St Kilda Blues (Charlie Berlin #3)(28)

‘Look, it was just a normal night, okay? Until this old chook comes in around eleven and starts disrupting the place, yelling out for some bird named Gertie or Gladys.’

‘The girl’s name is Gudrun.’

‘Okay, Gudrun then. An old bloke with a driver’s cap comes in after her and about fifteen minutes later there were cops everywhere and that was it for the night. The band packed it in and so did all my customers. That’s all I know. Don’t know anyone named Gudrun, never met her, never saw her, don’t know where she went. I don’t even know if she was ever here.’

Berlin heard Roberts coming up the stairs behind him. Roberts knew enough to stop at the top, to keep still and listen.

‘She was here all right, Jim, and now she’s gone missing. She’s just fifteen and it seems you have a bit of thing for fifteen-year-olds, going by young Dee there.’

Jim stared Berlin directly in the face. ‘That bitch told me she was eighteen. And you can’t prove she didn’t, so f*ck you, pig.’

The last four words were said in a lowered voice but Berlin knew he was definitely meant to hear them. ‘You’re a little bit slow on the uptake, aren’t you, Jim? Don’t own a dog by any chance, do you?’

‘What?’

‘You know, Jim, a dog. Woof, woof, woof? Lassie, Rin Tin Tin, Old Yeller, that sort of thing.’

Berlin had asked the question in a soft voice and Jim stared back at him, confused, head tilted to one side. ‘What the f*ck are you on about?’

‘I like dogs, Jim. I used to have a Doberman once, those skinny German dogs with no tail, pointy ears, a big chest and very, very big teeth. Savage buggers, they use them for guard dogs. The bloke who sold it to me, the breeder, he told me Dobermans do what they’re told to start off with but eventually they will always have a go at their owners, just to see who’s really in charge. And a bloke can’t have that, can’t have a dog snapping at him, can’t have an animal that doesn’t know who’s in charge, can he, Jim?’

Berlin kept his eyes fixed on the other man’s face. ‘This bloke reckoned that what you do when they turn nasty, the dogs I mean, what you do is grab the choke chain and hold them up so their back paws are just off the ground. You let them dangle there, struggling, choking and gasping, until you think they’re about ready to pass out and then you look them right in the eye and punch them in the face, as hard as you can.’

Berlin looked into Jim’s face, into his eyes. ‘He reckoned there’s a bloody good chance you’re going to break a couple of bones in your hand but the dog will be okay when it eventually wakes up.’ Berlin leaned in very close and spoke softly. ‘And from that moment on, this bloke told me, there is absolutely, absolutely no question about who is in charge.’

Berlin still hadn’t takes his eyes off the other man and even though his voice was low and the tone neutral, the message was very clear. ‘You want a smoke before we get on with the questions, Jim?’

Jim nodded. Berlin held up his hand. Roberts crossed the room and shook a cigarette loose from the pack in his hand. Jim took the offered cigarette without looking away from Berlin. Roberts lit it for him. There was no way Jim could have done it for himself at that moment, given the way his hands were shaking.

‘It was just like every other Saturday night, Mr Berlin. It was a good crowd, given they had Jeff St John on at the Thumpin Tum. We have a pretty strict dress code that keeps the dags out and we never have any problems. We’re getting to be popular, even though a lot of the bands are starting to play in pubs now, and just lately we’ve had some pretty good coverage in the music magazines as well. We get lots of photographers coming by to shoot the bands and the crowds. We’ve even had photographers from Go-Set and GEAR stopping by.’

‘That’s good to hear, Jim, I’m pleased for you, but let’s just stick with Saturday night for the moment.’

By this stage Jim was quite attuned to Berlin’s tone and he got the message.

‘Sorry, like I was saying, it was just a regular Saturday night until the old chook – that lady – came looking for her daughter. I don’t really know what else I can tell you, Mr Berlin.’

‘It wasn’t the old chook’s daughter but that’s not important. You the only person round here with a taste for jailbait, by any chance?’

‘Look I told you –’

Berlin held up one finger. It was enough.

‘Okay, we do get the odd dirty old man but we can make it uncomfortable enough for them that they leave. And sometimes we get older blokes who say they’re just keeping an eye on their daughters, making sure they’re safe, but believe me, that’s not where their eyes are looking. Just lately we’ve been getting some Yanks too, not many, Rand R from Vietnam, down from Sydney. You can spot them easy from the clothes and the haircuts. And mostly they’re a bit twitchy, if ya know what I mean.’

Berlin didn’t nod but he did know what Jim meant.

‘And we always get a few of the awkward younger ones, you know, pimply kids in brown cord pants and paisley cravats and desert boots. They’re usually too shy to ask the girls to dance or even to talk to them and they generally leave by themselves after a bit. Probably go out peeping in windows or home to spend the night in bed wrestling with Mrs Palmer and her five daughters.’