Nayeema’s eyes widened. ‘Did you know this boy? Was he at your school?’
‘Yup. The idiot was my brother. Still, I reckon he did us all a favour by being such a moron because we ended up living in Sydney. Hey, I feel like a smoke. Gimme a sec, will ya, I think I left the packet inside,’ she said, rising from her seat.
Nayeema’s mouth fell open. Very wow. Goldie was like a speedboat that left kilometres of wake. When Goldie came back onto the deck, her cigarette was lit and dangling between her index finger and her third.
‘You think someone in town knows where the girl is?’
Goldie was squinting at the pier. ‘Hang on, honey, it looks like we have a customer headed our way. Check him out.’ She nodded with a smirk. ‘Walking here like he means business.’
Nayeema turned her gaze to the pier. She saw the person approaching them: the bell-shaped sideburns, the elbows that cocked out slightly, the slight turn-out of the right foot. She exhaled shakily. ‘That’s not a customer. That’s Fawzy.’
* * *
Nayeema stumbled through the awkward introductions as Goldie unashamedly eyeballed Fawzy. Her gaze flitted from hairline to nose hair to cheekbone to earlobe to mouth. Wow. Very odd, hah, the way that she looked at him and whatnot. There was a glimmer of surprise in her expression. Fawzy was not what she had expected, though Nayeema could not tell whether she was pleased or disappointed.
‘Nice to meet you,’ he said to Goldie, with a charming lilt in his voice. He dimpled his cheeks as was habitual for him during introductions but he was distracted. The scrutiny of the preceding weeks made him recoil from people, and he didn’t seem to notice Goldie’s sharp, interrogating eyes.
‘Likewise,’ said Goldie with a half-smile that was not entirely warm.
‘Everything okay, Fawzy?’ asked Nayeema, her heart plunging into her stomach. ‘Why you come here?’
‘I wanted to see your cafe.’
‘All of a sudden? Just like that?’ she tried to tease, but her voice sounded strangled. She looked at the cold water of the bay, thinking she would rather be swimming in it than be standing here now.
‘Why not?’ said Fawzy. ‘I have time.’
‘Hey, I might leave you cats to hang for a bit. I’ll finish washing up,’ Goldie offered.
‘Thanks,’ Nayeema mouthed. She withered into a fold-up chair, exhaling with relief, realising only then that she had been holding her breath. Fawzy nestled himself snugly into the chair beside her, as neat as a piece of folded paper.
‘Tell me if something has happened … something bad. You would tell me wouldn’t you?’ she blurted in Arabic.
‘Of course, ya butta, everything is fine. As fine as things can be at the moment.’ He smiled weakly and reached for her hand.
‘Why are you not at work?’
‘Ah.’ He looked up at the sky and squinted. ‘Pat thought it was a good idea for me to take the day off.’
‘But why?’
Fawzy shrugged. ‘Things could be better for him at the pharmacy.’ He paused. ‘He is a good man.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ she scoffed. ‘Being good? You love working there. Tell me what has happened.’
‘I see you have become a cynic. It does not suit you, ya butta. But you are right about one thing, I did love working there. Very much. Things are different now. I see things in an entirely new light.’ He reached over and gently tilted Nayeema’s chin towards him. ‘I was so determined to love the town, to love the pharmacy, that I closed my eyes to everything else,’ he whispered. ‘That wasn’t very fair of me, ya butta, was it?’
Nayeema shook her head and pulled away from his hand as tears came hot and fast. She was afraid of what else he might say to her. Words of contrition from Fawzy … it had never happened before. But he didn’t say anything else. He simply sat in the chair and turned his face westerly. The sun fell on his cheeks. Nayeema looked at him, dispassionately. She saw a man whose shoulders were turned forward in sorrow, a man who could barely keep his torso upright, who could barely muster the energy for movement. Inert and silent, his chest barely registered the intake of breath.
She recognised her own past in his slumped manner. He was vanishing so rapidly he appeared translucent to her now. His shell was brittle and she could see every thought that came to him. She was afraid for him.
Leaping off her chair, she scurried to the cabin entrance and looked back at him, sucking in her breath when he didn’t register that she’d left his side. He remained silent and motionless on the deck while Nayeema and Goldie cleaned inside the cabin. When they were ready to leave, he helped them to carry the outdoor furniture back inside the cabin, and as they walked down the pier she felt the pressure of his hand and arm on her shoulder. With every step they took, the weight of his body on her back was unstable and she knew that it was her own body carrying his.
CHAPTER TWENTY - FOUR
Neema had barely acknowledged him since he’d told her that Pritchett was her new business partner. She was hopping mad at him. This morning, Denise had told him some stories about Fred, bad ones. The things people were saying. Poor bugger. He knew the savagery of small-town gossip.
He saw Fred as soon as he stepped into the pharmacy, seated on a chair that was typically reserved for customers waiting for their prescriptions to be filled. His body was still; his shoulders were pressed back and his spine was unnaturally erect as though an invisible surfboard was a splint holding his torso upright. His posture was of pride while his face was of grief. He stared straight down an aisle and didn’t return Tom’s wave. Fine. He’d find the antacids himself. Picked the usual. It was here that Tom overheard Pat Morris speaking to Luke O’Farrell, a hairy wart of a man, who worked in a car yard in Jindy.
‘What exactly is the problem then?’ he heard Pat inquire, with cold politeness.
‘All I’m saying is that no one trusts him. No one wants to come here these days. Look at this script I got, it’s not for me, it’s for my bloody mother-in-law … she reckons she’s too creeped out to come in here. It’s got nothing to do with you, mate. We know you. It’s him. Who knows anything about him? Like, what was he before he came here? What if he’s not, you know, fair dinkum about being qualified and all that?’
‘He lived in Sydney for some time before he moved here. And as for his qualifications, are you suggesting that I can’t tell whether the man I employed is a fraud?’
‘All I’m saying is that we don’t know what he’s capable of. He probably has mates who can help him fudge things like certificates … official papers and things like that. Mate, I hear about this type of thing all the time, believe me, especially in my line of work, cars get stolen and yet the papers look intact. Don’t get me started on all the driver’s licences that get traded or bought by people who shouldn’t have them. All sorts of ugly things can happen when they let people into this country willy-nilly.’
‘Fred is a capable pharmacist and a good bloke. He’s done a great job for me and for this town. And let’s not forget that Annabel had … has … plenty of problems at school. You speak to any of the teachers at the school and they’ll tell you she is a pretty unhappy kid. I had one of her teachers in here just yesterday and she had plenty to say about Annabel’s poor form lately, but quite frankly, my breath is wasted on you. I’m with Fred one hundred per cent. O’Farrell, do you hear me? The girl has upped and left, thank you very much. None of the kids are surprised that she’s taken off, not that Bargearse wants to accept that point of view. Plenty of our kids can’t wait to leave this town and head to Sydney, you know that.’
‘Look, it’s good of you to watch yer mate’s back, but I’m not saying anything different to half the town and I reckon I’m telling you this for yer own good. There’s no point sticking yer head in the sand while yer business gets walloped because of him. As for Annabel, no one is saying that the kid is an angel, but she didn’t deserve this.’
‘And what is “this” exactly? Sounds like you
know more than anyone else. Maybe you should pay a visit to Bargearse.’
‘I never took you for a stupid old coot; stubborn maybe, but not stupid.’
Pat groaned. ‘Why don’t you just let me fill your script?’
‘Dun worry about it, I’ll fill it in Gosford.’
‘Dickhead,’ said Tom, as O’Farrell walked past him.
‘Piss off,’ O’Farrell sneered at Tom.
The door chimed as he left. Pat Morris grunted like an angry hyena.
‘Good work, Pat,’ Tom offered.
They both looked at Fawzy.
‘Sorry you had to hear that, Fred. Look, it might be a good idea if you take the afternoon off … it’s pretty quiet here anyway. Bev and I will manage. You look beat,’ said Pat.
Fawzy stared at them. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Don’t worry, all of this will blow over soon.’ Pat gave him a few encouraging claps on the shoulder. ‘And all these dickheads will be begging you for forgiveness. Sometimes, you just have to duck and let the wave pass over you. Go home. I insist.’
Fawzy pointed at a shelf. ‘The new antifungal cream has arrived. I have to make room for them. Look at that shelf—it’s a mess, a clutter. How can anyone put up with this. It’s making me dizzy, all this clutter.’
Tom piped in. ‘Come on, Fred. Let’s get out of here. I have an idea and I want to talk to you about it. Could help your situation.’
‘We’ll take care of the shelf, Fred,’ said Pat, kindly.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Tom.
Fred nodded feebly, took off his white pharmacy jacket, and together they walked away from the dizzying clutter of antifungal creams and onto Main Street. Looking down, Tom noticed a small bug crawling over the top of his shoe. It was a brown ant, extraordinarily large, with a bulbous, plump body that reminded him of a knob of celeriac. What amazed Tom were the ant’s wispy legs, thinner than a pin and as fine as a strand of hair, so fragile he needed to look hard to make sure he had seen correctly. Those legs struck him. They were desperately vulnerable.
* * *
The time for hemming and hawing was over. The more he thought about Fred’s predicament, the more he realised that his own future was starting to look misshaped. If he didn’t do something now, Fred and Neema would be leaving Burraboo faster than the fizzle of a bad firecracker. He couldn’t let Neema leave on these terms. He owed her. What he had offered her with their business partnership she had given back through her friendship, which was validation that he was worthy enough to receive whatever splendours life threw his way.
Tom pushed open the heavy double doors of the police station, with Fred a step behind him. Tucked neatly under Fred’s armpit was a manila folder; inside the folder was an exercise book. Tom had read the contents. It was compelling. Bargearse had to listen.
They headed straight to the public counter.
‘A word, if I may, with Senior Sergeant Barry,’ said Fred.
‘You’ll have to take a seat and wait,’ said Bargearse’s junior officer, Pete Thompson, and nodded towards the chairs in the public reception area.
‘We don’t have all day, Pete. This is important to your investigation,’ Tom insisted.
Pete’s eyes were stony. ‘He’ll see you when he’s ready.’
Tom and Fawzy turned to the reception area.
‘These chairs are filthy,’ hissed Fred, who remained standing. ‘Look at that disarray.’ He nodded at the desks in clear view, positioned behind the counter. Over the desk tops were messy stacks of paper folders. Fred’s nose twitched. The room reeked of a vinegar-based cleaning product and fried chicken.
A door squeaked open. Bargearse Barry sashayed into reception and invited them into his small office.
Tom had seen outdoor toilets larger in size than Barry’s office, but the senior sergeant seemed pretty happy with his situation.
‘What can I do for you?’ Barry folded his arms, one over the other, on the desk in front of him.
‘Is there any news on Annabel?’ asked Fred, tentatively.
‘You know I can’t tell you anything about the investigation. But I am happy to hear if you have any new information.’ He raised his eyebrows expectantly.
‘As a matter of fact, I have been thinking a great deal about Annabel and her predicament.’
‘And what predicament is that, exactly?’
‘I think that you should keep talking to Annabel’s school-friends. They know more than they are saying.’
‘Not this again, I’ve spoken to them. They’ve told me everything they know,’ said Bargearse, with an exaggerated wince.
‘So you’re ruling out any possibility of a drugs racket, entirely?’ said Tom.
‘No one, except Fred, is making any claims of a drugs racket. In fact, no one is even talking about it.’
‘Not true. Pat Morris agrees with me,’ said Fred.
‘Pat is a good, decent man.’
‘Yes, he is. He is also a businessman who has seen his profits walk out the door. I believe he has asked you to investigate this issue,’ said Tom.
‘Sorry, I can’t talk to you about that investigation.’
Barry was as predictable as the stench from a horse stable.
Fred nodded calmly. ‘The thing is, you might be able to close both investigations if you could just see the relationship between Annabel’s disappearance and—’
‘Yes, yes, yes. I know what you think. That a few of the local kiddies have been ripping off drugs at the pharmacy so that they can sell them to hobos in Sydney.’ Barry shook his head. ‘You’ve told me all this before. I’m not buying it.’
‘No … not to hobos. They sell to home labs, or they supply to home labs in return for some fee,’ insisted Fred.
‘Sounds to me that you’re not doing such a good job of listening,’ said Tom, glibly. He’d love to get a rise out of Bargearse.
‘And where are these alleged labs?’ said Barry, with a supercilious smirk.
‘I don’t know, but I know these sorts of labs exist … in garages and garden sheds.’
‘Okay, so lemme get clear on this. These labs, in unknown locations, they extract what they want from over-the-counter medicines—’
‘Yes, yes, that’s right. They might extract pseudoephedrine from a decongestant, or codeine from a regular analgesic, which can become addictive in certain quantities. Look, all I am saying is that over-the-counter pharmaceuticals can be tampered with to amplify some of the more pleasurable effects of the drugs,’ Fred lowered his voice, ‘you know, to get high. And these can be found in painkillers, tranquilisers, stimulants, and sedatives, all in their various medicinal forms. Some people even crush and snort these tablets.’
‘How do you know all of this?’
‘I’m in the business of selling pharmaceuticals. It’s been documented in the news bulletins of the Pharmaceutical Society of New South Wales—of which I am a member.’
Barry scrunched his face. ‘People really do this? I just don’t understand the point of all this … I mean, why go to the effort of extracting codeine, for gawd’s sake?’
The comedy of confusion on Barry’s plump face was something to behold.
Fred waited a moment before responding. ‘They do it for the same reason people smoke marijuana, like the Rainbow Lily people. Just because you don’t understand the “whys”, doesn’t mean that it isn’t happening under your nose.’
Bargearse’s eye twitched.
‘Further to that, when you look at the concentration of missing stock in the pharmacy, you can see that it’s mainly in the categories I have just described. Surely it makes sense to investigate whether this security problem is being caused by a gang.’
‘Look here, Fred. I don’t think you are taking into account the logistics of it all, I mean, how on earth do our kids get introduced to people who do that sort of thing? It’s not like Burraboo is an obvious place … I mean, raiding the pharmacy in our little town …’
Fawzy wagge
d his index finger. ‘That’s where you are wrong.’
‘Oh, izzat so?’
‘Please, let me explain. This type of theft is taking place in pharmacies across the state. Because this activity is monitored better in Sydney, the smaller towns are being targeted. It makes sense.’
‘You should speak to your counterparts in Sydney,’ said Tom, ‘get confirmation from your cohort that Fred has told you some facts about what is happening in pharmacies.’
‘These kids are too young to drive to Sydney,’ scoffed Barry, though his tone had softened. He leaned forward. ‘So how do you propose the stolen goods get down there?’
‘I think that maybe someone from Sydney comes to Burraboo every so often. Maybe Burraboo is one of many towns that the goods are collected from. I wouldn’t be surprised if this racket went all the way up to Newcastle,’ said Fred.
‘I’ve been reading a lot about this. Look …’ Fred fumbled through the folder he had brought with him. He handed Barry the exercise book, which was filled with articles cut out from medical journals, science magazines. Along the side of each article he had neatly written the source publication and date. ‘It’s all in there, just look at them,’ he said, lunging out of his seat and pointing. ‘Not all of these articles are from Australia, in fact, only a few, but it is happening.’
‘Hang on a sec … give us a look,’ said Barry. He thumbed through the exercise book and for the first time, Tom sensed that the senior sergeant was showing a genuine interest in the possibility of a drugs racket.
Tom was glad Fred was finally able to make an impression on Bargearse. Fred had already slid deep into his own personal underworld of despair and humiliation. Tom knew that feeling well. He knew you could stay submerged beneath, that you could hold your breath for the longest time. But given the chance, when offered kindness or the smallest act of clemency, from beneath the sand and the detritus, there was a new person ready to rise, as powerful as a god, as the sun itself.
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