‘What do you mean, not really?’ The blood was draining from Kenny’s already pallid complexion.
‘Graham did most of the talking,’ replied Floyd casually. ‘Old Frank Cook didn’t really say much at all.’
CHAPTER nineteen
‘Mate, for one, you’re not her type. Secondly, her father wouldn’t let you with within 10 feet. Don’t even waste your time,’ said Floyd McGuinness to Bullet Bulowski.
It was a sunny Thursday afternoon. The boys were enjoying a relaxing afternoon ‘shooting the breeze’ at the Bridge Hotel. Nobody had much in the way of finances, but after sidelining the services of the expensive lawyer, Kenny’s dad had been a bit more liberal with his son’s pocket money. Kenny’s mother had also stopped her daily pilgrimages to St. Bridget’s Church, up on the hill. It might have meant a hit to the parish finances, but it was a win for Al Coen.
Today the boys genuinely had something to celebrate. Big Glen Harkin had finally got the call to come down to St. Kilda Football Club. He’d been for a few try outs, but this was the day he signed on the dotted line. Glen and Bullet still weren’t privy to the little Frank Cook scheme, but they appeared to have forgotten the party anyway. Glen couldn’t keep a secret at the best of times, and Bulowski just didn’t care. Subtle reassurances, if they needed anything at all, were clearly enough.
‘Well mate, I’ve always thought Jenny was kind of cute,’ continued Bulowski. The bruise on his temple was still prominent; his poorly capped tooth already discolored from nicotine. ‘You treat her like shit for two years, then drop her like a hot coal the minute you finish school; why would you care?’
‘I couldn’t care less,’ replied Floyd evenly. ‘I just don’t know why you’d be interested, that’s all.’
‘Interested, Christ, what’s not to be interested! A big mistake by you buddy, big mistake!’
‘Yeah, maybe I’ll give your little friend Sharon a call too then, Bullet!’ said Kenny, entering the fray. On his third pot of beer he was feeling pretty confident. ‘Can we assume that one’s all off too?’
‘It was never on!’ replied Bulowski, rinsing the dregs out of his glass and dropping it with a ‘thud’ on the bar. ‘And maybe if you did, she’d stop hounding me! But, if you think you’re going to pick her up on that push bike of yours, then dink her down to the Beaumaris cliffs for a bit of slap and tickle, you might want to think again, Slick!’
‘Yeah, ha, ha! I thought I might pick her up in my old man’s car and take her to a movie. Something a little romantic to get her in the mood. Then, I’ll woosh her off to Ricketts Point, near the Beaumaris life saving club, to watch the stars!’
‘Nice plan Kenny, real nice!’ exclaimed Bulowski thoughtfully. He took a broken pencil from the back pocket of his faded 501s. ‘It’s gotta be worth a shot, Here’s her number. Who knows, she might even be happy to hear from you. Unfortunately son, there’s one major flaw in your overall strategy.’
‘Yeah, what’s that?’
‘I don’t care how keen she is; no self respecting bird is going to be caught dead riding shotgun in a golden brown Mitsubishi Sigma,’ Bulowski was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Am I wrong, Floyd?’
‘Look,’ replied Floyd, still simmering. ‘She was happy to get paraded around Mordialloc on the back of that unregistered death-trap you call a motorbike. Then she went the distance between the bathing boxes on the foreshore. I reckon Kenny might make second base, in the back of his old man’s car!’
Bulowski could only chuckle as he kissed the note and handed Kenny the number.
‘Where the hell’s moneybags Harkin anyway?’ Floyd cursed. With the barmaid demanding payment for a fresh round, he reluctantly went for his wallet. ‘He was supposed to be here an hour ago; I’m basically out of cash.’
‘Any recommendations on music?’ asked Kenny, poised to take notes on the scrap of paper Bulowski had just given him. ‘Dad’s just got a new tape deck in his car; four speakers and an amplifier, the full package.’
‘Meatloaf, “Bat out of Hell”!’ replied Bulowski, without a pause to think, Floyd nearly choking on his fresh draft. ‘But just make sure you’ve got your seat belt on kid. That “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” gets her every time!’
CHAPTER twenty
‘Well, a grandiose old waste of time that turned out to be,’ said Floyd, walking through the front room of their old bungalow.
Bloody Gus was there too. It was all becoming a little too regular. Hearing Gus refer to his younger brother as ‘son’ had left a pretty sour taste in Floyd’s mouth. Now, the little red M.G. had made its way off the street, and into the driveway. Something clearly had to be done.
‘I said that was a waste of time,’ repeated Floyd sharply. ‘Glen never showed up. We drank about eight beers in his honour and the bastard left us there to pick up the bill! What’s wrong mum?’ he asked suddenly. Helen’s face was puffy. The tears welling in the corners of her eyes were hard not to notice.
‘It’s bad enough,’ choked Helen, breaking down as she leant a little too heavily on Gus beside her. ‘It’s bad enough I’ve just had a meeting with Champ’s crèche. They want us to find our little man alternative arrangements.’
‘They can’t do that! They’re a bloody council service!’
‘They can, and will,’ she continued. ‘They’ve been inundated with complaints from parents since last month. Any girl with blonde hair’s a stinky slut, dark hair’s a hairy whore, and I can’t repeat what he’s been directing at the girls with red hair. And then I get home to find the police waiting on the front patio.’
‘And what did those clowns want?’ asked Floyd, unable to resist a smirk. ‘Surely Champ’s name for red-heads couldn’t have been that bad!’
‘They wanted to deliver this to you, personally,’ she replied, holding up a letter.
‘A bloody summons!’ spat Floyd, eyeing the envelope. ‘What the hell am I supposed to have done now?’
‘Why don’t you tell me?’
‘Well I wouldn’t be asking the bloody question if I knew!’ he replied angrily.
Gus went to say something but, seeing Floyd’s face, refrained.
‘It seems they’ve decided to push forward on the rape charges!’ fumed Helen. She was standing her ground but unable to contain her emotions. She began crying as she yelled. ‘It appears that a witness has finally come forward!’
Floyd was dumbstruck. What was there to say? Even Gus had gone all somber, giving him the same pathetic, sorrowful stare. He was massaging Helen’s tense shoulder with one hand and holding her hand tightly with the other. Bloody Gus; his acting might be second rate but his timing is spot on.
There was little need to open the lounge room door as Floyd made a hasty retreat. The way they were watching him at that very moment, he could have probably walked right under it.
It didn’t take long for the phone in his room to ring. He shared the second phone line with Douglas, so he hoped it wouldn’t be one of Doug’s idiot mates. The first thing he had to do was call his uncle Graham. What the hell was going on; their problem had supposedly been solved. He was half expecting a dribbling Kenny Coen, but was happily surprised to see Glen Harkin’s number come up on the caller I.D.
‘Well, well … where the hell were you?’ Floyd asked mockingly, his mood improving significantly. ‘Two hours we waited. If you expect me to troop all the way back to the Bridge Hotel now your dreaming. Good luck going home too, there’ll be a summons waiting!’
‘A