Going Home: A Collection of Novellas and Short Stories.

Copyright © 2013 by Bill Mooney.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-7984-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-7986-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-7985-5 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013904066

iUniverse rev. date: 04/18/2013

CONTENTS

1.   Eddie Masters Down Under

2.   Hunting The Kohinoor

3.   Legal Action

4.   Going Home

5.   Bridget And Shamus

6.   Mister Collins

Acknowledgments

EDDIE MASTERS DOWN UNDER

E DDIE MASTERS LISTENED TO THE strange sounds as he gazed with half-closed eyes at the blue water rushing by. The wind, the seagull’s urgent cry, a ship’s whistle blast in the distance. He could hear and feel the sea thumping the bow and side of the boat as it dipped and rolled with an uneven rhythm. And the sound of chatter, people talking and joking. Two men in the row of seats in front of him wallowed in empty conversation. And the thought occurred to him that he might throw up.

He had become a night person since he had been working with the show, and in a way he looked like a night person. This was too early for him right now, and he was in no mood to read the paper as some did or to make vapid conversation with the person in the next seat. So he sat and waited and thought about what might be his next move. Lately, the last two or three weeks, he had been thinking more about getting home to the States. He had even gone to United Airlines to buy a ticket only to find that his two credit cards were maxed out. Well, he kind of figured that.

Eddie had not exactly been living a frugal life since the show closed and that asshole Bunny had left him to clean up the mess with the promise that he would send funds from the States as soon as he got back. Yeah sure, you can rely on people in show business, right? Why did he think he could trust Bunny? The name alone was a dead giveaway. Too late to worry about that now. He needed money. Worst case, he figured Tommy Shug would stake him to a ticket, but that was a last resort, and this stuff he was doing now would hardly do the job. And then there was Cassie.

‘It’s taking longer to get into Sydney today, must be a head wind,’ one of the men in front of him commented.

‘Do you know that you say that every morning, you know that?’ the other man said. ‘Hell, I wish you’d take the train. We get in at the same time every day.’

‘Think so? What’s going on over there?’

‘Fifteen more minutes and we’ll be off this ferry. Oh that, a card game.’

The Manly-to-Sydney ferry pushed through the wind and whitecaps of Sydney Harbour at a good rate. Spectacular views of the city and its environs could be seen by the commuters if they so desired, but few were looking. They had seen it hundreds, maybe thousands of times, and like Eddie they were not paying much attention to the huge bridge or the famous opera house as the boat turned the headland and made for the docks.

Eddie Masters looked different from the other people on the ferry and not just because of the Armani suit. Most of these people were well dressed, businessmen and women, office types. This was not one of the very early trips, more the nine-to-fives, the business crowd. He had not seen the harbour, bridge, or opera house hundreds of times. In fact this was only his second time on a boat of any kind, the first, the Staten Island Ferry, there and back. The harbour and opera house and all the rest were beautiful but he was not sightseeing. Nor did he show any interest in what was going on with the other passengers including big Jim Church and his two sons, Young Jim and Bert. The Church men also looked different. They appeared to be yokels out for a day in the city. Their clothes were clean but a little ill fitting and pretty much out of date. The old man, over eighty, sported a long, flowing beard that was whitish grey except for a small shock of red hair near the shaggy end. A gold watch chain was strung across his still mighty chest, the type of watch and chain not seen in the city for sixty years or more. Big, tough, rough-hewn men no doubt, they stood out as hicks and certainly out of place anywhere beyond the gate post of an outback Australian farm.

The three Churches and one or two of the passengers were discussing the card game that was in progress. Eddie paid little attention or, to be more accurate, seemed a little irritated by the people who were beginning to bunch up around Young Jim and the other players. One game was over and Young Jim picked up the deck.

‘Boys, did you ever see jack and his mother?’ he said idly and to no one in particular. ‘Here, I’ll show you. Let’s see now, how does it go again?’

Young Jim, young a serious misnomer because he was over fifty, took the jack and queen of hearts, and placed them together in the middle of the deck. Then, with big, rough hands, he gave the cards a clumsy shuffle.

‘Here,’ he said, ‘anyone can shuffle the cards but no matter how much you shuffle you can’t take jack away from his mother. They just won’t be separated no matter what, here, take ‘em.’

A couple of the passengers shuffled the cards. One, a short man, with an umbrella hooked over one arm, gave the cards a good mixing, after which Young Jim placed the deck face down in the centre of the table. Then he began to turn the cards over slowly, one at a time. The jack of hearts appeared after just a few cards had been turned. People watched with mild but mounting curiosity.

‘There he is, the jack,’ Young Jim affirmed. ‘The next card is goin’ to be his mother, the queen, and I’m willin’ to bet she’s there. The next card to turn over is goin’ to be the queen of hearts, an’ like I say, I’ll bet on it.’

Eddie now seemed a little curious. He stood up for a better view and moved in just behind two men to watch the action. Some of the people made bets, small wagers of just a dollar or two. Then Young Jim turned for a private word to his father; thus, both men had their heads facing away from the table for a few seconds. Eddie leaned in between the two men standing in front of him and cut the cards, placing one cut on top of the other. There was a hush for a moment. One or two of the passengers seemed as if they were about to say something, but nobody did. To the undecided after the shuffle this looked like a good thing. Now, after the cut, it looked like a sure thing. Eddie made a bet. Other players made bets, bigger bets. Young Jim turned to the old man again.

‘Do you have enough to cover all this, Dad?’ Jim asked. The old man leisurely removed a huge roll of money from an inside coat pocket and carelessly moved his thumb so as to let the notes fall over one after another. He nodded. Eddie licked his lips. Then, after a moment, he pushed his way to the front and dove a hand into his pocket, took out all his money, about a hundred dollars, and slammed it down on the table. Big Jim, without moving his head, gave Eddie a curious stare and then let go with a loud belch and a Sydney Greenstreet shrug. A hint of greed registered on some faces at the sight of the old man’s wad and a number of onlookers became players. Wagers fell quickly onto the makeshift table.

‘If these clodhoppers want to throw their money away, why should I not oblige them?’ Might well be the thought running through more than a few heads.

‘Will you take a check?’ one anxious player wanted to know.

‘Cash,’ Big Jim rumbled from deep inside his huge body.

‘Any more bets?’ Young Jim called. There were no more. Young Jim turned the card over.

‘There she is, boys.’ There was no surprise whatever in Jim’s voice. ‘Jack and his mother are never separated, just like I told you.’

Eddie’s mouth dropped open as he stared down at the queen. The other players looked similarly confused, but at that moment the ferry stopped with a bump against the dock. Young Jim scooped up the money and the passengers began a scramble to disembark. Eddie was pushed away from the church men, who were soon lost, melding in quickly with the hurrying commuters.

‘Hey!’ Eddie shouted. ‘Wait a second, hey!’

*      *      *

Tommy Shug was the owner of several of the highly prized fruit barrows that were a prominent feature of many parts of Sydney particularly around the lower downtown area near the docks. These carts were usually passed on down through the families that operated them, but Tommy had bought his several years before. They were at an extremely favourable location clumped together on a small piece of prime real estate near the corner of Martin Place and Captain Cook Street. The barrows were well patronised because they had the justified reputation of having some of the best produce in town.

On this day Tommy Shug was, as was his custom, standing close by. He was a smallish man with one shoulder distinctly lower than the other and an almost imperceptible limp. He was not old but on the other hand not young. He had an owl-like look of wisdom about him and his eyes were clear and alert. From across the street a man motioned to him discreetly. Tommy nodded and in a few moments walked over to join him and they entered a small cafe. This man, Gil, was quite tall and heavy set but not fat. He had a well-to-do style about him, an expensive tan, and when he smiled the teeth were white and even. A fine-looking man of perhaps forty.

Inside the cafe Tommy was always treated more like the owner than a customer. In a booth at the rear they talked privately but not secretly, as the cafe was a safe place for discussions of a confidential nature. The waitress was friendly and efficient and had not the slightest interest in their conversation. There was a good reason for this kind of indifference—Tommy took good care of a lot of people. Gil wanted, he said in measured sentences, Tommy to find a man for a special deal that could produce a good profit for those involved. Tommy listened carefully while he outlined the bare essentials of the proposition. Tommy gave no hint that he was interested in such a proposal or that he would know of anyone who might be suitable but Gil knew that if Tommy could not come up with someone nobody could.

*      *      *

A big old car turned into Dockhouse Road. Old was hardly the word for the mammoth touring sedan. Big Jim sat in the back seat in quasi-regal isolation, Young Jim drove, and brother Bert was in the front passenger seat. The car came to a jerky halt but long after Young Jim had turned off the ignition strange sounds continued to come from deep in the car’s heart. The engine palpitated to a stop with a final consumptive spasm, and they piled out of the dusty old relic, which Big Jim still thought of as good as the day he bought it so long ago.

‘Don’t slam that door, Bert,’ the old man admonished for the millionth or so time.

‘No, Dad.’

The brothers grinned at each other. It was almost a ritual. The old man would say the same thing almost every time and every time Bert would answer respectfully. They were joined by the short man with the umbrella and one of the other players. Both had made it to the rendezvous a few minutes before in another, less antiquated vehicle.

Eddie, running like hell, had covered the four short blocks from the ferry dock almost as fast as the old car and arrived at the corner just in time to see the five men enter a small pub, The Bushranger. Eddie stopped, composed himself by taking a few deep breaths, and began a casual walk toward the pub, a determined look on his face.

Big Jim, his boys, and the other two members of the gang were sitting in a large booth near the back door. The old man counted out the notes one at a time, in shares. First the twenties and tens, and then the more abundant five dollar bills. Each share, meticulously counted, amounted to one hundred and thirty seven dollars.

Eddie sauntered up to the booth. Bert was the first to notice him, and he nudged Big Jim. For a moment nobody said anything. Five sets of eyes stared up at the handsome, smiling young man standing at the booth. Big Jim waved a hand at a seat. Eddie looked at the old man briefly then sat down.

On the table in front of him lay the sixth equal share. The old man took a long, satisfying pull on a glass of very dark beer, then, only after carefully brushing some excess suds from his beard, looked at Eddie.

‘Ah! just the thing. You know, Eddie, you’re gettin’ to be pretty good at this business. I was thinking—that is the boys and me was thinking—you might want to be permanent like. You could make a grand living.’

‘All I want is enough to get back to the States, Big Jim—New York City—that’s all. By the way, how old is that car?’

‘Why, son? It’s a classic.’

‘A classic? Well, you guys may not be classics, but you’re good.’

Big Jim took another pull on his beer before speaking again.

‘Ah, Eddie, I wish you could meet my youngest boy, Jake, Jake the Shake, ah, now, he’s the real talent in the family.’

‘Jake the Shake? Where’s he?’

‘Oh, just an unfortunate mistake. He’s the guest of the government for a short spell. Be coming home soon, though. A good boy is Jake. When is he due out, Bert?’

‘Couple more months, Dad.’

Big Jim shook his head and laughed.

‘Ah well, that’s the way it goes sometimes, right, boys?’

‘Too right, Dad,’ Young Jim agreed.

‘First time for Jake, though. He’s too good,’ Bert added

‘So, what do you think Eddie,’ Big Jim said. ‘Like to come in with us permanent like?’

‘Johnny and the Umbrella here, they’re with you all the time, right?’

‘No.’ Big Jim shook his head. ‘Only around Sydney. Couldn’t find better boys anywhere, but you see they like to stay here in Sydney. They’re what you might call stable characters, New Zealand Johnny O’Laughlin here been doin’ this stuff for years. So has the Umbrella, but he’s married with a bunch of kids. How many kids you got now, Charlie?’

‘Five,’ Umbrella Charlie answered. ‘And see, Eddie, we was on the road for years.’

‘That’s right,’ the old man said, ‘and we travel, mostly, Young Jim and Bert and me. So what do you think, Eddie, about comin’ on the road?’

‘No offense, Big Jim, but the money isn’t so great.’

‘Ah, now boy, remember this always, sufficient unto the day is evil thereof. Remember that, Eddie? Sufficient unto the day.’

‘Swell, what’s it mean?’

‘It means you never take a sucker for all he’s got.’

‘Why the hell not?

"Well, I’ll tell you. If you leave him with nothing you can lay odds he’ll turn nasty, this way, he’s left with something and you got enough. Sufficient unto the day, Eddie, sufficient unto the day.’

‘Yeah, I guess, but if they’re suckers, I say skin ’em—unto the bone.’

In the coffee shop on the other side