by Peter Watt
‘I should get back to work,’ Mila said, looking over her shoulder. ‘I hope you come tonight.’
She walked away and Michael finished his coffee. He rose and nodded to her, then walked out into the late summer sunshine.
*
Only a few suburbs away Jessica Duffy-Macintosh sat opposite the Mother Superior of the exclusive girls’ school attended by her seventeen-year-old daughter, Shannon. The room brought back memories of Jessica’s early days as a nun and her time on a mission station in the Pacific before the outbreak of the war there. Jessica had come to know Sister Mary well as Jessica had been very generous to Shannon’s school, but she still felt uncomfortable in the head nun’s presence. She knew Sister Mary was aware that Jessica had renounced her vows many years earlier and, although it was never stated openly, the nun always had an air of disapproval whenever they met.
‘It appears that your daughter left in the company of the Price girl,’ said Sister Mary. ‘We only discovered their absence this morning at chapel.’
‘It is not like Shannon to be irresponsible, Sister Mary,’ Jessica said. ‘I’m sure she will return soon.’
‘Mrs Duffy,’ the stern nun said, ‘I am not sure if you know about the Price girl’s background, but her father owns a nightclub in Kings Cross. From what a couple of her friends said, your daughter was keen to sample the bright lights of the Cross. I think there are very good grounds to be worried.’
‘That puts things in a different light,’ Jessica conceded.
‘Tania Price is not a bad girl, but her circumstances have to be considered. They are both very pretty young ladies, and I think we know what the Cross is like with all the American servicemen on leave there.’
‘I am fully aware of the dangers, Sister Mary,’ Jessica replied. ‘I have the resources to have them found.’
‘I am sure you do, Mrs Duffy,’ said Sister Mary. ‘Hopefully they will be found before anything untoward happens.’
Jessica excused herself, walking wearily towards the door of the study festooned with religious icons and a photo of Pope Paul VI. Jessica did not want to admit to Sister Mary that as her daughter was growing into a young woman she was becoming increasingly rebellious and there had been some very heated confrontations between mother and daughter. Jessica knew it was all part of growing up, but she had not experienced this with her two sons.
Worrying about Shannon was bad enough, but Bryce was in Vietnam serving with an artillery regiment. He had gone willingly, as he saw it as his duty to serve his country. He had assured his mother that being in artillery was not as bad as serving as a grunt out in the scrub.
Jessica remembered so vividly the last time she had looked upon her son’s face. It had been at the railway station in Sydney just before he and his fellow soldiers were transported north to Townsville and from there to South Vietnam. She had tried to smile but when her eldest son was out of sight she had burst into tears, sobbing on Donald’s shoulder as the great diesel-driven engine pulled out of Central Station. Now all she had of him were letters, although lately, thanks to modern technology, he was sending her recorded tape cassettes too.
Jessica shook thoughts of Bryce from her mind and tried to concentrate on the problem at hand. Her first stop would be a city police station where an old friend, Detective Sergeant Brendan Wren, worked. She had met him a few years earlier when she attempted to put pressure on senior police to reopen the Allison Lowe case. Brendan had been identified by Sean as his principal player in getting justice for the murdered young woman, and thus, he was an enemy of Sarah Macintosh in the sense of seeking the truth. Jessica decided that she would visit him and see if he could help in tracking down the two runaways.
*
Michael sat in his mother’s spacious office with its view over the harbour. He watched as she lit a cigarette and paced the floor, her hand on her hip in the imperious manner he was familiar with from his youth.
‘When are you going to grow up and be a man?’ she snapped. ‘All this foolish playing at war.’
‘It took a bit to get into the regiment, Mother,’ Michael said. ‘I would not consider myself to be playing at war. It gets very real for us out in the scrub.’
Sarah ceased pacing and turned with an imploring look on her face. ‘You know you are the only person I have left in my life since Charles passed away. And you won’t even come and stay with me while you’re on leave.’
Michael smiled grimly. ‘Cut the BS, Mother,’ he said. ‘All you live for is the family business. I cannot remember one single time in my childhood that you gave me a hug. I cannot ever forgive you for not telling me when Nanny Keevers died. To you she was just another paid employee, but to me she was the only real motherly warmth I knew. I have no doubt that your main concern for my life is that I leave the army when my enlistment is up and join you in running Macintosh Enterprises. I guess your next priority would be for me to marry a girl with a good pedigree and produce grandchildren so you can groom one of them to replace me when my time is up.’
‘I do want you to inherit the companies when I stand down,’ Sarah conceded, puffing her cigarette in its long ebony holder. ‘We have a blood line to continue. You of all people should understand tradition and loyalty.’
‘You mistake me for Dad. He was the one who was loyal to you, although I have never understood why. He waited until his deathbed to tell me that your cousin is my biological father. He also told me Victoria White is my daughter.’
Sarah paled. ‘My God! I suspected there was something very familiar about Victoria when I first laid eyes on her.’
‘Interfering will do no good – Jane’s father’s name is on the birth certificate, not mine. It must irk you to know that I have actually produced an heir to your precious empire and there is nothing either you or I can do about it.’
Sarah stood, hardly aware cigarette ash was falling on the expensive carpet. ‘Couldn’t you convince Jane to disclose the truth?’ she asked, slumping down on a couch.
‘That’s not likely,’ Michael said. ‘In her last letter she said she was engaged to be married and wanted to start a new life.’
‘There must be something we can do,’ Sarah said. ‘I am not going to let the matter rest until there is a resolution.’
Michael rose to his feet. ‘Good luck trying,’ he said and left, taking the elevator down to the street. It was a Friday and he could feel the festive atmosphere amongst the crowds surging towards the train stations. He was not sure he wanted to go to Mila’s party; he was normally a solitary man who found his companionship amongst the brotherhood of soldiers. Still, Mila was very pretty and maybe it was time to see what civilians did on a Friday night in Sydney.
*
Jessica sat patiently in the busy police station on a hard bench near the desk sergeant’s station. Eventually Brendan appeared, stepping forward with a warm smile and extended hand.
‘Jessica, it has been a long time,’ he said as two uniformed police grappled with a big drunken man swearing obscenities. ‘Going to be a busy night. It’s a full moon. What brings you to a place like this?’
‘My daughter, who is only seventeen, ran away from her boarding school this morning in the company of William Price’s daughter,’ Jessica said and saw a dark shadow cross the police officer’s face.
‘You mean the Billy Price of Kings Cross?’
‘The very same.’
‘Well, I know one thing that might be a consolation,’ Brendan said. ‘No sane man with the will to live would lay a hand on Billy Price’s daughter – or any of her friends. He is known to adore his daughter, and all she has to do is mention his name up at the Cross and she will be treated with kid gloves.’
‘What if some lowlife who has never heard of Price finds the girls?’ Jessica asked.
‘He’d have to have been living under a log all his life. Every paper in Sydney has at least o
ne article a week about Price,’ Brendan said. ‘But I will alert all the boys and have the Cross mob keep an eye out for any young girls that don’t fit in. I will let you know when I hear something and we’ll get them both back safely. How are Donald and the boys?’
‘Bryce was called up and is in Vietnam. Kim and Donald are back on Glen View. It was just lucky I was in Sydney for a business conference. I will wait to hear from you before I inform Donald that his precious daughter is roaming the sleazy streets of Kings Cross. Knowing Donald as I do, he would be on the first plane down to Sydney if he knew.’
‘Leave it with us, Jessie,’ Brendan said. ‘I think I can promise that we will find Shannon before the sun rises.’
Jessica caught a taxi back to her Sydney home in the leafy suburb of Strathfield. She knew that she would not catch a wink of sleep until Shannon was found.
TWENTY-FOUR
When Michael’s taxi pulled up in front of the Glebe building he could hear the Rolling Stones’ ‘Paint It Black’ blaring out into the street of rundown Victorian terraces. It was a popular rental area for university students, and the scent of marijuana wafted to Michael as he approached the narrow building. Young people, in what Michael had come to learn was hippie dress, spilled out onto the street to admire the row of Harley Davidson motorbikes and chat with the men wearing the colours of a motorcycle gang. This was clearly a party of mixed social groups if bikies were hanging out with students. Most people were already drunk or stoned and hardly gave him a glance as he pushed his way up the old stone steps. A couple were kissing passionately just inside the front door, and the loud music drowned out any normal conversation. He spotted Mila talking to a tall young man a couple of years younger than himself.
‘Hello, Mila,’ Michael said when he was close enough to almost shout in her ear. She turned and flashed him a smile.
‘I thought you might not come,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you did.’
‘Who’s your friend?’ the tall young man asked belligerently. ‘He smells of bacon.’
‘I’m not a cop,’ Michael said.
The tall young man glared at Michael. ‘You don’t look like you fit in here, sport.’
Mila took Michael’s elbow and steered him away. ‘Did you bring something to drink?’
‘No, water is fine for me.’
‘How are you going to get into the spirit of things?’
‘I only came because a pretty lady invited me,’ Michael replied with a smile, and Mila blushed.
‘Well, let me take you around and introduce you to some of my friends. I won’t tell them you’re in the army.’
‘Just tell them I work for the council in the sanitation department,’ Michael said. ‘If they start asking questions, I’ll explain the difference between sewage and sewerage.’
‘Is there a difference?’ Mila asked, and burst into laughter. ‘You made that up.’
Michael grinned. ‘Not about the difference between sewage and sewerage.’
‘Forget about my friends. I’ll grab my Bacardi and we can go out to the backyard where it’s quieter,’ Mila said.
Michael liked her suggestion as the music was almost as deafening as standing next to an M2A2 105 millimetre howitzer when it fired off an artillery shell. She took his hand, guiding him through the mass of bodies in the tiny house, to the kitchen where she recovered a bottle with her name written on it. Then they broke through to the backyard which was a little less noisy and occupied by people smoking joints. Mila found an old lounge with the stuffing oozing out of tears in its fabric; it was at least something to sit on. Then she poured rum into a plastic cup.
They were hardly settled when Michael noticed two girls dressed in the shortest miniskirts he had seen. He frowned: they were clearly very much underage for this party. The two girls were standing together sharing a joint, and their presence was attracting unsavoury attention from two large bikies wearing their club colours. One of the girls turned her face in Michael’s direction and for a moment he stared, trying to place her in his memory.
‘Shannon!’ he said aloud, and the girl looked up, startled. Michael rose from the lounge chair and walked over to her. ‘Shannon Duffy. What are you doing here?’ He could see both shock and guilt written all over her face.
‘Michael!’ she gasped, looking like a stunned animal caught in the headlights of a car. ‘Did my mother send you to take me back to school?’
‘I’m pretty sure your mother doesn’t know you’re here,’ Michael said.
‘Who’s your friend?’ the other girl asked, taking a long draw of the joint.
‘He’s my cousin,’ Shannon answered. ‘Please, Michael, don’t tell my mum you saw Tania and me here.’
‘You can tell her yourself,’ Michael said. ‘I’m taking both you girls home now.’
He took Shannon by the elbow, intending to guide her from the house and hail a taxi. The second girl did not budge but instead attempted to grab Michael’s arm.
‘If you don’t let go of Shannon I will tell my old man that you molested her,’ Tania said. ‘My old man is Billy Price and he’ll fix you.’
‘Does your father know you’re at this party?’ Michael asked and saw the girl shrink away. ‘You can join Shannon in the taxi.’
‘Hey, man, leave the kids alone,’ said one of the bikies.
Michael turned to him and saw that the man and his companion were as large as he was, but there was something in Michael’s eyes that spoke of extreme violence when he growled, ‘If I were you, I would stay out of family business.’
Michael sensed that his confrontation with Shannon had caused unwanted attention in the small backyard. He was vastly outnumbered, and knew what he must do. One of the bikies stepped forward. He was big and mean-looking, but he also carried a pot belly. Michael did not hesitate. Years of martial arts training, coupled with hand-to-hand combat as an SAS soldier, had honed him into a lethal fighting machine. He waited until the bikie was almost on him, then used all his force in a lightning-fast blow, smashing the heel of his hand into the man’s nose. The bikie fell back in utter surprise, spraying blood across those close by, then slumped to the ground with his hands to his face, moaning his pain and shock.
The second bikie lunged forward, swinging a blow that Michael blocked with his left arm while, at the same time, delivering a savage thrust with the fingers of his right hand into his opponent’s eyes. The big man screamed his shock and staggered back, clutching his face. Shannon had stood watching open-mouthed but now she attempted to leave and Michael grabbed her by the arm.
The crowd in the small yard parted to allow this terrifying man through. Mila followed, and so too did the second girl who had boasted that her father would fix Michael.
By now a buzz had rippled through the party and already someone was calling for an ambulance. Calling the police was not an option, considering the heavy use of Indian hemp.
‘Mila, where are you going?’ asked the belligerent young man Michael had first encountered, grabbing her by the arm.
‘Let me go, Justin,’ she said, attempting to shake off his grip.
‘Let her go,’ Michael snarled.
‘Or what, tough guy?’
That was a stupid question. Justin did not even see the punch coming as Michael drove his fist into the man’s stomach, buckling him instantly. Michael continued with the three girls in tow through the crowd, now scattering for safety from the violent maniac in their midst.
Out on the street Michael hailed a passing taxi cab and bundled the two girls into the back. He smiled grimly at Mila as she climbed in after them, then he took a seat beside the driver.
‘You first, young lady,’ Michael said, turning to the daughter of the infamous crime lord of Kings Cross.
Tania sheepishly provided the address of her father’s nightclub. There was something in Michael’s eyes that warned her disobedienc
e was not an option. When they arrived, Michael escorted Tania inside. The place was full of American servicemen on R and R leave from Vietnam.
A man stepped from the shadows, accompanied by two brawny bouncers. ‘What are you doing with my daughter?’ he asked threateningly.
‘I think you should ask your daughter that, Mr Price,’ Michael said.
Billy Price glared at his daughter, then looked up at Michael. ‘Do I know you?’
‘I think you might know my mother, Sarah Macintosh,’ Michael said and saw the look of surprise on Price’s face. He had seen this man with his mother when he was a child. ‘I must apologise but I have another delivery to make tonight.’ Before Price could respond, Michael strode away, leaving a very forlorn daughter to face the wrath of a worried father.
When Michael climbed back into the taxi he glanced at Shannon and Mila in the back seat.
‘You did not tell me that you fought as a mercenary in the Congo and that you’re an SAS soldier,’ Mila said almost accusingly.
‘How did you learn that?’ Michael asked, and saw the guilty look on Shannon’s face.
‘Shannon has a very high opinion of you,’ Mila said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were and are now?’
‘A couple of good reasons,’ Michael answered. ‘The first being I have only just met you, and secondly, what does it matter?’
They drove in silence until the taxi reached Jessica’s Strathfield residence. Michael paid the fare, and the three walked up the pathway to the modest but attractive house with its stained-glass windows. The lights were on inside and Michael rang the doorbell. It opened to reveal Jessica still in her day clothes. For a moment she tried to focus on Michael standing under the porch light, and then she saw her daughter standing behind him.
Jessica stepped out and embraced Shannon, smothering her with kisses.
‘I thought you might be worried about her, Aunt Jess,’ Michael said.