Dark Fires Shall Burn

by Anna Westbrook

  ‘You bitch!’ Errol shrieks from the floor. He puts his palm to his stomach and it comes away soaked. ‘Fuuuck! She shot me right in the fuckin’ guts.’

  Dot and Templeton look wildly at the hole in Errol’s stomach, until Dot begins to laugh. Nellie pops up from behind the kitchen bench like a Jack-in-the-box and kicks Errol’s shotgun away from his reach, into the corner.

  ‘You were here the whole goddamned time, you fucken bitch,’ Errol groans.

  Jackie is rooted to the spot, his eyes black and unreadable. ‘You made a big mistake, darlin’. A big, big mistake.’

  ‘Just try it. You want to fuck with me?’ Tipper points the gun at Jackie.

  ‘Help me, for fuck’s sake, Jackie!’ Errol whimpers, the end of his sentence pinched in a rising howl of pain. ‘I’m bleeding here. Get me out to the car. Take me to a hospital.’

  ‘Takes days to die from a shot in the guts,’ Nellie says. ‘It’s slow. It hurts.’ She smiles as she nudges Errol with her boot.

  ‘You fucken whores, I’ll fucken gut you all,’ Jackie shouts, pocketing his blade and moving over to hustle Errol up onto his feet.

  ‘Take me to the hospital,’ Errol grunts, one hand clapped against his middle. His face is white and taut like a rubber mask.

  ‘Better listen to your friend there,’ Templeton ventures, daring to look up at Jackie. Inside he is quivering, but he sets his chin firm and strong in contempt, and looks into those flat affectless eyes.

  ‘You’re a dead little son of a bitch.’ Jack fixes on Templeton and then looks around the room wildly. ‘You’re all fucken dead.’

  TWENTY-NINE

  Kate Durand lifts her knife and taps it against the boiled egg. The hat scissors off cleanly, exposing the just-set yolk. ‘Eat your soldiers,’ she says across the table.

  Nancy has scarcely eaten all week. She picks up a dainty finger of toast and applies it to her egg; it clings to the white flesh, and she drops it and wrinkles her nose. ‘I don’t want them.’

  Kate touches her carefully applied makeup. ‘Must make an effort,’ she says under her breath. ‘Think of the child. Can’t go to pieces.’

  ‘Mum?’ Nancy looks at her questioningly.

  ‘Mmm-hmm?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘What? Nothing.’

  ‘Right.’ She sighs and rolls her eyes.

  ‘You have to eat something, biscuit,’ Kate insists again.

  Nancy knocks her egg against the table to see the craquelure spread across the shell. She imagines dropping it from chest height onto the plate to hear the crunch, like a head hitting a footpath.

  ‘A Mister John Tooth, known as Jack, wanted,’ Mrs Roberts reads aloud from The Sydney Morning Herald, clinking her teacup down on its saucer. She has taken to having breakfast at the Durands most mornings now, filling the space Aunt Jo carved out for herself and gently making her presence known by delivering groceries and washing dishes. She ruffles the paper, shaking her head in scandalised dismay. ‘For defiling a young woman. And only a few streets from here, too. My goodness. After the Reed girl, so soon; what is the world coming to?’ Her immense bosom wobbles with feeling.

  Nancy, who had been toying with the toast on her plate, starts at the name and looks up. She tries to snatch the paper from Mrs Roberts, who holds on to it and chirrups in indignation.

  ‘Nancy! Don’t snatch,’ Kate says angrily. ‘Don’t be so rude. I believe Mrs Roberts is reading that. She’ll think you quite ill-bred.’

  ‘Let me see.’ Nancy persists in their tug-of-war.

  ‘Here you are then, child.’ Mrs Roberts relinquishes the newspaper. She puts her palms up in martyred surrender and looks at Kate. ‘Dearie me.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Nancy! Why do you want that so much?’ Kate asks. ‘It’s morbid.’ She turns her eyes to poor Mrs Roberts. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I just do, is all,’ Nancy says, and takes her prize to her room.

  THIRTY

  Bob Newham is hanging up his hat when he notices Nellie, on her hands and knees, scouring the blood off the floor: a great pool of it. She slops the gory rags into a bucket.

  ‘What the hell happened here? A man goes out to clear his head and when he comes back, it’s Normandy?’ He pauses, panic animating his face. ‘Roberta! What happened? Is she alright?’

  ‘Trouble,’ says Tipper. ‘Trouble what looks like Jack Tooth. I don’t think he knows you’ve been hanging around here. He came with Errol, Snowy’s mate, chasing down Nellie. Blood is Errol’s.’

  ‘Fucking hell,’ says Bob, clenching his fist. ‘I’ll kill that fucking bastard. He’s dead.’ His brow furrows. ‘Where’s Roberta?’ he asks as an afterthought.

  ‘She’s upstairs. She’s safe and doing as well can be expected,’ says Dot, who has just emerged from checking on her. ‘Sit down, Bob.’ She kicks a chair out from the table and nods at it. ‘I’ve got a few questions I’d like to ask.’

  He’s clearly still worked up about Jackie, but he takes a seat. ‘Get us a drink, will you, son?’ He nods to Templeton, who sets a bottle of Haig’s and a glass down in front of him obligingly.

  ‘So …’ Dot begins as though she suddenly doesn’t know where to start. Her fingers fidget for a cigarette.

  ‘I’ll catch that prick. Mark my words,’ Bob volunteers, his eyes dark with anger.

  ‘Look how well that has gone for you.’ Dot gestures at his eye-patch and Bob reddens even more furiously, if that were possible.

  ‘You’ve got no bloody idea, woman. Look, okay, first things first. I’ll give you the money for Roberta. I’m assuming you paid for it.’

  ‘Well, that’s damned big of you.’

  ‘She got it from you, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, she did.’

  ‘Thank Christ. Thought Dolly might have given it to her,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry for it, if you’ll believe that. I didn’t mean for this to happen.’

  ‘Not as sorry as she is, I’m sure.’ Dot’s face twists like she’s trying to control her emotions. ‘Are you in love with her?’

  ‘No.’ Bob shakes his head. ‘But I —’ He struggles to find the word. ‘I care a real lot for her.’ His good eye meets Dot’s. ‘I was still paying her though.’

  ‘Paying her? I thought out there on the street she said —’

  ‘It wasn’t that,’ he says impatiently. ‘I wasn’t paying her for that. I was paying her for information. But she lay with me through choice.’

  ‘Information?’

  ‘About my mother,’ he says, his voice bitter and strained.

  Templeton can’t contain himself. ‘Your mother?’ he asks incredulously.

  ‘That’s right. Dolly Jenkins is my mother,’ Bob slams the whisky and makes a harsh face. ‘Aaah.’

  ‘Wh— what?’ says Templeton.

  Dot looks confused. ‘And how do you know this to be true?’ she asks.

  ‘Got the papers from the orphanage, didn’t I? Not like I’d pick her from a bag of marbles, would I? Trust me, I don’t relish the thought of a whore for a mother.’ Bob ferrets into his inside pocket, takes out his wallet and withdraws a crumpled piece of paper, folded and unfolded countless times. He places it on the table in front of Dot. There, under ‘mother’s name’, it reads Dorothy Jenkins, and next to ‘father’s name’, unknown.

  ‘Christ, you’re not joking,’ Templeton says. He whistles. ‘Boy.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Bob clears his throat noisily and pours himself another drink.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ Dot flicks her gaze at Tipper and sees from her expression that she did. ‘Mmm-hmm, I see. And I take it Dolly doesn’t know?’

  ‘Nope.’ Bob shakes his head.

  ‘So, what do you want from her? Why get Roberta to spy on her?’ Templeton asks.

  ‘You w
ant her cash,’ Dot says with feigned casualness, inspecting her fingernails.

  ‘No. Bloody oath!’ Bob looks outraged. ‘I don’t want her money. I only got this certificate from the orphanage in ’39. And I was green and didn’t know Dolly for spit. Then Jack Tooth and I had the falling out.’ He spits out the name, tapping his finger to the eye-patch.

  ‘What happened?’ Templeton can’t contain himself. He’s been desperate to know the story.

  ‘If you must know, son, it began with a woman. He was sweet on a girl, little strawberry-blonde thing from Christchurch, New Zealand. And she wanted me, so I had her. Jackie never breathed a word. How was I to know he was soft on her? I swear, I had no idea.’ He shakes his head.

  ‘Coupla other things happened with one of my lieutenants and him — business things, you know. Then one day, when we were down fishing at Blues Point, Jackie says, “Come here, mate, I’ve got something big on here, help me reel her in.” And so me, like a nancy, I grab the rod and lean in, but there’s nothing on the end. And he says, “Trust me, there’s a big one on there. She’s playing games, mate. I just need you to hold on for me while I get me knife.” So I says, “Sure, mate.” But before I know it, he’s round behind me with his razor out; I hear that sick little snnnicck sound — God, I will never forget it — and he’s got me by the throat. He’s wild, like an animal, and I’m hollering, but it’s five in the morning and there’s no one for miles. Just me screaming into the wind. Took the boat back in and left me bleeding on the rocks.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Nellie says. ‘I hadn’t heard that story before.’

  ‘Then I, uh, … well, I got picked up by the coppers for an old B & E charge and that was that. They wanted me to squeal on who did me eye — suspected it was Jack and wanted something to pin on him — but they had a better chance of slapping my arse and calling me Sally. Jack’s the rat, not me.’

  ‘So, you want to get Jackie yourself.’ Dot nods.

  ‘When I get out of Long Bay, first thing I hear is that Jack Tooth is working for Dolly and her big bruiser fella Snowy. And on top of that he’d been bragging that he was going to rip her off! I went off half-cocked, trying to just shoot the fucker first chance I got; shoulda planned a bit better. But I got plenty a other reasons to want him dead.’

  ‘Jackie will want revenge for Errol,’ Dot says, her face grim. ‘He’ll probably be back.’

  ‘Yeah, well. I want revenge for something too. And not just this.’ He taps his eye again.

  ‘Your sister …’ Templeton murmurs, remembering the conversation he overheard between Snowy and Lorraine. He imagines the outrage Bob must feel, and it occurs to him that Bob might want to kill Jackie even more than he and Dot do.

  ‘Who told you that?’ Bob jerks back in surprise, like he’s touched something hot, and nods. ‘Florence. She’s not my blood sister, of course. The folks who adopted me thought they couldn’t have children of their own. Only reason they took me home. Turns out ten years later they were wrong.’

  Tipper stands and puts her hands on his shoulders affectionately. ‘Man’s lower than a dog that could do that to a woman.’

  ‘Jackie’s no fool,’ Dot thinks aloud. ‘He’ll try to hit us somewhere he thinks we’re weak.’

  ‘Annie …’ Templeton’s mouth forms her name before his mind registers.

  ‘Annie.’ Dot looks ill. ‘I have to go to her and bring her here. Jackie might have hurt her. I won’t sleep until I know she’s safe.’

  ‘She might not come with you, Dot.’ Tipper raises her shoulders. ‘The love of a bad man can be pretty persuasive.’ She nods wisely.

  ‘Who else does she have?’ Dot says determinedly.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ Templeton puts on his jacket.

  ‘No, Lucky, it’ll be dangerous.’

  ‘She’s my sister, after all. I’m coming.’ He is adamant.

  ‘I’ll come too,’ Bob says at last, with hesitation.

  ‘No, you stay here. Go check on Roberta. Just in case he comes back with reinforcements.’

  When Templeton and Dot knock on Dolly’s door, he is hit with an urge to run. He feels the whisky turn over in his belly and threaten to reemerge. It has already been a long day, with no end yet in sight.

  ‘What?’ On the second knock, Annie’s voice, sounding blunted, comes from behind the door.

  ‘It’s us. Let me in before the whole world sees,’ Dot hisses loudly.

  After a few seconds, Annie opens the door. Her blonde hair looks like it hasn’t been washed for a week, and her eyes are blank as a shark’s. A long, dark-purplish stamp of a bruise is visible on her left cheek.

  ‘Lucky,’ she says, moving her dull face into the ghost of a smile. ‘Looking sharp. Real swish.’ She lets them through the door, and her manner hardens again. ‘Dot.’ She nods perfunctorily.

  The parlour smells rank, the air close. All the curtains are drawn. Rubbish is piled in a corner and Templeton can see dishes in the sink and empty bottles on the floor — evidence of Jackie, most likely, as if Annie’s bruise wasn’t enough. A ratty blanket is puddled on the lounge, where Annie must have spent the night.

  ‘Where are the others?’ Templeton asks.

  ‘Gone,’ Annie answers. Her voice has lost the timbre Templeton remembers.

  ‘What do you mean, gone?’ Dot scrunches her eyebrows. ‘Where’s Sally?’

  ‘Gone.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Gone where?’

  ‘She left.’ Annie shrugs. ‘I don’t know where. Here, have a drink.’ She pushes a bottle of gin at them.

  ‘I don’t want a drink, Annie! We came to see if you were alright. God knows why.’ Dot shakes her gently by the shoulders, half hug and half setting her on her feet, and pauses, almost as if she can’t bear to let go. Annie’s head rattles about loosely. She sighs and tumbles into a chair, a dead weight.

  ‘Dot, what’s the matter with her?’ Templeton pleads.

  ‘She’s drunk.’

  ‘Not drunk enough,’ Annie sulks. ‘Not enough for this, for you two pompous asses. You were always judging me, Dot. Right from the start.’

  Dot looks wounded but ignores her jab. ‘Errol and Jackie paid us a visit and Errol ended up with a hole in his guts. I need you to come with us. Back to Tipper’s, where we can protect you. It is not safe for you here. Jackie will come after you.’

  ‘Errol, hey? I always hated that cunt.’ Annie folds her arms. ‘Good riddance. Hope he’s dead.’

  ‘Don’t you see? Jackie is going to be on the warpath.’ Dot leans over and takes the half-full gin bottle on the table in front of Annie, moving it away.

  ‘You left. What do you care? You left me.’ Annie knocks her empty glass on its side. ‘I can handle Jackie. He’s been hiding out at Lennox Street anyway. Give me back the gin.’

  ‘We left you. I’m going to pretend you did not say that. That’s rich,’ Dot says in a strangled voice.

  ‘Annie —’ Templeton begins.

  ‘You could have gotten us all killed,’ she interrupts, focused on Dot. ‘Stealing money from Dolly Jenkins! Stupid, that’s what you are.’ Annie leans out and taps two fingers on Dot’s forehead. ‘Idiotka!’

  ‘You have lost your senses,’ Dot says, disgusted. ‘You are not yourself.’

  ‘Now you have to go running to that bulldagger to protect you.’

  ‘Annie! What’s gotten in to you?’ Templeton asks.

  ‘She got out that big rubber cock and fucked you yet?’ Annie asks Dot, ignoring him. ‘Oh, yes. I know all about it. Dolly told me what Tipper does to girls. Is that what she does to Nellie Flanagan? Or do you do that to her now? At least that’s what people have been saying …’

  ‘Don’t presume you know anything about me anymore.’ Dot’s voice is brittle.

  ‘Who are you with now?’ Annie asks, standing up and retrievi
ng the gin. ‘Nellie? Roberta? Both of them at once? How much do you charge to give the punters a gander at that?’ She spreads two fingers and sticks her tongue between them. ‘You’re only with them because you couldn’t have me.’

  ‘Shut up, Annie!’ Templeton yells, shaken. He looks at Dot. Her face is bloodless, pale.

  ‘Were you so jealous over Nellie that you shot Errol?’ Annie steps closer to Dot.

  ‘Tipper shot Errol. I thought I should come and find you,’ Dot says quietly, as if she is holding the tears out of her voice. She is trembling; Templeton can see her shoulders shake. ‘My mistake.’

  ‘What makes you think,’ Annie says slowly, ‘I didn’t know that already?’ She looks Dot in the eyes. ‘What makes you think Jackie isn’t here right now?’

  ‘Annie!’ Templeton’s voice is pleading, childlike. He looks around the parlour in horror, expecting to see Jackie’s horrible cheshire smile manifest from some corner of the gloom, razor in one hand. ‘Please.’

  ‘Why would you keep that man? Why would you let him in? That bastard — why would you let someone hurt you like that? Annie, you are better than that. You are smart and beautiful and young. You don’t need to be his boxing bag. I cannot, I do not, I will not understand it.’ Dot’s tone is clipped but steady.

  ‘I love him,’ Annie says defiantly. With her chin tilted, she looks so much like their mother for an instant that Templeton has to look away. ‘You don’t know anything. He needs me.’

  ‘He needs you like he needs a dog he can kick,’ Dot snaps.

  ‘I’m all he has. People have betrayed him his whole life. Left him, like I’ve been left. We have that in common.’

  ‘But he is not all you have. Come with us. Come with your brother.’

  ‘Come with us.’ Templeton stretches his hand out to Annie. His eyes plead with her.

  ‘I can’t.’ She shakes her head. ‘Don’t ask me, Lucky.’

  ‘Fine,’ Dot says and makes for the door, rigid as a bayonet. ‘Then you are dead to me. ’

  ‘Please come with us. Please don’t leave me.’ Templeton feels himself begin to cry; he can’t hold it in any longer. ‘Please don’t leave me.’ He sobs the words out and is ashamed at his weakness but cannot control it. ‘What is there to stay for?’