Dead Men

by Derek Haines

  He was asked to stand and state his name and address. The first part of the question was easy, the second not so easy. He thought for a while then gave one of his mate’s addresses because he’d stayed there two nights during the previous week. He was smart enough not to give his sister’s address that could’ve led to his fraudulent social security payments and false name being discovered. Following completion of this task he sat down and listened a little to what was being said. He moved his eyes back to the stenographer's crutch, but continued to listen. The topic of discussion between his solicitor and the magistrate, who was a motherly looking elderly lady, concerned Steven’s family life, or lack of it. His solicitor was doing his job well. The magistrate had what looked to Steven like a sympathetic look. He might not have been educated, but Steven did have one qualification, he could read peoples' faces. This was of great assistance to him in knowing when he had people’s confidence. When he knew they believed his lies and excuses. When the time was right to put the hard word on a girl or woman, when to know people were suspect of him. For Steven’s occupations of con man, thief, bludger, sex addict and occasional drug user and dealer this was a valuable gift to possess.

  His reading of the magistrate’s face was reasonably accurate. He stood to receive her judgement.

  ‘Steven Peter Sharp, I find you guilty of all charges,’ she started. ‘I have taken into account your legal counsel’s submission to the court with regard to your upbringing and family history. I have also taken into account your previous record, and statements from your social worker.’ This was news to Steven as he didn’t know he had one. ‘With this being your first appearance in the Local Court, and the hope that you will appreciate the gravity of your offences, I have decided that although these charges could carry a prison sentence, I will refrain on this occasion. You will be disqualified from holding a driver’s licence for five years. I will also impose a fine of five hundred dollars and place you on a good behaviour bond for three years.’ With that the case was concluded.

  As was Steven’s luck, he still had some cash from a little deal he’d done in Northbridge, so he was able to pay the fine and bond. In his mind, it wasn’t a bad result all things considered. He’d lost a licence he didn’t have anyway, and he could make up for the cash in a few days. To him he lost nothing.

  During the same year, Steve saw his daughter twice. He’d fallen out with her mother, and she was reluctant to allow Steven to spend any time with her or their daughter. She’d seen what Steve had become, and didn’t want her daughter exposed to his way of life. She herself was no angel, but did have some degree of responsibility. She knew Steve had none whatsoever. Fatherhood didn’t hold any fascination for him, so he wasn’t offended by her rebuff. Nor was he worried about her claim for maintenance payments. He didn’t have a job, or claim the dole. Well, not in his own name anyway. The experience of the birth of his daughter didn’t teach Steven very much. It certainly didn’t give him any sense of responsibility. Responsible was not a word that came to anyone’s mind who knew Steve the Snake. Words such as selfish, self centred, self obsessed and self reliant, self contained, childish, vulgar, impulsive and above all, likeable were more likely words that most people who knew Steven would associate with him. For all his faults, he was a likeable young man with an irresistible smile, and a devil may care attitude. It was easy to like what Australians refer to as a ‘knock-a-bout sort of bloke’ character he possessed.

  Australian heroes often tend to be villains in some way or another. Ned Kelly the notorious bushranger and murderer, is probably at the top of the list of Australian heroes. When Australian men say ‘he’s a good bloke,’ they’re more than likely referring to a man who drinks six schooners of beer a day, bets what should’ve been his wife’s housekeeping money on the ponies, gives his kids a good hiding with his belt when they deserve it and always has dirty joke to tell his mates. Is it any wonder Steven was liked by a lot of people? Women liked Steven too. He had that quality all men would die to have. He could pull women. Whether it was his smile, his uncombed straggly long blonde hair, his blue eyes, his way with words (which was far from eloquent, unless ‘Geezz I’d like t’ fuck you,’ could be described as eloquent), or whether it was an instinctive ability to emit the right pheromones on cue, Steve always had women to spare. To Steve, the word woman or girl could have been easily replaced by fuck or screw. That’s all they were to him. A fuck. He was far too self centred to have any feelings for them.

  His nickname of Snake had taken on an additional meaning to his mates who joked that he was, ‘Just a life support system for his cock.’ They admired Steve for his bravado and confidence. They also liked being around Steve because they all believed that their own chances of getting laid were better. They’d all scored at least one or two of Steve’s girls. He didn’t keep them long, and if you wanted choice, there were plenty of ex-girlfriends still hanging around. It was a puzzle none of his mates could solve. Steve would find a girl, fuck her a couple of times, ignore her as soon as he found a new one, which was pretty swiftly, but they still stayed around looking to be possibly screwed again. It was a conundrum they would never solve. To Steve, it wasn’t a puzzle. It was just life. It was just how he wanted it. He’d never stopped to think about it. He didn’t need to, he always seemed to get what he wanted. Asked one evening at a party by a friend, ‘Hey Snake, how many woman have ya’ fucked?’ He replied in an instant, ‘Not enough.’

  He was unaware that apart from the daughter he knew about, who was nearly two years old, there were two other children with his name as their father. A son just born. And another daughter just about to be.

  For all of his quick wit and likeable personality, Steve’s criminal record, and his criminal associations would inevitably lead him into serious trouble. He’d skated through the Children’s Court almost unscathed, and had sidestepped a prison sentence in his first appearance in the Local Court. The police knew him as a petty criminal, and although he was a nuisance, he wasn’t on their most wanted lists. To the Northbridge Group who ran a large proportion of the drug trade in Perth he was unknown. He was a minor dealer, and his contact was one of the underlings of the Group. Steve bought his stuff from his contact who looked like a nightclub bouncer. He probably was, because he was huge, and seemed to live like a statue at the entrance to the Pink Cockatoo nightclub. Steve had never seen his contact anywhere else. He didn’t even know his name.

  It was in March 1985 that Steven Sharp’s luck would change from good luck to bad. As nothing was ever planned in his life, all events could only be put down to luck. Be it good or bad. He’d enjoyed a very consistent run of good luck since he was ten, so maybe it was just a matter of time before this situation changed. If this was so, March 1986 marked the arrival of that time.

  Nineteen years old, and as cocky as shit, Steve Sharp would listen to no one. He knew it all. He always seemed to get what he wanted, and had a happy knack of not getting caught for his serious indiscretions or petty criminal activities. He was a petty thief, social security cheat and small time drug dealer. He had a big mouth and an over active cock, but apart from these occupations and qualities he didn’t attract a lot of attention other than amongst his circle of friends and acquaintances. He was about to get noticed, and it wouldn’t be pleasant.

  It was a warm March Friday night in late summer that Steve made his usual trip into Northbridge. He caught a bus into the city and walked the few blocks to the Pink Cockatoo on James Street to buy his stuff for the week. He did the deal quickly. The quantity he bought was always the same, and the price stayed about the same also. He understood the price varied a little from time to time if supply was easy or tough. He did the deal in less than thirty seconds and was going to walk the short distance to have a few beers at a pub at the corner of William Street as he usually did. There were a regular few that he knew there and often a few new chicks for him to have a go at. Instead he decided to have a few drinks inside the Pink Cockatoo first. The few times
that he’d ventured inside the Pink Cockatoo previously, he’d stayed only a short while. It wasn’t a nightclub with his type of music or people. It was a club frequented by young brash moneymakers from the opposite end of town to Steve. They came for the talk of money, the martinis, the class atmosphere and the cocaine. Steve had trouble understanding why it was so popular. ‘Why would so many people came to a nightclub without a band playing?’ he thought to himself as he walked to the bar to buy a beer. ‘And the disc jockey is such a wanker,’ was his second thought as his beer was placed on the bar for him. He paid for his drink, and had a third thought, ‘I bet that barman is a poofter.’ As he swallowed half the contents of his glass of beer in one gulp, Steve had his fourth thought. This one was going to lead directly to his change of luck from good to bad. ‘Shit, I’d like to fuck that.’ The thought wasn’t unusual. The object of it was however.

  His eyes were glued to woman sitting quietly by herself at the opposite end of the bar. She was in her thirties, elegantly dressed wearing a black suit. Her skirt was a little longer than the fashion of the day demanded, and the cut of her jacket gave her an appearance of a woman who knew what she wanted. She wore only a small amount of jewellery. Enough though to suggest to any eye that she had access to more than just a few dollars. Her shoulder length jet black hair was held back from her forehead with a simple velvet hair band. She had style and class. Her dark brown eyes were clear and sharp, and could cut a man down at a hundred paces. As Steve approached her and caught her glance, she didn’t cut him down. As he sat down next to her at the bar, she just stared. Steve stared back. Steve won. The woman spoke first.

  ‘This doesn’t look like your kind of place,’ she said.

  Steve answered with a shrug. Then took another mouthful of his beer. It emptied his glass. He then focused his attention on the barman to get his glass refilled, ignoring completely whether the woman he wanted to fuck had a drink or not. When his beer arrived the woman ordered her own refill of chardonnay. After two more drinks and only a few words of conversation the woman stood from her stool, looked at Steve authoritatively and said, ‘Well, are you coming?’ Steve followed her to the door, and then to her car. He’d never been in a Mercedes before. As the woman drove her car out of the car park Steve was about to say something smart, when the dark eyed woman placed her hand on his thigh and gently rubbed up and down. She took her hand away to turn the car around the approaching corner, and returned it as the car straightened. She moved her hand higher and found what she hoped she would find. To Steve nothing was unusual. This was just going to be another one of his fucks.

  As the car pulled to a halt in the driveway, Steve had trouble believing his luck. ‘This woman is loaded,’ he thought. ‘What a fucking house.’ In the dark of the night, all he could really see was the fountain, lit to give the water a sparkling bluish appearance, the triple garage in front of him, and the double doors at the entrance of the house. The first thing that ran through his mind was that this house would be worth knocking over one night. Later when he had the luxury of hindsight, he would wonder why he didn’t instead have the thought, ‘I wonder who this slut is tied up with?’

  It was obvious to Steve that she wanted to be fucked. This conclusion of his was confirmed promptly as she led him directly to the master bedroom. He’d never seen a bed so big. King size beds were not the norm in Steve’s life. He had no idea what an en suite was either but he did think it was a great idea having a door directly from the bedroom to the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the bed as the woman disappeared into the en suite. He was a little nervous at the surroundings and didn’t want to show it, but this was strange territory for him. For the first time in his life he felt pangs of inferiority. He was treated as some kind of urban hero in his part of town, but here he felt out of place, and worthless. His thoughts were cut short by the appearance of the woman as the en suite door opened. She was naked except for a small necklace that glistened in the subdued light of the bedroom, and she was eerily silhouetted by the bright light of the en suite shining behind her. She walked the two paces she needed to be standing directly in front of Steven, still seated on the edge of the bed, looked down at him and said, ‘You’re still dressed. Are you shy or gutless?’

  With that, Steve stood up and undressed. As he did he watched her lean forward onto the bed. She bought her knees up onto the bed and rested on her elbows. Her feet were dangling over the side of the bed near Steve. She spread her legs to reveal her cunt to him. She turned her head slightly, but without looking at him, and snarled, ‘Hurry up and fuck me you mother fucking piece of shit!’

  The shock of the order nearly lost Steve his erection. As he fumbled to get his jeans off she continued her tirade of abuse. ‘C’mon you halfwit, fuck me. Haven’t you done this before poor boy? What are you waiting for, don’t you know what to do with that miserable little cock of yours!’ Steve had finally managed to get his jeans off. He couldn’t wait to slam himself inside this bitch. Not for his own gratification, but more in the hope it would shut her up.

  He was wrong. He fucked her like he had never fucked a woman in his life. He was angry, and at the same time sensing an embarrassment for the feeling of being somehow inferior. But as hard as he fucked her, her mouth ran even louder and more abusive. He grabbed her hair and tugged as hard as he could as he violently slammed himself into her with all the force he could muster. But still she bellowed abuse. ‘Is that the best you can do you little mother fucker? Didn’t your sister teach you how to fuck her properly poor boy? Christ! I should have found a man with a half decent cock to do this.’ Steve wanted this to stop. This wasn’t his idea of enjoyable. For the first time in his life he was having trouble keeping his erection. He didn’t know the meaning of humiliated, let alone heard of the word, but that was the way he felt. As his erection gave up, he stood back from the screaming bitch and was about to find his jeans. Her ranting stopped instantly. As he fumbled to get his jeans on, she stood up from the bed and slapped him across the face with stinging force. Just in case he didn’t notice the first time, she did it again with equal ferocity. He ignored the blows. Steven had few scruples, but to hit a woman was below even his standards of behaviour. In this case he may as well have. It wouldn’t have made things any worse. Without saying a word, he slipped his sweater on over his head. As he did so, she kneed him in the groin. He crumpled to the floor in agony.

  ‘Get out! Get out! Get out!’ she screamed, as Steve made his way to the front door. The agony of the blow to his balls still welling up in his stomach. He managed to make it down the driveway to the street as he heard the front door slam shut. He fell to his knees and bent over and waited for the pain to subside. With the remnants of the blow still in his gut, Steve walked slowly, with no idea of where he was, but worked on the assumption that he would find a major road to give him a clue. After walking for a little over half an hour, he found Stirling Highway. As he’d spent nearly all his money that evening on his drugs, cover charge into the Pink Cockatoo and a few beers, he didn’t have anywhere near enough to pay for a taxi. He didn’t know what time it was, but thought he would be lucky if the buses were still running. They weren’t. It was some time after one in the morning. He’d missed the last bus. The last thing he felt like doing was walking half way across the city tonight. In a service station, he noticed a church clothing bin. He’d spend the night there. He knew his luck was out when he found it was already occupied.

  He decided that as he wanted to catch a bus, and it was a warm night, he might as well sleep on the seat at the bus stop. The first bus at around five woke him up as it roared by. He waited for the next one. It arrived an hour later.

  He finally got to his mate’s place where he had been staying on and off for a few weeks. He went to bed. Had he known who he’d fucked the night before, or known that he was seen and easily recognised by his contact leaving the Pink Cockatoo with her, he might have made a wise choice to continue travelling east instead of going to bed. As he slep
t, two men where dispatched to find Steve. The two men were employed by the owner of the Pink Cockatoo who just happened to be the husband of the woman who kneed Steve in the balls the night before. He was Steve’s contact’s boss. He, amongst other things, was one of the major drug dealers and organised crime bosses in Perth.

  Steve had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The wrong place was the Pink Cockatoo and the wrong time was just after the aforementioned drug dealer had had a bitter argument with his wife. She’d been told he was having an affair with one of the waitresses and had confronted him with the fact.

  The dealer had arrived home the previous evening only minutes after Steve had left. Had Steve looked over his shoulder then, he would’ve seen the second Mercedes pulling in the driveway. The dealer found his wife crying in the bedroom. She was naked, and the bed dishevelled. He didn’t need a degree in forensic science to work out what had happened.

  At around three that afternoon, Steve slept soundly. Had he not been asleep, he would’ve heard the commotion as two men entered the house. Ignoring the protests of Steve’s mate at them being uninvited guests, they marched through the house until they located Steve. Steve didn’t normally wake in a hurry. He liked to ease into his days. He liked to doze for an hour or so before starting a new day. Today he was going to miss his doze. He was woken by a large fist slamming into his temple. Before he knew what the hell was going on, he was upright, being held up under his armpits and behind his neck in a full nelson hold, while two fists pounded into his stomach. As his ability to breathe stopped, his ability to vomit took over. When he fell limply to the floor, a large shiny black shoe made contact with his nose, spreading it liberally across his face. Another one launched into his stomach with even more force. His ability to vomit now lost, he shat himself instead. If any other blows were landed Steve didn’t know about them. He was unconscious before he had finished shitting himself.