Kick Back

Fourteen

Monday night was Sugarfoot Younger’s night for prowling the bars and dance floors of Club H in King Street, keeping an eye on the patrons, thumping heads that got out of line. Ivan had hard cash invested in Club H. Sugarfoot didn’t know if Club H was a Bauer operation or not. All he knew was, he hated the powder-blue tux, and the women were slags. You’d think as bouncer he’d be in a position to grab some of the action, but he hadn’t scored once. All the chicks seemed to come from Mount Waverley and wanted to know how come he drove an old car.

At eleven o’clock he popped his knuckles and stepped out for some fresh air. Being a Monday night, and mid-winter, there wasn’t much action in King Street. Not like the time he worked a Saturday night shift: guys openly dealing, chicks crying rape, torn scalps, cops, ambulances, a couple of bouncers charged with assault. Do this full time? Fifteen bucks an hour? Forget it.

He was more and more determined to turn pro. Seeing Bauer in action this afternoon had left him feeling unsettled and excited. Bauer had the right idea.

Monday night bouncer? Collector of small debts? No input into planning? Fuck that. One swift, clean, impressive hit, that’s all he’d need.

He finished work at one o’clock. By one-thirty he was sitting in the Customline in the car park of the Housing Commission flats in Racecourse Road. Hobba lived on the eighth floor, but Sugarfoot didn’t go up to check it out. Too many ethnics about. Leave your car unattended and they’d strip it. Look twice at them and they’d knife you.

Sugarfoot started the Customline and drove out of the car park and across to a long, narrow street in Brunswick. He looked sourly at the houses. They were small workers’ bungalows, but the street was well on the way to becoming yuppie heaven. Already there were brass numerals and restored verandahs. Pedersen’s weatherboard was set amid tidy garden beds and gravel paths. Gloomy fruit trees dominated the back yard.

Sugarfoot sat for a while. There was no sign of life, but he didn’t expect there to be. If Hobba and Pedersen did have something planned with Wyatt, and if it hadn’t happened yet, their daytime movements might be the key. Meanwhile, finding out where they lived was all part of the groundwork.

Sugarfoot drove home and set the alarm for eight o’clock. Fucking terrible hour but he was treating Tuesday as the first day of the rest of his life.