St Kilda Blues (Charlie Berlin #3)(39)
‘Then a big meal is called for, Charlie. Napoleon said an army marches on its stomach and you are a detective sergeant and the police are like an army, yes? And hunger clouds the judgement; a man thinks better with a full belly.’
Lazlo turned to the girl and waved away the menu she had opened. ‘We start with the bean soup, I think, Maya. Then two of the steaks, the big ones, and tell Victor my guest is a friend.’
‘And what if I wasn’t a friend, Lazlo?’
Lazlo grinned and winked. ‘What can I say? I’m in business, Charlie, and in business the more a guest at my table has to chew the less time he has to argue with me. And cooked rare, I think, is that good for you, Charlie? Victor will do medium but only under protest and to ask him for a steak well done is to wave the red rag at the bull.’
The hostess closed the menu. ‘And wine?’
Lazlo shook his head. ‘No alcohol, not for my friend, he is a policeman of some impeccable reputation and is always on duty. We have cider, I think, Charlie, or perhaps ginger beer? No, just water for now, I think, yes.’
The hostess walked behind the counter by the grill to talk to the chef.
‘Some changes around here since I last stopped by, Lazlo, and pretty busy for a Monday night. I’m surprised.’
Lazlo looked around the restaurant. ‘Business is good. We close for six weeks to make the renovations and already my outlay is recouped. We open seven nights a week because I have to take my dinner somewhere. And many Australians join me, as you can see. The adventurous ones. Steak is a good way to start; you Australians always like steak. When I show people how good steak can be when it’s aged properly and not burned to a crisp then they will trust me to show them other things, things more exotic.’
A waiter put a basket of bread rolls in the centre of the table and this was followed immediately by two large bowls of soup. To Berlin it looked more like a bean stew, with an almost gravy-like consistency and small chunks of tender meat amongst the beans. He was done before Lazlo was even halfway through his. Lazlo put his spoon down and gestured to a waiter, who removed both soup bowls. He sat back, a contented look on his face.
‘So our Rebecca is well, Charlie?’
Berlin nodded. ‘Fighting fit.’
‘And becoming more famous every day. I’m considering hiring her to photograph myself and my businesses.’
‘I read you had a number of things on the boil, Laz. I’d have thought running this place would keep you busy enough.’
‘The café is a hobby and a place to eat without having to make a booking. And now with Victor and my little Maya there, it runs itself. My time in the mountains opened up many entrepreneurial opportunities. Motels, Charlie, that is the growing business.’
‘Motels? Aren’t there a lot out there already?’
‘Sure, of course, since people have many cars now and they travel more. And where you have travellers, you have customers and you build your motel and wait.’
‘Sounds fair enough.’
‘Sure, Charlie, but the smart man builds his motel before the customers are there, if he knows they will be coming.’
‘I’ll bite, Lazlo. How do you know they’ll be coming?’
Lazlo smiled. ‘Oil, Charlie, oil. They find it in the Bass Strait off Gippsland, you may have heard – lots of oil, and gas too. Enough oil so soon we can run our cars for just a few cents a week and we shall cook our food and heat our water for free. So of course they will want to get it out, and quickly too.’
‘And you want to go back to getting up at dawn and swinging a pick or driving a bulldozer or doing some blasting?’
‘You joke with me, Charlie my friend, but in the Snowy I saw a big enterprise happening, the building of dams and tunnels and hydroelectric plants and I learned a lesson.’ He tapped his temple with an index finger. ‘A man can work hard but he can also work smart. Food and shelter, Charlie – we are men who have both been without these things at one time so we know their value more than most. I have already my people buying up properties in Gippsland, motels, hotels, cafés. Soon there will be men arriving who will dig for the oil, men who will work hard and be well paid for their efforts. They will be tired and hungry and dirty from this digging, but with money in their pockets. I will feed them well and give them hot showers and beds with good mattresses and clean sheets.’
‘I think they’ll most probably drill, Lazlo. It’s all under water, remember?’
Lazlo grinned. ‘Then I give them extra towels along with their dinners and their soft pillows. But enough business talk, tell me of Sarah. Have you spoken yet by telephone?’
‘Just the once, from Athens airport, but it was a bad line. She missed you at the airport, you know, she said you were invited.’
Even amongst the dozen volunteers in her group and a crowd of friends and relatives and well-wishers crowding around the group at check-in, Berlin knew Sarah had been keeping an eye out for her Uncle Laz. There were sleeping bags and rucksacks and suitcases all neatly tagged and Berlin fought back images of troopships and stacks of canvas kitbags stencilled with names of young men whose only return home to Australia would be in the form of a telegram that regretted to inform a waiting mother or father or sister or brother.
‘I’m not a big one for farewells, Charlie, you know that of me. And I might have made it awkward by once more trying to dissuade her.’