by Tony Parsons
By now everyone from the bar was crowded outside the hotel, watching and whispering—and sniggering. Campanelli’s face flushed beetroot red. The whole town would soon know that he’d been made to look ineffective.
‘By Christ, I’ll get you, you bastard,’ he muttered under his breath, so that only Baxter could hear, as he got up and staggered towards his shiny blue Mercedes. He slid in and backed out of the courtyard without showing a skerrick of concern for Skeeter.
As the Mercedes sped off, a white police car skidded to a stop in the courtyard. A tall, middle-aged officer got out and came across to where Baxter was standing over the fallen thug.
‘What’s going on here?’ the officer asked. ‘Why was Mr Campanelli on the ground? And that other man, what’s wrong with him?’
Baxter looked the policeman up and down before answering. ‘Who are you? Just so I know who I’m talking to.’
‘Sergeant Ron Cross.’ He held up his identification.
CHAPTER TEN
Alarm bells rang in Baxter’s head.
‘And your name, sir?’ Cross asked, his blue eyes cold and hard.
‘Greg Baxter.’
Cross took out a notepad and pen, writing it down. ‘Well, Mr Baxter, you can either explain yourself here or down at the station.’
Baxter called out to Liz, who was sitting in the car with the door open. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Drew? This officer needs to talk to both of us.’
‘No worries,’ Liz called back, and gestured for the two men to walk over.
She gave Cross a wary half-smile as he nodded a curt greeting and asked for her statement. Once she’d laid out the facts, an amused twinkle appeared in her good eye. ‘This man also kicked Mr Campanelli in the backside, Sergeant.’
‘I see,’ Cross said, staring at Baxter with respect, but also a challenge. ‘Do you have anything to add?’
When Baxter shook his head, Cross asked how he could be contacted. Baxter provided his phone number and said, ‘I’m out at the old Carpenter place, working away at a novel, so you can reach me there pretty much anytime.’
If Cross was on the take, the whole drug ring would now be aware of exactly the kind of man who’d bought their coveted property. They weren’t likely to approach Baxter now—well, not in a friendly way.
•
As he pulled his car out of the courtyard, Baxter smiled across at Liz Drew. ‘Well, now, the fat is well and truly in the fire. And by the way, I’m Greg Baxter.’
‘Liz Drew,’ she said. ‘But you seem to know that already.’
‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘What have you heard, Mr Baxter?’
‘Greg, please. What have I heard?’ He didn’t want to bring up Jack. ‘Mostly that you’re a great-looking woman. But they haven’t done you justice.’
She smiled and winced, pressing the half-melted ice against her face.
They were driving down Moondilla’s main street. ‘Where do I take you?’ Baxter asked, and she gave him some directions.
‘It really is very sweet of you to go to this bother,’ she added.
‘It’s no bother. None at all.’
‘I meant intervening with Jack.’
‘That was no bother either,’ Baxter said, and then couldn’t help asking, ‘How did you get mixed up with a boozy husband like that?’
‘It’s too long a story to tell now.’
He’d thought she might say that. ‘That’s fine. Ah, here we are.’ He pulled up outside a well-presented timber home.
‘Would you like to come in for lunch or a cup of coffee?’ Liz asked.
‘No thanks, I’ve got to get back to my writing.’ The truth was, he didn’t feel comfortable being alone with a married woman in her house, even though her husband was a creep. Baxter had very strict rules about that sort of thing. He also didn’t want Liz to act the hostess when she needed some peace.
‘Fair enough.’ Liz started to get out of the car, then turned back to him. She seemed flustered. ‘Look, again, thanks very much for taking my part. Nobody in town has ever opposed Jack.’ She paused, frowning. ‘Well, that’s not exactly true. Jack and Campanelli had a big fight once.’
‘What about?’
‘Me. Campanelli’s always been crooked on me marrying Jack. He wanted me when I was with the country and western troupe—he came to all of our shows.’
Baxter raised a querying eyebrow.
‘I used to sing,’ she explained, a sad and faraway look in her eyes that reminded him of Julie. ‘Anyway, Campanelli wouldn’t have married me. He wanted me for . . . well, other reasons.’ She seemed very uncomfortable.
‘You don’t have to explain anything.’
‘I feel I do,’ she said.
‘Not today, anyway. You should rest.’ Baxter grinned reassuringly. ‘The other thing is, I’ve got a big dog I left at home, Chief. He’ll be getting worried about me.’
Liz laughed. ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard that excuse. He must be some dog. What kind is he?’
‘A German Shepherd bred from imported stock.’
‘Ah, I love that breed. We had mostly kelpie and cattle dog cross at home in Queensland. We needed them for the herd.’
It sounded like she was an Outback girl, raised on a station. ‘I should think a cattle dog would be a very handy acquisition. Keep the likes of Campanelli in line,’ Baxter said and smiled.
Liz smiled too. ‘I’m very pleased to have met you, Greg. In fact, I’d say you’re the most interesting man I’ve ever met in Moondilla. And that includes my husband.’
‘Thanks,’ Baxter said, ‘but I’m also sorry to hear that.’
‘Well.’ Liz sighed. ‘Jack’s not bad when he’s not drinking. He helps keep the place tidy and all. The problem is, it’s not too often these days that he isn’t drinking.’ She dabbed at her sore face, checking the damage in the car mirror. ‘I’d be much happier if he just went off and fished. He’s got a little boat and he’s a good mechanic. Maybe not as good as Steve Lewis, but good enough. He can fix just about anything, from lawnmowers to council bulldozers. Why he’s on the grog beats me. But that’s men for you.’
Baxter shook his head firmly. ‘I don’t know the first thing about engines, but I don’t drink. When you’re ranked as high as I am in martial arts, you’re supposed to lead an exemplary life. That’s according to Eastern teaching. Can’t say I do it perfectly—it’s hard in Western society—but I do my best. No smoking, no drinking and no junk food.’
Liz grinned as she got out of the car. ‘You sound too good to be true.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Back at home, Baxter was preoccupied with the layout of his book—principally, how to end it. He’d come across many otherwise good books that ended very poorly, so he was putting a lot of effort into concluding the book he’d come to think of as River of Dreams.
He’d already decided, after weeks of thought, that he should begin the book with the story of Rosa. This had started out as a piece of investigative journalism, one of the most popular he’d ever written. Baxter had titled it ‘Fallen Angel’. With some expansion and embellishment, and with names and details changed, he thought it couldn’t be bettered for the opening chapter.
He was hard at work when the phone rang. It was Julie Rankin, and she proposed coming out for a quick lunch and maybe a fish.
Well, that was what she told him. Once she arrived, it was soon apparent that what she really wanted was his account of the brouhaha at the Family Hotel.
‘What on earth induced you to take on Campanelli?’ she asked, after taking a sip of white wine and declaring it excellent. Baxter had made a second trip to pick some up, and now he was glad of it.
The answer to her question was straightforward enough. ‘He’s a bully and I hate bullies,’ Baxter said. ‘And besides, I had to defend myself. He’s a creep, Julie.’
‘Granted he’s a creep, but he’s an important creep in Moondilla.’ She was smiling, but her eyes were troubled. ‘He co
uld make things tough for you.’
‘I’ll watch my back.’
The thought of Campanelli ‘getting’ him seemed ludicrous, but there was truth to what Julie said—the man had resources. Of course, Baxter wouldn’t tell her what Campanelli had muttered before getting in his Mercedes. It would only worry her.
A change of subject was in order. ‘Do you mind bringing your wine outside?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got something I want to show you.’ They headed onto the verandah, where Chief was snoozing in the sun. ‘I’ve been working on the layout of my novel,’ Baxter explained, gesturing to the stack of pages. ‘Do you have time to read the first chapter?’
She grinned and stared down at the pages, and Baxter was pleased to see that she seemed fascinated. ‘It’s my day off. Not that it means anything—I’m on call just about all the time. But I’d love to take a peek.’
‘Thanks,’ Baxter said, handing ‘Fallen Angel’ to her. ‘I’ll go on making notes while you read it.’
When she’d finished, Julie looked at Baxter and nodded. ‘It’s very good. Sad, but good. If a girl decides she wants to make a living via prostitution, that’s one thing, but having to live that way to fund a drug habit is another matter.’
‘Thanks, Julie. That’s exactly what I set out to say.’
‘And this is how you’re going to start your book?’
‘That’s the plan. I reckon it puts the whole rotten drug business into focus.’
‘It does.’ The troubled look was in her eyes again.
‘You know,’ Baxter said, ‘I came back here because I needed to get away to a different kind of lifestyle. Finding out about the drugs . . . well, it’s really taken the gilt off the gingerbread.’
‘Yes, I felt the same way when I realised how bad it was.’
‘Let’s hope that Latham and Company can clean it up, and then Moondilla will revert to what it was.’ He sighed. ‘Or maybe that’s wishful thinking.’
‘It’s still a nice place,’ Julie said. ‘A bit dull for some people, but—drugs aside, of course—you don’t come down here if you’re looking for excitement. You come to fish and to smell the flowers and to enjoy the river and the ocean.’
She looked as though she loved it as much as he did, and he realised her words echoed Mr Garland’s from so long ago.
‘That’s right,’ he said vehemently, the thought of the old fisherman stirring his anger, ‘and it’s obscene for Moondilla to be fouled up by drugs. I’ll do everything I can to help Latham and his team clean it up.’
‘Very laudable,’ she said, nodding. ‘I feel the same way. But let’s be cautious—we won’t be any help if we put ourselves in danger.’
Baxter nodded, although he knew it was a bit late for that.
Julie had finished her wine. ‘What a relief that I haven’t been called in to work,’ she said. ‘If you can spare the time, I’d like to introduce you to some of my family—my sister Jane and her husband Steve, the fishing fanatic.’
‘Good idea. I’d love to meet them, and I could ask Steve to tune up Flora.’
‘Flora?’
‘My runabout—you know, the Flora Jane.’
•
So Baxter spent a lovely afternoon with Julie and the Lewises.
Jane was a nice-looking woman—not as classically good-looking as Julie, but very attractive and with a great personality. Sherrie was a stunning seventeen-year-old who did indeed look like a young Julie, while Jason was fifteen, a solid boy whose main interest appeared to be sailing sabots on the river.
Baxter soon heard from the horse’s mouth that Jason wasn’t very good at cricket or football, so he wasn’t in the upper echelon of boys at the high school. Conversely, Sherrie was an excellent tennis player and swimmer, and Jason thought it extremely unfair that his sister was so good at sport, especially because she didn’t take it seriously.
In Steve Lewis, Baxter thought he’d found a true friend. Lewis was a lean fellow, quite nice-looking, with dark hair and keen grey eyes. He’d taken over Moondilla Motors after serving his apprenticeship there with his dad. Now in his late thirties, Lewis was recognised as one of the best mechanics on the South Coast, and had the Holden Agency in Moondilla. Jane had gotten to know Steve while working in the garage’s office, and it was clear there’d never been anyone else for either of them.
The two men got on like a house on fire, and were soon talking fishing. Lewis was one of the keenest fishermen ever to tie on a hook. Needless to say, he had his own boat, a bigger and more modern craft than Baxter’s. As Julie had implied, he was occasionally accused by his wife of being too keen, but Baxter’s plea for a boat tune-up seemed to fall on fertile ground. From the look in Jane’s eye and her encouragement of the idea, Baxter guessed that she’d soon be pushing her husband for more info about him.
‘So what have you got in mind once I’ve looked at your Flora Jane?’ Lewis asked.
‘Well, I’ve never gone out past the river mouth because I’m an inexperienced sailor, and I don’t know the best fishing spots anyway. So I’d appreciate having someone with me who knows the ropes.’
‘We’ve got a couple of busy weekends coming up, so how about I come by on Saturday arvo in a few weeks?’ Lewis suggested. ‘I’ll work on the boat then and we’ll take her out for a bit. Another time, weather willing, we’ll make an early start and duck out to the Islands before the wind gets up. You can fish from out in front of them if the nor’easter isn’t blowing—if it is, and there’s a run-in tide, you can get thrown up against the rocks. It’s a dicey place at the best of times, but the fishing is great, with lots of snapper on offer. You just need to know what you’re about.’
‘Sounds terrific.’
‘Have you got plenty of gear?’
‘Probably not as much as I should have. I’ve got a couple of rods and reels, and half a dozen handlines, but no lures. I don’t understand how to use them.’
‘Not to worry. You’ve been catching fish, haven’t you?’
‘Some, though not a lot. Of course there’s only me and an occasional visitor—Julie appreciated my fillet.’ He shot her a smile, which she returned. ‘But the thing is that my mother’s due to visit soon, and she’s a big-time chef and cooking writer.’
‘You don’t mean Frances Baxter, the Great Woman?’ Jane asked, astonished.
‘That’s her,’ Baxter said and grinned, while Jane shot Julie an annoyed glance for not keeping her in the loop. ‘So I’d like to have some decent fish on hand.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
The next week passed without incident. Then, late one morning, Chief’s bark warned Baxter that he could expect a visitor. The dog stood at attention in the doorway of the shed where his master had been working out.
‘Let him be, Chief,’ Baxter said when he saw it was Drew.
The German Shepherd moved to sit beside him, hackles still raised, while the ex-pug sauntered into the shed.
‘Can I help you?’ Baxter asked, cool and steady.
‘You’re the bastard who hit me while I was drunk,’ Drew snarled.
‘As I remember, you tried to hit me before I touched you.’
‘You were lucky. I don’t give a shit for your fancy martial arts.’ Drew walked right up to Baxter and tried to stare him down.
Baxter looked Drew over, making it clear that he didn’t think much of what he saw. ‘You’re a gutless, worthless bloke, Drew. No worthwhile man hits his wife. She’s a decent woman too, and I can’t imagine why she’d have taken you on. She ought to dump you and go back to Queensland.’
‘Think you know a lot, don’t you?’ Drew sneered.
‘I only know what I’ve been told. I’ve talked to people, and it seems you’re in the habit of hitting Liz,’ Baxter said, letting contempt drip from his voice. ‘Go home, Drew. Go home while you can. You’re a boozer and a has-been.’
Drew flushed red and leaned even closer. ‘I’ll give you has-been. I’m going to see how much ticker you’ve got. I fought some of t
he best men in the game—real fighters, they were, not fancy martial arts fellas.’
‘A fat lot of good it did you. What have you got to show for it? The best thing you’ve got is your wife, and you belt her.’
‘You’ll be sorry you said that. I’ll put you in hospital this time.’
Chief growled, standing to attention again, and Drew laughed.
‘Or are you a bloody coward who’s going to set your dog on me?’
‘Outside, Chief,’ said Baxter sharply, and the dog obeyed in an instant. Then Baxter turned back to Drew. ‘Listen, go home to your grog. I wouldn’t waste my time on a fellow like you. I’m getting back to my training.’ Baxter just wanted this to be over with as quickly as possible. He turned his back on the ex-pug.
As he’d expected, this show of contempt ignited Drew, who obviously had a low boiling point. He stepped around Baxter and poked a hard straight left at him. He probably reckoned that if Baxter put up his hands to counter, he’d give him a hard rip in the breadbasket to soften him up. That move might have taken down a boxer, even a great one, but Baxter saw it all coming.
While Drew had likely faced some fast men, Baxter knew he’d never been in the ring with a fellow who moved as fast as him. He didn’t throw up his hands to ward off the straight left. Instead, he spun around, hitting Drew with three hammer blows in quick succession—one took the ex-pug under the chin and lifted him off the ground. He would have been blacking out when the third blow struck.
Baxter looked down at the prostrate figure at his feet. ‘Bloody idiot,’ he muttered.
•
Once he’d arranged Drew in the most comfortable position possible and given him some first aid, Baxter headed back to the house. Chief followed him in.
First Baxter arranged an ambulance, then he perused the local phone book and rang Mrs Drew. ‘Liz, I’ve got some bad news. I’ve just called the ambos to come out here and pick up your husband. He’ll probably need a night or two in hospital.’
‘So he had another go,’ Liz said with a sigh.
‘Afraid so. He was sober this time.’