The Day of the Gecko by Robert G. Barrett Read Free Book Online Page B

and again. Though I hope Eddie doesn’t have to go out and kill some bloke. That can be a pain in the arse at times. Norton shrugged. Oh, well, whatever it is, I’ll know tonight. In the meantime, I have to at least make an effort. Les put his training gear in his bag, secured the flat and headed out the front door for North Bondi Surf Club.
    Seated on the comer of the brick fence out front was a dumpy little bloke with a pot belly and a florid, grumpy face half-hidden behind a pair of wide-framed glasses. He was wearing an untidy grey and orange tracksuit and shafts of silver hair spread from beneath a blue Roosters cap. He was looking around, checking the people out carefully without quite taking down passing numberplates. Les tipped him to be old Macabee.
    â€˜Hello, boss’ said Les as he walked past.
    The old Russian was looking over Hall Street and stared up. ‘Boss? What is boss?’ he said in a guttural growl. ‘I not boss.’
    â€˜Sorry, mate. No offence. But you just remind me of a boss I had once when I worked in a pork factory.’
    â€˜No boss,’ said Macabee without expression. ‘Just livink here.’
    â€˜Uh huh!’ nodded Les. ‘Well, I’m looking after Miss Susie’s flat for her while she’s away.’
    â€˜Yes, she tell me this.’
    â€˜My name’s Les anyway.’ Norton offered his hand.
    The old Russian held up his hand and it felt like squeezing half a kilogram of warm suet. ‘I am Macabee.’
    â€˜Pleased to meet you, Macabee.’
    Les was about to say goodbye or something before he got on his way when the front door opened and the two Russians Susie had pointed out came walking along the pathway towards them, wearing the same grey tracksuits, and carrying the same fishing rods and bags over their shoulders.
    Les made eye contact with the older, bigger one. ‘Morning,’ he said and smiled.
    â€˜Good morning, my friend,’ beamed the Russian. ‘Is good day, yes?’
    â€˜Yeah. Not bad.’ Les gave the other Russian a nod and got a curt, thin smile in reply. Both men ignored Macabee and Macabee seemed to be enjoying doing the same. ‘So off for a bit of fishin’, are you?’ asked Les.
    â€˜Yes. Fishing is good, but —’ the big Russian startedto laugh, ‘— most times ve are finishink up mit vot you Aussies say — the vet arse and no fishes.’
    Norton laughed. ‘Yeah, that’s about it, mate. A wet khyber and no Lillian Gish.’
    The big Russian caught the eye of the other one. ‘Goodbye, my friend,’ he said, and walked off roaring with wheezy laughter at his own joke.
    â€˜They don’t seem like a couple of bad blokes,’ Les said to Macabee, curious as to what his reaction would be.
    Macabee snorted, then spat on the ground. ‘Caechibi bastards!’
    â€˜Well, I don’t know where they come from. Mongolia, Chechnya, Chaebi or wherever. They’re all Russians to me, boss.’
    Macabee gave an impassive nod of his head.
    â€˜Anyway. I have to get going. I’ll see you, mate.’
    â€˜Mmmhhh.’
    Well, isn’t he just a happy, tap-dancing little Vegemite, thought Les, as he strolled down Hall Street. You don’t have to be Einstein to see what’s going on. Wogs with their dopey bloody ethnic rivalries. He’s crooked on those two because they’re Chibi bastards or whatever. And they hate the Russians who hate the Chechnyans. It just goes on and on until they run out of people to kill. Norton shook his head. Why don’t you try and be like that young Russian fighter, Macabee, you silly old goat, and leave it all back there.
    After stopping for the paper and a freshly squeezed orange juice, Les was at North Bondi Surf Club, changed and ready for two hours of torture. Norton did pretty much the same as the day before. Only, insteadof the swim, he went for a paddle with ‘The