You Wouldn't Be Dead for Quids Read Free

listening to Ken Callender’s racing show on a small transistor radio. Every now and again Norton would land a combination of punches on the bag that would echo all over the gym. They’d look up from their yellow form guides, absently watch Norton for a moment, then look at each other, smile and shake their heads.Each knew what the other was thinking. How would you like to walk into a couple of those?
    Also watching Les from the other side of the room was an ex-boxer named Billy Dunne. Billy had held the Australian middle-weight title and was a pretty good pug in his day, but he’d given prize fighting away for the last six or so years and had worked on the door of the Kelly Club, a well-established gambling casino in Kings Cross. Billy had formed a sort of an acquaintanceship with Norton down at Gales Baths and frequently, if they happened to be in the gym together, they would put the gloves on and have a bit of a move around. He even managed to get Les over to the Coogee Bay Hotel for a couple of quiet beers now and again. Billy realised Les was no Danny Kaye in the personality department but basically he was a pretty good bloke. He was as honest as the day is long and at times did have that dry outback sense of humour. But there were two things about Les, Billy knew for sure: he could punch like dynamite and fight like a bag of cats.
    Norton had finished his work-out and was sitting on a bench, sweat dripping everywhere and wisps of steam rising off his big red head when Billy walked over, sat next to him and started up a bit of a conversation. At first he talked about nothing in particular, horses, football, the weather — then he got round to telling Les how his offsider on the door of the Kelly Club was leaving and would Les be interested in the job.
    â€˜Ahh, I don’t know about this bouncin’ caper,’ said Les, shaking his head.
    â€˜I’m tellin’ you Les, it’s as easy as shit.’
    â€˜Mmmh, how much a week?’
    â€˜Eighty-five a night in your hand, four nights a week.’
    â€˜Yeah?’
    â€˜Yeah, but listen, that’s nothing. The boss has got a heap of good race horses and he always gives you the drum when they’re goin’ and I’ll tell you what,’ Billy drew a bit closer to Norton and got right into his ear. ‘If he has a good win at the punt it’s nothing for him to come over and drop five hundred in your kick, and he has plenty of good wins.’
    â€˜Mmmh, it sure sounds all right. How come your mate’s leavin’?’
    â€˜He’s bought a motel up the north coast. One of his kids has got asthma so he’s goin’ up there to live.’
    Norton stroked his chin and looked into the pool of sweat forming at his feet. ‘It sure sounds all right,’ he said thoughtfully.
    â€˜Look,’ said Billy, ‘why don’t you come up the club tonight about nine o’clock when it’s still a bit quiet and have a yarn to the boss, he’s a terrific bloke. You’ll like him.’
    Norton paused for a moment or two. ‘Yeah, righto,’ he finally said.
    â€˜Beauty,’ Billy slapped Norton on the leg and got up all smiles. ‘I’ll see you tonight then, nine o’clock.’
    â€˜Yeah, righto, see you then.’ Norton contemplated the pool of sweat at his feet for a while and finally shrugged his shoulders. Oh well, he thought to himself, I don’t suppose it can be any worse than lumpin’ beef.
    The Kelly Club isn’t hard to find, it’s in Kelly Street, Kings Cross, which is how it got its name. There’s a pale blue light out the front with a white neon sign above it saying Kelly Club. Besides that it’s just a few hundred yards up from the police station and if you still can’t find it just go in and ask the desk sergeant. He’ll do everything but draw you a map. Norton was there at nine o’clock sharp. Billy was waiting out the