by Alan Duff
‘We didn’t kill the bloke.’
‘Came close.’
‘And you’re crying for him?’
‘Does it look like I am?’
‘Sounds like it. Fuck the cunt, what he did to our Lu. Lucky we didn’t do him more damage. Come on, Deano.’
Bron threw an arm around his mate. They walked for a bit.
‘Man,’ Bron said, ‘how good were you at hooking him in that pub? We couldn’t believe it when you turned up with our Uncle Rick tame as a lamb. He fell for your shit. Plus we copped for the grand he drew out of the cash machine.’
‘And who was it stopped you from getting out ’cause every ATM has a camera? Who was it told Jay to park up the street a bit and let Rick walk back to do his cash transaction?’
‘Yeah, mate, they were good calls. But we’re still famous, only anonymously.’
‘I don’t like being on the front page of newspapers, on the TV news. Hearing callers give their theories and opinions on talkback radio. I’m the only one can be identified by the patrons at the Lame Goat pub.’
‘So how they gonna do that — pick you out from four million in Sydney?’
‘It’s two when you take out the females. Then kids and all men older than mid-twenties range. They got ways of reducing it down to like a short list.’
‘Sure. With, what, only two hundred thousand on it? Get real, D. Even if they did get us we’d be heroes once it got out why. As for the publicity, I loved the “horrific injuries” tag. Genital mutilation the first day’s headlines. Oh, man. Next day: “Testicles and Penis Sliced Off!” And saying —’ Bron changed his tone to mock brevity, as if reading from a newspaper report — ‘“Victim says there were three assailants, he has no idea why they singled him out.” We should send an anonymous letter and tell them why.’ Back to the voice again. ‘“Mr Duncan says he was physically manhandled into an older-model Japanese car he thinks could be an early nineteen-eighties Datsun Sunny.” We weren’t even born when that car was running around. We’re famous, Deano, just no one knows who we are.’
Deano had stopped seeing the Bentleys. ‘So what’s stopping us writing a letter?’
‘Duh!’Cause it’ll lead straight to Lu. The cops will soon break her, she’s a chick.’
‘They mightn’t want to find us if they knew what went on.’
‘You know, I feel like someone who took part in something special,’ Bron said. ‘Something important. We’re sort of like unknown stars in a way, what we did.’
‘Us, stars? Unknown or known, you got to be kidding.’
‘The hell I am. We’re genuine good guys, mate.’
‘We’re genuine nobodies,’ Deano almost shouted. ‘Not even ordinary people.’
‘Says fuckin’ who? I feel good about it. And what’s this nobodies shit? So who are the somebodies?’
‘Bron, you just asking is the answer. Duh to you too, for not holding up the mirror and seeing what we are — or aren’t, to be exact. What’ve we done with our lives?’
‘Hey? I dunno if I like where this is going …’
‘This is the highlight then — cutting off some sexo’s cock and balls?’
‘Jay did the cutting. Ask him. Think you’ll find he’s very proud of himself. Defending his mate’s honour.’
‘Not what I’m saying.’
‘As for Lu, she’s the best-looking chick I ever got close to without wanting to touch her.’
‘You wish though?’
‘Did I say that?’ Bron looking a little defensive. ‘For someone who’s not feeling so good about what we did you sure put the slipper into him on the deck.’
‘Cracked him on the head with a rock too — had to. He was putting up a hell of a fight.’ Deano pointed at another car showroom, they crossed William Street to take a look and, man, what to say?
‘Who dreams these up?’ Bron open-mouthed and even Deano was distracted by the sight of three Ferraris sitting there gleaming, as if a day for noticing things they’d gone past countless times before.
Sculpture in brilliantly painted and buffed steel. Art on wheels. Animal hides turned to leather most beautiful yet still had the growl, even the stitching said something to a couple of common Cross blokes.
‘Could fuck who we liked with one of these,’ said Bron. ‘Haven’t had one since me and Jay had that ho up against the wall. She was hot.’
‘Stoned, more like it. Skank material. See her eyes?’
‘Wasn’t worrying about no eyes.’
‘She wasn’t pussy,’ Deano sneered. ‘She was pus. Sheez, you’re cheap, Bron.’
‘And you ain’t? Yeah, right.’
Back to the dingy pad in Woollo to three letters from the unemployment department: they had foregone their right to draw unemployment benefit for failure to attend job interviews as the law required, blah, blah, blah. That was it. No dough coming in any more.
To Jay in the dingy garage working on his car, had got someone to give it a cheap paint job, from yellow to a horrible red, like an apple more than a week sitting on a shop counter.
‘Deano here reckons we ain’t heroes what we did.’ Bron wasting no time.
Up Jay came from under the bonnet. ‘Considering was me did the dirty part.’
‘And I set the mug up,’ Deano reminded. ‘And we’re not heroes. Maybe loyal mates to Lu is all.’
‘So go call a cop, Dean.’ That dropped ‘o’ from Jay. ‘Me, I’m like Brono, never felt so good in ages. Maybe in my life.’
‘He reckons it’s not such a life.’ Bronson again, like ratting on a pal. ‘That we should look in the mirror and see what we aren’t.’
Jay took some steps towards Deano. ‘You say that? About us? Meant to be like blood brothers after what we did together?’
‘I just don’t feel easy about it.’
‘Oh? Don’t you?’ Sarcasm in every word. ‘We do a public good that could put us away for a good seven, eight years — and you don’t feel easy about it?’ Jay wiped his hands clean, like he was getting ready to fight. ‘So how do you feel?’
Like running away back to Brisbane, Deano thought. ‘No regrets. Just scared of getting caught, going inside —’
‘Getting your bum fucked by the heavies you afraid of? Or you just getting ready in case we get pulled —’
‘Don’t go there, Jay. Or you’ll be fighting me right now. I would never grass up anyone. You better know that,’ Deano came right back at him.
Jay said, ‘Come on. Let’s not be at each other. What happens when young punks pull a job, they blow it when they set upon each other. Me and Bron are proud of what we did. You, D, have got your doubts. Let it sit a few days. Go and talk to Lu and see how she feels. Okay?’
Yeah, okay. But something had ruptured. The last thing they intended.
Couple of days later the quartet on a train from Central to Liverpool with a special consignment to deliver in two backpacks, not in keeping with their unanimous aversion to drugs but considered necessary now the boys were no longer entitled to the dole. And if Lu didn’t approve she didn’t say so. Seemed to the boys she’d gone the opposite way of being unburdened from her uncle. Had kind of gone into her shell a bit.
But such was life and so were women: impossible to understand, eh, guys? The walking mysteries in skirts. Or jeans. Or a dress. Or nothing at all. Laughing at that one.
‘Like terrorists on a train, eh?’ Bron from stuff on the television news of some time ago, none knew when, it was in London they thought and the dudes were on trial, so they must’ve been nabbed before they could do the bizzo. ‘Duh, or they’d have bits and pieces of blown-up flesh on trial wouldn’t they?’ Duh was right.
Liverpool. Sitting at this grubby little café at a table outside, table next to them had three likely single mums with squawkers in strollers, one ankle-biter running around being a nuisance, who Deano said was a walking genetic flaw should’ve been put down at birth. The mums talking over each other to claim expertise in how the court system works
for their boyfriends, lovers, brothers or themselves. Blah fuckin’ blah.
Deano said they were a bunch of fuckin’ eggs. The guys agreed. Lu not the slightest interested. Jay and Bron between themselves wondering if she wasn’t as fucked in the head as Deano: they should be celebrating, Jay had urged only yesterday, seeing two of them glum and two still on a high.
‘Used to live down the road in Cabramatta,’ Bron said. ‘My olds in one of their nine-hundred-and-fifty runners from flats they owed rent.’
Jay said, ‘Wow. That’s really interesting. My grandmother used to knit socks for us that we all hated. What’s Cabramatta got to do with anything?’
‘I went back a little while ago,’ Bron said. ‘There’s a big sign middle of the town says: Discover Cabramatta. A Taste of Asia. Asia? Middle of a Sydney suburb?’
A thought that sobered.
Plan went off without a hitch. A grand to divide up between three. Lu passed: she got a wage. ‘You guys need it.’
On the train back to the city same bouncy duo in high spirits having dough, even the pensive Deano had cheered up. Lu, well she was about the same, no, maybe happier if just for the boys scoring and at Jay and Bron exchanging wit. Took a while for Deano to notice the old bloke who kept glancing his way.
At Redfern station the man stepped up to the opening doors, turned to Deano and said, ‘Seen you around. Haven’t I just?’ Got off.
With Deano through the gap after him. As the train continued and took away the ‘Hey!’ of Jay’s.
On the platform Deano said, ‘Hey, you? What did you say?’
Straightening to less than an average height the old guy said, ‘Saw you outside a certain pub, having a smoke with a certain person. I’m talking an ordinary ciggie, not drugs. I think you know the pub. In Leichhardt?’
Deano remembered the face then, just another vague one in that sea of defeated men’s faces in a pub, nothing remarkable about him. Though closer to the bloke he had something intensely curious in his eyes, as if he thought a lot. Maybe because Deano was a bit the same. Drank a lot too, by look of the nose. Where comparisons stopped. Deano knew when to stop drinking, mostly.
‘Lame Goat,’ the old guy said as if Deano needed reminding. ‘First you, a stranger your age in this dive for older men and different, I daresay, to you in nature and outlook. Two weekends you show up, Larry-no-mates. Then next thing we see is Rick Duncan’s all the news. In the papers —’
‘On television, on the radio,’ Deano finished for him. ‘I remembered the bloke from his photo.’ With too much menacing stare. ‘Had a chat outside having a smoke, yeah, we did.’
‘Thought you had a closer look than that at him, wouldn’t you say? From what the papers said. I never see the telly, usually I’m legless at that hour.’
‘Dunno what you’re talking about, old man.’
Old man who was licking his lips at his drinking being held up, or relishing something.
‘You’ll know the cops were told, this young bloke turns up out of the blue, twice? Only person he spoke to was Rick Duncan. The victim. Then you disappear. And Rick is found way out past Maryland near bled to death. Ugly incident, even for us who’ve seen a lot of the bad side of life. Plain vicious it was. The regulars said not even wild animals would do that, cut a man’s privates off.’
‘Wild animals can’t cut anything off.’
‘Funny how you aren’t denying it. Now don’t come any closer to me, young man, or I’ll yell for a cop.’
Brisbane came to Deano as the option he should have taken a few days ago, even yesterday when last he considered returning there. ‘You’ve got the wrong person, mate,’ he said.
‘Might be a drunk, but I know faces. Or those that don’t fit, stand out like dog’s balls.’
‘What, like you in a pub here in Redfern, a white rose in the blackfella thorn bushes?’
‘No white rose me, son. Far from it. And my pub here is a Skippy pub, fair dinkum Ocker through and through. The white blokes on the margins. Bloke like you would fit perfectly there buying this old geezer a beer or three, you reckon?’
‘No, I don’t reckon.’ Fuckin’ cheek.
‘Your mates gone on to the next station, what about them? I’d say, at a guess, watching you all the way from Liverpool, it was you three for what Rick did to the girl. We all know he’s an ugly grub of a man.’
‘Oh?’
‘He brought her into the Lame Goat a coupla times. His niece, as I recall?’ News to Deano. ‘She didn’t look happy. I figured why. Like he was showing off his girlfriend, some of us saw it plain as day.’
Following the man for the exit Deano said, ‘You remind me of this bloke name of Sniper. Not that I’ve seen him, just he’s got a name for whizzing around town like a friggin’ vacuum cleaner, hoovering up information, in everybody’s business.’
‘Information on what?’ the old guy asked.
‘On people. Or you a retired detective, why you know so much about me and this bloke you’re going on about?’
‘No, retired from life, but way before I should. Owen’s the name. Nature gave me a brain and quite good eyes, but left me bereft of any kind of willpower or skerrick of ambition except to drink as much as I could lay my hands on.’
‘You saying I might’ve got lucky, Owen?’ Deano took the bait.
‘You might.’
‘If I’d stayed on till Central you would never have seen me again.’
‘Not the first time I’ve seen you on the train. You used to get off at the Cross but now you get off at Circular Quay, Hyde Park sometimes.’
‘What, you ride the trains all day spying on people?’
‘Just a drunk who moves around. Have to do little jobs to keep me in booze. And every now and then I get the urge to go out and observe my fellow man. Commuter trains are hard to beat, you see near every type. Amazing what you discover.’
‘I heard this Rick is a kiddie fucker.’
‘How would you hear, being only twice at our pub?’
‘Well, is he?’
The old guy just grinned. Pointed at a pub on a corner, another of those ones stuck in the past. Patronised by losers. And others.
Chapter seventeen
Anna felt like asking her outright: Mum, do you truly go along with this? Her father’s announcement that he’d been offered fifteen million for a quarter share of the breeding business, house excluded. And her mother sitting there in the Sydney hotel room as if she had accepted the offer. Then discussing it with Anna afterwards.
Nor did her mother look right in this Sir Stamford Hotel setting, which gave Anna a better understanding of why her father hardly ever shared this lifestyle with her. No point in wasting it on someone who didn’t appreciate it, was even downright uncomfortable with it.
‘If fifteen is a quarter, that makes it worth —’ Anna couldn’t say it. But her father did. With a grin she found far too covetous.
‘Sixty million.’
‘For one horse?’
‘What one horse started. The profits he gained us put back into the business. It’s several hundred horses.’
‘Please, Dad, I do know that. Same thing, but. All from one horse.’ Anna got a tone on. ‘Why do you need fifteen million, Dad?’ Forget asking Mum, she’d say fifteen hundred was enough.
‘Because cash is king.’ Came with a sigh that Anna didn’t appreciate; she threw one back — pointedly.
‘The worldwide credit crunch, unemployment, China and India, all of Asia’s trade down — okay,’ Riley said, ‘I won’t give Economics 101. Simply: cash rules.’
‘Rules what?’
‘Our destiny, Anna, no less. With the money to expand. Cash in the bank, invested conservatively.’ He stopped at Anna’s raised hand.
‘And as I’m one of the future inheritors, you want to know if I say yes?’
‘If we don’t have majority agreement, then it’s no deal.’
‘Have you asked Katie?’
‘Thought we’d ask you fi
rst.’
‘If we both say no, then what?’
‘You’d be mad to.’
‘But if we did?’
The father shrugged. ‘Rules of the family trust. You get your say, a three-of-four majority is required.’
‘Would saying no affect us?’
Riley said, ‘My darling, if you burned down our house and shot Raimona, our relationship would suffer a mere hiccup, I promise you.’
Yet he was watching her carefully, almost hopefully and trying hard to hide it.
‘Mum?’
‘You know my attitude to money. Makes no difference to me.’
‘I’m not talking attitude, Mum. I’m talking a decision, a very important one.’
‘Well, it would seem to me to have obvious advantages to accept this offer. You know him — Sandy Tulloch.’
‘The fat man.’
‘He is rather a large specimen, yes.’ Her mother hiding truth in euphemisms as usual.
‘So you said yes?’
‘I did. For our daughters, I very much hope.’
Tears welled up suddenly and soon spilled. Anna pushed her mother away from comforting her, her father too from stroking the top of her head. Snapped, ‘I’m not a dog.’
Quite why the tears at such a time she wasn’t sure, too young and perhaps thought her whole life was now mapped out ahead of her, no more mystery, no need to hope for a good life or strive and get it from one’s own efforts or with a husband, a partner, a little bit at a time, occasional big leaps. Didn’t take much to figure that in ten years the amount of inheritance would be a lot more. Which made the future to this ingrate a sanitised, boring exercise — hardly something exciting to look forward to. More likely frivolous and empty fun.
Then her father suggested she might like to think about how she would leave more than she found, ‘With no apologies for the homily,’ he said firmly. ‘That’s what the best families do. Instead of being miserable, ungrateful, worried they’ve been given life on a golden platter, they go about planning to add their bit to it.’