often these days but she certainly knew how to hold her tongue. There was no doubt in Floyd’s mind – she’ll make some prick a damn fine wife one day.
He looked across at Max just in time to see the lawyer’s top denture fall free. He remembered the pathetic performance at the police station and shuddered in disgust. Sitting next to Max was his uncle.
Graham McGuinness was wedged in a lounge chair and doing his best to look concerned. He was probably glad it wasn’t him in the hot seat for a change. Floyd nodded in his uncle’s direction and Graham nodded back. He knew his mother was reaching when she called in Uncle Graham. The bloke might be a far cry from the legend he’d once been, but Floyd was glad to have him there anyway; sober at that.
It didn’t take long for everybody to give him their ten cents worth. Floyd kept to his story; he had had nothing to do with anything untoward. However though, after some pretty intense grilling from his uncle, and some seemingly innocent questions from his mum’s friend Gus, he did have to concede.
‘Although he couldn’t remember much, the guy in question, Tim, had been at the party.’
Douglas continued relentlessly with the stupid jokes. Helen was pushed to the brink of tears. Floyd persisted with his act. Most were buying it, but not all. Gus had him under close observation. His keen eyes were quietly and methodically taking it all in. Floyd was under no illusion, Gus knew he was lying.
He’ll be sure to play along though; he couldn’t be stupid enough to come between mum and one of her boys. Gus’s wasn’t the only doubting face in the crowd. Eliza, even through the thick make-up and bloodshot retina, didn’t look to be believing a word either.
To say the vibe was negative would be a gross understatement. Floyd was just cursing his own stupidity for about the tenth time that day when his uncle Graham threw an unexpected life-line.
‘Floyd, we all believe you.’ Said Graham, getting to his feet. ‘You say you don’t remember anything, and I for one know how that goes. I’ve been down that road a few times myself.
Before this goes any further though, I think there is someone you should have a chat with. He helped your father and I plan our finances in the early days of the restaurant. Then later, we all danced together with the dreaded Health Department. I know that’s ancient history. He’s certainly changed a little since those crazy days, but he’s still got a finger on the pulse. You can trust him.’
‘I didn’t know you knew Batman!’ exclaimed Douglas.
His youngest brother cheered at the mention of a favourite super hero. Helen rolled her eyes in disgust. It got a few smiles though.
‘Well, where is this caped crusader?’ asked Floyd. He was thankful for a crack in the shroud of negativity. He’d take any option of escape.
‘He doesn’t wear a cape,’ muttered Graham cautiously. With a slight struggle, he freed his generous bulk from its position wedged in the Jason recliner, ‘and he’s waiting out in the car.’
Silence decended as Floyd and his uncle vacated the room. It didn’t last till they were out the front door. Max mentioned something about the jail time, and it was Doug’s laughter that expelled Floyd from the old Californian Bungalow..
Sitting in the passenger seat of the old Dodge was the same man Floyd hadn’t recognised earlier. A similar size frame to Graham, but definitely a lot finer. He could have been 50, or 75 for that matter. Either way, the years had been hard.
A set of cobalt grey eyes bored into Floyd as he nodded politely through the open window. They were searching eyes, the eyes of a gold prospector or a Grand Prix racer, and had obviously seen a lot; both good and bad. Locked in their crosshairs, Floyd felt totally exposed.
His face didn’t look real; so wrinkled and marked it could have been on a promotion banner a for western movie, or a poster boy for Marlboro cigarettes. Crowning it was a mane of greying red hair, partially slicked back, and “mutton chop” side burns running wild. He had one sleeve rolled up. An old tattoo was revealed; stretched and faded. His tough demeanour broke as he attempted a smile in Floyd’s direction. It caught Floyd offguard; a perfect set of teeth in stark contrast to the rest of him.
‘Don’t look so surprised,’ muttered Graham. Floyd was in the driver’s seat. Graham was behind him. ‘Who were you bloody expecting; Adam West?’
For a moment nobody said a word. Like a couple of gunslingers, the two men on the front seat were sizing each other up. Graham finally broke the spell from his position on the rear bench.
‘Floyd, this gentleman here’s Frank Cook.’
CHAPTER fourteen
‘I can’t go down for this. You hear what I’m saying?’ Big Glen Harkin was whining. He had Floyd by the arm. Floyd wasn’t sure if it was a threat or not but it certainly hurt. ‘I’m looking to be drafted by an AFL club any time now, and I can’t afford this!’
‘Hell of a party!’ proclaimed Bullet Bolowski from his chair in the corner. He shuddered as the cold from the beer reacted with a very recently chipped tooth.
It was a Tuesday night and, against all legal advice, the concerned parties had convened a little ‘get together’ at the nearby Mentone Hotel.
‘Glen, don’t be such a big girl!’ countered Floyd shaking his arm free. ‘From the bruise on Dougie’s chick’s face, you’re lucky to be getting out of it this so lightly!’
‘What the hell was in that poison you served up, anyway?’ Glen continued. ‘I swear to god I’d only drank about four beers, and then a heap of that shitty punch. No surprise if some dickhead probably spiked it! How’s that my fault? And as for that tool Tim Hill, if I ever see that bloke in the street, I hope he can run!’
‘Maybe you just can’t hold your liquor,’ ventured Kenny Coen, bravely. ‘Always gotta play the big man; well you’re not looking too big now!’
Floyd was going to tell him to cool it. They were finished at St. Stephens though. Kenny could look after himself.
‘You listen to me, you little Jewish prick,’ Glen started. ‘How long do you think you’ll last inside prison before some big Aryan ape makes you his girlfriend? All your sniveling and whining won’t help you then. Those blokes think of that as foreplay!’
‘For the hundredth time, I’m not bloody Jewish, you big oaf!’
‘Well, you look Jewish, so that’s good enough for me.’
‘You wouldn’t know what a Jew looked like, you moron! The very idea of religious classification based on outward appearance is as ridiculous as your current hair cut!’
‘They look just like you!’ scowled Glen, giving it too much thought. Then, with the lightening fast reflexes he’d displayed many times previously, he moved. Kenny received a solid clip on the head. The argument was over.
‘Well, if nobody said anything to the police then we’re all in the clear,’ said Floyd for about the fifth time in an hour. They had gone over and over the facts. If they all stuck together, it was one word against four. It should have given them cause for relief but nobody looked too relieved; it was still a mighty big “if.”
‘And what about you, Bullet? My lawyer reckons you might have a claim against the coppers for police brutality,’ mentioned Kenny Coen.
Bulowski’s front tooth was obviously causing some discomfort. He also had a hell of a bruise on his right temple. ‘You should’ve at least had a lawyer present for your interrogation. That was a bad move.’
‘A lawyer for what?’ ventured Bulowski. ‘For one, they charge like wounded bulls unless they’re trying to pork your mum! No offence Floyd.’
‘None taken.’
‘And secondly, I had nothing to say.’
‘Well