Mountain of Death: Guest Blogger Eddie Barnes

When a good mate asks you to do him a favour, you do it. Jack Hardy reckons I owe this writer bloke a go on his blog, whatever a bloody blog is. I told him I’d keep the F word out of it though, going to be hard. Anyway, me mates, that is the blokes who know me call me Slick. I don’t know where the moniker came from. Maybe because I use a bit of Brylcreem now and then on me hair. Or I reckon it’s because I can con, sorry talk people out of their money and the ladies out of their knickers.

I’m only a little bloke, used to be a Jockey. I’ve got a soft voice and smooth cheeks, some of the sheilas reckon I’m good looking. I’m the bloke you see with the tall blondes. Now I’m not a skite, I won’t bullshit you here but I pull more birds than Errol Flynn. And some of em pay me for the privelige. The only trouble is I cop a lot of flak from pissed of husbands and boyfriends.

Now, Bendigo down in Victoria where I come from, got a bit small for me. So I took off down to Melbourne and finished my apprenticeship there. I rode a few winners on the track and off. My life was pretty sweet, I had a beaut girlfriend and steady work. Then I put her in the pudding club, her daddy wasn’t impressed. He was one of those big horse trainers who’s always in the news. I left his daughter at the altar, well didn’t the shit hit the fan.

A few weeks previous I nicked a few bob from the Jockey’s Club, actually more like a few thousand, anyway he put the rozzers onto me. When I wouldn’t marry his little girl he sent a few heavies around. Grandma Barnes didn’t bring up an idiot, so with the heavies and the law after me I headed north. Bye bye Melbourne, hello Sydney.

Let me tell you, I love it here, I’ve dropped a few bad cheques from the western suburbs to the north shore. Have myself a steady stream of ladies with money to burn and a good mate in Jack. Life looks rosy but there has to be more for me here, I think. R & R started here in the Cross this year and the place is knee deep in Yanks and money, easy bloody money.

I’ve sussed the R & R centre out, bought drinks for the right blokes and asked the right questions. I know how the money moves and there’s bloody lots of it, hundreds of thousands of dollars. If I can’t get Jack in on this, I don’t know what I’ll do. I want this so much I can taste it. With my share I can go back to Bendigo and buy some real winners, breed em even. Then I’ll show those snobs down in Melbourne that Eddie Barnes is somebody.

I’ve gotta go, Jack’s coming in the front door. It’s his turn to do tea tonight and by that lovely smell he’s bought pizza. And there’s only one pizza here, Mama’s from up the road. Now where did I put the bottle opener?



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