And De Fun Don't Done by Robert G. Barrett Page A

head. The black bloke seemed more interested in Norton. He looked at Hank for a second or two then said something to the white bouncer.
    â€˜Okay,’ said the white bouncer, not looking at all happy, ‘I’ll let you in this time. But next time wear shoes, okay?’ Hank still propped at the door. The smile disappeared and his jaw dropped. ‘Well, come on buddy,’ said the bouncer in the T-shirt. ‘Are you coming in?’
    â€˜Yeah, what are you doing, Hank?’ said Les. ‘There’s people behind us.’ Hank almost fell through the door with Norton behind him. As he staggered over to the counter to pay the five dollars cover charge Les stepped back and waited, chuckling to himself.
    It wasn’t hard to figure out what was going on. Hank deliberately picked this place knowing they had dress regulations and they wouldn’t let him in looking like B.O. Plenty. Les twigged there was something in the wind when Captain Rats smiled, twice, then offered to pay the cover charge. This would have effectively stuffed up Norton’s night and they would have had to go home, where Les could’ve watched TV and drunk cheap, shitty tequila at Hank’s house or gone and sweated the night out in his own room. But they’d got in; only because of the big black bloke in the grey suit. Les was looking at the personin question who was standing barely a metre away. He wasn’t just big, he was an absolute monster. At least six feet six and twenty stone, with a huge bony head sitting on a neck as thick as Norton’s waist. He saw Les staring at him and flashed an infectious white grin.
    â€˜Hey man. Are you Australian?’
    â€˜Yeah,’ nodded Les. ‘Why’s that, mate?’
    â€˜That T-shirt,’ said the man-mountain. ‘Rugby. Man, I played that shit at college for a while. That’s one helluva game. Broke mah goddamn collarbone.’ He looked directly at Les. ‘You play rugby?’
    â€˜Yeah.’ Les nodded again. ‘In the forwards. Second row mainly. I suppose you play gridiron?’
    â€˜Yeah, man. Used to play tight end for the Dolphins.’
    â€˜I’d believe that,’ grinned Les. ‘Christ! I’d hate to tackle you front on, you big bludger.’
    The big man gave a bit of a laugh then seemed to concentrate on Norton’s T-shirt. ‘Hey, just what is that man? Wests. The Mag-pahs. Hey, that’s one bitchin’ T- shirt.’
    â€˜Yeah, that’s them, mate,’ said Norton. ‘Wests. The mighty Magpies.’
    â€˜Mag-pah. Man, I like that.’
    Les looked evenly at the big man for a second. ‘What do you mean, you like it?’
    â€˜That T-shirt, man. I like it.’
    â€˜You mean you want it?’
    â€˜No, man, I don’t want it. All I’s sayin’ is, I like it.’
    â€˜In other words, you want it, don’t you? Well, here you are. Take the bloody thing.’ Norton started taking off his shirt. ‘I’m not gonna fight you over a lousy bloody T-shirt. You’re too bloody big.’
    â€˜Hey, man. Be cool. I don’t want your T-shirt.’
    Before the big man could argue Norton had his shirt off and handed to the bouncer in the T-shirt, his Wests T- shirt off, folded and handed to the big man; he was glad to get rid of it. ‘There you go, mate,’ said Les, tucking his shirt in. ‘Take the clothes off my poor back. Leave me to freeze. I don’t give a stuff.’
    The big bloke looked at the T-shirt in his hands and the huge grin flashed back. ‘Hey, man, what can I say? I dig that.’
    â€˜That’s okay, mate.’ said Norton. ‘Thanks for letting me in.’
    â€˜That’s cool. Listen, man,’ the big bloke came right up to Les, ‘I owe you one, brother. Anybody give you any shit, you come see me.’
    â€˜I’ll do that. What’s your name anyway?’
    â€˜Harris.’
    Norton shook