Guns 'n' Rose by Robert G. Barrett Read Free Book Online Page A

exit. The dance floor was on your right, a raised area behind that, then the DJ’s stand above another fire exit opposite. Pillars, stools and tables led to the bar at the rear and some steps led to another lounge area against the wall on the right. It was all black and silver withchrome railings. Soft lights, spinning laser balls and TV screens above the dance floor. House music and FUCKIN’ LOUD. Norton walked straight into ‘Kiss Your Lipps’ by Tokyo Ghetto Pussy at warp ten and besides almost making his gums bleed, it nearly blew his head off. Christ almighty! What was that? Like a terrorist who’d just been hit by a stun grenade, Les made it to the bar where, even though it was a little quieter, he had still had to yell to get a Bacardi and orange. He got that and peered around through the cigarette haze. There were about forty or so people in there, including a handful of Asquith Annies and Roseville Rogers flopping around on the dance floor trying to look hip and bored at the same time. Perched behind a perspex barrier was the ponytailed DJ in a black vest and, of all things, a white T-shirt. He had this gaunt, crazed look on his face as if, seeing it was the last Wednesday night and there weren’t many in the place, he’d drive the ones that were there either mad or out the door with this full-on, esoteric, techno-cyberbeat. He slipped into ‘You Belong to Me’ by JX, and Norton felt as if all the fillings in his teeth were going to fall out. Shit! I can’t see myself lasting too long in here, he blinked, when once again he felt like someone was looking at him and this time it wasn’t a reflection.
    Les couldn’t quite believe it. It was a detective he knew from Maroubra. A stocky, red-headed bloke something like himself, in a white polo shirt and jeans standing near the cigarette machine in the corner with another solid, dark-haired bloke and two blondes. He was a mate of the cop Les knew in Forensics, a bloke called Mick Les had met when he was out fromHawaii. Actually he walked into the station when Les was getting questioned over his old ute and smoothed things over. The look on the cop’s face was pretty much the same as Norton’s. A half-concealed smile combined with, ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Only one way to find out, thought Les, and strolled over, quietly and casually, not shoving his hand out, just in case he might have been on a job.
    â€˜Well, Steve, what can I say?’
    â€˜I know exactly what you mean, Les, so I’ll go first. What the fuck are you doing here?’
    â€˜I’m staying at Price’s place for a week.’ Apart from George’s nephew Les told the detective pretty much what he was up to. ‘And so far, apart from nearly getting my ear-drums shattered in here, it’s been pretty good.’
    â€˜Yeah, I know what you mean,’ agreed Steve the detective, as the DJ cranked the volume up another couple of notches.
    Norton edged a little closer. ‘So what’s your story, Steve? What are you up to?’ Steve seemed a bit hesitant. ‘I know. You don’t have to tell me. It’s drugs, isn’t it? It’s always drugs. There’s a cripple in a wheelchair with two dope plants in her backyard. Like that one down in Wollongong. Your mates in the TRG and you’re both going round to bust her and punch the shit out of her.’
    â€˜Ohh, get fucked will you, Les.’
    Norton shook his head. ‘Tch-tch-tch. Isn’t that terrible language to use on a member of the public? No wonder we all hate you.’
    â€˜You’re a big shit-stirring cunt.’ But there wassomething in Norton’s cheeky banter that got Steve. It could have been pride. It could have been being half drunk. ‘As a matter of fact it’s not drugs for a change, thank Christ! We’re after a box of machine guns.’
    â€˜Machine guns?’
    â€˜Yeah, about half-a-dozen