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front for him all smiles; he introduced Les to the doorman whose place he’d be taking and took him upstairs to meet the boss.
    The Kelly Club was owned and run by a distinguished, silvery haired gentleman in his late 50s by the name of Price Galese and everybody liked him, a lot of people loved him and women absolutely adored him. He was the epitome of a gentleman, dressed superbly and with a string of champion racehorses cut a very dashing figure around the racetracks of Sydney. He contributed heavily to charity and other welfare groups. He also contributed to the welfare of a lot of police and politicians in NSW as well. Consequently in almost ten years the Kelly Club had never been raided once, but then again according to the Commissioner of Police at the time it didn’t exist anyway.
    Billy led Les through a large room full of green beige tables and pretty girls in evening gowns to a mirror-panelled office with ‘Private’ written on a door in the front. He knocked lightly and ushered Les in. Price Galese was seated behind a large mahogany desk counting a stack of $50 bills Evel Knievel couldn’t have jumped over. He stood up when he saw Les and shook his big hand warmly, told him to sit down and offered him a drink,which he declined, offered him a coffee which he accepted and in about five minutes had a very nervous Les Norton feeling relaxed and completely at ease.
    He explained to Les about the job, the money, the hours and what was expected of him. He chatted to him about one or two other things and finally told him that if he could be there by eight next Wednesday there would be a tuxedo waiting for him and he could start. Norton said that was fine by him, so Galese walked him to the office door, shook hands with him once more, reminded him to give Billy his measurements before he went and that was about it. Out the front of the club the two bouncers shook hands with Les once more, the one that was leaving wished him all the best, then they waved a slightly mystified Les Norton off into the gaudy neon Kings Cross night.
    Norton started without a hitch bang on time the following Wednesday night and as far as Les was concerned it was without a doubt the easiest money he’d ever earnt in his life. Naturally enough he felt a bit incongruous at first standing around in bow tie and tuxedo.
    â€˜Have a look at me, Billy,’ he wailed. ‘I stick out like a pug nose in Jerusalem.’
    â€˜No you don’t,’ said Billy. ‘You just look like a 20 stone penguin.’
    But Billy soon introduced him to all the regular clientele and Les soon noticed that apart from being an obviously well-heeled lot there were also a lot of faces he’d seen on TV and in the papers from both sides of the law, and apart from that he began to notice something else. All the people who came there had a certain respect for Billy and before long it seemed to be rubbing off on him. The Kelly Club was an honest, well-run place and it was a good class of people went through the door. They only came there to gamble, have a few drinks, meet their friends and socialise in general. They were always polite and courteous on the way in and out and never treated him like a thug or a moron working on a door: instead they gave him the impression — especially if he would escort someone up to their car if they had a big win — that they were glad Billy and he were there. It was almost a feeling of job satisfaction.
    â€˜One thing’s for sure,’ he thought to himself one night, as he watched one of Sydney’s leading barristers escort a beautifulblonde model up the stairs, wearing a tight-fitting black dress with a split up the side that showed enough of a sensational pair of legs to make Billy Dunne try to bite a lump out of the front door, ‘this dead set shits on cartin’ beef.’
    Now and again Norton would go upstairs and move unobtrusively around the tables . . . a smile here a nod