Matthew Flinders' Cat by Bryce Courtenay Read Free Book Online Page B

drunks who lived in the Domain, the open parkland surrounding the Botanic Gardens.
    The proprietor of the Flag Hotel was a large, beefy man in his early fifties named Samuel Snatchall who, before he retired prematurely and bought the pub, had been a notorious standover man for the Painters & Dockers Union. Known by one and all as Sam Snatch, his union career had involved several well-publicised court appearances, all of them involving the charge of causing grievous bodily harm. Sam’s greatest claim to fame was that he had never been convicted, which was in itself, a great many people felt, a serious indictment of the legal system of New South Wales.
    Sam Snatch didn’t much care for his description as a one-time standover man, but he happily described his previous occupation as ‘an attitude adjuster in the union cause’. It was his way of reminding his customers that he wouldn’t stand for any nonsense.
    The Flag had always been a hotel for dock workers and, prior to being owned by Sam Snatch, its proprietor for a short period had been George Smiggins, the undefeated welterweight champion of the world. Smiggins soon grew weary of the drunks who wanted to brag to their mates on the docks that they’d taken a poke at the ex-world champion and he retaliated by banning dock workers from the pub. This proved to be a fatal mistake as they constituted the major part of his clientele. Sam Snatch came along and made Smiggins an offer, an amount just about sufficient to cover George’s outstanding debts to the brewery. Even so, the price of the pub would have been well outside the range of a minor union official like Sam Snatch.
    Claiming he’d won $250,000 in the NSW State Lottery, Snatch came up with the scratch. With this, taken together with his superannuation payout and, he claimed, a second mortgage on his home, Snatch raised the money to buy the pub. Nobody believed him, nor could anyone recall any such windfall in the Snatch family, unless he had found a way of borrowing money on government-owned property. Until fairly recently, he’d lived in a three-bedroom housing-commission flat in South Sydney with a rent of sixty dollars a week. All of this was said well out of earshot, even at fifty metres, since Sam wasn’t the sort of bloke you questioned too closely if you wished to remain with the sum of your working parts intact.
    However, Billy received the red-carpet treatment at the Flag. If he’d been the state premier and called in for a drink, he couldn’t have been greeted more cordially. Billy had defended Sam Snatch in all five of his appearances in court, getting him an acquittal each time. On Sam’s fifth appearance, the bookmakers among the nation’s waterside workers offered odds of twenty to one on an acquittal and were scarcely able to attract a punter, the general consensus being that Snatch was almost certainly going down this time. Had Snatch been smart enough to put his pension on Billy winning once again, he would have been able to pay for the pub twice over.
    ‘Gidday, Billy!’ Sam Snatch yelled out from behind the polished counter of the small private bar known as Marion’s Bar, ‘One Black Label comin’ up, old mate.’
    Billy limped up to the bar, the walk through the gardens had set off the pain in his knee again, ‘Thanks very much, Sam, but I’d prefer to pay for it myself.’
    Sam Snatch, not known for his generosity, feigned a look of astonishment, ‘You’ll do no such thing, my son! Not in my pub.’
    Billy sighed, ‘Well, just the one then, Sam. Hair of the dog.’
    Grinning, Sam Snatch planted a scotch glass on the bar and poured him a shot of Johnnie Walker. The proprietor of the Flag was also not known for his subtlety, yet this was a ritual which took place every morning and was designed so that Billy could maintain his dignity while accepting the handout.
    Marion, who usually ran the bar, placed a small jug of water beside his drink. ‘Mornin’, Billy,’ she said,