Davo's Little Something (9 page)

‘Now remember what I told you, Davo,' said Len, as he got ready to leave. ‘Just carry on normal and there's the list of what I want you to do right there.' He pointed dramatically to the phone. ‘If you get stuck see Dutchy. Okay?'

‘No worries, Len me old son. You can rely on your number one man. There is just one thing though.' Davo narrowed his eyes and smiled murderously at Kathy.

‘Yeah, what Davo?'

‘Is it alright if I sack someone?'

Len shook his head and started heading for the door. ‘I'll see you all tomorrow.'

‘See you, Len,' chorused the others, as the burly, redhaired manager disappeared into the supermarket and the second shift went to lunch.

Left alone in the shop together, Davo and Kathy would normally have spent most of the time bagging each other or mucking around in general. Unfortunately, the lamb forequarter chops on special were being sold almost as fast as the boys could cut them, so Davo was forced to leave Kathy alone while he got more forequarters out of the cool room and whipped them through the band saw in an effort to keep the cabinet topped up. He had to do it on his own too because if he left Dennis alone on the electric saw he'd more than likely end up cutting his leg off. Over the whine of the saw Davo chose
to ignore Kathy's remarks that Santana were a band of wimps, and Davo being a wimp, who wouldn't know rock music from rock cakes, would appreciate their schmaltzy, bongo-drum sound that sucked something dreadful and it was only to be expected that he was being taken to the concert by a poof.

It wasn't a bad roast from Kathy, just quietly, and Davo was dying to retaliate but he put his head down and kept working away on the band saw. He had to keep the meat up and besides he didn't want to do the wrong thing by Lennie while he was away. It was just as well Davo kept going too because about fifteen minutes before the others were due back from lunch Mr Murray Brinsden, the pompous, boring general manager of the supermarket, came through the door of the shop.

Framed in the doorway, you couldn't miss Brinsden's bulky thickset frame and bull neck, topped by a severe-looking face battered from years of playing junior league football and plastered with thick, wiry, dark hair streaked with grey and cut short back and sides like a director in a country bowling club. He had one of those penetrating, nasally voices that always carried over everybody else's and it matched his overbearing personality perfectly. Brinsden was by no means the smartest kid on the block but by sheer dogmatic tenaciousness and quite a bit of sycophancy, he had succeeded at forty-five in clawing his way to the top of the Woolworths hierarchy and now managed one of their biggest stores with arguably the highest profit margin.

Besides being a punishing bore Brinsden had one other outstanding fault. Now that he'd more or less made it to the top he was firmly convinced that everybody else in the world was an idiot except him; kind of the Australian tall poppy syndrome in reverse. It was for this reason the store manager was loath to enter the butcher shop. Everybody else in the store held him in reverence. The employees would grovel and scurry around if they ever saw him coming and it was always ‘yes Mr Brinsden' or ‘no Mr Brinsden' with quite a bit of ‘yes sir' or ‘no sir Mr Brinsden' as well. Except in the butchery. All the easygoing butchers called him by his first name: Murray. All except Davo—Davo called him Muzz.

Knowing how much Brinsden avoided the butchery and
detested its lack of protocol, Davo was slightly surprised to see his thickset frame propped in the doorway. He looked up and flashed the store manager a superfluous grin.

‘G'day, Muzz,' he said cheerfully. ‘How's things?'

You could see Mr Brinsden visibly wince as his eyes narrowed. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Davis,' he replied testily. ‘Mrs Van Heeden. Girls.'

‘Good afternoon, Mr Brinsden,' came the sing-song chorus from the girls, like a group of schoolchildren addressing the headmaster when he walks into the classroom.

‘What brings you in here, Muzz old fella?' asked Davo, finishing the last forequarter of lamb and switching off the band saw.

‘Mr Thompson has gone away for the afternoon. Is that right?'

‘Yeah pissed off on us. But it's all sweet, Muzz. He's left me in charge.'

Brinsden closed his eyes for a second. ‘The ah . . . reason I'm here, Mr Davis, is that we have a group of Japanese businessmen touring the supermarket this afternoon.'

‘Christ, it's a good thing Len's not here. He fought the bludgers in New Guinea.'

Brinsden did his best to ignore Davo's comment but at the same time impress upon him the gravity of the situation. ‘They are specifically interested in the meat section, Mr Davis,' he continued. ‘I can't be here as I have to be in my office all afternoon, so I would appreciate it if you would offer them any assistance they require.'

‘Shit, I don't know about that Muzz,' replied Davo, shaking his head sagely. ‘I don't speak Japanese. We got a Greek and a Yugoslav but they're still at lunch. What about you Dutchy—can you speak Japanese?'

‘They will have an interpreter with them, Mr Davis.'

‘We can bloody do with one in here at times when Marie and Krystina go off.'

Mr Brinsden took a deep breath trying his best to ignore Davo's facetiousness. ‘Anyway, Mr Davis, I haven't got a great deal of time.'

‘I can understand that, Muzz. Heavy sits the crown.'

‘And like I said. I would appreciate it if you would offer
these people any assistance they require. Is that understood?'

‘No worries, Muzz. You can count on me. I might even take them all round the RSL for a beer when we knock off. Should make a big hit with all the old diggers.'

Mr Brinsden's mouth formed a smile but his eyes didn't. ‘Anyway I shall leave you with it. Good afternoon Mr Davis. Ladies.' He went back out the door and scowled off into the supermarket looking for a junior either to abuse or sack to make up for Davo's flippant impertinence.

‘Jesus he's a pain in the arse, the fat turd,' said Davo, about two seconds after Mr Brinsden had left. ‘That's all we need. A team of moonfaces geeking at us through the window all afternoon.'

‘Now Davo, don't do anything silly,' said Dutchy. ‘And just be nice to the visitors while they're here.'

‘Yeah sure, Dutchy. I'll make them feel right at home. I might go out and harpoon a few whales. Maybe slaughter a couple of hundred dolphins or something.' Davo was about to continue his tirade about the Japanese nation's questionable attitude towards the environment when Eddie and the others returned from lunch.

‘I'm four minutes late, boss,' grinned Eddie, as he put on his coat and apron. ‘You won't sack me will you?'

‘I've made a note of it. You needn't worry about that,' replied Davo.

‘Anyway, seeing as you're in charge now, Mr Davis. What would you like me to do? I mean—I'm paid to work, not to think.'

Davo walked over and consulted the note Len had left above the telephone. ‘Lennie wants those two bodies of beef that came in broken up. That's your speciality, Ed. Why don't you bring 'em up and do 'em in here.'

‘Righto, boss. Whatever you say.' Eddie went down to the loading dock, slid the two bodies up into the shop and started working on them.

Before moving to Sydney, Eddie had been a boner in an export meatworks and a good one at that; consequently Eddie got to do most of the boning and breaking up. He knew all the export cuts, kept a razor sharp knife and was about ten
times faster than the others put together. Davo was glad of this in one way because it made his job a lot easier; he was also a little jealous in another because Eddie could do things in about five minutes that would take Davo almost half an hour. However Davo was unquestionably the better shop butcher.

Eddie had just started on the first body when Davo heard Dutchy say. ‘Here's all your little friends now, Davo.'

He looked out the window and there were the Japanese: about a dozen of them. All with short, shiny black hair, some wearing glasses and wearing plain, dark suits with their names on a tag pinned to the lapels. Except one. He was standing in front of them wearing a mid-grey, three-piece suit and was obviously the interpreter.

‘Hello moonfaces,' said Davo, giving a smile and a little wave through the window. The Japanese all smiled back and bowed politely. ‘Would you like to buy an atom bomb? You bunch of rotten little shits.'

‘Ohh Davo. For God's sake,' pleaded Dutchy.

The Japanese all smiled and bowed politely again. ‘They're alright,' said Davo, winking at the interpreter through the window. The interpreter grinned enthusiastically and waved back.

Davo continued working, slicing pork loin chops and preparing legs of lamb and trying his best to ignore the Japanese, who stood bunched in front of the meat cabinets getting an excellent view through the plate glass windows of Eddie ripping into the body of beef. They were almost mesmerised at the way he expertly whipped his knife through the various sections removing huge neat slabs of meat and bone in one continuous even cut, stopping only briefly to adroitly touch his razor sharp boning knife against his steel. The Japanese were awestruck—never had they seen anything like it.

And with a bit of an audience Eddie was in his glory. Throwing his knife around in great flourishes, flicking it backwards into his pouch, steeling it all different ways as he flexed the muscles on his forearms. Every now and again one of the Japanese would point excitedly through the window and gesticulate wildly to the others as Eddie would perform another flamboyant manoeuvre with his boning knife.

‘What do you reckon, Davo?' said Eddie, the muscles in his tattooed forearms glistening with animal fat as he whipped the last cut from the first body of beef and dropped the bone in the bone basket. ‘Those little Ninjas think I'm sensational. They'll go back to Japan and name a sports car after me. I'm a star, baby.'

‘Yeah. You're a bloody marvel,' muttered Davo, getting a bit pissed off at Eddie's lairising; and also a little jealous of Eddie getting all the attention.

Eddie turned to the Japanese and held one arm above his head. ‘Don't go away fans,' he called out through the window. ‘I've got another one to go yet.'

He slid the other body of beef further into the shop and went to work on it with even more flourish than before—if that was possible. The admiration of the Japanese increased as well—if that was possible.

By now Davo was starting to get the shits. He was sick of Eddie getting all the limelight and sick of the Japanese staring at them through the window. They reminded him of a bunch of penguins the way they bobbed around in their dark suits bowing and scraping at each other like a lot of wind-up dolls.

‘Fair dinkum, I've bloody well had enough of this,' he said to Dutchy, slipping off his kit and hanging it on the rail.

‘Davo—you're not going to do anything stupid are you?'

Davo stood there grinning fiendishly at her for a second or two, then disappeared into the cool room.

He found what he was looking for hanging above the offal tubs. A large, untrimmed ox-tongue. He picked it up, moved the S-hook a little further back towards the fleshy part and hung it rough side up under the front of his apron on the belt supporting his jeans. Satisfied it was secure he went back out into the shop and with a strange expression on his face stood next to Eddie; who was still going like a man possessed on the remaining body of beef while his Japanese fan club continued to gape in admiration through the window.

‘Davo, what the hell are you up to?' said Dutchy, as the other girls noticing the look on his face, stopped to watch him too.

Davo ignored them and turned his back, then reached up
and took hold of the rail with both hands and with his legs spread apart started swinging from side to side like a monkey. The ox-tongue unfurled and from behind it hung down looking for all the world like some huge repulsive cock. An audible gasp went up from the stunned Japanese and embarrassed titters of laughter from the girls; except Kathy, she just about wet herself on the spot.

Davo kept swinging away till his arms got tired then he dropped from the rail onto all fours and started running round the shop with his backside up in the air and the ox-tongue dragging on the ground, like a demented baboon, finally bursting out the front door and running up and down the cabinets in front of the horrified Japanese who didn't know what to think or do. All at once they started firing questions at the interpreter who stood there wide-eyed like the rest of them shaking his head helplessly. Still on all fours Davo scampered up and down the cabinets a few more times making funny little animal noises and scratching under his armpits. He stopped directly in front of the Japanese, cocked his head to one side and picked at some imaginary lice in his hair then, still on all fours, ran back into the shop and into the cool room where he slipped the ox-tongue off and hung it back on the wall.

‘Hey, Dutchy,' he called out, when he stepped back out of the freezer. ‘If Brinsden wants me tell him I'm down the back having a crap.' With his newspaper tucked up under his arm he sauntered down to the toilets near the loading dock. When he came back about ten minutes later Eddie had finished the boning and the Japanese had disappeared.

‘Honestly, Davo,' said Dutchy, trying her best to be serious. ‘You're going to get yourself shot one of these days. That was one of the most disgusting things I've ever seen.'

‘Yeah?' replied Davo, smirking at her while he put his kit on. ‘Well how come you're all laughing so much?'

‘Ohh well what else could you do,' said Kathy. ‘Christ did you see the looks on those Japs' faces?'

‘And in front of the apprentice too,' said Dutchy.

‘Ahh, if the truth's known you all got a bit turned on by it. That's why you're all dirty.' Marie buried her face in her
hands and turned away in an effort to hide her embarrassment—and laughter. ‘Yeah what are you laughing at you Greek tart?'