Draw the Brisbane Line

by P. A. Fenton

  ‘And when they try to get through another way?’

  ‘We’re setting up blocks at Bangalow Road and Broken Head Road. Those are really the only ways in and out of the town.’

  ‘But you’ll be stretched pretty thin,’ Pia said. What happens when they start to slip through the blocks.’

  ‘Then we keep doing our job. But the people in this town, they’re not going to hide while these fucks destroy their homes and their businesses. Why do you think all the restaurants and shops are still open? When the looters break through, they’re not going to find an empty playground. They’ll get a fight.’

  ‘And you’re encouraging this?’ Pia said.

  ‘He wants us all home, hiding in our houses behind locked doors,’ the waiter said as he sliced another pizza fresh out of the oven. ‘And what did we say to that, Tino?’

  ‘You said, fuck that,’ Tino said.

  ‘That’s right, fuck that! Anyone tries to damage my business, I’m gunna damage them. If they break my window, I’ll break their leg.’

  ‘With what, a pizza pan?’ Pia said.

  He reached below the counter and lifted out an aluminium baseball bat.

  ‘Not a cricket bat?’ Pia said. ‘I’m shocked.’

  ‘Too prone to breaking near the handle. This is a much better design for blunt-force trauma.’

  ‘Which I absolutely, unreservedly do not condone,’ Tino said. He put on his hat and straightened his back. ‘Go home Damien, and stay behind locked doors. Leave the police work to the professionals.’ He took his hat off and slumped back into his seat. ‘Just don’t crack any skulls with that thing, OK? Aim at low targets, like kneecaps.’

  ‘That’s good advice,’ Pia said. ‘Nothing puts a man down faster than a busted knee.’

  ‘Not even a bullet in the head?’ Tino said to her in a low voice.

  Pia didn’t reply, she just picked up another slice of pizza. Dave rubbed at his own knee, that phantom injury complaining about all the knee-talk. He didn’t take any of the second pizza, he found his appetite had left him. Outside, the motorcycles made another pass along the street, this time moving in the other direction.

  Chapter 41

  The venue for the meeting was just around the corner from the hotel at the Tivoli theatre. The sky was just beginning to brighten, the sun creeping up on them from behind the hill, but when they entered the windowless arena all daylight was smothered. Every light inside was blazing, even the spots. There was a bar, well-stocked but untended. The murmurs of a hundred QTA members were swallowed by the acoustics of the room, but it couldn’t do much for the overwhelming funk of body odour they brought with them. Not all the rooms in that hotel had showers — or perhaps personal hygiene just wasn’t a priority for these guys.

  Al moved ahead of Jenny, with Jim following close behind, presumably making their way to the stage. Jenny had no intention of joining them up there, but the smell in the standing section was beginning to test her sensitive stomach. No-one was up on the balconies, so she headed for one of those, the air clearing with every step upwards. She moved to the end closest to the stage and leaned over the wrought iron railing. From her vantage point, she realised just how many hat-wearers were in the crowd below, most of them the old slouch-hats favoured by the Australia armed forces, pinned up on the left side with golden badges. Their uniforms were mostly consistent, a mix of solid khaki and camouflage with the Queensland state badge sewn on the upper right shoulder. The hats were all decorated with a folded cloth band in rich maroon.

  Al and Jim took to the stage, and they were joined by two other men in near-identical dress. One was the cheeky red-head from breakfast, and the man beside him looked like he hadn’t been holding back at meal time during the economic crash. The buttons of his shirt were rock-climbers with fingertip grips on the thin edge of a cliff. The chatter in the room died away as Al stepped forward.

  ‘It’s good to see you all,’ he said, sharing his gaze with the room. His voice carried to Jenny on the balcony without the aid of a microphone or a shout. He was gifted with the kind of naturally resonant voice so highly-prized in her industry. ‘It’s good to see you all safe, and I hope your families are out of harm’s way.

  ‘The last couple of days have been … madness, for lack of a better word. Talk of Indonesia attempting to invade Australia is nonsense, plain and simple. The cause of this rumour is twofold: an apparent increase in boat-people trying their luck, and a large influx of US military into the top end.’

  Low grumbling bubbled up from scattered pockets in the crowd.

  ‘What about the US military from further south?’ someone called out from the middle of the room.

  ‘They need to be held accountable!’ a rare woman’s voice shouted.

  Every hair follicle along Jenny’s neck and arms prickled — even places where she didn’t think she had hairs, like the inside of her wrists. Many eyes turned to face her, and she wanted to scream back at them that it wasn’t Dave’s fault, and it certainly wasn’t her fucking fault. But she knew that didn’t matter. They were both famous, which made them guilty by association in all things.

  Al raised one hand and cut off the chatter and mumbles with a clean slice through the air, and he held their excised silence in his open palm. ‘The Americans aren’t our concern now. The incident will be dealt with by the police, and the US MPs. Am I clear? That is not our concern. What we are concerned about is the safety of the citizens of this state, of this country. This rioting, this looting, is cutting the heart out of Australia. There are people stuck out on the roads right now from Townsville to Tweed Heads, out of fuel and food and water. Some of them are hurt. Some of them might die, God forbid, if help doesn’t reach them soon. And there are people who do have fuel, who have motorcycles, who are trying to exploit this terrible situation for everything they can. These are the people behind the rioting on the Gold Coast, behind the not-so-random acts of violence being carried out up and down the state. These are the things we need to concern ourselves with, ladies and gentlemen. Not the Yanks. Now, we’re none of us paramedics, but we don’t need to be. Dozens of skilled professionals on motorcycles are working their way down the highway to tend to the sick and injured. Where required, they’re airlifting out those who need it. And they’re doing water drops up and down the coast.’ The crowd’s composure slipped ever so slightly, a low inarticulate grumble of dissent, or mocking disbelief. ‘I’m not saying we should pretend that they’ll be able to help everyone,’ Al said, raising his voice slightly, but that was all it took to shut everyone up. He tilted his gaze slightly and caught Jenny’s eye up on the balcony. He stayed focused on her for a moment, dropping his voice slightly, softening it, just talking to her now. ‘But I’m saying that we’d probably just … get in the way. A lot of you might have had medical training when you were in the regular forces. We’re not trained for triage. We’re not equipped for it. What we’re equipped for …’ He turned and walked to the back of the stage and reached around a corner. When he returned he carried a black automatic rifle in one enormous paw, and his message was no longer directed at Jenny. ‘Is this!’ he shouted, and every man in the room stood up that little bit straighter. ‘We’re soldiers in the Queensland Territorial Army. When we signed up, we vowed to defend the state, its people and their rights. Well, the cancer eating away at us might be currently spreading across the border, but that doesn’t make it any less our problem. The disease came from our back yard, and it’s up to us to contain it. To kill it.’

  The way he spoke, the passion and energy in his voice, his eyes, the vice-like grip of his fingers wrapped around the gun … Jenny began to wonder whether she might be too exposed where she was, leaning over the railing and pretty well illuminated. The Al on stage was a different creature from the one who’d given a lift to Jenny and Tait.

  ‘But you know what?’ Al said, looking at the gun. ‘We’re not going to use this.’ He leaned the weapon back against the wall behind him. ‘We’re going
to use this.’ He tapped his head. ‘And this.’ He tapped his chest.

  More murmuring from the crowd, calls of yes and fucken oath.

  ‘We have a chance to show the country what we’re really about,’ he said. ‘What we stand for. We need the people on our side, so we need to show we can help. We need to prove that we want to help.’

  Clapping now, and scattered calls of here here.

  ‘We don’t really have a formal chain of command. This is the first time I can remember all of us together in one place like this, with the exception of the conference last year in Bundaberg. But the senior officers and I have been discussing our action plan, and what we’ve agreed to do is stage an organised show of presence — not force, not if we can help it — in Byron Bay. All intelligence, and the media, suggests that the next major target of the southbound rioters is Byron Bay. They’re travelling mostly on bikes, so traffic holdups are not really going to be an issue for them. Local police and emergency services are stretched thinner than floss. That’s where we’re going, people. We’re going to fly down there and stop the rot.’

  The assembled soldiers managed to restrain themselves from clapping and cheering, but to Jenny it was clear they were enthused by the plan Al had laid out for them. It wasn’t what they said or any visible expression, but more in the way they carried themselves after Al and his peers had stepped down from the stage: straighter, movements barely containing a sudden energy surplus. They were eager. Positive. Proud. Only Jim maintained any air of negativity, his slouch and sneer perhaps ineradicable from his demeanour.

  They were going to fly to Byron. Jenny wanted to plead with them, to protest their decision. She wanted them to fly north, not very far away, and find her sister and her nephew in the dead traffic serpent; but she knew it would be futile. Al was right, they weren’t the right people for the job. Landing alongside the highway in a Blackhawk helicopter and offloading a squad of militia soldiers was unlikely to inspire calmness and cooperation among the stranded masses. And she was in no condition to hop on a motorcycle and try it herself. As much as she hated to surrender control, she was going to have to put her faith in the response of her countrymen, and in the resilience of her sister.

  But why did Al want her in the meeting? There must have been more to it than simply quashing her hopes of a mercy mission.

  ‘I want you to come with us,’ Al said to Jenny when they were outside the Tivoli. He’d been standing by the entrance, apparently waiting for her to emerge.

  The local television media were scrambling into formation, Yvette Winterson hurriedly applying some powder to her own face. Some of it dusted her left eyebrow and destroyed the symmetry.

  ‘You want to take the pregnant lady along with you to the war zone? Well hey, sure, but only if I get my own gun.’

  ‘We’d keep you at a safe distance, well out of harm’s way. But they’re going to be coming along, y’know?’ He nodded towards the news crew.

  ‘Oh,’ Jenny said. ‘Oh, I see. You want me to be the face of the QTA.’

  ‘No,’ Al said, no hesitation in his response. ‘No, what we want is a neutral observer. Someone the public will pay attention to. Someone who, by simply being present, will temper the attitudes of those vultures.’ He nodded in the direction of the news crew.

  ‘You think they’ll follow you?’

  ‘I know they will. Hell, they’ll probably ask for a lift. Jenny, you have to believe that we’re trying to do good here, for the people and for the country. Try to forget about Jim for a minute, think about the rest of us. You saw the determination in that room, the desire to make a difference. Think of the good we can do. This country is going to need that kind of passion in the months to come, Jenny.’

  Jenny pretended to think about it. ‘Let’s say I go along for the ride, witness whatever it is you’re going to be doing down there and convey it truthfully. What’s in it for me?’

  Al, for the first time in the brief time she’d been in his company, seemed genuinely flustered. ‘I … I …’

  She played back in her head what she’d just said, and realised what it sounded like.

  ‘My sister, Al,’ she said. ‘What can you do for my sister and her son?’

  The confusion was smoothed away from his face, and he let out a breath. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Of course. You know I meant what I said in there about not being able to just fly into that mess.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But I do have contacts in the ambulance service. I’ve already given them details of your sister’s car, the location and the make and model. As soon as they find them, someone will call me.’

  Jenny felt a small bud of gratitude bloom in her chest. Despite the chaos the QTA had thrown into her otherwise ordered life — and Dave’s — Al had always acted in her best interest. He’d driven them out of the bush and flown them over the gridlock. And now, without being prompted or cajoled, he’d set wheels in motion to hopefully (God, hopefully) deliver her sister from harm. So what if he was doing it to serve a motive of his own? Jenny decided that sometimes — usually, even — methods were more important that motives behind them.

  She nodded. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘But no-one is going to tell me what to say, not even make suggestions. I’ll tell it like I see it.’

  A smile stretched the tanned skin across Al’s face, taking years off his mouth but adding a few to his eyes. ‘That’s all I ask,’ he said.

  Chapter 42

  Jim walked down the hill, his fists stuffed into the pockets of his fatigues. Very unmilitary-like, but he honestly couldn’t give a stuff. He didn’t feel particularly military right then, if he was honest with himself. Toddling off down to Byron bloody Bay to scare off some looters, while up north there were real invaders to deal with … but they didn’t want to listen to him. They want to try and be popular. He’d made his feelings clear on the matter, but they’d chosen to ignore him. What was the point of the QTA if it wasn’t going to defend its borders? Isn’t that why it was founded in the first place?

  The bustle of the break-up of the meeting and the steadily growing media scrum quickly faded as he drew closer to Fortitude Valley. He wondered if he might find somewhere open for a quick drink before they departed for Byron. He had a couple of hours. A lot of places were trying to stay open twenty-four hours in the hope of deterring any looting.

  He considered the nine-millimetre Glock holstered on his belt. Would a bouncer take exception to an armed man in his club, or would he welcome it? Only one way to find out.

  The cross streets were relatively quiet during the day, normally, but at that dark hour they were regularly illuminated by passing headlights as drivers searched for ways around the thickening traffic. All they were doing was wasting valuable petrol.

  Someone was behind Jim, maybe fifty metres back on the same side of the street, heading the same way with heavy footsteps. He wasn’t concerned about thieves, not with the gun on his hip.

  And how much more did he have, other than that tiny sidearm? Couple of rifles, a shotgun. That was about it. That was as much as any of them had. He’d hoped to have secured some more serious materiel by then, but Nero’s fucking flunkies were in disarray. It was hard enough trying to manage the purchase without Al and some of the more conservative elements getting wind of it, now he had to try and deal with an outlaw coup d’état. Fucking unbelievable. He really needed a drink.

  The footsteps grew louder, closer. Cars were still driving down the street, but he knew none of them would stop to help if it looked like he might be in trouble. The ordinary rules of social community and conscience were suspended, at least temporarily. He moved his hand to the Glock and unbuttoned the holster’s strap. He rested his palm there as he walked. He looked for somewhere up ahead where he might be able to take cover, saw a parking garage beneath a small office building and decided that would do nicely. When he was level with the driveway, he turned around and drew his gun. A large figure lurched down the footpath less than fifteen metres behin
d him, big boot-crunching footfalls, but before he could make any attempt at identification a big Mazda four-wheel-drive drove down the street with high-beams blaring, all but blinding Jim. He held the gun out in front of him in a way his stalker couldn’t miss. The warning seemed to work, as the big silhouette stopped dead and held out his hands in submission.

  ‘Don’t shoot,’ the man said in a gravelly drawl. ‘You might miss, hit one of your mates.’

  For the first time in a long time, Jim smiled.

  ‘Not much chance of me missing your fat head,’ he said as he re-holstered the gun. ‘I thought you were dead.’

  Nero snorted. ‘Why does everyone keep saying that? If I hear it again, I just might start believing it myself. What have you heard?’

  ‘This and that,’ Jim said. ‘Bit of a management restructure, not so much of a golden parachute. You look like shit.’

  Nero gestured at his bruised and cut and swollen face. ‘My golden parachute.’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘You blokes are practically having a convention in this town. Wasn’t hard.’

  ‘So, maybe you can tell me what the fuck is happening with my order, because your boys didn’t seem to know jack shit about it.’

  ‘You called them?’

  ‘I had to. I was worried one of them might try to resume dealings through Jim or one of the other soft-cocks. Then it’d all be over.’

  ‘And what did they say?’

  ‘Said they’re working on it.’

  Nero struck the wing mirror of a parked car with the side of his fist. It cracked, splintered glass dropping to the gutter, and dangled from a single wire like a broken tooth clinging to the last thin strand of a root. ‘Yeah, they’re working on it. Look, I can sort you out if you can get me down to the armoury.’