by Scott Monk
‘Hello,’ Julie said frostily, looking into her rearview mirror. She studied his hair and facial features with shock.
‘G’day,’ Matt answered slowly. ‘Where are we going?’
‘We’ll show you when we get there,’ his mum said.
He listened as the two women small-talked. It was obvious they hadn’t caught up for years, but they knew each other well. Soon, he realised it was a one-on-one conversation and he nervously turned his attention to the increasing number of suburbs they were travelling through. Looming in the distance, he could see the Sydney central business district blurred with brown afternoon smog.
Shadows engulfed the car as it crawled through traffic under the city skyscrapers. The conversation petered out and everyone was left to their own thoughts. Finally, Mrs Sanderson turned into busy George Street, drove halfway along it, indicated, braked then switched the Nissan’s hazard lights on. The drivers of several cars banked behind her hit their horns then angrily drove around her.
Matt wondered why they had stopped there. To his left was Martin Place, a large paved area in the heart of Sydney where many people enjoyed taking their lunchbreak. It was filled with pigeons, flower sellers, cyclists, banks and the old sandstone GPO building. Fresh wreaths lay at the feet of two metal soldiers guarding the Cenotaph, dedicated to men and women who had died in the line of duty.
‘Can somebody please tell me what’s going on?’ Matt asked.
His mother reached down behind her legs and pulled out a cardboard box. It was the same box he had delivered to that house in Chatswood!
‘You recognise this, don’t you?’
‘Yes. But how—’
‘Who gave it to you?’
‘Uncle Jack. Why?’
‘You don’t have an Uncle Jack.’
‘Yes I do. On Dad’s side.’
‘Did your father tell you that?’
‘Yeah.’
His mum looked at Mrs Sanderson as if that had confirmed both their suspicions. She sighed. ‘Matthew, your father’s an only child. He has no brothers or sisters.’
‘But I met Uncle Jack. He owns a cafe over in Marrickville.’
‘Then your father lied to you.’
‘Huh? Why?’
‘To use you.’
‘For what?’
‘To deliver this box. It’s from him, isn’t it?’
He nodded. ‘He said it was a birthday present for a lady who lives in Chatswood.’
Julie shifted in her seat.
‘Well, Julie is that lady. But it’s no birthday present.’
Confused, Matt watched as his mum opened the box. He was even more bewildered when he saw what was inside. Next to a plastic toy baby there was a laughing skull mask and a card with a picture of a stork and the word Congratulations. On the card was written: Thinking of you at this happy time. Sorry I can’t make it to your child’s birth, but I’ll be there when he turns one.
‘It’s a threat from your father,’ his mum explained, seeing his confusion. ‘That’s the same kind of mask he used to wear.’
‘But why?’
‘What’s your father told you about the day he was arrested?’
‘That his mates squealed on him and the cops chased him across Sydney. Why?’
Mrs Sanderson raised her hand to her mouth as his mum shook her head. ‘I knew I couldn’t trust him.’ Twisting in her seat, his mother pointed along Martin Place. ‘See that bank right up there? Near the fountain? That’s the last bank your father robbed.’
‘Is it? Cool.’
‘No, it is not “cool”. Your father nearly killed someone near there.’
‘Killed?’ he gasped. ‘But dad said he never hurt anyone.’
‘It’s another lie, Matthew. Can’t you see? He’s lied to you from the start.’
Matt wanted to yell and defend his father. His mum had always been jealous of him. But this time it felt different. He knew she wasn’t kidding.
‘One evening, your father snuck into that bank via a hole in the roof and camped in the ceiling. He planned on stealing the money during the night while no one was working. But he didn’t count on two cleaners being rostered on that night. While he waited for them to finish vacuuming, he fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the next morning, just as the bank was opening.
‘Desperate, he jumped down, knocked out a guard and stole as much money as he could. He ran out of the building in front of two cops, who chased after him on foot. One of them grabbed him and tackled him to the ground. But your father managed to kick one in the face and steal his gun. Thinking he was some kind of movie star, he pointed it at both of them and warned them to drop all their weapons.’ His mum gritted her teeth. ‘The police officers did as they were told and your father pistol-whipped them both. He left them bleeding and unconscious. That evil man didn’t care if they lived or died. He just ran.
‘It wasn’t long before other cops arrived. Your dad tried to escape along Pitt Street but two cop cars chased him back here to Martin Place. He ran all the way to where we are now only to see more cops arriving.
‘Trapped at both ends, he ran into the GPO building. Stupid idiot. He tried to get out the back but found himself in the toilets. He came screaming back inside and started waving his guns at staff and customers, threatening to hurt them if they didn’t show him the way out—’
‘I was so scared,’ Mrs Sanderson said, hiding her eyes behind a dark pair of sunglasses. ‘I thought I was going to die. I was talking to my boss when your father burst into the room and pointed his guns at us. He was panicking and that made us panic. His hands were shaking so badly that I was afraid his gun would go off accidentally. He screamed at us to get on the floor. When we weren’t fast enough, he started pushing us head-first onto the carpet. Old ladies too. Just slam! He didn’t care who he hurt.
‘He finally grabbed my boss and yelled at him to show him the back exit. As they were hurrying across the room, a sixteen-year-old boy tried to stop your father. It was completely stupid. Your dad was armed. But the boy jumped at him anyway. He thought he could save everyone’s lives. Your father simply threw him to the ground and …’ Mrs Sanderson flinched as if she was hearing the bullet again, ‘it was horrible. The boy screamed as he bled in front of us. I felt sick. One lady actually threw up. The boy wouldn’t stop screaming. Your father threatened to shoot him again if he didn’t shut up. That went for the rest of us too.’
Mrs Sanderson took a deep steadying breath. ‘My boss tried to help the boy just as the cops made it to the front door. They heard the gunshot and took cover outside. Realising he didn’t have much time left, your father grabbed the nearest person to him and stuck a gun to their head.
‘That person was me.’
Her breathing started to become raspy. ‘I started crying. I couldn’t help it. I was afraid he was going to kill me. He had already shot one person. The more I tried to control myself, the more upset I became, though. Finally, your father threatened he really would do it if I didn’t be quiet. Then he ordered me to show him the way out and I took him out the back. But the cops had already found the exit.
‘Becoming more agitated, your father decided to take a risk. He dragged me outside with him and warned the cops he’d shoot me if they didn’t drop their guns. I started crying again and praying that I’d be okay. I was only eighteen years old. I had barely finished school. All I could think about was seeing my mum, my dad, my sister and my boyfriend again.
‘Thankfully, the cops dropped their weapons. I thought that would be the end of it but your dad shoved me into a car. He ordered me to drive as he sat in the back seat behind me. He was using me as a shield just in case the cops changed their minds.’
Mrs Sanderson slid a finger under her sunglasses to wipe away a tear. Heather asked if she was okay and Mrs Sanderson nodded.
‘So there I was, thinking I was going to die any minute. We drove out of the city towards the west, with five cop cars chasing after us. Your father kept scream
ing at me to drive faster even though my foot was already flat on the floor. At those speeds, I was afraid we’d crash—or worse, hit another car. But somehow we survived only to run into a roadblock minutes later.
‘Your dad saw it at the last second and grabbed the wheel from me. He spun it around but lost control. The car just missed slamming sideways into a wall but hit a parked motorbike. It shattered everywhere as your father yelled at me to turn into a sidestreet.
‘He took over the driving then. He pushed me into the passenger seat and warned me against jumping out of the door. I would have, too. I wanted so desperately to get away from him. I hated him touching me let alone sitting right next to me.
‘The cops were less than fifteen seconds behind us by then. Your father was fully panicking, and for a moment I thought he was about to cry. I had no sympathy for him, though. He’d shot a boy.
‘We sped past a road sign that pointed to Campbelltown. It triggered off something inside of him because he hit the accelerator and that’s where we headed.
‘About five minutes later, he pulled up outside a house and ran inside. He completely forgot about me and I ran towards the police speeding down the street. The next thing I knew, there were cops all over the place, yelling at your father to come outside. He didn’t at first until a woman and her son ran screaming from a garage. He was chasing after them, crying and saying he wanted to hold his son. The cops grabbed the woman and baby and hid them behind a car as they ordered your father to give himself up. He ignored them and kept babbling about his son. But the cops threatened they’d shoot him if he took another step towards his family. Trapped, your father nearly started firing but he heard your screaming and broke down. He collapsed onto his knees and dropped his guns. The cops quickly grabbed him, disarmed him and handcuffed him while they had the chance. That was the last I saw of him until the trial.
‘My testimony helped put him away for fifteen years,’ she added, replacing the fear in her voice with anger. ‘That fact alone has helped me rebuild my life since he nearly destroyed it. Even though I thought he should have been given life for what he did to me and that boy at the post office, I was happy that I would never have to see or hear from that man again. He had no compassion for any other person.
‘I thought that part of my life was forgotten. That was until I found this box. I thought I’d escaped from him, but clearly I was wrong. He’s destroyed my life once. Now he’s aiming to do it again.
‘But this time I’m not going to let him. And you’re going to help me.’
Pages and pages of newspaper stories whirled through the microfiche machine in front of Matt’s eyes in a stale, dark part of the State Library, where Mrs Sanderson and his mum had dropped him off. The blur of fast-moving black-and-white words and images made him feel nauseous. Finally, he saw the date he was after and stopped. There on the front page he saw it, the story about the capture of the Laughing Skull Bandit.
He read it through twice just to be sure. But there wasn’t any doubt in his mind by then. Everything he had heard that afternoon was true.
Dressed in his trackpants and shirt, his dad shuffled into the mess hall with a large grin on his face. ‘G’day, champion. This is a surprise.’
He’d almost sat down when Matt asked, ‘Why’d you lie to me?’
His old man paused then smiled falsely and took his seat. ‘Whatd’ya mean?’
‘About Uncle Jack and the box?’
‘Did you deliver it to my friend like I asked?’
‘Yes.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘Julie Sanderson.’
His dad flinched. ‘Who?’
‘You know who. The woman I delivered the box to.’
‘What about her?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about how you held her hostage? Or about the teenage boy you shot?’
His dad shifted in his seat. ‘He lived. End of story.’
‘He was my age.’
‘So?’
‘You could’ve killed him!’
‘I’m not the one who tried to be a hero.’
Matt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Don’t you even care?’
‘Why should I? It’s all in the past.’
‘You obviously don’t think so or you wouldn’t have sent that package.’
‘Hey, don’t you start with me. We may be in a prison, but that won’t stop me from reaching over and belting you one, ya got it?’
Matt didn’t care. ‘What happened to being honest with each other, dad?’
‘I have been honest.’
Matt smirked. His mum had been right. ‘You haven’t changed, have you?’
‘Who’s been filling your head with this rubbish?’
‘No one. I went to the State Library and double-checked the old newspapers myself. It’s all true.’
‘Yeah, but someone had to tip ya off first. How’d you know what to look for?’
‘Mum found out about the box.’
‘Heather? How’d she find out? You didn’t turn dog on me, did ya?’
‘No, but you overlooked one thing. Ever since your court case, mum and Mrs Sanderson have kept in contact with each other—’
‘Why those conniving—’
‘You wrecked both their lives so it was only a matter of time before they hooked up together and helped each other through it. When Mrs Sanderson found your package, she rang Mum. It wasn’t long before she figured out you and “Uncle Jack” were using me. You got me to deliver the box so it couldn’t be traced back to you. My fingerprints wouldn’t be on any police records and you had a perfect alibi: you couldn’t have delivered it because you were in prison.’
‘Why didn’t ya tell me that your mother knew that woman?’
‘I didn’t know until Mum told me. Just like I didn’t know the truth about you.’
‘You want to know the truth? I’ve suffered for fourteen years in this place because of those two slags. Your mum for not letting me see you and that Sanderson woman for telling the court all her lies. If it wasn’t for them, I would be a free man. You and me would be fishing from a yacht in the Bahamas about now.’
‘Nice dream, but I don’t want to be part of your dreams any more.’
‘What?’
‘We’re finished.’
His dad laughed. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘Nope. Mum was right to hide you from me. You hurt people. You hurt her. You hurt Mrs Sanderson. You hurt that boy. And now you’ve hurt me. I’ve always wanted a dad and you came so close to being it. But no dad of mine would have shot that boy. He wouldn’t have held that woman hostage. Or even asked me to deliver that package. I’m sorry I ever met you.’
Matt stood up, shadowed by Mr Ryan.
‘Sit down! Don’t you walk out on me. We’re not finished yet. I’m still your father and you’ll do as I say.’
Matt stopped and looked at the man across from him. The man who still wore a mask. ‘No. My name’s Matthew Cassidy. I get it from my mother—the only parent I’ve got.’
‘Hey! You get back here! Right now!’
His father’s voice screamed along the corridors, even after the guards restrained him and threw him back in his cell. Matt kept walking out the front doors and didn’t look back.
His dad tried making contact with him twice after that. Both times were by phone. The first call his mum answered while Matt was studying in his bedroom. After a brief but heated conversation, she hung up. ‘Don’t you understand? He doesn’t want to see you again?’ Slam! The second time, Matt was packing moving boxes as he watched the sports news. His mum was out with Nan, scouting for a new unit to move into.
‘You too good to speak to your father now, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Then why the brush-off the other day?’
‘Stop harassing us, okay, or I’ll call the cops.’
‘You’re my son. I have a right to talk to you.’
‘But I’m no longer li
stening.’ Clunk. Matt hung up the phone. He got their number changed that very minute.
The last sortie was carried out by Mrs Ryan. She banged on their door until Matt cracked it open.
‘Matthew, what’s this business between you and your father?’ she demanded.
‘I’m sorry Mrs Ryan, but I’m not talking to you or your son.’
‘Why? What have I done?’
‘You hid the truth about my father.’
‘He asked me not to tell you.’
‘Then you lied to me as much as he did.’
He shut the door but she began pounding on it. ‘I’ll get my lawyers if you don’t open up!’
‘Go ahead! See if you can find us first!’
He would miss their unit above the fish and chip shop, as well as Mr and Mrs Nassaris’s warm and salty hospitality. But he and his mum were forced to move once again to escape from his father and grandmother. Thankfully, though, the move was going to be a short one. His mum had caved in to his pleas to stay in the area.
Dressed in boardies, Matt and his mates were enjoying a game of touch footy at Bondi Beach the weekend before the grand final. Thousands of shiny, oiled bodies lazed on the yellow-white sand in the early spring sunlight. Long-haired surfers paddled through the water, ready to sign their names in the waves. Children waded in their own kiddies’ pool in the far distance under the watchful eye of their parents. Tourists strolled along the boardwalk to walk off a rich meal at one of the seafront cafes as a group of seven-year-olds played What’s the Time, Mr Wolf on a nearby grassy embankment.
For the first time in ages, Matt felt happy. He was playing footy again. The drug allegations were forgotten. He had another shot at being selected by a Sydney club. Blackwell was no longer hassling him. He and his mum were talking to each other. And the mess with his father was behind him. After all that had happened, he wanted to have some fun.
The game was on. Matt caught the ball and ran forward sluggishly over the hot sand only to be nabbed by Hazem. A quick tap saw a pass to Grover, who threw it to Chris. The Sundance Kid wasn’t paying attention, however, and the ball sconed him. Hazem scooped up the ball and ran ten metres for a try.