Published: 2 Jun 2022

After parting company with Jones, Dev passes the pie stand near the ground’s gate. He removes the coin Bryce had given him and considers spending a portion on a pie. “No,” he softly utters as his stomach rumbles while returning the coin to his pocket. ‘Best I give it to mum after her disappointment of not receiving change from Jack’s underwear, she will need it.’ He softly sighs; “oh well,” he says and heads for home along Jolimont Street while bringing to mind his chance meeting with Tobias Nevis, the rich man’s son from the big house. Also returning to thought was the offer of work but work would take the fun out of life, true it would help fill his belly more often but there was no excitement in carting refuge or weeding.

Reaching the Nevis property he again paused to admire its grandeur and the order within its grounds. “Maybe,” Dev quietly spoke. It was a simple thought without substance but enough to head him into the lane beside the property and its side entrance. All along that boundary there was a thick hedge leading midway to a wire gate. As Dev walked towards the gate he heard splashing and finding a gap in the hedge he parted the foliage to investigate.

Dev releases a broad smile, “well what do you know,” he whispers softly.

Not far from the dividing hedge was a pond of some magnitude and there in all his naked glory stood Toby, glistening wet in the late afternoon sun, his body that of a Greek statue, his skin milk white and muscled while quite unaware he was exposed to others.

Dev stood watching for some time until Toby pulled on a pair of loosely fitting trousers before returning to the house. If it was his intention to approach Toby on his promise of work, Dev decided it was not the best time to do so and instead made a turn towards home but Toby’s nakedness wouldn’t leave his inward vision and not until he met his brother at the top of their street did it fade.

“Where have you been?” Jack asks

“Watching the cricket,”

“Who won?”

“I couldn’t say as Jonesy’ wanted to leave before it finished but not your Richmond of that I am certain.”

“You better get in mum wants you; I’m off to the pub and the Saturday night dance at the town hall.”

“Who is she?”

“What are you on about?” Jack growls.

“The girl you are to meet at the dance,”

“Get inside you little -,” Jack doesn’t continue his insult as Flo Tanner a top end neighbour passes by, instead he allows a smile to form.

“Good afternoon Flo,” Jack greets the young lady.

“Good afternoon Mr. Osmond,” she returns greeting with a smile and passes without further conversation.

Jack watches after Flo until she has turned the corner.

“Have you money?” Dev asks with his hand deep in his pocket feeling the cool of the silver coin.

“Not for you kid,”

Dev was about to offer up his two shillings to his brother but seeing Jack kept to his usual attitude he kept it in pocket.

“Maggie at Wilsons asked after you, when I bought your long-johns,”

“I hope you didn’t mention they were for me,”

“I could hardly say they were for mum could I and you are two sizes bigger than I am – besides what’s your concern with her knowing they were for you?

“My business,”

“Do you fancy her Jack?”

“Haven’t you learned to mind your own business yet?”

“I did tell her you didn’t like girls,” Dev quoted and bolted before his brother could retaliate.

Late evening and bedded down for the night Dev’s thoughts digressed to that afternoon and seeing Toby naked while taking a refreshing dip in his pond. The recurring image pleased Dev more than expected and as he commenced to attend to his rising situation the bedroom door opened. It was Jack returning early from the pub and the dance.

“You awake kid?” Jack demanded from the darkness of the room.

“I am now,”

Jack undressed down to his new long-johns.

“You are home early. Didn’t you go to the dance?”

“No I met up with some mates and got drinking – move over,”

Dev gives room.

“She stood ya’ up,” Dev gives a low belly laugh.

“I’ll lay you out if you don’t shut it kid,”

Dev continued his belly laugh and turned away as Jack made himself comfortable.

“Move over,” Jack again growls and gives Dev a shove.

“I’m already against the wall.”

Although Jack worked nights and the bed was taken in shifts, with Saturday and Sunday nights they still needed to share, becoming somewhat close on hot nights and as well the human nose had the ability to accustom towards one’s odor as well as others.

“You stink of booze,” Dev complained.

“All I can smell is you – have you been tugging at it again?” Jack retaliated.

“No I haven’t,” Dev protested.

“Then get to sleep,”

Moments later Jack was sleeping but now Dev was wide to the night and finding it difficult to drift back. Again his thoughts returned to Toby naked by the pond with the same effect as before Jack came to bed, the only difference being with his brother sleeping at his back he couldn’t satisfy the furnace developing in his head and crotch.

Dev moved to his back and released a deep sigh.

“Shit,” he softly exclaimed.

Jack was lying on his back and lightly snoring. It was a warm night and their covering but a sheet. The room had a small window high towards the ceiling, its grimy glass allowed in a measure of moonlight. Dev looked upon his brother’s face, ‘he’s got the looks,’ he thinks. Even so, many believed Dev to be more handsome than his brother. Jack was masculine with strong features, while Dev was softer with a moving appearance that encouraged women and girls to mother him.

Dev folded the sheet away from his brother and in doing so he released a huff of surprise. In his sleep Jack had become erect and most of his appendage was protruding above the waistband of his underwear. With the image of Toby remaining fresh, Dev reached across and encircled his brother’s member into his hand. It felt hot and firm and as he did Jack murmured a name, it was a woman’s name but could have been Sally or Tilly; he could not be sure, the rest of Jack’s murmur was but a jumble of sound.

Dev quickly released his hold and rolled away bringing the sheet back to cover. It was the first time he had touched his brother in such a way, he had felt Jack inside him, that was long ago but Jack had never allowed touch, as doing so would cross that narrow divide of sexuality. Now Dev had crossed that division and with the thought of Toby naked he was beginning to realize much about himself. What if he was similar to Jones? “Never,” he whispered and with brute force discarded the incident from thought and was asleep.

The week after returning from Sydney, Bryce called in Hadley and two of his heavies, as he wasn’t happy with their progress with a number of businesses in North Melbourne. Now it was another bootmarker who was giving him grief and refusing to take his threat seriously. This time the business was in Abbotsford Street and less than a mile from the German in Errol Street and again of North European persuasion. Bryce believed the two were possibly in collusion to impede his demands, either way an example of the Abbotsford bootmaker would be necessary.

Tom Hadley arrived at the house earlier than the suggested time as he wished to speak without the others hearing. Bryce met Hadley at the door, “You’re early Tom,”

“Yes I wish to speak with you before the others arrive.”

“You better come in,” Bryce showed him into the front room. “Whisky?” he offered, displaying the label for Hadley’s appraisal.

“It’s a little early for me,” Hadley declines. He was developing a problem with alcohol and was fighting its tightening grip, as the bottle was his first reach whenever stressed.

“Then don’t mind if I do. What is your problem?”

“Lenny Worth,”

“What is the problem with Lenny?”

“I think he is holding back some of the collections and working for himself outside of the Firm.”

“Have you seen him at it?”

“Not exactly, it is but a feeling and he has been splashing the cash about a lot more freely of late. Also his mouth, he needs to learn to keep it shut, especially with women.”

“So we will need to keep an eye on him,”

There was a knock to the door,”

“That will be Lenny and Joe now,” Hadley suggests and answers the door.

“Lenny, Joe,” Hadley greets the two.

The late arrivers give a nod and enter and immediately become settled into the fine leather of Bryce’s chesterfield couches, Worth places a dusty boot onto the surface of the couch.

“Feet Lenny,” Bryce demands.

“Sorry,” Worth’s boot returns to the floor.

“Who would like a drink?” Bryce offers.

Both accept.

“We have a problem with Abbotsford Street,” Lenny Worth admits and Joe Bolt seconds the motion with a nod. Worth downs his drink and requests a refill.

“Are you thirsty Lenny?” Hadley says.

“It looks that way Tom,” Worth answers curtly towards the connotation behind Hadley’s remark.

“And what seems to be the problem?” Bryce asks.

“We’ve come down heavy but he won’t budge, this one is a little braver than the last.”

“Or stupid,” Bryce corrects.

“So we will have to make an example of him, if not others will get ideas,” Hadley urges.

“True, what do you suggest,” Worth questions.

“I don’t think I need to tell you how to do your job Lenny,” Bryce cuts across the conversation.

“Point taken boss,” Worth says.

“Are there any other problems?”

“No, all under control,” Joe Bolt assures.

Bryce cuts the meeting short, “that will be all for now, come and see me when it’s done.” He shows the two out and passes each an unsealed envelope, “there is a little extra in there for a job well done – alright?” he gives a knowing head nod and a wink.

Both thanked Bryce. Bolt pockets his envelope without scrutiny but Lenny Worth peeps inside. Doing so annoys Bryce and he frowns, Worth notices Bryce’s displeasure and gives a weak smile as an apology as they depart.

“Right on to another bother,” Bryce says to Hadley once they are again alone. He tops up his drink and takes a seat while watching Hadley’s reactions. Hadley appeared unusually nervous, “What’s wrong Tom, you appear a little flustered?”

“Bit of gut, must be the Chinese I had last night.” Hadley rubs his stomach as if in proof.

“Now that other problem,”

“What would that be boss?”

“Marcus Finn and who did him in,” Bryce smiles, ‘quite poetical’ he thinks.

“Why is it concerning you Stan, he was nothing but shit you would wipe from your boot?”

“In the main it doesn’t but suspicion is starting to fall on me and I don’t like that, it isn’t good for the image to pick on kids, even lowlife such as Finn.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I believe we had this discussion before I went to Sydney and I said I hadn’t made any decision, as possibly we could use him.”

“Oh,” Hadley appeared to be backing away from the issue of Marcus Finn.

“Who do you think topped him?” Bryce asks.

“Possible one of his own,”

“That I doubt there isn’t one of them with the balls.”

“Could be anyone, if he crossed you he would have crossed others and there was that run-in he had with a lad from the Richmond push.”

“Possibly but I want you to do a little snooping and let me know what you discover.”

“Is it worth the effort Stan?”

“It is what I want,” Bryce snaps, as too often of late Hadley questioned his authority, even on the occasion making decision that were adverse to Bryce’s design for the so named Firm.

Hadley agrees and departs company.

Once alone Bryce pours another drink and falls back into the comfort of his couch, observing a scuff mark made by Worth’s boot. He growls loudly as he wipes it away with his handkerchief. He is thinking and part of his concern is with Hadley and not as suggested Lenny Worth. Hadley had a secretive nature and was a bad liar. Bryce believed he often worked against his authority and had plans to take over. ‘It is Hadley I need to watch not Lenny Worth,’ he muses but believes he had enough control over the so called Firm to succeed, yet he would be more than pleased if Hadley was no more.

Later that evening after Bryce’s meeting there was a commotion in Abbotsford Street. Firstly the running of heavy boots on cobble stones, then the barking of a dog shattered the quiet. Lizzie Carven who lived directly across from Sammy’s shoe shop and residence was wakened with a start and quickly at her bedroom window in time to see the fire take control.

At first Lizzie concerned for Sam Pointer and his wife but settled on seeing they were already on the street. In her nightclothes with her husband beside, Lizzie hurried to the street, “what happened?” she called as the fire escaped from the shop to the residence above. As she spoke the Fitzroy fire cart arrived but there was nothing they could do, except prevent the fire from spreading to neighboring properties.

“It was those bastards,” Sam Pointer hissed without quantifying.

“Who?” Lizzie asked but her question remained unsatisfied, Sam Pointer knew when he was defeated.

O’Keefe had only been in his office for ten minutes when his constable came in with the news of a fire in North Melbourne but had little interest until the officer spoke further on the matter. “It was Sammy’s shoe shop. They got out without injury but lost both business and residence.”

“Sammy the shoemaker you say?” O’Keefe questions.

“Yes and that is the second business to burn in less than a month, last was a pawnbroker in the same area,” the officer pinned to his telling.

“Was it an accident?” O’Keefe asks,

“Apparently not, a neighbor was disturbed by breaking glass and the sound of running only moments before the fire.”

O’Keefe made no further comment on the matter but was developing a pattern and would investigate, deciding to interview the neighbours of the burned out bootmaker. After reading the report on the fire he departed for Abbottsford Street but firstly he needed to visit Foys and Gibson department store on the corner of Bourke and Swanston to return a vase his wife had purchased but found unfitting for her purpose.

Returning items was a common occurrence with Mrs. O’Keefe and as she was too embarrassed to do so herself, it was left to her husband to face the shop assistant. After leaving Foys it was a good half hour’s walk to Abbottsford Street, so O’Keefe took a shortcut through a number of city lanes, having to navigate around the rubbish dumped without consideration for health or safety, while feeling uneasy by the number of rats that disturbed from plies of refuge as he passed.

Passing along Franklyn Lane O’Keefe was distracted from ways to approach the city on cleaning the many lanes and blind alleys and how he would tackle his questioning on the fire, when he noticed a short scribbling above the usual graffiti on a red brick wall. He paused and read the inscription,

STAN BRICE IS A SODMITE.

The writing was poor and difficult to cypher and it was the spelling that first caught his attention, ‘sodomite,’ he mentally corrected while feeling disgust with its use on a public wall.

As O’Keefe commenced to move away he was drawn towards the name, “Brice he loudly spoke, “Bryce,” he corrected as a flash of memory came to him from his interview with the German in Errol Street being it sounded like Kycey, also the name of Bryce had appeared in earlier reports. O’Keefe repeated the German’s words, “Kycey –, no its Bryce, now that’s a name I’ve encountered before but from where.”

Once back at his office O’Keefe approached his constable William Turner. “William have we had dealings with a Mr. Stanley Bryce other than his name frequenting in conversation?”

“The name is familiar, in what respect are you suggesting?” Turner asks.

“Do you remember our conversation on what the German in Errol Street told me?”

“Yes you were asking about Kycey’,”

“That was so and now I believe the shoemaker miss heard and possibly it was Brycey’ and as you suggested a play on the name Bryce.”

“Why so Mr. O’Keefe?”

“I found a disgusting inscription on a wall in Franklyn Lane referring to a Stan Bryce but spelled incorrectly.”

“That does sound feasible and if I recollect he was suggested to be part of the Fitzroy gang you are investigating.”

“I think we should give Mr. Bryce a visit or at least do a little investigation into his business dealings.”

“In respect to Errol Street incident or the fire in Abbottsford Street?”

“Both, I believe they are connected, possibly also the killing of Marcus Finn.

“What gives you opinion this Mr. Bryce is responsible for the killing of Finn?” Turner asks.

“You hear things Turner. Sometimes they are only to cause menace like the scribbling on the Franklyn Lane, sometime they have substance but I do recollect one of the downstairs constables talking about a Mr. Bryce losing a skiff and if I recollect correctly the name Marcus Finn was part of that conversation and there would be strife when Mr. Bryce caught up with the lad.”

“What makes you suspect Mr. Bryce is connected with the fires?”

“If one keeps an ear to conversation it is surprising what you pick up and the workings of our mysterious North Melbourne gang is common conversation down stairs.

Coincidence as coincidences go; on that same day O’Keefe chanced upon the Franklyn Lane graffiti and but one hour later, Dev had taken a shortcut through the Lane, also discovering the writing referring to Bryce. His first intention was to remove the graffiti by scrubbing at the letters with a stone but with little success. Then an idea developed, as he knew where Bryce resided he could keep in with the man and visit, letting him know about the insult, so Bryce could arrange for its removal.

It wasn’t until the following day Dev found chance to visit Bryce. After breakfast he hurried to be away but was waylaid by Ilene as she returned from the washhouse, her face flustered.

“What’s wrong?” Dev asked.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” Ilene huffs her displeasure.

“I’ll give it a go, pray tell.”

“I was caught again;” Ilene gives a shudder of embarrassment.

“Caught at what?”

“The night-soil man caught me on the seat as he removed the can.” Although much of the inner city had been sewered, not so the poorer parts of Collingwood and surrounding area, where the toilet consisted of a small cubical set against the rear fence, with an opening in the lane behind for the night-cart man. Once the rear door was open and the can removed, it was a simple act to view all belonging to anyone seated above.

Dev laughs.

“It’s not funny love,”

“What did he say?”

“Good morning misses, and then simply replaced the new can and closed the trap.”

“Did you reply?” Dev remained laughing.

“I shrieked,”

“Did he apologies,”

“Not a word but I’m sure I heard him cackling as he left.”

Again Dev laughs; “by now you should know his routine.”

Ilene settles, “he was late this week,”

“I can’t help you there mum,”

“What are doing this morning?”

“I need to visit someone – why do you ask?”

“Who Douglas? If so you better invite him back for dinner, I don’t think his father feeds him.”

“No I’m not visiting Doug but if I see him I will do so.”

“Then could you deliver a load of washing to the big house on your way?”

“I guess I could as I don’t have a set time.”

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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