by Peter Corris
He was working himself up and I hoped it wasn’t to do something I’d regret. I closed my eyes.
‘Christ, what’ve you fuckwits done to him? He’s not going to fucking die, is he?’
The most hopeful sounds I’d heard in how long? Minutes? Hours? Days?
‘Nah,’ Runty said. ‘We never touched him hardly. Just shot some dope into him. He’s all right. Supposed to be pretty tough.’
‘Rip the tape off. I have to talk to the bugger.’
Rip it he did, taking some skin with it. The pain brought tears to my eyes.
‘I dunno about tough,’ Galvani said. ‘Looks to me like he’s crying.’
‘Untie me, get rid of Runty and let me get my circulation back,’ I croaked. ‘Then we can see who’s tough.’
‘What did you call me?’
Galvani thumped the smaller man’s shoulder with a meaty fist. ‘It’s as good a name as any, unless you reckon Fuck-up would be better. Get him some water, I can hardly understand what he’s saying.’
Galvani undid the straps holding me to the trolley, still leaving me tied hand and foot. Slowly and painfully I lifted myself up and swung around so my legs were hanging over the edge. The blood rushing to places where it hadn’t been for a while caused shooting pains and jumping nerves but the movement was still a relief. Runty went to the sink and came back with a plastic cup of water. I tipped my head back and he poured it in, too fast, but I got it down in a couple of gulps.
‘That’s the first nice thing you’ve done for me,’ I said. ‘But I’ll still beat the shit out of you if I get the chance. Where’s your bald-headed mate? I’d like to have a go at him too.’
‘You’re not having a go at anyone, Hardy,’ Galvani said. ‘What I’d really like to do with you is stick you in a barrel and slip you into the harbour somewhere.’
I grinned at him and felt the blood on my mouth from where I’d bitten myself and from where the tape had been ripped away. ‘But you can’t, because if the casino loses two security men in a couple of weeks questions are bound to be asked and you don’t want that.’
He looked at me disgustedly. ‘Christ, you’re a fucking mess. How could someone who’s supposed to be smart like you get yourself so screwed up?’
‘It’s a talent, also Scott was a friend of mine.’
A silence fell in the grey-painted, soulless room. Runty leaned against a wall and looked bored. Galvani took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one with a gold lighter. ‘It was an accident. A bloody awful accident. Should never have happened.’
‘Yeah. What about Clark, the architect?’
‘He jumped.’
‘After someone scared him shitless.’
‘He was shitless, gutless and everything else. I suppose you’ve got it all worked out?’
‘Not by a long way. How about some more water?’
Galvani waved at Runty who complied, but this time I collected a mouthful and sprayed it over him. He got ready to hit me but Galvani stopped him. This was getting better and better all the time, now I was protected property. Any minute he’d be untying me and offering me a real drink.
‘In a way, Hardy, I blame you for getting my brother killed. But we won’t go into that. What I will do is try to keep you alive. You want to stay alive, don’t you?’
I didn’t answer.
‘You do nothing for a month, understand. You just do your job here and that’s all. Plus whatever other shitty little business you’ve got on the side. I don’t care. But you don’t talk to anyone about this-not to your copper mates or your lawyer mates or your journalist mates. No one!’
‘Why would I agree?’
‘Because if you don’t, Gina is dead. As far as I’m concerned she’s a stuck-up northern bitch who’d be no loss. My family’d take care of the kids better than she can. So, you get it? Do fuck-all for a month and she lives, interfere and she’s dead.’
‘Why a month?’
He dropped his cigarette on the highly polished floor and stood on it. ‘No more talk. No explanations. I won’t say take it or leave it because you can’t fucking leave it, can you?’
He was right there. My mind was teeming with questions but I could tell I wasn’t going to get any answers. I’d only learned one thing-he’d said I was to do my job ‘here’, meaning we were somewhere inside the casino. Not much help. I stared at him, trying to think of something to threaten him with, something to exert some leverage. And I didn’t have a cracker. Galvani would have Scott’s notebook and the tape and transcript for sure. If Julian Clark had really jumped there’d be no hard evidence of a connection there. They could patch up the Commodore and I still didn’t know what lay behind it all.
Galvani must have seen the defeat in my face because he smiled. His jowls wobbled a bit and he relaxed his body, letting his belly sag forward. He was a long way from being Pavarotti-shaped, but getting there. I would have liked to swing a couple of punches into his flab. He said something in Italian to Runty.
‘Sorry, I only talk Australian.’
‘Shit,’ Galvani barked. ‘Get the needle. This fucker’s going back to sleep.’
21
When you wake up from a bad dream, you’re relieved to find that everything you were dreaming about has gone. This was the reverse. I came awake in my own bed and knew instantly that it was all true. The physical evidence was clear-the sore arm, chafed wrists and ankles, dry throat and mouth and a listless feeling, something like a hangover, something like heat exhaustion. My clothes were neatly folded on a chair. Sitting on top of them were Scott’s notebook, a cassette tape and a set of car keys. My watch was on the bedside table-it was 1 p.m. I’d lost about twenty out of the last twenty-four hours. Realising this made me feel weak, as if I was losing control of everything.
I struggled out of bed and picked up the notebook. The pages dealing with Scott’s investigation of his brother had been torn out. It was a fair bet that the cassette had been wiped. I pulled on my tracksuit pants and opened the window onto the balcony. A maroon Commodore, freshly washed, was sitting there behind the dusty Falcon, sparkling in the afternoon sun. I stared down at it, thinking of driving the thing to the casino for the next month while I did nothing about the mess I’d stumbled into. The thought made me feel sick. I wanted to crawl back into bed. I wanted to call Glen and tell her all about it. I wanted to get Ken Galvani into some quiet enclosed space and bounce him off the walls.
Impossible. My metabolism began to return to normal and I realised I was still parched and hungry. I went downstairs and saw the message light blinking on the phone. I hesitated before hitting the button-Glen? Vita? Ken Galvani?
‘Hi, Cliff. O.C. here. Sorry to hear you’re crook. Not to worry. Rest up and get in when you can. Might give me a call if you can’t make it tonight. So long.’
There was nothing edible in the kitchen and I was about to go out shopping when I became aware that I smelled like a hide tanner. I showered, shaved and shopped. Then I made an enormous meal of toast and scrambled eggs and ate it with a glass of white wine cut with mineral water. The cat got a tin of sardines. I cleaned up, washed a pile of dirty clothes and the time to go to work rolled around. Before leaving I checked the cassette and confirmed that it was blank. A thought occurred, the first useful one since waking up. I phoned Primo’s office and got fast-fingers Suzie.
‘Suzie, this is Cliff Hardy.’
‘He’s out, looking at locations, so he says. I bet he’s on the golf course. His wife complains that the pro at Woollahra sees more of him than she does. He’s even talking about going on a diet to improve his swing. I can’t believe it.’
‘Wouldn’t hurt, but I don’t need him. You remember typing something up for me yesterday?’
‘Off a tape, sure.’
‘Have you still got it on the hard disk?’
‘Would have. I don’t wipe ‘em till the end of the week.’
I asked her to run off another copy and send it to my office. It wasn’t much in the
way of evidence or defiance, but it was something.
For the next week I walked through the job at the casino like Robert Mitchum in a movie role. I did everything the easy way, trod on no toes but took no shit. Business was good and everyone was happy. Ralston reported to me that he’d narrowed down the list of dark-haired regulars who drove Mercedes to six and he gave me the names. Julian Clark’s was on it. I thanked but didn’t enlighten him and he appeared to be incurious. A guy with his problem gets through one day at a time and doesn’t look for any more trouble than he’s already got. Oscar asked me how I was doing with the Galvani investigation and I studied him closely as he did so. It was an innocent inquiry, I was sure. Oscar was what he seemed- an effective, image-conscious front man, neither more nor less than that.
The casino was equipped with a swimming pool, spa and gym and I spent a lot of time there, freeing my shoulder, making sure the muscles didn’t atrophy, working my body while my mind was on hold. I would have dearly loved to know why Ken Galvani was so anxious to have a free hand for a month, but I didn’t dare ask around. I assumed the new Commodore was bugged and came to dislike driving it. I sang and spouted obscenities for the listeners, if any. Childish stuff. On the roads and moving around generally, I spotted tails a couple of times and did my best to lose them. Sometimes I succeeded. I had the transcript of the tape in my office, but I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do with it. The inactivity and frustration drove me mad. I thought of driving to Galvani Senior’s house to check out the security, of contacting Joe, of hiring someone to do these things for me. The trouble was, I believed Ken Galvani’s threat. There had been something implacably cold and bleak and committed about him. I felt guilty enough about Scott and Julian Clark, I didn’t fancy bringing about the orphaning of Scott’s kids. I thought about snatching Ken and reversing the pressure, but I never saw him around the casino and I knew he had considerable backup. I drank a good deal and swam endless laps to work it off.
Saturday morning. I was in Gleebooks, the old shop near St Johns Road where I like the clutter, browsing the second-hand Penguins section, when I was bumped from behind.
‘Don’t turn around. I’ve got my back to you. Keep doing what you’re doing. I’m Joe Galvani.’
The voice was low-pitched, fast and very nervous. I could hear pages turning and I pulled out a copy of Hemingway’s To Have and Have Not and leafed through it. Although it was more than thirty years old the binding was holding firm, more than you can say for modern paperbacks. I muttered as if I was addressing the printed page. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘I hope so, too. I have to talk to you. I know I wasn’t followed here. You?’
‘I don’t think so.’
He said nothing for a few seconds and I let my eye run over the passage where Harry Morgan dumps the Chinese illegals overboard. Tough stuff. The shop was busy as always, with people squatting to look at the low shelves, swarming up the ladders for the high ones, pulling out books, reading, checking prices, probably doing a little shop-lifting too, some of them.
‘There’s a park next to the church across the road. Meet me there in a couple of minutes.’
If we hadn’t been followed, what was the point of not looking at each other? I turned round just as he put his book back and headed towards the door. He had the Galvani look all right-the black hair and square shoulders. In build he was somewhere in between Ken the slob and Scott the fit. He had his shoulders hunched and his hands thrust into the pockets of a poplin jacket as if he was trying to make himself invisible- he couldn’t have been more conspicuous if he’d tried. I decided to buy the Hemingway. I had to wait a while to be served. I wandered down the street, crossed at the lights and entered the small park. Good choice, hedges and trees blocking it off from the street and plenty of shaded and sheltered spots within.
Joe was sitting on a bench near the toilet block. He had an open newspaper in his hands but I could tell he wasn’t reading it. From twenty paces away I could see the trembling of his hands and the sweat on his face. He lit a cigarette which seemed to steady him a little. His nervousness got to me and I checked the park out thoroughly before approaching him. Readers, talkers, soft-drink swillers, all clear. I sat down next to him on the bench and watched his smoke drift in the still air.
‘I know what Ken’s doing,’ he said. ‘I know what he’s threatening.’
‘Then you know how dangerous this is.’
‘Yes.’ He smoked for a while, taking deep drags. When he’d smoked the cigarette down almost to the filter, he lit another one from the stub. ‘I gave up this miserable, stupid bloody habit five years ago. Now look at me. I’m back on it worse than ever. My wife can’t stand it. She says kissing me is like licking an ashtray. It’s just one more thing I’ve got against Ken.’
‘I’ve got a few against him myself. What I want to know is why? Why did he put the frighteners on Julian Clark? Why does he need a month’s grace?’
He talked a blue streak, smoking the whole time, still nervous, but relieved to get it off his chest. He said that Ken had a major interest in a site in Ultimo-one of the contenders for the permanent home of the casino. Ken’s holding was concealed by a thick smokescreen of interlocking companies, but he stood to make millions if this site was chosen and to lose heavily if it wasn’t.
‘He owns it, virtually, but it’s costing him a fortune in interest and so on,’ Joe said. You understand?’
I said I’d heard of such things. ‘But I still don’t see why…’
‘The site isn’t near the water. You can’t bloody see the water from it. Julian’s design was brilliant, far and away the best, but it was the worst from Ken’s point of view because it depended on proximity to the harbour. Two of the other sites provide that. Ken had to eliminate it. He’s pulling all sorts of strings to get it to go his way. He’s desperate I think. He… ‘
He stopped, visibly upset. I could see where this train of thought was leading and felt I had to say something to deflect it. ‘That’d be illegal, wouldn’t it-to be a big wheel in the corporation running the casino and owning the site as well.’
Wrong tack, Cliff.
He nodded miserably. ‘The bastard. My guess is that’s what Scott…’
I patted his shoulder as he lit another cigarette. ‘OK, Joe. I get the picture. It sounds as if he’s put everything on the line.’
He threw the cigarette away and crumpled the packet in his hand. ‘I’m fucked if I’m going to do this. He’s cost me a brother. If I go on like this it’s going to cost me a wife as well. Fuck him! Fuck him! Yeah, the rest of his businesses are on the nose. He’s overcommitted in every bloody direction. If he doesn’t get this through he’s down the tubes. Christ. Hardy, you can’t imagine how much I want that to happen.’
I could. I was with him all the way. My life was a mess and I was very eager to make someone else’s the same, worse if possible. But it was one thing to want it and another to bring it about. I watched him as he glanced nervously around the park, twisted his wedding ring and fiddled with his lighter as if he was already regretting the destruction of the cigarettes. As an ally, he wasn’t very inspiring.
‘I tried to get in touch with you just before Ken’s boys got rough with me,’ I said. ‘I was told you were sick.’
‘Yeah. When Scott died I tried to pretend it had nothing to do with Ken. Then Julian came to me again and told me Ken’s latest threat. I couldn’t pretend any more. I went to Ken and he nearly went berserk. He told me about you and said he’d kill Gina if anyone interfered with his plans. Including me. He didn’t threaten my wife and kids, but he wasn’t far off doing it. I had some kind of breakdown. I’m all right now.’
I doubted it. I got up and suggested we walk around a bit. I wanted to see how he moved, how tense he really was. You can tell a lot from the way someone walks and reacts to other moving objects. He welcomed the idea and jumped up jerkily. Worrying. We strolled around the park and he seemed to relax a little as
we went. A dog dashed past with its young owner running after it, calling its name. Joe grinned briefly at the sight. A dog-lover or a kid-lover. He wasn’t doing too badly.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘I understand what you’re saying, but nothing’s changed. From what I’ve seen of it, that house of your parents’ makes a pretty good prison and Ken has several nasty types to do the heavy work for him. Gina’s his ace-in-the-hole.
‘If I… if we could get her out things’d be different. But I can’t see how.’
‘There’s a way,’ he said slowly. ‘There’s a way.’
We were at the north end of the park, almost to Glebe Point Road with the Ancient Briton just across the way. It was nearly noon. ‘Come and have a drink, Joe,’ I said, ‘and tell me all about it’
22
Finding a quiet spot to talk in in the Ancient Briton is no easy matter, what with drinkers, pinball players and the race broadcasts. The best time is in the lull immediately after a race when the winners and losers drift over to the TAB section to collect or attempt to redeem their losses. As a form of gambling it seems to me to have it all over cards and dice and little balls rattling round in a spinning wheel, but to each his own. Joe’s drink was white wine and mine was old beer. We retreated to a dark corner and drank while waiting for the race hubbub to subside. When it was quiet enough, Joe said. ‘They go to church on Sunday. That’s the key to it.’
‘Who does?’
‘My mother and father, Ken and his wife and their kids. Gina doesn’t go. She isn’t a Catholic and she refused to bring the twins up as Catholics. That’s another thing the old people and Ken have got against her. Scott was like me-didn’t care one way or the other. Ken’s a pillar of the church- big contributor, wants one of his boys to be a priest and one of the girls a nun. All that shit. It’s very important to him. He puts on his thousand dollar three-piece and goes to church, no matter what.’