Dark Ink

by Gary Kemble

  * * *

  Harry woke to ringing. His head seemed to thump in time with the rings. He opened his bleary eyes and saw his phone on the floor. He answered it, just to shut it up.

  ‘Harry?’

  For a sickening moment he thought it was Bec, and then he realised this was an older woman.

  ‘It’s Lee-Anne. Got a moment?’

  Harry’s stomach did a slow roll, but he managed to breathe through the nausea. He sat up in bed and rubbed his face.

  ‘Yeah. What’s up?’

  ‘I figured it out!’

  She sounded extremely pleased with herself. Harry couldn’t remember anything from the day before, just apathy and the need to blot it all out with alcohol. And now all he wanted to do was go back to sleep.

  ‘Yeah, me too.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I went over to the union’s HQ the other day. Did a bit of snooping around.’ He didn’t mention the lock picks.

  ‘Oh.’ She sounded disappointed.

  ‘Well, I know they were planning a fundraiser, with the police union. Do you have any more info?’

  ‘Yeah, they’re holding it at the Ekka.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘Oh. It’s going to be a really fancy do. So they’re putting the hard word on everyone they know to contribute. They’ve even got that hero cop. You know, the flood guy? What was his name?’

  Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. He had to hold onto the edge of the bed to steady himself. ‘Marcus Wilson?’

  ‘That’s him. He’s going to do a speech or something. The stupid thing is, I’d heard Don talking about this fundraiser. Just didn’t realise that it was linked to his . . . uh . . . mistress. Have you found anything out about her?’

  Yeah, she’s wonderful.

  ‘No . . . not really.’

  ‘Huh . . .’

  Harry felt bone tired. This was utter bullshit. ‘Listen, Lee-Anne. I have to say, there’s not really much of a story here. I mean, yeah, he’s been seeing this woman, and yeah, he’s been using union money . . . but I think that might be for this fundraiser . . .’

  ‘It’s still fishy. He’s still a cheating bastard. He . . .’

  ‘Sorry, Lee-Anne. I’ve got to go. I need to have a think about this.’

  Harry put down the phone, went to the kitchen and got himself some water and headache tablets. He returned to the kitchen table, put the heater on and sat. He took his tablets and waited for the headache to subside. He was finding it hard to think of anything but Mistress Hel, but he tried anyway.

  Mistress Hel gets Constable Brad Brooks to contact Don Clack about setting up a charity fundraiser. Marcus Wilson is involved, the cop who abused Johnny. Harry stared at the wall. What was the connection? He thought back to Zak Godwin, lying dead in a bathtub, guts torn to shreds. Godwin, there was something about Godwin, but Harry couldn’t concentrate enough to remember what it was.

  Harry yawned. He couldn’t handle this right now. He closed his laptop and dragged himself back to bed.

  * * *

  Harry awoke to the sound of his phone again. This time he could open his eyes without spasms of pain, but it was still annoying. He looked at the screen: Dave.

  Harry slid the bar across, struggling to control the anger. ‘What?’ he said.

  There was a brief pause. ‘And a very good day to you, too, Mr Hendrick.’ There was no cheer in this voice.

  ‘Sorry, things have been a bit full-on lately.’

  ‘I gathered. But does that mean you can’t return a phone call?’

  ‘Apparently, yes. What do you want?’

  ‘Harry, pull your head in. Have you spoken to Sandy?’

  Harry was momentarily thrown off. The room spun slightly. It was as though he dropped into a nightmare, then popped out of it again. He felt the odd sensation of giant fingers digging themselves into the wounds in his back. There was something . . .

  ‘Yes. I did,’ Harry said.

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yeah, last week. Wednesday, I think it was. I told her to leave me alone.’

  ‘Harry!’

  ‘She’s living in a fantasy land.’

  ‘Look, she phoned me on Friday night. She sounded scared shitless. Says she tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. Said for me to try and get a hold of you and get you to phone her.’

  ‘Dave, she needs help. Professional help. I’ve got enough on my plate.’

  ‘Harry, she probably saved your life last year. I don’t get you.’

  Harry didn’t say anything. He heard Dave making a clucking noise with his teeth.

  ‘Harry, I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but Sandy seems to know how to help you.’

  Harry felt rage exploding inside him. A red mist descended over his eyes. ‘Maybe I don’t want to be helped,’ he whispered.

  Harry hung up, switched off his phone. He paced the room, barely restraining himself. How dare he? How dare he? He pictured himself picking up a gun, blowing Dave’s head off. All of them, lined in a row. Dave, Sandy, Bec. Bang! Bang! Bang! Problem solved.

  He stripped off and got into the shower. He turned up the water as hot as he could bear it. He calmed himself, focusing on the sensation of Mistress Hel kissing his neck. Biting his neck. Her leather gloves on his sweaty skin.

  His hand dropped to his cock, and he rubbed himself, harder and harder. He groaned, turning his face to the water. Harder, faster. But he couldn’t gain release.

  He dropped to the floor of the bath, held his head in his hands, and cried.

  CHAPTER 33

  Harry barely had the energy to drag himself into his clothes and out to the car, but he felt better once he was moving. He put some Counting Crows on the stereo and zoned out. It occurred to him that they could very easily have done this over the phone, but Johnny was still wary of the police tapping him, and so wanted to do it in the carpark where they’d originally met.

  Westerly winds rattled the car and scooped pieces of rubbish into the air. Leaves danced along the pavement, waltzing with ghostly dust devils. An old woman struggled with her umbrella, before a particularly strong gust snatched it from her hands and tossed it under a bus.

  Johnny was waiting beside his ute. Despite the cold he wasn’t wearing his jumper, just a dusty t-shirt and King Gee shorts, big arms folded across his chest.

  Harry got out of his car.

  ‘Hey,’ Johnny said. He looked at his feet and thrust his hands in his pockets. The muscles of his arms flexed. Jesus, he was well built.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Um . . . you’re probably not going to like this, but I want to pull out.’

  Harry looked skywards and ran his fingers through his hair. He cursed under his breath but felt as though he was playing a role, acting how Johnny would expect him to act.

  Johnny shuffled his feet on the gravel, looking like an overgrown school kid. ‘I just want to let it all go,’ he said. ‘Do you know what I mean?’

  Harry felt torn. Part of him knew exactly what Johnny meant. It was almost as though they were kindred spirits. Part of him felt immense release. He hadn’t realised how much this story had weighed on him, the thought of having to see this through and then deal with all the repercussions.

  ‘Yeah, I do, Johnny. I totally do,’ he said. ‘But . . .’ But part of him felt angry, that Johnny had gone this far just to give up, when Harry had stuck his neck out. Harry had put a lot of work into this story, and he felt if he could stand it up, publish it and not get sued, maybe he’d get a little justice in the world.

  ‘If you don’t go through with it, those bastards win. And then that sends a message to the paedophiles who are out there right now, victimising kids just like you were victimised.’

  Johnny slow-clapped. ‘Oh, bravo, Mr Toughguy. Do you know how hard I’ve worked to bury this? To make sure no-one else knew about it? Do you think I want my shame all over the newspaper, the TV? People telling me I’m full of shit?’

 
‘It’s not your shame, Johnny. You aren’t the one who did anything wrong.’

  ‘I could have fought harder!’ ‘You were just a kid.’

  Johnny shrugged. Harry saw himself in that gesture and wanted to shake it out of him.

  ‘It’s just a newspaper article,’ Johnny said.

  Harry snorted. ‘I brought down a fucking government with a newspaper article. The bad guy is dead. A whole heap of other bad guys are in jail.’

  Johnny looked up the hill. ‘Yeah, I’m just saying . . .’

  Harry looked at Johnny, but Johnny still wouldn’t meet his eye. ‘What?’

  He was hiding something. And despite the cold sapping his sense of purpose, that piqued Harry’s interest.

  ‘How about that friend of yours you mentioned?’ Harry said.

  ‘She’s not a friend . . .’

  ‘Well. whatever.’

  ‘No . . . she’s not interested.’

  Harry let out a breath. A cloud covered the sun and the temperature dropped.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. I’ve got a story. Most of a story. I’ll leave it with you. If you change your mind, let me know and I’ll try and pick up the threads.’

  Johnny briefly looked at Harry. ‘Thanks.’

  Harry watched the cars pass on Gympie Road. Looked into the empty tray of Johnny’s ute.

  ‘You still working for that concreter?’

  ‘Nah. Got jack of it. Too stressful having to live by his schedule.’

  ‘But you’ve got something going on?’

  ‘Yeah. Doing a few odd jobs.’

  ‘Keeping your head above water?’

  Johnny nodded. ‘Yeah something like that.’

  They shook hands. Harry felt the vice-like grip enclose his hand. It was clear Johnny was aware of his own strength, and knew how to use it.

  ‘Take care, Johnny,’ Harry said.

  ‘You too.’

  Harry’s anger had completely dissipated now. Another distraction had been removed from his life, and now he had more time to focus on Mistress Hel.

  Johnny started his ute and backed out of the car park. Harry climbed into his car and sat for a while, remembering their first meeting out here. The dad and the kid playing with the kite. He felt a brief stab of guilt. It would have been great to nail those bastards. But if Johnny could make peace with what happened, then who was Harry to disturb that?

  Harry started the car, backed out of the car park, and headed for home. When he stopped at the lights, he looked over at the building he used to work in. He longed for those early days at the Chronicle. Everything was so simple back then. He yearned for a life without complications.

  * * *

  Harry sat on the lounge, staring at the TV. He knew what he needed to do. On the way back it had all become so obvious. It was time to clear the decks. But something inside him didn’t want to let go. He rubbed the back of his neck, sighed, and picked up his phone. He dialled Phil.

  ‘Hey, Phil.’

  ‘Harry. How are you? Feeling better?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Last time I spoke to you, you sounded pretty crook.’

  Harry couldn’t really remember the last time they’d spoke. ‘Oh. Yeah, fine thanks. It was just a bug I think.’

  ‘Lots of them going around at this time of year. Hey, I looked into that Mistress Hel you told me about . . .’

  Harry felt a spike of panic. He had a flashback to lying on the floor, the world spinning around him.

  ‘. . . tried to at least. Can’t find a thing on her. But then I figured she sounds like a sex worker, so she’s probably going under a couple of working names.’

  Harry realised he was sweating. He wiped his brow.

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. She is a sex worker. But it turned out to be a dead end. I was climbing the wrong tree,’ Harry said. He pictured himself clambering up the mango tree, the first time at Mistress Hel’s.

  ‘Barking,’ Phil said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Barking up the wrong tree. You said climbing.’

  ‘Oh, did I? Sorry. But yeah, like you say, nothing on her. And she was my last lead.’

  On TV there were images of the sideshow alley at the Ekka. The Ferris wheel. Ghost train. Hall of mirrors. Those freaky clowns you shove balls into.

  ‘I need to drop the story,’ Harry said.

  ‘Oh,’ Phil said. ‘Harry. I thought we had a deal?’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I’ve really tried. I’ve worked my arse off. But I’m not getting anywhere. There is something weird about it. But I can’t get to the bottom of it. So you can bring me in and frame me with that attempted assassination if that will make you happy.’

  ‘Harry! Come on! That wasn’t what I . . .’

  ‘Well, that’s what it sounded like. It sounded like blackmail. And I’ve had enough of doing things for other people!’

  ‘Hey! Settle down. I’ve told you, there was never any intention to threaten you.’ A pause. A sigh. ‘If the boys thought you were behind that Cardinal business, they would have taken you down long ago. It’s just . . . we were really hoping you’d be able to blow this one wide open for us. Harry, just set everything else to one side for a minute. Are you feeling okay?’

  Harry stopped to consider. ‘Yeah, I mean, no. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my life. This whole journalism thing, I dunno . . .’

  ‘But Harry, you’re a legend. You saved us all from Cardinal. Who knows what would’ve happened if he’d been elected?’

  ‘The world would have kept turning, Phil. There are bigger things out there.’

  ‘Are you sick?’

  Harry laughed. ‘No. I’ve . . . I’ve met someone.’

  ‘Bec?’

  Harry laughed again. ‘Oh no, God, no. No . . . this is . . . different.’

  ‘Harry, you’re not making any sense.’

  Harry swallowed. He felt hot, just talking about Mistress Hel.

  ‘I guess not. But I’m going to make a difference, just not in the way I once thought I would.’

  ‘Okay. Well . . . that’s good. Maybe we can catch up for a beer soon.’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ Harry said, knowing full well that would never happen. ‘See you round, Phil.’

  ‘See you, Harry.’

  Harry hung up. He suddenly felt tired, and aroused. He went to his bedroom and slid under the covers. He masturbated until he fell asleep, still hard.

  CHAPTER 34

  Harry and Dave got out of Dave’s car. Around them, the car park was filling up, as other fighters and spectators gathered. Harry zipped his coat.

  Dave slammed the door and eyed Harry. ‘You okay?’

  ‘I dunno,’ Harry said. ‘I feel . . .’ Harry shook his head, then slammed his door.

  ‘You’re probably just tired,’ Dave said.

  ‘Yeah, probably,’ Harry replied.

  ‘Are you sure you’re right to fight?’

  Harry felt the tattoo on the back of his neck flare. ‘Dave, just leave it. Okay?’

  He had considered giving it a miss. He had broached the subject with Jim at training, but his instructor talked him out of it. We need you, buddy. For some reason it was harder to let down Jim than it was Phil or Johnny. But this was it. One fight and then he was giving up karate.

  Hard rock was pounding out of the stadium. Someone was addressing the crowd over the tannoy. Harry couldn’t make out the words, but it was clear he was getting the crowd fired up. A guy and a girl in red t-shirts were manning a ticket booth. There was a queue, but the woman saw Harry’s gear and beckoned him.

  ‘Fighters through there,’ she said, gesturing to a side door.

  ‘Catch ya later,’ Harry said.

  ‘I have to buy a ticket for this?’ Dave said, rolling his eyes.

  Harry left Dave standing at the ticket box. He followed the instructions Jim had given him through the labyrinth of cinderblock hallways, past
other dressing rooms where fighters were getting strapped up, meditating, practising moves. Finally he came to a room with HENDRICK written on a piece of paper taped to the door.

  ‘Hey, Harry,’ Jim said.

  ‘Jim.’

  They nodded to each other, then shook hands. It felt strangely formal.

  ‘Nervous?’

  Harry considered. No. ‘Yeah, a little,’ he said.

  ‘You’ll be right. Once you get out there.’

  Harry got changed, then Jim taped his hands. ‘You’re up against a guy from the southside, Corey Sparks. This is his first MMA bout too. He’s got more experience than you but, given how quickly you’ve taken to this, you can take him. Okay?’

  Harry nodded. ‘Okay.’

  Someone tapped on the door. ‘Ten minutes!’

  * * *

  Harry waited behind double doors, jogging on the spot. Heavy metal blared from the speakers in the auditorium, but it was barely audible over the noise of the crowd. Harry’s heart hammered in his chest, and he took a couple of deep breaths. Under the aroma of liniment, he could smell the hoppy tang of beer and the reek of sweat.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemeeeen,’ a voice boomed. ‘Making his Nitro MMA debut tonight . . . Haaaaarry Hendriiiiiick!’

  Jim slapped his shoulder, and the doors opened. Harry jogged down the aisle. The crowd had sounded louder, more fearsome, from the other side of the doors. In fact, given his was the first fight on the card, many of the seats were vacant. Spotlights lit up the cage where the MC stood and a bikini-clad ring girl strutted. It was too dark to make out many of the faces in the crowd, but Harry could sense their ambivalence. Harry’s eyes caught on the profile of a woman sitting next to the aisle. Long black hair, slender legs clad in stockings.

  ‘Hey, Harry,’ she said. She blew him a kiss.

  Mistress Hel? Harry stopped. He had so much he wanted to tell her. But she had already turned away from him and was talking to someone sitting next to her.

  Jim grabbed his arm. ‘Harry?’

  He continued to the ring. He climbed onto the fighting mat and looked back over his shoulder, but the lights were too bright and he couldn’t see shit. Still, he could feel her, a tidal pull towards her.