddamn head blown off. You know what I'm sayin', huh? Look at me when I'm talkin' to you. You want Mafia? You got Mafia. Okay? Huh? Huh? Huh?'

Lori looked very quizzically at Norton. ‘Les, do you know what you're doing?'

‘Do I know what I'm doin'? Of course I know what I'm doin'. I'm orderin' a meal in a restaurant. Alright already. What is this, huh?'

Lori continued to stare at Les. ‘Are you sure you're an Australian?'

‘As Flo's pumpkin scones.'

‘And you're in Florida to buy horses?'

‘That's right. I'm looking for Phar Lap.'

Lori stared at Les for a moment, then her eyes dropped down to the menu. ‘Yes. Alright then.'

Although Les was having trouble keeping a straight face, Lori didn't appear to see the funny side of things at
all; not even Norton's ridiculous attempt at a New York Mafioso accent. So he thought he'd better put her straight. He kept forgetting Americans aren't noted for their sense of humour, especially when it comes to someone giving their leg just a gentle tug, let alone pulling it good and hard. He ordered two frozen margaritas, which arrived quite promptly, and while they were going down he told her about his involvement with Ricco and Vinnie. It was sheer coincidence, through the ex-girlfriend of Hank, the gun-crazy ratbag he'd met in Australia who'd invited him over. This seemed to go over fairly well while the frozen margaritas went down very well indeed. Then Bernice gave Norton the wine list.