Dark Angels

by Ron Thomas

  For two hours, they talked about the plan for the shop and Yosef Abrahams seemed to have an answer for everything. By the time they’d finished, they knew that it was more than a dream, and their excitement had Meggsie and Federico both talking at once.

  When they finally stood up to leave, Yosef Abrahams pulled a tailor’s tape from his pocket with a flourish. He stood in front of Federico and lifted his left arm into a horizontal position. In a flash, he measured Federico’s sleeve length.

  ‘You will need one of my fruit and veg shirts,’ Yosef said as he quickly measured Federico’s neck size. He glanced at Meggsie.

  ‘I don’t need yours. I show you, Gilbert!’ he exclaimed, and took a few quick steps to a rack along the back wall. He took down a grey shirt, with an apple and a banana embroidered neatly on the breast pocket, just like the previous ones he’d made.

  ‘Two for you, two for Benito. Ready for when you are!’ he said proudly. ‘I expected that it’s only a matter of time before you will need them. If I’m investing in the fruit business, it has to be done right.’

  Chapter 33

  Cup Day

  Melbourne Cup fever consumed the population as never before. The previous year, the mighty Phar Lap had been easily beaten into second place by Nightmarch, but that setback hadn’t deterred the punters this year.

  On Derby day, just three days before The Cup, the nation had awoken to a scandal. In a quiet suburban street by Caulfield racecourse, as Tommy Woodcock, the champion’s strapper walked the people’s champion back to his stable after a morning gallop, a car rounded the corner and a masked man in the back seat took a pot shot at Phar Lap. Despite the drama, Phar Lap had streeted the field in the Melbourne stakes and won by ten lengths, going away. The horse known as ‘big red’ was now a red-hot favourite for today’s big race.

  Detective Sergeant Ray Blissett was one of the few who had other things on his mind. Blissett had been around long enough to know there was something in the wind. Being asked to put on a command performance before the Police Commissioner on Melbourne Cup Day, an hour before barrier-time, meant that whatever it was about, it was important.

  Blissett didn’t much like having to put on a dog and pony show without advance warning of what it was about. Hoping to gain some insight about the meeting his boss had called at such an inopportune time, he arrived early, but it was immediately apparent that his hopes had been optimistic. Even as he approached Mackay’s secretary, he could see she was ready to accost him with the latest race gossip.

  ‘Isn’t it awful about Phar lap, Detective Sergeant? They’ve had to take him off somewhere and hide him away. I do hope he’ll run.’

  ‘I do too, Miss Pilkington. I’ve got five pounds riding on him.’ For a moment, he thought there might be an opportunity to change the subject, but Miss Pilkington got in first.

  ‘You know they’re making a talking film of the race, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Blissett replied, hoping a short answer might yield another opportunity.

  ‘I think it’s so exciting!’ Miss Pilkington declared. ‘Imagine that. We can go to the pictures and see the race and hear the broadcast at the same time. I think it’s wonderful.’

  ‘Do you …’ Blissett began. A soft tinkling sound interrupted him, and Miss Pilkington immediately leapt to her feet.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said and disappeared into the inner office.

  The moment she disappeared, Blissett casually got to his feet and wandered over to Miss Pilkington’s desk, on the off chance there might be some clue there. The desktop was meticulously organised, and though he surreptitiously flicked through a couple of papers, it became apparent that there was nothing of value. Stewing in an uncomfortable, upright chair in the Commissioner’s anteroom did not greatly improve his mood. There was nothing Detective First Class Ray Blissett liked less than a mystery. With nothing better to do, he set about narrowing down the range of possibilities.

  It could possibly be that Mackay thought he’d been heavy-handed again, but knowing the boss, he’d probably only get whacked over the face with a limp lettuce leaf for that. After all, Billy Mackay had been known to have been rather heavy-handed himself when he was on field duty. Mackay had a reputation for toughness, and if there was a problem, he’d get on the job and fix it, whatever that took. That’s what Blissett liked about working for Billy Mackay.

  Then again, Blissett had read about rumblings in the New South Wales Parliament from that fool McLean. Every beat policeman knew that McLean was a regular visitor to every dive, every illegal shibeen and every whorehouse east of the town hall. The word on the street was that he’d been gingered and that had set him off. The same McLean had stood up in Parliament and demanded more police resources. Maybe he’d get the two extra constables he’d been asking for. Perhaps that was it. His thoughts were interrupted when Miss Pilkington appeared, closing the inner office door gently behind her. She took her seat and turned her attention back to him.

  ‘Do you …’ Blissett began again, before she could divert him, but as he spoke, he noticed from the corner of his eye that another figure had appeared in the doorway. The voice was familiar.

  ‘Ray! What are you doing here?’ Detective Constable Martin Fisher asked.

  ‘I might well ask you the same question. I’ve got an appointment with the chief.’

  ‘So have I. Do you know what it’s about?’ Fisher asked.

  ‘No idea, really. Now you’ve turned up, it’s really thrown my theories out the window.’ A tall, willowy woman appeared at the doorway, which was still partially blocked by Fisher’s broad shoulders.

  ‘Can I come in, or is three a crowd?’ Both Blissett and Fisher knew her well, as did every other policeman in the area. Special Sergeant Lillian Armfield was the leading woman police officer in the state, and the only female officer authorised to carry a firearm. ‘I thought I was invited for a cosy chat with the boss,’ she said. ‘It looks like it’s more of a bloody comedy show.’

  They were still trying to guess at the reason for the meeting, when the inner door opened and William Mackay appeared.

  ‘Oh, you’re all here. Come in, come in,’ he said jovially.

  ‘There was a long pause. Mackay studiously rearranged the papers on his desk as he gathered his thoughts. Blissett half expected him to ask them about their selections for The Cup, but it was soon apparent that the chief had other things foremost in his mind.

  ‘I’ve got some news that I wanted to share with you before everyone else finds out. You are three of our best assets out there on the street, and if all goes to plan, within the month, we should have some important changes in place. Changes you’ll like.’ Mackay’s alert eyes scanned from one to the other. He was certainly one to dramatize good news.

  ‘For the best part of the year, I’ve been trying to convince Minister Chaffey that the police need additional powers if we are to clean up Darlinghurst, and break up the razor gangs,’ he said, then smiled quite broadly. ‘At last, politics seems to have forced his hand. Perhaps you read in the paper about Sandy McLean’s histrionics in the Legislative Assembly a couple of weeks back.’ All three listeners nodded.

  ‘Normally, given Sandy’s reputation, not much notice is taken of him. In this case, however, the Labor Party decided there was an opportunity to steal the high ground on law and order from the government. Now it appears that Premier Bavin is about to use my proposals to steal the initiative back again. Now that’s encouraging news for us and for the honest citizens of the area.’ He paused again.

  ‘Tomorrow morning, the Premier will be putting a bill before the house called the New South Wales Vagrancy Amendment Act. This includes all my proposals, and in some areas even goes beyond them. The act contains a consorting clause, which specifies heavy penalties, including six-month jail terms for anyone who habitually consorts with reputed criminals, prostitutes or vagrant persons who have no visible legal means of support.’

  Ray Blissett couldn’t help himsel
f. ‘Wow! Sandy McLean could find himself the first person arrested,’ he blurted. It brought a fleeting smile to William Mackay’s face, but he passed no comment and continued.

  ‘Being honest for a moment, I expected my proposition to be watered down. Instead I got more than I asked for. Bavin’s in a real hurry. Of course, it has to pass both houses, but Bavin swears that the climate is very favourable, with both sides of the house trying to outdo each other. Suddenly, law and order’s the flavour of the month.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that mean that if we find two criminals standing on a street corner talking, we could arrest both of them?’ Martin Fisher asked.

  ‘Exactly, Detective Constable. That’s precisely what it means. Similarly, if a criminal approaches a prostitute on the street, you can take them both in. Of course, it doesn’t mean criminals can’t do business in private, but if you strike a gang together in public, say in a pub, you can nab the lot of them! You don’t even have to wait for a crime to be committed.’

  ‘So, let me get this straight,’ Lillian Armfield mused. ‘If two of the girls meet on the street, they are breaking the law. Have I got that right?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. It forces them back into the brothels.’

  ‘Well!’ Armfield responded, clearly sceptical and ever one to speak her mind. ‘Tilly Devine will love this. She’ll be in for a big expansion of her empire! There will be new knock shops opening up all over the place!’

  ‘Let’s see how it all works out,’ Mackay said, sounding a trifle unnerved. ‘At least they’ll be off the streets. We’ve got new tools, and we have to work out how to use them. I haven’t told you the best part.’ He paused again, picked up a pencil and twirled it in his fingers for a few seconds. ‘Perhaps with a little prompting from me, Bavin concluded that the opposition might be tempted to propose a law that makes the carrying of a razor an offence. He’s decided to head that possibility off at the pass by proposing a law of his own, that provides for a mandatory six-months jail sentence for persons unlawfully possessing a razor. It also proposes that those using a razor as a weapon be both jailed and flogged. I don’t know what you think, but if we play our cards right, we can wipe the razor gangs out completely. Any comments?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Ray Blissett replied. ‘When can we start?’

  ‘Well, Ray, that’s why you’re here. With half the politicians in the state wanting to grab some kudos from this, we can expect a talkfest in both houses, so it could take a month or more before the law comes into effect. Meanwhile, we’ve got plenty to do. We’re going to form up a couple of squads, purely for the purpose of breaking up the gangs. You two blokes will transfer to the new consorting squad. I expect you to bring so much pressure to bear on the gangs they’ll be afraid to fart for fear you’ll smell them and have them in front of a magistrate. The reason I bought Miss Armfield in with you, is because she and her squad will be working closely with you. They’ll be eyes and ears for you.’

  ‘The crims are going to love this!’ Fisher exclaimed.

  ‘More to the point, they are going to love you. You two could be the most hated cops in the country. Keep that in mind, and watch your backs,’ Mackay commented. ‘Parallel with this, there will be a new drug squad to get the cocaine out of the place, and to hit their revenues. Wickham and Wharton Thompson will be your contact with the druggies. I’m sure you know them already.’ All three of his listeners nodded.

  A discrete knock at the door interrupted Mackay. It appeared to be a prearranged signal, because he immediately started gathering up his papers, and got to his feet.

  ‘The Cup’s about to start,’ he announced. ‘The new law might take a while, but we can start preparing tomorrow. I’ll call more meetings about the detail, and will expect you to have a plan within the week.’

  ***

  ‘They are off and racing in the 1930 Melbourne Cup!’ the familiar voice of race caller Eric Welch echoed throughout the office. ‘The shortest priced favourite in the history of the cup started well from barrier twenty-one. Can he do it? It’s a big ask, carrying nine stone twelve!’ The crowd around the radio was silent as the race progressed, but as they entered the final turn, still bunched, with Shadow King leading from Second Wind, they began to barrack, as others, having difficulty hearing the broadcast were calling for quiet.

  ‘Jimmy Pike has Phar Lap travelling easily on the rails,’ Welch’s raspy voice spruiked. ‘Now he gives him a gentle cut with the whip and Phar Lap leaps to the lead. ‘They won’t be catching the red terror in this race! Phar lap goes on to win by four lengths!’ The crowd broke into euphoric shouting and backslapping.

  ***

  Ray Blissett and Martin Fisher were in an upbeat mood as they paused side-by-side on the worn sandstone steps.

  ‘Were you on Phar lap?’ Fisher asked.

  ‘Yes mate. I had a fiver on him. Crook odds of course. How about you?’

  ‘I didn’t like the odds, so I just put a couple of quid on Shadow King.’

  ‘For a place?’ Blissett asked.

  ‘No mate. For the win.’ Fisher replied ruefully.

  Blissett’s grin indicated what he thought of that idea. ‘That’s a pity, Marty. A real shame,’ he said mockingly.

  ‘It was a rush of blood. That means it’s your shout, mate.’ Fisher replied gloomily.

  Chapter 34

  Phoenix Rising

  The large, garish canvas banner was stretched between two partially burnt timbers. It read ‘Benny’s Fruit Market grand reopening’. Underneath in smaller letters, ‘Your local fruiterer … again’. The burnt remains of the original Benny’s had been raked away, leaving a circular clearing in the middle, and parked centrally was the Thornycroft truck, decorated with streamers and stacked with boxes of fruit and vegetables. Around it, trestle tables, purchased second hand for a song, were stacked high with fruit of all types. Not only were all the family there to help, but many of Benito’s friends from the markets had come along after their shift to lend a hand. As he did every day at the Haymarket, Fred Loughlin stood on the back of the truck and bellowed about the quality of the fruit, while Lou Ricci schmoozed the customers into buying a more than they’d intended.

  Meggsie, Alessia and Claudia had spent every spare minute over the last week dropping little flyers into letterboxes all around the district. Many locals came to ask about Benito, but they all went away with baskets full of Benny’s fruit. Twice during the day, Benny’s friend Lou disappeared for a while then returned bearing more stock. As darkness descended, Therese produced two bottles of Ouzo and family and friends stood around and drank to Benito’s health and to the success of the new market.

  ***

  Meggsie’s cockatooing instincts kicked in the moment he saw the two men standing in the shadows. They weren’t trying to hide the fact they were policemen, and when they noticed that Meggsie had seen them, they spoke briefly to each other and then began to walk across the road towards him. He wasn’t concerned. As far as he knew they weren’t breaking any laws, except perhaps the serving of alcohol. As they approached, he recognised the taller of the two men.

  ‘Evening, Mister Blissett,’ Meggsie said, taking the initiative before the policeman had a chance to speak.

  ‘Evening, young fellow,’ Blissett replied. Meggsie immediately thought that the policeman hadn’t recognised him.

  ‘Maggs, isn’t it? Gilbert Maggs?’ Blissett asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s me,’ Meggsie responded, not sure whether he should be pleased or concerned that Blissett remembered him. He forced a cheeky smile. ‘There’s no game here,’ he said. ‘We’re just selling fruit. This is our first day since the fire.’

  ‘I’m not with the gaming squad anymore Gilbert. I’m with the consorting squad; so is my friend here, Detective Sergeant Redmond. It looks like you’ve had a pretty good day of it.’ Blissett seemed quite relaxed, and happy to indulge in idle chat, but Meggsie knew enough of policemen to keep his guard up. He’d never heard the word ‘consorting’ before, an
d he wondered why it needed a squad.

  ‘Yes. Lots of Mister Battaglia’s customers are supporting us. He’s due to come out of hospital, but he wasn’t well enough to be here today.’ Meggsie explained.

  ‘Do you have any idea who firebombed the shop?’ Blissett asked. ‘We’d like to nail whoever did it.’

  ‘I didn’t see who did it. I only saw shadows.’

  ‘I know that already. I’ve read the report. What I asked was, do you have any idea who did it?’ Blissett replied.

  Meggsie thought quickly. ‘I honestly don’t know who did it, Mister Blissett.’

  ‘And you wouldn’t tell me if you did, would you?’ Meggsie wasn’t really sure whether it was a question or a caustic comment, and he wisely chose to say nothing. Blissett quickly changed the subject.

  ‘Do you know where your friend Caletti is? We thought we might find him here, this being one of his old haunts.’

  So, the consorting squad is after Guido, Meggsie thought. ‘He hasn’t been here,’ he said. ‘It’s some time since I’ve seen him.’

  ‘If you see him, tell him I’m looking for him,’ Blissett said casually and half turned away. ‘Say I’ve got a warning for him. Take care, Maggs. I hope the shop works out for you.’ Meggsie watched and wondered what it was about as the two policemen crossed the road and walked away towards King’s Cross.

  ‘Who are those two, Gil?’ Federico asked. Meggsie hadn’t noticed that Federico had come up behind him.

  ‘Police. They were looking for Mister Caletti. They said they were from the consorting squad, whatever that is.

  ‘They’re pretty quick off the mark. The law was only enacted yesterday afternoon. I didn’t think they would have had time to form a consorting squad yet.’

  ‘I give up. What’s a consorting squad?’

  ‘Consorting is hanging about with someone. Just being with them is consorting. The new law makes it a crime for criminals to hang about with each other in public places.’