paddock trampling over what little was left of their pride. He wasn’t the only one.
‘Piss off, Graham!’ he replied, finally.
Slowly prying the door of the rusty old Dodge, Floyd tossed his uncle the keys, and turned for the road.
CHAPTER seventeen
His brother Douglas was the first to notice the conspicuous absence of Jenny Jones. Floyd had done his best patch things up but it was proving a tough gig. She wasn’t taking calls. He’d even tried the direct approach. Following a few shots of Jack Daniels, he arrived at her front door. With a dozen orange roses in hand, he was intercepted by her old man. Not only was he refused permission to enter their premises, he was told in no uncertain terms, ‘not to come back.’ The door was then unceremoniously slammed in his face.
Floyd’s first inclination had been to kick the door in. He could drag the bastard out onto the front lawn. Give him a good old fashion battering; teach him a hard lesson. He’d been offering roses, for Christ sake!
Instead though, he just apologised profusely. Then he had slunk off, like a thief, into the night. What humiliation!
Next time, he promised himself, he’d be drinking Bundy!
‘So what is the story, Casanova?’ asked a bored Doug McGuinness. He was keen to engage his younger brother as a means of light entertainment. ‘The grass is definitely looking pretty dry on your side of the fence these days. Where is the mysterious Jenny, anyway? Don’t tell me that she’s shot through for the holidays; left her knight in shining armour to rust?’
‘Oh, how funny, you should be writing that down; real comedy gold!’ replied Floyd. He continued to eat his cornflakes. Then, looking up from the classifieds of the morning newspaper, he took the bait.
‘Listen, Dougie boy,’ he began, ‘even when I’m on a drought, I get more action than you. But, if you really must know, I decided to cut the kid loose. It’s not a big deal. St. Stephen’s is behind me now so I’ll either be working, or off to university next year. I think I just out-grew her; need to spread my wings a little. A rude, basically married bloke like you probably wouldn’t understand.’
‘Well, you certainly spread something at our little party the other week. It definitely wasn’t wings. You might want to add prison time to your little list of options there tough guy. If you flick to the employment section in those there classifieds, under positions vacant, I think you might find Pentridge is looking for a new soap boy!’
‘What are my two favorite men in the world laughing about?” asked Helen McGuinness, entering the kitchen. She was struggling to control two big bags of groceries. Champ was clasping onto her dress so tightly he was getting airborne at the top of her stride.
‘We were just discussing Floyd’s holiday employment prospects,’ replied Doug with a smirk, ‘weren’t we, mate?’
‘That’s fantastic! Have you found a job, Floyd?’ asked Helen excitedly. ‘I thought you were going to go camping down the Great Ocean Road with Jenny and your friends?”
‘Not exactly.’
‘I really am sorry that we can’t afford to send you up to the Gold Coast,’ explained Helen. ‘I know. I know that that’s the big thing these days. Unfortunately though, with all the unforeseen expenses we’ve been incurring recently, things are a bit tight.’
Floyd knew alright!
There were options though; they weren’t exactly destitiute. How many times does a bloke finish secondary school. Uncle Gus should have been good for a loan. He also had his rich grandmother, rich uncle and cousins all living very comfortably on the other side of Melbourne. If he went to them “cap in hand” it was a fair bet they’d give him the money for schoolies week; especially now that his dad had shot through. His mum would never forgive him though. She hadn’t spoken to any of them since the funeral.
Floyd couldn’t see the big deal; if they were family, they were family. He often recalled the last time they all came together; what a disaster! It was his grandfather’s funeral, and although he’d only been seven at the time, the memory was vivid. Both his father, with his uncle Graham there to show support, were so drunk at the church that it had almost come to blows.
Their slurring rendition of “For he’s a jolly good fellow,” as they were carrying the dead man’s casket out to the hearse, was so badly received that they were forbidden from attending the wake. Helen had pleaded apologies to her horrified mother, but was left speechless herself. Her mother turned, fury in eye, and hissed viciously, ‘Wasn’t it enough just to kill him?’
It had taken his mother a while to get over that particularly nasty affair. As usual though, her faith and loyalty to her immediate family gave her the sustenance needed to see her through. Even now, once Floyd protested his innocence, she was angry, but she’d also become his biggest supporter. Her belief in all her sons was unwavering.
Floyd was thankful for the support. He only wished he could share her positive sentiment; he couldn’t.
His hopes rested squarely on the sagging shoulders of his recently reformed Uncle Graham, and his very odd and rather frightening mate – Frank Cook.
CHAPTER eighteen
The deal, when finalised, was certainly not what Floyd was expecting. Frank would solve his little problem with Timmy, and all he would owe Frank was 500 hours of labour. That was it; about 20 hours a week for 6 months. Frank had some little patch of dirt, out in Keysborough, to maintain. His health wasn’t what it once had been. The place was beginning to fall away a bit. It really didn’t sound too difficult.
Keysborough was about 10 kilometres out of Mordialloc, heading in the direction of Dandenong. Getting there wouldn’t be a problem either. Frank had originally wanted 600 hours of labour. Floyd had voiced a weak protest. It wasn’t much of a negotiation; the old bloke out-manoeuvred him at every turn. Stretched over a barrel as he was, somewhere between the devil and the deep blue sea, he’d been happy to get any deduction at all. The hot whisky breath, and flared side burns hardly instilled confidence, but it was that or take his chances with the judge.
Frank concluded their impromptu little pow wow.
‘Five hundred will do,’ grunted Frank, as he nodded to Graham that it was time to go. He dismissed Floyd’s open outstretched palm with a roll of his bloodshot eyes. ‘We were all young once!’
Not a bad result in the end, Graham assured. If he divided the hours up with his mates, it was easily workable. His plans for the summer were in tatters, but it could have well been a lot worse. The whole ‘cloak and dagger’ routine was taking things a bit far. After the day he’d already had though, what was another secret amongst friends. Not surprisingly, old Frank did his best work in the shadows.
Kenny was immediately skeptical. Even after he was walked through the great restaurant debarcle of 1970. Frank had reached deep into his bag and saved the McGuinness brothers from the clutches of the dreaded Health Department. Kenny still wasn’t convinced. In desperation Floyd, pointed to Frank’s fan base. If Graham’s adulation was anything to go by, something like this should be a walk in the park for Francis Cook.
It was an easy option. With Floyd’s relentless insistence Kenny slowly warmed to the idea. Unfortunately, the boys were yet to discover; deals with the devil are never easy.
‘So that’s it in a nut-shell, buddy!’ concluded Floyd. ‘We’ve just gotta do our hours over at Frank’s and the old clown’s gonna make all this go away.’
Kenny Coen gave yet another skeptical glance. He certainly didn’t have a better plan though. Far from being flush with cash, Kenny’s father had immediately taken a second mortgage. He’d already engaged the services of a premier law firm, and the financial strain was showing. Having suffered a life of prejudice himself, Alva Coen was smart enough to understand - actual guilt generally had nothing to do with it.