by Alan Duff
‘You didn’t strike me as a man of simple tastes.’ The look sly and knowing this time. ‘Your daughter, the real knock-out? The kid who lives in Sydney? I thought I spotted her at traffic lights near here a few weeks ago.’
‘You probably did. She’s studying at the Conservatorium of Music right across the road. Good memory you have.’
‘Mate, my office is up the street and how would anyone forget her? She sat opposite me at dinner at your house last time, remember? Couldn’t take my eyes off her — all respect.’
‘She didn’t mind and I didn’t see anything untoward.’ Enough in his tone to ask the question: would you?
Sandy had flown up in his private chopper to express an interest in buying another large breeding property in the Widden Valley: Riley could manage it as an equity partner. But Riley declined, too busy with his own operation. He had bred lots of horses for Tulloch senior, quite a few pretty successful. Then Sandy had upped the ante on his father’s investment out of sheer passion for the game. Yet still only one big stakes win though a lot of victories at minor meetings.
The quiet opulence of Sir Stamford’s restaurant, draped with heavy curtains, crystal chandeliers, this was old-school five-star. No other diners, being a Sunday and near to two o’clock. Sandy picked up the wine list. So he was paying, therefore he was after something.
The bottle he ordered was three-hundred bucks, which meant Riley had to help do justice to the vintage, when he didn’t want to be too affected by alcohol, not just now. Both approved the Jim Barry Armagh, a 1991. Riley thought it so good he’d order a bottle tonight, room service. To follow the Cristal champagne.
‘Cheers.’ Riley clinked glasses.
‘To life.’ Sandy clinked glasses again. ‘May the rewards always go to the bold.’ With a look of course. Which Riley did not respond to.
‘I bet you’re a womaniser from way back, grandson of an old bog Irish horse trader.’ Tulloch’s leer more amusing than offensive.
Lifting eyebrows in feigned indignation, Riley said, ‘Where did you get that idea? And I had no idea you knew my grandfather.’
‘My father did. And I got it from observation, gained in turn from my dad. Tullochs can look around corners, behind and under things. Get me?’
‘Remind me what this meeting is about?’
That just got Sandy laughing, leaned back in his chair, luckily a sturdy antique style of hardwood. A bit of banter about men and their sex drive compared with a woman’s, then Sandy said, ‘You know how I love my race horses? Well, I love one more than any other.’
‘They won’t sell, Sandy. I’ve put it to every syndicate member.’
‘Tell them to name their price.’ He took another healthy mouthful of wine, swirled it in his mouth, nodded and swallowed. The maitre d’ appeared from nowhere and topped Sandy’s glass up, Riley’s not requiring it.
‘You know how my old man made his fortune? He played hard and fair. Beat the unions by putting his workers on salary; worked their arses off but paid a fat bonus if the project reached or went beyond its profit target. When they brought it in under time he paid up to six months’ salary bonus. Ordinary folk will die for someone who treats them like that. And fuck the unions.’
Riley waiting for the point, and when it did not follow said, ‘Your father was a legend and I admired him.’
‘I notice you didn’t say liked.’ Tulloch junior grinned.
‘I don’t think he went out to be liked. Respected. Perhaps feared? This wine is superb.’
‘So is your stallion. My old dad didn’t give two shits about being loved or popular. I want some of him, Riles.’
Confirming to Riley that money alone was not enough to buy top winners and/or prestigious stud stallions. The syndicate he’d sold a third share to were people he had done business with over the years, good men all, not friends as he didn’t allow others — men — to get too close. Their wealth or lack of it had nothing to do with Riley’s invitation. Respect did.
Still, over half a billion of wealth, inherited or no, makes for its own aura, so Riley was always going to hear the man out.
‘I’ll cut you in on a twenty-two-storey building I’m buying in Perth. Commercial property has plummeted along with the mining industry. But it always comes up. This building’s an absolute steal. Big law firm the anchor tenants. Lawyers never go out of business.’
Sandy’s pork belly arrived, and Riley’s braised duck.
‘I asked sans the potato, as I’ve had lunch,’ Riley pointed out. The waiter apologised, offered to take the plate away and rearrange the dish but Riley said no, not to worry about it.
‘What’s this “sans” business?’ Sandy looked almost aghast.
‘Something I picked up.’
‘Sans. That’s French, isn’t it? One race I hate: Frogs. Nation of socialists on a thirty-five-hour week. Can’t breathe without central government’s permission. Let the Krauts roll over them in two wars.’
Tulloch was not a man one easily warmed to. Big and gruff like his father was.
‘I like the French,’ Riley countered. ‘I have a couple of good clients who come out from Paris twice a year, won the Arc de Triomphe twice. They bring superb wines, and are good company. Cultured and yet the men are manly and there is none more feminine than a French woman.’
‘If you like them feminine,’ Sandy grunted with a mouthful of pork, noisy in the crunch of crackling. ‘Foreplay is the most overstated load of crap.’
‘Perpetuated by women journalists,’ Riley teased, ‘to convince men the rewards are there for those who are patient and considerate.’
‘Says the man who denied he was a player. I’ll pay you a cut,’ Sandy said.
‘I don’t operate like that. I don’t want reward for selling shares in Raimona. But, Sandy, I can’t get any shares.’
‘How about some of your own? Even you could always do with cash. Cash is king, as we all know. Name your price.’
Lifting his glass Riley said, ‘To your business determination, Sandy Tulloch. But, sadly, my shares are locked in a family trust.’
‘Well, unlock it. I want to breed a whole lot of winners from your horse. I could take my mares to the biggest stud places of all, pay my three or four hundred grand a bonk. But it’s Raimona I want. He’s got something special. I’ve followed his progeny over the last few years and he is not getting his full credit.’
Now that touched a spot for Riley. He said, ‘Oh?’
‘I’ve studied every one of his progeny’s results the last four years.’ Sandy’s eyes narrowed. ‘And he is producing fewer and fewer place-getters and more winners in a graph line heading straight for the stars.’
Riley let out a sigh he didn’t know was there, from rather deep. He felt almost as if a long-due acknowledgement had come. Perhaps the wine, its outstanding quality, Sandy’s forceful personality and plain facts on his stud stallion. Touched wine glasses for the third time.
‘I got a call from the Kiwi merchant banker, Felt,’ Riley said. ‘You know him.’
‘I could buy the man ten times over. But everyone knows him. What, he’s seen what I have, wants in?’
‘I told him no chance. The man wants the Melbourne Cup.’
‘Who doesn’t?’ Sandy had almost finished the bottle. Nodded for another one. ‘This Perth building, we put up five mill each, borrow the balance, get two rent increases in six years, we’ve made twenty million. You can cash out when you want.’
‘Five mill cash about stops me. I like a buffer.’
‘You need to get richer. Buys another class of woman, for starters.’
‘You buy them?’
‘My money attracts them. Same thing. Nothing makes them hornier than being on a fuckin’ big yacht, drinking champers surrounded by all the trimmings. I can moor in the Med and not speak a word of the local lingo and still fuck to a standstill. And you’re talking a sexual appetite to match my appetite for food and good grog.’
‘Different strokes.’<
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‘Liar. That your mobile buzzing?’
‘Yes. It’s a text.’
‘They can be pretty unsociable, mobile phones. Rude, even. My father died before they became all the rage, he’d have hated them.’
‘You don’t want me to read it?’
‘Mate, I have a Blackberry. I get emails and faxes on it.’
Snap. Riley pulled his Blackberry from his shirt pocket. ‘Couldn’t live without it. Nor can President Obama.’
‘Bullshit. We all could. Just got dependent. Go on, answer it. Bet it’s the girlfriend.’
Anna. Just telling a dad she loves him and sorry for making a fuss about staying at the hotel. Riley read it out to his lunch guest, by way of verification. I do luv da Stmfd. 4 got 2 say Sir. Giv regds 2 Luciano, her text finished. ‘He’s the concierge,’ Riley said.
Sandy’s eyebrows lifted. ‘I do live in this town.’
‘Sorry.’
Outside on Macquarie Street so Sandy could smoke a cigar, he waved away his driver in the black Bentley parked right out front. Riley preferred his Lexus at half the price.
‘What’s with the driver in uniform then?’ Riley thought he’d get one back.
‘Thought sans uniform he wouldn’t look the part.’ Tulloch quick as a flash.
Back inside Sandy got serious. ‘How many hectares is your stud farm? Eleven hundred? You need two-and-a-half, three thousand. Put you up there with the big boys, Coolmore —’
‘I know who they are, Sandy. But as I said, quite happy with what I’ve got.’
‘I’m offering fifteen million cash for a quarter share.’
Covering his shock Riley said calmly, ‘What if the industry suffered another equine flu outbreak?’
‘It’s called insurance. You can cover anything, even you not getting a hard-on tonight with your girlfriend. If you’re willing to pay the premium.’
‘And we agreed on how to prove it happened or not — if I had a girlfriend.’
‘I’d keep my interference to a minimum. And I don’t mean in your love life.’ No grin followed.
Riley did have to swallow, and it wasn’t wine.
He said, ‘Your offer is under serious consideration.’
‘That’s my boy. This wine is near as good as Grange.’
‘You think so?’
‘I have a couple hundred in my cellar to compare with.’
‘I have half a dozen. I concede.’
‘On both I hope. He deserves a higher service fee. Compared to Redoute’s Choice at three hundred thirty-five grand your rooter’s a steal.’
They chatted on through Sandy downing another bottle of wine, less the glass Riley had. Riley now got deadly serious. ‘Like a tiny version of you, Sandy, I inherited my start in this business. Grandad Sean willed only me of his numerous grandchildren two-hundred-and-fifty acres of struggling agistment operation, jumped his children’s generation. In other words, like a lawyer with a set ceiling for charging his time, it charged trainer fees, every mouthful of feed carefully measured or it cut into our slim margins. I was never going to break out.’
‘Till you got lucky.’
‘Till I made my own luck by taking on an uncontrollable beast even my best handler Straw could not break. Nor could the best breaker in the business, if it hadn’t been for my little Anna, arriving as she did and sticking her hand through a slat in Rai’s pen, and a miracle taking place.’ Then he’d not be sitting here, fighting emotion in recounting the tale.
Tulloch moved forward to show he was very interested, as Riley explained six-year-old Anna’s instant friendship with the volatile colt. ‘From then on we were able to get him used to being saddled, and soon Straw had him breaking speed records in our private runs.’ Riley sipped his wine. ‘I’m not an emotional man, Sandy. Except with my daughter Anna and our family cash cow — excuse the term — Rai. So your proposal is quite some decision to think about.’
‘Even though it will change your life?’
‘Raimona beat you to that. My beautiful first child before him.’
‘Where does your wife fit in all this? She get a say? Do you worship her like you do your child? … And you have another daughter.’
‘Does this probing style come with the quarter share?’
Sandy leaned back — in danger every time he did so, Riley thought, of breaking the chair. ‘I’m an upfront man, Riley Chadwick.’
‘I know,’ Riley said. Thinking, You’re also a scorpion, you sting because that is what you are. He stood, waiting for Sandy to follow suit. ‘I enjoyed seeing you again,’ he said, meaning it. ‘And the tab is mine.’ Smiling, waving Sandy away, pulling out his wallet.
A slow smile spread on the big man’s face. ‘Now, ordinarily I might consider that a signal you’re not doing this deal. But … then again …?’
‘I’ll walk with you to your car.’
Chapter twelve
Something happened, the mood or something about standing there in narrow Best Street, in Woollo, trees throwing evening shadow on houses and people going in and out like an old-time movie in flickering black and white. Yet seemed apt to these people, kind of caught back in time, always a couple of steps behind, like behind in their bills, always, and always fraught and vexed in their emotions, except they kept it bottled up till something made them explode. Well, Lu didn’t want to explode. But did want to express.
Feeling if she didn’t share her secret now, she never would. That it would destroy her, from the inside out even as the oppression was external, of purely physical nature far as the abuser was concerned, but rotting her very core.
‘Got something to tell you,’ she said. ‘On my mind for, like, years.’
‘Years?’ Jay went. ‘And you decide now’s the time? You remember the dough I lent you at long last?’ Not very funny.
‘Shuddup a minute, Jay,’ Lu said. Then told them.
Once she was able to see beyond their stunned silence, she realised only Deano showed full surprise. As if Jay and Bronson had already guessed some bad shit was going down with her.
Jay said quietly, ‘He has to go, man.’
Lu said, ‘Nah, not if you mean killing him. We go down for murder, pass Rocky on the way out and he can come back four times and we’ll still be in there, locked up. I ain’t doing two life sentences for the creep.’
‘I think Jay means like a broom handle right up your unc’s arse. Right, Jay?’ Right. Something like that. ‘I’m a starter for some of that. See how he likes being on the receiving end. Your own uncle?’ Yeah, her own uncle. Hearing someone say it made it sound both shocking and yet a relief.
Deano had a tree shadow to himself, the lights and landscaping from the council’s recent spruce-up throwing dark shapes like army camouflage. His breathing had changed. Bron lit four cigarettes, passed them round. Something to suck on, to think on.
Finally Deano said, ‘Nothin’ worse than a sexo within the family.’ Looked at Lu, and even though his eyes were shadows, she still felt the intensity. ‘H,e’s not allowed to do that,’ Deano said. ‘Know I haven’t known you long, Lu. But you don’t deserve that. No chick does. It’s not right, is it, boys?’ No, it definitely wasn’t.
‘Where’s he drink?’ Jay asked. ‘His regular?’
‘Comes over from Leichhardt,’ Lu said. ‘But, you know, I didn’t tell you so we could go on some Mafia vendetta.’ Lu getting a bit scared at her friends’ reaction.
‘Who said you’re coming? I mean that’d be giving yourself up, wouldn’t it?’ Jay. ‘This is man’s stuff.’
‘Isn’t everything?’ she said. ‘Dunno why I told you.’
‘Well, you did and that’s it,’ Bron said.
‘Remember what happened to Rocky, Jay?’ Lu to Jay as the other two didn’t know Rocky. ‘That happens I might feel worse than if I’d kept my mouth shut.’
‘Legs shut you mean?’ Jay, with murder in his eyes. ‘Which you’re entitled to. His own fuckin’ niece. What age did he start did you say?’
‘I didn’t. Can’t exactly remember. Nine, ten.’
‘Nine. Or ten.’ The chorus of them just puffed the words softly, as if the only way to express incredulity.
‘You were just a little kid.’ Deano, the newest member yet with the strongest reaction it would seem.
‘Yeah, just a little kid.’ Lu starting to choke up and that just wouldn’t do. I’m a Woollo girl. We don’t cry.
‘So how come you told us now?’ Bron wanted to know.
‘Dunno. Time felt right. Not that I had thought of saying anything. It just came out.’
Bron stepped up and gave her an unexpected hug. The others followed suit. A girl near broke down on the spot.
The boys’ drinking changed markedly, faster and with hardly any talk, as if opening to another version of themselves, maybe with nobility and chivalry, honour and respect all thrown in. Might be their natural integrity had been thrown an opportunity. The vengeful part of men too. For none of the boys felt ordinary any more. Not with the planning ideas starting to come and be thrown into the circle, like cave dwellers round an ancient campfire discussing a pending battle made exciting and deadly by moral outrage.
Dark came over them, the clamour of the guys’ voices rising like knives being sharpened. Jay had eased close and protective to Lu, they had all come closer, like animals looking after their own.
Chapter thirteen
Riley was never good at afternoon naps or even relaxing much. Too many years of fearing the business would collapse from sheer lack of cashflow and a doubting bank. But a hot tub in his suite with a bottle of Italian sparkling water took care of the work-ethic guilt, as did thinking over Tulloch’s astonishing offer.
Tulloch’s offer too high for what he was buying. By about five million. Yet he couldn’t see any possible angle Tulloch might be motivated by. Could be he was seeing future earnings, had just applied too high a multiple. But a Tulloch over-paying? Never. Fifteen million cash was a lot. Sure, he’d made more than that over the last decade or so, but most had gone into expanding the business. This would just sit in a bank, now governments worldwide were forced by bank troubles to guarantee depositors’ savings, and the money subject to less tax due to the shareholding set-up in a family trust. Thinking of conservatively gearing to buy a portfolio of buildings with safe tenants to spread the risk, at a two-to-one ratio of equity to debt.