by Gary Kemble
After leaving Jim, Harry drove over to Bowen Hills. He pulled into the car park, already knowing what he’d find. The place was deserted, a small block of offices tucked under the nest of highways that had sprung up over Brisbane’s inner north. A hot, humid wind kicked up dust and chip packets. Old, yellowing copies of the Chermside Chronicle sat piled on the dirty tiles. He pulled to a stop outside Daybreak Imports. Climbed out of the car.
He barely recognised himself in the reflection in the glass. He seemed taller, bigger. The dodgy DIY tinting job on the windows distorted his face, making him look like a demon. He walked up to the doorway, tried pushing it open. Locked. He cupped his hands to the glass and peered inside. Mail on the floor. An old desk and broken office chair. A phone, but it wasn’t even plugged in.
Harry took some photos with his phone, then climbed into his car and headed to the Brisbane Mail.
CHAPTER 34
Harry arrived at the Brisbane Mail expecting not only to be shown the door, but also to be thrown out of it. Or possibly through it. Redwood had had plenty of time to stew over the awards night debacle. Harry should have apologised sooner. He hoped this unexpected visit would smooth things over much better than a phone call or email could.
He waited at the front desk as the receptionist relayed his message. He was anticipating getting a ‘He’s not in’, or ‘He’s in a meeting’ or ‘Fuck off and die’. Instead, the security door at the side of the reception desk buzzed and Redwood himself appeared, smiling.
‘Harry Hendrick! Come on in.’
The smile caught Harry off guard, as did the invite. There was no need to go ‘on in’ anywhere. He could have delivered his apology quite easily in the foyer. But Redwood led Harry through the Brisbane Mail’s labyrinthine interior. Someone had strung up some tinsel on the walls. There was a plastic Christmas tree perched on a coffee table, but apparently the budget didn’t stretch to decorations. Harry wondered if Redwood was planning on taking him to the newsroom, so he could administer some public humiliation.
Instead, he opened the glass-panelled door to an old office. There had been a name once on the frosted glass, but it had been scratched off. The blinds were down. Harry walked in, Redwood followed.
Redwood flicked the light switch, and a dusty fluorescent bulb cast blue-white light on the room. There was a scarred desk, yellowing newspaper clippings on the wall. Some framed, some stuck with Blu Tack. An old push-button phone.
Redwood wasn’t quite so friendly once the door was closed.
‘What do you want?’ Redwood said.
‘I just came here to. . .’
‘Don’t fucking give me that,’ Redwood said. He was up in Harry’s face. Harry backed away and ended up against the desk. ‘What do you know?’
Redwood wasn’t angry. He was scared. Harry gave him a gentle shove. Redwood staggered back. Stayed back. Harry gestured to the chair. Redwood sat down.
‘Rob Johnson. He came to you with a story. Why didn’t you chase it?’
‘Are you writing something on this?’
‘Don’t fuck with me, Terry. Why didn’t you chase it?’
Redwood rubbed his face.
‘For Christ’s sake, Harry, this could ruin me! I’ve got a wife, two kids I’m trying to put through school.’
Harry felt sweat dripping off his body. The aftertaste of beer in his mouth made him feel nauseated. He said nothing. Sometimes that was better.
‘I don’t know what it’s like in your world, but when you work on a real paper, you can’t chase everything,’ Redwood said. ‘You have to pick and choose. Rob came to me, told me this crazy shit about Cardinal murdering people in Afghanistan. Do you know how insane that is? He’d just won preselection!’
‘You should have chased it.’
‘I did! I did, Harry. I made some inquiries with a contact in the ADF. He said Rob had gone off the rails after the Black Hawk crash. Was pissed off about the compo he got. Said he was involved with these shady characters.
‘And then I looked into that, and I found out that he was stalking various ADF personnel. That he had that woman of his – Kyla – trying to weasel information out of people. And yeah, that he’d been seen hanging out at that Stones Corner tattoo joint which, as you may or may not know, is popular with the Dreadnorts outlaw motorcycle gang.’
‘Don’t patronise me.’
Redwood licked his lips. ‘Harry. I can forgive and forget what happened on the awards night, if you can forget about this story.
‘Seriously, I’m doing you a favour here, buddy. You don’t want to disappear down that rabbit hole, I can assure you. Just go back to your Meals on Wheels and your Chermside Bowls Club yarns.’
Redwood seemed to be about to say something else, then got up, crossed the room and pulled the door open. ‘I’ve got work to do,’ he said.
Harry blinked. ‘So. . . you wanted to talk to me. . . and now you don’t?’
‘Come on, Harry. Or I’ll call security.’
Harry moved towards the door.
‘He had documents, Terry,’ Harry said. ‘Did you see them?’
Redwood said nothing. He didn’t need to. His eyes said it all. Fear. Finally, he shrugged.
‘Faked,’ Redwood said. ‘You should know all about that, right?’
Harry shook his head, walked past Redwood. ‘I thought you had guts, Terry,’ he said.
Redwood shook his head. ‘Fuck off, Harry,’ he said. ‘Stay away from me.’
***
Harry sat slumped on the lounge, exhausted, hamburger wrappers and a growing collection of empty stubbies by his feet. Soon to be joined by the half-full beer in his hand. The news was on the TV, but he wasn’t really seeing it. He was putting the pieces together in his mind. Making the connections, writing the story in his head. Figuring out what else he needed to make it work.
Andrew Cardinal appeared on the screen, and Harry forced himself to focus. Cardinal had arrived in Brisbane, ahead of tomorrow’s official campaign launch. His wife and three kids were waiting for him at the airport. He kissed Mrs Cardinal, picked up his youngest daughter and swung her around. It reminded Harry of the scenes of soldiers returning from Afghanistan. Just what the spin doctor ordered.
It seemed impossible that this man’s heart could be so dark and that he could hide such a side to his personality. Cardinal had killed people. With guns, with knives, with his bare hands. Harry stared at his own hands, thought about what Rob had done in Afghanistan.
Bad guys.
A gust of wind blew through the house. The back door slammed. Harry jumped.
‘But it’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it Rob?’
Harry’s phone chimed. Ron Vessel: We still on for tonight?
After the Vessel interview had gone to press, Harry had organised to meet him when he was back in Brisbane. He dragged himself off the couch, remembering his argument with Jess.
We’re better than that, Harry.
CHAPTER 35
Harry watched the big Ferris wheel turning against the backdrop of city lights. On his left, the Cultural Centre sat like a stack of toddler’s blocks, lit up with special Christmas lights. On his right, the light and shade of Southbank parklands. The sound of kids playing at Kodak Beach carried on the warm night air.
Harry’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket.
I thought you were going to buy me a drink at the Christmas party?
Christine. Shit. He’d completely forgotten about it. It seemed weird that back in the normal world, normal things were still happening. It was a world he no longer belonged in. He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Across the river, Harry could see people moving through the few offices with their lights on. Movers and shakers racking up Friday-night overtime to try and get ahead. Cleaners, giving the offices a quick once-over before knocking off.
He imagined Rob over there, laying the black case on the floor, opening it and assembling his sniper rifle. Setting it up, getting co
mfy. He didn’t have Tim to help him this time, like he did back in Afghanistan, but it was a relatively easy shot. But there would be civilians everywhere, and he’d have limited time. Cardinal would climb out of his car almost where Harry was standing now, then walk into the Cultural Centre. Rob would have the time it took him to walk across that road.
Harry swapped his courier bag from one shoulder to the other. In it he had his laptop and notebook, in case Vessel wanted to make a last-minute statement. Pens, spare pens, and more spare pens. Vessel would be shocked. It was going to take him some time to absorb the information.
‘Harry Hendrick!’
Harry jumped. He turned and saw Ron Vessel approaching with his big cheesy grin, hand outstretched. Harry shook it, trying to avoid letting Vessel crush his fingers. The politician gestured to the Brisbane Eye.
‘Bit tacky for your photo, isn’t it?’ he said.
Harry shrugged. ‘There’re a few different angles. The Cultural Centre’s in the background or, the other way, the city. You know, city boys make good.’
Ron didn’t seem convinced.
‘Doesn’t the Chronicle hire photographers anymore?’ he asked.
‘Not on Friday nights. We chip in with the Mail for some social shots, but that’s about it.’
Ron grunted. He seemed to sense something wasn’t right.
‘Come on, it won’t take long,’ Harry said.
‘Okay. What the hell, right?’
Harry had organised the ride with the operators. They sounded a little dubious at first, until Harry told them he didn’t want a free ride. Then they seemed to think that the article might drive a bit of extra traffic their way. As it was, business wasn’t doing well. The Eye was named after a similar ride in London, but it was half the size, and Brisbane was half as impressive.
The wheel came to a stop and the doors opened. A young guy and girl climbed off, holding hands and clutching iPhones. Harry gestured and Ron climbed on. Harry followed, and they sat on either side of the pod. The girl’s perfume lingered in the enclosed space.
‘So, how does it feel to be the next Treasurer?’ Harry asked.
Ron grinned. ‘Now, now Harry. The campaign launch is tomorrow, and then there’s a long, long week to election day. I think people will be surprised by how many want to maintain the status quo.
‘I’m sure the PM has a few tricks up his sleeve for the final week of the campaign.’
The doors slid shut.
‘Yeah, right,’ Harry said. ‘The prime minister’s campaign is dead in the water. Andrew Cardinal is 15 points up.’
‘It’s not over until it’s over.’
The wheel started moving. Slowly at first, stopping to let people off. They crept higher in the sky.
‘Actually, Ron, I have an ulterior motive for asking you out here.’
Ron laughed. ‘Well, you know, Harry, I’m married. It hasn’t always been smooth sailing, but we’re working out our problems so. . .’
Harry smiled, pushed on.
‘Do you know what Andrew Cardinal did in Afghanistan?’
‘It’s classified. He worked for military intelligence.’
‘Yeah, but do you know?’
Ron stared through Harry. They reached the top, then the Eye stopped. Below them, a CityCat crept down the river; city lights reflected in its wake like phosphorescence. Harry pulled out his laptop, opened it. It emerged out of sleep mode. Harry typed his password and brought up a copy of his notes. He handed it to Vessel.
Ron took the computer, rested it on his lap. He pulled out his reading glasses and peered down his nose at the screen.
‘Not the best light in here,’ he said.
‘Andrew Cardinal was smuggling drugs into Australia. He was using the Dreadnorts MC to distribute them, and Swenson Constructions to launder the money. In 2005 he was involved in a massacre in Helmand province. Thirty people murdered. Men, women, kids. At least one woman brutally raped.’
Harry remembered her hijab, blowing along the rows of poppies. Ron stared down at the screen. Harry expected him to blanch. Expected him to say it was all a load of bullshit. When he laughed, it caught Harry off guard. Ron turned his head slightly, as if looking for someone else in the pod, even though it was barely big enough for the two of them.
‘Nice one, Harry,’ he said. ‘Are you recording this?’
He grinned, looked for a hidden camera or microphone. Harry stared at him. The smile faltered.
‘You’re not serious?’ Vessel said.
Harry nodded.
Vessel snorted out another laugh, but there was little mirth in this one. ‘Harry, Andrew Cardinal is a war hero.’
‘He’s a drug dealer, rapist and murderer.’
Vessel shook his head. ‘I know I said you should get out of community newspapers. But fiction writing wasn’t what I had in mind, Harry. Jesus!’
He thrust the laptop back at Harry.
‘If I were you, I’d take this home and delete it. Who are your sources, Harry?’
Harry felt the heat rise to his face. His tattoos itched. He knew what Rob wanted to do to Vessel.
‘My sources are my sources.’
‘How much can you prove?’
‘Most of it.’ He thought of the dossier of documents, lying hidden somewhere in Brisbane. ‘I’m working on verifying all of it.’
‘Harry. You can’t verify fairytales.’
The wheel was moving again now, arcing back towards the ground. Vessel leant forward. Harry could see the colour in his cheeks, the sweat on his brow. Fear, or anger?
‘How many people know about this?’
Harry considered. ‘My editor knows I’m working on something. But not the details.’ He didn’t mention Jess. Harry didn’t think enlisting an insurance executive would strengthen his case.
‘A word of advice, Harry. Keep it that way.’
The wheel came to a stop. The doors opened. Ron went to leave, then paused, looked back into the pod. ‘Shit mate, you forgot your photos!’
He laughed, and then he was gone. Harry watched him leave, picking up two security guys on the way as he walked towards the ABC building. Harry eventually climbed out on shaky legs. Nausea gripped him. He made it down to the river before he threw up, his stomach constricting until all that was left was a spider’s web trailing down from his mouth to the rocks below.
Beside him, light flashed, pushbike brakes squealed. Cops. Two of them.
‘You okay, sir?’ one of them asked.
Harry nodded.
‘You been drinking?’ the other said. The headlights on the bikes were so bright Harry could barely see their faces.
‘I had a few beers,’ Harry said. ‘But I think I might have food poisoning. Dodgy burger.’
The cops stared at him.
‘I caught the bus in,’ he said, knowing he was over-explaining, but unable to stop himself.
‘Better get yourself on another one home then, hadn’t you?’ the first one said.
Harry nodded. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’
He shuffled along the river, walking until the waterside breeze and the anger welling inside him gave him a second wind.
Harry had expected that Vessel wouldn’t want to believe what he was being told. The election was a week away. Harry’s story would blow Labor out of the water, maybe for good. Vessel had been nurturing this dream for a long time. And he’d seen some dark and bloody days in the Labor caucus.
But to shut down Harry so quickly, without even hearing him out. Harry shook his head. He was going to have to work quickly now. Vessel would have been onto Cardinal right away. Spin doctors would be mobilised, lawyers readied. They would do everything they could to discredit Harry. And they would probably succeed. Unless Harry didn’t give them the opportunity. He looked over at the buildings across the river.
CHAPTER 36
The bus pulled away, leaving Harry in a cloud of warm exhaust and swishing jacaranda leaves. He shouldered his courier bag. Two big Harleys roared pas
t. Harry jumped, heart hammering. He watched as they disappeared around the corner.
He waited for a gap in the traffic, then crossed the road. Away from the main road, the pathway alternated between the orange glow of streetlights and inky darkness under the trees. Harry walked quickly. He wanted to get home. He needed to get this story finished. Get it moving. At the top of his street he glanced up at the water tower. There were lights on underneath it now, part of the new security arrangements. Harry could understand why Cardinal had thought it a spaceship.
‘Harry! Wait up!’
Harry looked back towards the road. He saw the two silhouettes. He could tell by the way they were shuffling, almost running, that they weren’t out for a late evening stroll.
They walked under a streetlight. Harry stopped dead, paralysed. One of them was tall. Greasy blond hair down to his collar. Celtic bands clawed up his neck. Heathy. The other one was shorter, overweight. Chin smeared with a dirty goatee. Crow.
Harry’s heart rate jacked. His fingers felt numb. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. Black spots jumped in his peripheral vision. He knew he should run, but where to? He looked around for help. On one side, under the tower, was a steep rock wall. The houses on either side of the road were dark. He forced himself to breathe deeply.
Heathy and Crow dropped into darkness, barely a bus-length away now. Harry tried to remember his last fight, in high school. He struggled to recall any useful titbits from the taekwondo classes he’d attended for six months when he was a kid, until his mum left and money was too tight to pay for them. His mind went blank. As the Dreadnorts emerged into light again, Harry raised his arms to cover his chest and stomach as best he could, then ducked his head behind his fists.
Crow lumbered in. Harry dodged. Pain exploded in the side of his head. He staggered sideways, vision blurring. His tattoos were burning.
‘Get on the other side of him!’ Crow spat.
Heathy had dropped into a fighting stance. Harry saw the kick coming and threw his arm out to try and protect himself. Pain blasted up his forearm, pins and needles followed. Crow ducked forward and tried to pull the bag off Harry’s arm. Harry twisted his arm through the strap and they fell together.