by Brian Smith
He knew that smile – the one she used to signal a joke when she wasn’t joking. ‘What?’
‘You used to get home regular as clockwork, but lately I never know when you’re going to arrive and now you say you’re heading off to the site but won’t tell me why.’
‘Opportunity’d be a fine thing,’ Mike said, intending to match her jokey tone but hearing the words come out a touch ruefully.
There had never been anyone other than Lissa for him. Since he was quite young he had cheerfully gone along with the family assumption that one day the boy from the greengrocer’s would marry the girl from the bakery down the street. After all, the families were both Greek, marriage was many years away and he did find her very attractive. When he reached the age for rebelling against family assumptions, it wasn’t the one he chose. Rather he rejected the idea he would follow his father into the greengrocery business his grandfather had founded. When he told his parents he was leaving school to take up a carpentry apprenticeship, it was his father who was most upset. His mother was disappointed he would not stay at school and perhaps go on to university. At least she eventually got what she wanted. His father never gave up and continued trying to persuade him to come into the business, which had expanded to three shops – the original in Port Melbourne, one in Albert Park and another in South Melbourne. After Mike finished his degree in building, his father appeared to accept that he would stay in the construction industry but recently he had begun to press Mike again.
Lissa had to choose a different option for her rebellion – her mother’s serious illness, which coincided with the end of school, cut off her escape from the bakery and forced her to take over her mother’s role of serving in the shop and helping her father with the baking. Lissa chose instead to dump Mike, telling him she found him too dull, and began a series of passionate and short-lived affairs, which were not all that different from the way his sister, Mary, lived her life. Shane was the third bloke she had lived with and there had been other men along the way, every one the love of her life – for a while. Perhaps that was why Lissa and Mary were now such friends. While Lissa was living it up, he had other girlfriends, not as many and not with the intensity of Lissa’s romances. One day, not long into their twenties, unexpectedly and without explanation she took up with him again. He didn’t ask her what had happened to change her mind, happy to resume where they had left off. Perhaps she was tired of her superficial and hectic love life. Perhaps she had come to long for the stability and security he could give her. Only quite recently another possibility occurred to him: marriage and children provided her escape from the bakery, perhaps the only escape she could find.
After their marriage, he’d come across some veiled offers and Celia, one of Lissa’s friends, had left him in no doubt she was available, but he wasn’t interested. Several times lately, though, he had wondered what it would be like to have an affair. Was this idle curiosity or was he becoming bored with Lissa? Like Lissa had said of Ben, he was a bit young for a mid-life crisis, wasn’t he?
‘Two pedestrians this time.’ Bob spoke without excitement but his voice startled Mike, as though he had been caught in some wrongful act. ‘Doubt it’s them. They’d need a vehicle if it’s the cable or the fittings they’re after.’
Shortly afterwards Mike saw two figures, both wearing hooded jackets, approaching the gate. They paused and the taller one held out his hand to the other, who took a key from his pocket and handed it to him. He unlocked the padlock and they slipped inside, closed the gate and reset the padlock.
‘Here they are, Bob,’ Mike mouthed into his microphone. ‘Watched the patrol leave and used their own key to open the gate, the cheeky buggers. Better come down, but do it quietly.’
The pair passed under one of the lights and Mike recognised the frame and walk of Ted Horton. His partner was taller and much more solidly built – Bob was bigger but might still have a problem if he needed force to subdue the man they knew as Bruno. Mike moved his position so that he could more easily watch them while remaining hidden. He sucked in an anxious breath when they continued past the containers and headed directly to the back of the site. Where were they going? Did they have some other target in mind? Surely they weren’t making for his car? Were they going to check it? Why? The headlong flow of Mike’s thoughts ended abruptly when the pair stopped beside the cabin of a battered ute, one of the company’s old survivors.
‘I’ve lost them,’ Bob hissed in his ear. ‘What are they doing now?’
Before Mike could reply there was a spluttering roar as the motor of the ute sprang to life, followed by the thump of closing doors, and it moved slowly forward, travelled across the site and stopped beside the container where the fittings were stored. They hadn’t brought a vehicle because Findlay’s had provided one for them!
‘You were right, Bob. They’re going for the fittings.’
Ted, who had been in the passenger seat, was first out. He reached on to the tray of the ute and lifted out a small crowbar, which he handed to his accomplice who was now standing beside the door of the container. At least Ted hadn’t been able to get a key for the lock on the container, although he had made sure he wouldn’t be stymied by that small detail. It took very little time for his partner to prise open the door and enter. Ted looked around, as though checking for any observers, and followed Bruno inside.
‘I’m across from you,’ Bob whispered. ‘Let’s bail them up while they’re in there.’
‘No. Let them bring out some of the gear. They haven’t actually taken anything yet. When I reckon it’s time to get them, I’ll try to wait till Bruno is inside and Ted is by himself. I don’t expect much of a problem with Ted so I should be able to help you with the thug if you need it.’
Mike’s voice dropped as the thieves came out, each carrying an armful of cartons which they dropped into the ute. After returning inside, Ted was first out, staggering a little under the load of a larger number of cartons.
‘What ya doin’, ya weak bastard?’ his accomplice complained as he arrived. He tossed his load into the ute, lifted half of Ted’s and threw those cartons in as well. After they again returned inside, Mike said, ‘Get close to the side of the container.’ He scuttled forward to take up a position beneath and to the front of the ute’s bonnet. On his left he saw the shadow of Bob, crouching beside the container.
As Ted reappeared with another load, Mike stood and walked along the side of the vehicle to confront him. Mike feigned surprise.
‘Hullo, Ted. What are you doing here?’
Ted’s head jerked up. He let slip his grip on the cartons and several clattered to the ground. For a moment he froze, as if unable to decide whether to answer Mike or run. His head spun to the other side when Bob appeared from around the corner and stood at the door. This gave Mike time to grab Ted firmly by the arm. The remaining cartons tumbled down as Ted wriggled in Mike’s grasp, but he made no real effort to escape, apparently still in shock from Mike and Bob’s unexpected arrival.
‘Down,’ Mike commanded, pushing Ted so that he pitched forward among the cartons in the dirt beside the truck. The ground, still soft from last night’s deluge, allowed him a softer landing than he would otherwise have had but smeared him with dirt.
There was a roar from inside the container. Bruno, head down, came barrelling out into Bob, sending him sprawling on to the ground and taking the wind out of him. As he struggled to get up he was again felled by a swinging hook to the jaw followed by a boot to the ribs. Bruno turned to face Mike.
‘You’re next,’ he snarled as he headed straight for him.
Mike swivelled, trying to get out of his path, but a blow to his shoulder made him stagger before tripping over Ted and falling heavily on his hip. Bruno, having missed Mike with his first charge, turned and looked down on him sprawled before him. A nasty grin cracked his face as he unhurriedly came towards Mike, his intention clear – he would finish him off with his boots. Mike desperately tried to get to his feet by push
ing with his hand in the soft dirt but struggled to free his legs from their entanglement with Ted. He got to a kneeling position. His hand closed over something cold and hard – the shaft of the crowbar, abandoned when its job was done. He glimpsed a boot speeding towards him and flung up his arm, holding tight to the crowbar. The rigid metal tool deflected the boot so that it scraped his ribs, instead of burying itself in his stomach.
Bruno yelped in pain and stumbled forward. Mike’s flailing arm, the impetus of his attacker and the unyielding crowbar had combined to inflict a heavy blow. Bruno’s jeans had been ripped at the knee and even in the poor light Mike could see a damp stain spreading into the fabric. Behind him Bob, still on his knees, was fighting for breath.
‘You bloody prick,’ Bruno gasped and began coming towards Mike again before giving another sharp cry of pain and reaching for his knee. Spurred on by adrenalin and elation at his escape Mike scrambled to his feet, still brandishing the crowbar. His voice had gained extra power.
‘Get down there next to your mate,’ he commanded the thug.
Bruno eyed the crowbar and spat into the dirt. ‘You’ll keep,’ he said and began to hobble away.
Ted, freed from the burden of Mike’s weight, began to clamber to his feet. Mike took hold of his arm and poked the crowbar into his ribs.
‘Don’t you move any further,’ he said.
Bob, still unsteady on his feet, finally came to stand beside him ‘Sorry,’ he gasped. ‘I blew it and now he’s walking away. I’ll go after him.’
Mike suddenly became aware of his own shortness of breath and the pain spreading from his shoulder, hip and ribs. Mary was right: he needed to be as fit as Shane if he was going to take part in any more of these escapades. He shook his head and tightened his grip on Ted, although his captive made no attempt to pull free.
‘No, Bob. Leave him. Even with a crook leg I reckon he’s too much for either of us to handle in our state. We’ve got the man we really wanted and I’m sure he can be persuaded to tell us what we want to know.’
They watched as Bruno reached the gate, took the key from his pocket to release the chain, opened the gate and went through it, leaving it wide open.
‘Time to talk, Ted,’ Bob said. ‘You can start by tellin’ us who your mate is and how you got linked up with him.’
Ted shook his head. ‘Can’t do that. You seen what he’s like. I’m not goin’ to end up in a gutter somewhere with me ’ead bashed in.’
‘Why have you been trying to sabotage the site?’ Mike asked
‘I aint done nothin’.’
Mike took out his phone and found the number he needed. There was a long delay before a gruff voice said, ‘Yeah?’
‘Vern, it’s Mike Georgiou. I’m at the site. Bob Kennedy and I just nabbed Ted Horton, trying to pinch a batch of electrical fittings.’ There was a long silence, causing Mike to ask, ‘Vern, are you there?’
‘Was he on his own?’
‘No, he had a mate, not one of ours. He got away.’
‘Pity.’
‘I’m about to call the police.’
This time the response was immediate. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘What?’
‘Let Ted go, clean up the place so it looks as close to normal as you can make it and then go home. Tell Bob Kennedy he is to speak to no one about this. And you, neither.’
‘But …’
‘Just do it. And be in my office by seven-thirty tomorrow.’ The phone went dead.
4
The plain, two-storey, brick building that housed the head office of Findlay Construction had a desolate air. The receptionist, who usually sat behind the curved wooden counter in the entry foyer, had not yet arrived and there were no sounds of activity from anywhere in the building. Mike mounted the stairs that led to the offices of the senior staff and found Freda Bradshaw alone at her desk. Vern had employed Freda soon after he joined the company and over the years she had become not only personal assistant to Vern and Jim Findlay but also the gatekeeper, consulted by all other staff when needing to know how they should approach either of her two bosses.
Freda, a small woman, with short brown hair and a kindly face, had changed little during her years with the company. The young girl, who seemed prematurely to have outgrown the fancies and frivolity of youth, was now a woman whose clear skin and dress sense belied her age. The confidante of many in the company, she could be relied upon to keep her own counsel. At a Christmas party one year she had told Mike she felt a sisterly connection with a former First Lady of the United States who had said she spent her life pretending to know things she did not know and pretending not to know things she did know.
When he became managing director, Ben employed his own personal assistant, Janine, a glamorous creature with long dark hair and longer legs, well suited by the current fashion for minimal skirts. Janine, who Ben decreed would look after Jim as well as himself, was neither efficient nor proactive on behalf of her bosses, but was often saved by Freda’s intervention. She was insistent that, as the personal assistant to the chairman and to the managing director, she outranked Freda, who outwardly seemed indifferent to this imposed downgrading.
‘Good morning, Michael,’ Freda greeted him primly. ‘A busy night I understand.’
‘You could say that.’
‘He’s very keen to see you,’ she said and Mike understood the warning. ‘Go straight in.’
When Mike entered Vern’s office, the acting MD had his back to him and appeared to be contemplating the patchwork of tiled and iron roofs, the ranks of aged brick chimneys and the occasional interloping second storey improvement, which was all that could be seen of the houses lining the rear of the property. He swivelled in his chair and said, ‘Sit here,’ indicating the wooden chair in front of his paper-strewn desk. ‘And tell me exactly how you came to be at the site last night, doing the job we pay the security firm to do for us.’
‘A good place to start,’ Mike replied. ‘I don’t know what you’re paying for that security firm to swan up to the front gate a few times a night, but it’s a waste of money.’
‘Answer my question.’
When Mike began by repeating his suspicions about Ted, Vern scowled and said, ‘You’ve already told me this.’ When he described Bob’s initiative in having a few of the men try to pump Ted, the scowl deepened but Vern said nothing. It was only when Mike moved on to the conversation in the Hibernian that Vern sat forward and began to listen attentively. Encouraged by having finally engaged his boss’s interest, Mike gave an account of what had happened at the site, omitting much of the detail of the fight. Piqued by the sly grin Vern gave when he described why he had allowed Bruno to escape, Mike finished by demanding, ‘So why did you tell me not to involve the police? Ted gets the sack, of course, but the thug gets away scot free.’
‘Was anything taken?’
‘Thanks to our actions, no.’
‘Apart from a padlock, anything damaged?’ Vern asked.
‘What difference does that make?’
‘I don’t want a bunch of police poking around the site, starting all sorts of rumours, when there’s no chance of them making an arrest.’ Vern sat back, lifted his shoulders and took a deep breath. ‘And we’re not sacking Ted.’
‘What? We confirm he’s working with a thug, trying to sabotage the site, and then we catch him breaking in and trying to pinch a stack of electrical fittings.’
Vern’s face twisted into a grin, but there was no humour in his eyes. ‘Poor little Ted. He does his best to make sure the site is a safe one, battles against the inept and callous project manager, who plots to get rid of him by hiring a thug to threaten him and lead him into a carefully laid trap. When the trap is sprung, the thug is allowed to go but the framed union official gets the sack.’
Mike could not contain his anger and attempted to stand, stumbling over the leg of the chair as he did so. ‘You can’t believe that,’ he shouted
‘Sit down and shut up. I bet
it’s the line George Fowler will take on Ted’s behalf and they’re due here in a few minutes.’
He looked up as Freda opened the door and stood in the doorway.
‘They’ve just arrived,’ she said. ‘Three of them – Mr Fowler, Ted Horton and a tall, lightly-built man. I put them in the conference room.’
‘Thanks, Freda.’ He turned back to Mike. ‘You speak only if I tell you. And take that surly look off your face.’
When Vern and Mike entered the conference room the three men were sitting together on one side of an oblong teak table which took up the bulk of the small room, once used to store unused furniture and old files. After his arrival, Ben had it fitted out with new carpet, curtains and the table with its eight matching chairs. The only other times Mike had been in the room were for the company finance and planning meetings, which had been held in Jim Findlay’s office before Ben took over.
The three shifted in their chairs but did not attempt to stand. George Fowler, the state secretary of the Building and Construction Union, kept his eyes firmly on Vern; Ted Horton had his head down, apparently studying the polished surface of the table, and Alan Reardon had pushed his chair back so that he sat slightly apart from the other two, giving the impression he had come as a spectator.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ Vern said without warmth. ‘I think we all know one another.’
‘Yeah, I’ve spoken to Georgiou once or twice,’ Fowler replied.
Mike had no recollection of this and doubted it was true. Vern made sure that all of George Fowler’s dealings with the company were with him, an arrangement Fowler seemed very happy to accommodate. He was about the same age as Vern and shared his short, thick-set build and his lack of hair, but differed in his accent, speaking with the flat vowels of a man from south of the Scottish border.
Vern sat across the table from Fowler and waved his hand to indicate Mike should sit to his right. ‘As I told you, we have a problem with Ted and need to hear what you’re going to do about it,’ Vern began, glancing across at Reardon before returning his eyes to George.