Dark Angels

by Ron Thomas

  Chapter 28

  Death Wish

  The prospect of violent death might have served as a warning to a more prudent man, but Norman Bruhn was anything but prudent. Within days of Razor Jack’s inconvenient demise, Bruhn escalated his war with the other, more established warlords of Razorhurst.

  First to feel the sting was Kate Leigh’s string of sly grog shops in Liverpool Street. Bruhn and the remains of his gang stormed into them one after the other, razors at the ready and peeled the night’s takings, then disappeared. Next was Mack’s in Bruhn’s old stomping ground of Charlotte Lane, owned by another potential enemy, Phil Jeffs. A number of Tilley Divine’s brothels were next, with blood spilt, clients intimidated, and takings seized. Norman Bruhn’s trail of havoc meant that his enemies outnumbered his friends. It was not a formula for a long and peaceful future.

  It probably seemed like a good idea after drinking all day in the front bar of the Courthouse Hotel, opposite the Central Criminal Court. Norman’s spur of the moment decision to take another crack at Mack’s, less than fifty paces from his own front door, proved to be a bad mistake.

  Quite unusually, Constable David Brown was on his beat alone, and he didn’t like it one bit. Orders were that two, and preferably three should patrol together in Darlinghurst, but his partner had called in sick at the last moment. David Brown was on the very edge of his nerves. When five shots rang out in quick succession, seemingly coming from the lane that ran beside Mack’s, a common locale for violence, he was in no great hurry to confront the shooter. He stopped to consider his options, then crossed to the other side of Hargrave Street and crept to the corner, trying to stay in the shadows. From there he could see three or perhaps four standing figures, in the darkness, but he couldn’t make out any details. There were no more shots, and the men he could see didn’t seem to be threatening each other. Suddenly they hurried away. Constable Brown was grateful that they’d gone in the opposite direction, and began to work his way carefully down the lane towards Mack’s.

  He could see a taxi parked in shadow a little further down the street, but he wasn’t sure whether it was involved at all in the incident. He saw what appeared to be a bundle of rags, lying in the shadows near Mack’s doorway, but instinct told him it was much more than that. Closer now, he could see blood, flowing across the lane and into the opposite gutter. Brown ran the last few steps, and knelt beside the inert figure, intending to determine if the victim had a pulse. The Constable almost died of fright, when a gravelly voice, quite close behind him, spoke.

  ‘They shot him. The bastards just shot him down,’ the voice said.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Brown asked, nervous tension making his voice crack.

  ‘Name’s Noel Infield. That’s my checker taxi down the road. I was waiting for this bloke and a couple of his mates.’

  ‘And you didn’t do the shooting?’

  The cabbie seemed to think it was a dumb question. ‘Would I be standing here if I was the one who shot him? You must think I’m daft.’

  ‘Well, did you see anything? Faces, anything like that?’

  ‘No, mate. I saw very little. Just shadows. There were four of them, and they must have been waiting for him to come out.’

  Constable Brown took out his notebook and jotted down the cabbie’s name, and the number of his cab.

  ‘Wait right here, Mr Infield. No doubt the detectives will want to get a statement from you. I’ll go up and ring it in from the call box.’

  ‘I lose half my night’s takings if I wait around for you blokes. Can’t I come in to the cop shop in the morning?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. We’re dealing with murder here. You’ll have to wait.’

  Suddenly, there was a groan from the man on the ground.

  ‘He’s not dead!’ Brown said, sounding amazed. ‘Let’s put the poor bugger in your taxi, and we’ll get him to the hospital. We might be able to save his life!’

  ‘There will be blood all over my seats,’ the cabbie wailed. Constable Brown’s frustration began to rise.

  ‘We can’t give a bugger about that, mate! We’ll have to sort that out afterwards. Here, grab his feet.’

  ***

  David Brown leapt from the taxi before it had drawn to a stop outside the emergency waiting room at Sydney Hospital. Through the window, he could see it was busy, its normal condition on a Saturday night. He dashed into the ambulance bay and came back pushing a wheeled trolley, with a medic hot on his heels. Within moments, the injured man was gone and Noel Infield was left to contemplate the bloodied state of his checker taxi.

  ‘A man is a bloody idiot to get talked into this,’ he mumbled bitterly under his breath.

  ***

  ‘What have you got, Constable?’ The Detective Sergeant asked without pausing for ceremony.

  ‘We’ve got a shooting, five bullets to the torso. Outside Mack’s, perhaps four or five shooters. We brought him in a little over an hour ago. The only possible witness is a taxi driver. I’ve got him waiting outside. Victim is in a bad way, but he’s not saying anything.’

  ‘No name?’

  ‘No, he’s not saying, and his wallet’s gone. He’s lost a lot of blood and the medics don’t like his chances.’

  ‘Right, Constable. You get a statement from the cabbie and I’ll look in on the victim.’

  ***

  Though the victim’s eyes were closed, one glance was enough to solve the issue of identity.

  ‘Hello, Norman. Looks like you’ve got yourself into a spot of bother,’ the policeman said, a little too jauntily for the circumstances. The victim’s eyes opened immediately.

  ‘Hello Mr Miller,’ he said in a weak and wavering voice. ‘I know you. I’m shot in the guts.’

  ‘And who would want to do such a thing to an inoffensive fellow like you, Bruhn?’

  ‘I won’t be a copper,’ Norman Bruhn replied. ‘I wouldn’t shelf anybody. Go away, I’m too sick. I don’t want the police to intervene.’

  With that, Norman Bruhn closed his eyes, and was never to open them again.

  ***

  ‘How are you doing, Constable?’ Miller asked. ‘Have you got the taxi driver’s statement?’

  ‘Yes, Detective Sergeant. It’s all here. Did you manage to speak to the victim?’

  ‘Yes. Do you know him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Norman Bruhn. Nasty Norman.’

  ‘I’ve heard the name. Did he say who shot him?’ Brown asked.

  ‘No. That’s no surprise, though.’

  ‘I wonder who wanted him out of the way?’ Brown asked rhetorically.

  ‘Now that’s the question. Half of the Sydney underworld’s the answer. Could be any of the sly groggers for a start. Tilly Devine, Jeffs, Caletti, a dozen others.’

  ***

  Tradition loomed large over the violent gangs that fought and cheated their way through the slums of East Sydney. Funerals were not unusual, and the various factions vied with each other to impress with crass and lavish ostentation. Friends, enemies, pressmen and even the hated coppers made a point of attendance. Yes, funerals were a place to be seen, a short break from the business of ‘doing business’.

  Perhaps he would have liked it that way, but Norman Bruhn’s funeral was attended only by his brow beaten and battered wife, and his two gangster brothers. None of his own henchmen chose to put in an appearance. Nor were there many who would lament his passing. Detective Sergeant Miller was there, standing well back from proceedings, hoping to gain some insight into the shooter’s identity, but with such a poor attendance, he didn’t bother to stay for long.

  ***

  Moe was already waiting when Meggsie arrived. ‘The nurse said we could both go in and see Benny together. It’s amazing what pestering will accomplish,’ he said, obviously pleased with himself. ‘She said we’ll have to wait twenty minutes till they change him.’

  ‘Oh. Perhaps they think he’s improving if they’ll let us both in.’

  ‘D
id you hear about the fight?’ Moe asked.

  ‘What fight?’ Meggsie knew nothing about any fight.

  ‘Between Guido and Green. They fought over Nellie in one of those lanes off Liverpool Street. The one where the Lotus Flower is. Darby Maddocks wrote about it in The Truth. I gave him the lead.’ Meggsie could detect pride in Moe’s voice.

  ‘Did they use razors or guns?’ Meggsie asked.

  ‘Neither. They agreed to fight man to man, with fists and boots. It went on for hours. At the end, they were so beaten up that they couldn’t even walk. Neither of them! Both the stupid bastards deserve it. According to Darby, Nellie walked off with Guido, because he agreed to marry her. How about that? Green will be so pissed, I’d be watching my back if I were Guido!’

  Meggsie thought for a moment. ‘Guido’s enemies will have to watch theirs, too,’ he replied.

  ‘He’s ready,’ the friendly blonde nurse said from the doorway.

  Chapter 29

  The Green MG

  It was Friday afternoon and Mister Mills dismissed his class early, with advice that, with the Intermediate Certificate looming, they would be wise to spend their precious time on their studies.

  Meggsie arrived at the hospital earlier than usual, and he brought schoolbooks with him, hoping to get some study time where there was better light than in the truck. The car park at the front of the hospital had only a few vehicles in it, and his eyes lit on a car that was bound to grab his attention. It was an MG Midget, M Type in British Racing Green, rather mud spattered and dusty. The hood was down, and Meggsie couldn’t resist a closer look at the interior. The passenger’s seat was heaped with the refuse of meals eaten along the road. A number of empty drink bottles, sandwich crusts, hastily wrapped, and a number of desiccated apple cores and banana peels lay in profusion. To Meggsie’s discerning eye, it didn’t seem to be any way to treat a beautiful MG.

  ***

  The unexpected stranger sitting on Benito’s visitor’s chair was a surprise to Meggsie. He was a young man in his early twenties, tall, lithe, and well dressed in a dark blazer with a crest on the pocket, and grey trousers. He looked up from the document he’d been studying as Meggsie entered the room. Because he was sitting in the chair next to Benito’s bed, Meggsie assumed he was one of the interns, perhaps a young visiting doctor, or an orderly.

  ‘Sorry,’ Meggsie stammered. ‘I can come back later, if you like.’

  The man got to his feet, laying his document on the bed as he did so. ‘No need for that,’ he said. The moment he spoke, Meggsie had a strange feeling of familiarity, despite the certainty he’d never met the man.

  ‘You must be Gilberto,’ the man said. ‘My mum said that I might run into you here. I’m Federico Battaglia. Benito is my dad. I’m sorry we haven’t met before, but I’ve been at uni in Melbourne. Mum made sure that I stayed there until the end of term. I finished my exams, jumped in the car and drove straight up.’ He leaned forward and stroked his father’s brow.

  ‘Papa hasn’t moved a muscle since I arrived about half an hour ago.’

  ‘I’m Gilberto. At least that’s what your mother calls me. Actually, my name is Gilbert Maggs. Most people seem to prefer to call me Meggsie.’

  Federico grinned. ‘I can’t imagine why. Actually, most people call me Fed, though some just have to stick an ‘r’ in there, so I also answer to Fred. Mum tells me that you’ve been coming to see my dad almost every day. That’s very nice of you and we appreciate that so much. It must be boring for a young bloke like you if he doesn’t speak and doesn’t move. How long do you stay?’

  ‘Sometimes an hour, sometimes two. If I’ve got homework from school, sometimes I do that while I’m here. I’m doing the Intermediate in a few weeks. They’ve got a few old car magazines in the waiting room, but I’ve pretty much read them all three times. I talk to him. Who knows, he may be able to hear me.’

  ‘You like cars, do you?’

  ‘My word. I like fast cars. You know, sporty types.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like my little MG then.’

  ‘You’ve got an MG? Oh! Is that one in the car park yours?’

  ‘I’d say so, if it’s green and covered with dirt. It’s a real mess at the moment. I’ve just spent nineteen hours driving it. I’m going straight home when I leave here to clean it.’

  ‘I noticed. I’ve never been in an MG! Can I help?’ Meggsie asked, scarcely unable to contain his enthusiasm. Federico couldn’t help chuckling. MGs had that sort of effect on boys.

  ‘Sure. That’s the least I can do,’ he said.

  By the time they’d chatted for another hour, Federico and Meggsie had established the basis for a surprising friendship. Being the son of a fruit and veg man, Federico had spent much of his early life in and around the shop, so they soon established common ground. When the doctors informed them that it was time to attend to Benito’s dressings, Meggsie and Federico decided that it was time to go and wash a car.

  ***

  It took some time for them to find a garbage tin to dump the rubbish from Federico’s long drive and to make room for an animated passenger.

  The tan leather seat of the little MG wrapped around Meggsie almost as though it was tailor-made for him. When he closed the door, there was a solid-sounding thud. Anticipation built as Federico donned gloves and a soft leather driving cap. When the engine roared to life, and the burbling muffler sang to him, Meggsie was immediately transported to seventh heaven. The closest he’d been to an MG was to watch them passing down Darlinghurst Road on their way to Rose Bay and Vaucluse.

  Federico was a competent driver, quickly wending his way through the traffic, but never speeding. With the wind in his hair and the throaty burble of the exhausts, as Federico shifted down gears and slowed the little car down using the engine, Meggsie had little trouble convincing himself that this was the vehicle he had to have.

  ***

  They had barely begun to wash the MG when Therese came out of the front door, carrying a black handbag.

  ‘Good evening, Gilberto. I see you’ve met my beautiful boy Federico. I see you’ve met his awful, noisy motorcar. And he’s already got you washing it! He takes after his father, that boy.’

  ‘Fair go, Mum. I spent almost every penny I own on it, and I still have to pay it off,’ Federico complained.

  ‘If it’s expensive, they should make it quieter. Noisy cars should be cheap.’

  ‘Would you like a ride to the hospital, Mum?’ Federico asked, obviously concluding he wasn’t about to win this argument.

  ‘Not as long as I got neighbours. I wouldn’t want them to see me going by in that noisy thing. I wouldn’t want to ride in a car without a proper roof, either. It’s not decent!’

  ‘I can soon put the hood up easily enough, Mum, if that’s the problem,’ Federico suggested helpfully.

  ‘The number forty-one tram is a perfectly good way to get to the hospital. Was there any change?’ They shook their heads in unison.

  She nodded in the direction of the MG. ‘If I have to have that thing outside my house, I’d like it to be clean. There’s leftover bol if you’d like some, when you’re done.’

  Meggsie decided immediately that he would indeed like some. It didn’t take long to finish the cleaning, and within half an hour, with the MG sparkling, they were tucking into delicious reheated bolognese and crusty bread.

  ‘Where are you living, these days, Gilbert? I mean between hospital visits,’ Federico asked, as he mopped up the last of the sauce on his plate. ‘Mum told me that you lived at the shop before the fire.’

  ‘I went to live with Guido Caletti for a while, but I didn’t like it there so much. Actually, he threw me out. For the last few weeks I’ve been sleeping in the truck.’

  ‘You mean the old Thornycroft? I thought it must have gone up in the fire.’

  ‘No, it’s parked in the backyard at the shop. I’ll find somewhere else to stay soon. I’ll worry about that when Benito’s better and my exams are over.�
�

  ‘Couldn’t you go back home, wherever that is? I mean where you were before you lived at the shop.’

  ‘My father chased me out of home with a kitchen knife. I don’t think I’ll be going back there any time soon. Between school, studying and the hospital, I don’t spend much time in the truck.’ He didn’t mention his job at the Doll House.

  ‘You know, Gilbert, if Mum knew about this, she would have you over here in a flash.’

  ‘Your mum’s got plenty to worry about at the moment. She doesn’t need me hanging about. I’ve lived on the street, so I know how to survive.’

  ‘Tell me, Gilbert, what will you do when this is all over? What will you do in the future?’

  ‘I don’t know. Benito taught me all about the fruit and veg business. I’m pretty sure I could get a job at the markets, or in a fruit shop somewhere. I’ve been told there’s an automotive course at the mechanics Institute. Maybe I could try that later.’

  ‘My dad loved his fruit shop. I thought a lot about that while I was on the road. What do you think he’d do if he got better?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind betting that whatever he did, it would be in the fruit and veg business.’

  ‘Exactly! And if he was in the fruit and veg business, why wouldn’t it be where the shop is now? No doubt something will go on the site. Why not a new Benny’s Fruit Market? Like the Phoenix, rising from the ashes!’

  Meggsie didn’t know much about the Phoenix, but he knew that if Benito were to reopen his shop, his customers would return and he’d want to be there. Hope that Benito would awaken had gradually been waning in Meggsie, and he knew that if it didn’t happen, there would be no point in a new Benny’s. He badly needed the new burst of enthusiasm that Federico brought with him.

  They were washing the dishes when they heard the sound of the key in the lock, then Claudia’s voice called out.