Strange Ink

by Gary Kemble

  Harry felt Crow’s breath on his face: stale garlic and bourbon. Harry lashed out with his fingers, grabbing the bikie’s face and twisting. Crow roared in pain. Harry rolled away, felt another explosion of pain in his back. Caught a glimpse of Heathy lining up for another kick.

  Harry clawed along the road, towards the rock wall, dragging his bag after him.

  Crow pushed up onto his hands and knees, wiped blood away from his face. Heathy dived in. Harry rolled. The kick glanced off his thigh. Harry kept rolling, onto his back.

  Get up, or you’re dead!

  Harry winced. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, then rose shakily to his feet.

  ‘I’m done screwing around,’ Crow said. He pulled a knife.

  The tattoos pulsed on Harry’s arms. He could feel something in his mind. Surging like a wave. Harry held it back, terrified. Then Heathy was on him again. Harry felt a blast of pain in his stomach, followed by a crack as his head snapped back against the rock wall. Stars danced in his eyes. The bag fell from his shoulder. Crow advanced with the knife.

  Harry felt the surge again, and this time let it happen. For a moment the world was suffused with a deep blue glow. He sucked in a breath. His ears were ringing. Wind whistled through the trees. A TV blared. He could smell his sweat, and that of Crow and Heathy. Could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.

  Harry stepped away from the wall to meet them.

  Heathy came in first, both hands out, trying to grab Harry. Harry pistoned his leg out, then watched stunned as Heathy doubled over and fell back to the ground.

  Crow stabbed at him with the knife. Harry darted to one side, turned and thrust his leg back, but Crow dodged the kick. Crow slashed down. Harry parried the strike, barely noticing the lancing pain in his arm.

  Harry backed up, wary of letting Heathy get behind him.

  ‘Come on, you little fucker!’ Crow said. ‘Come on!’

  Heathy ran for Harry’s bag. Harry step-kicked in, driving Heathy against the wall. There was a solid crunch as the bikie’s head impacted, and he dropped to the ground.

  He turned in time to see Crow rushing in with the knife. Harry grabbed Crow’s wrist, pulled him in close, twisting his hand into the bikie’s shirt. He could feel the knife between them, could feel Crow’s hot breath against his shirt. As he strained to hold the knife hand, blood pulsed down his wounded arm, warm and sticky.

  ‘Take some martial arts classes, huh?’ Crow said.

  Crow snapped his elbow around. Harry threw his head back, taking the blow on the shoulder. Then brought his knee up, trying for a groin strike. He missed. Crow pushed him away. Harry grabbed for the knife. It sliced his hand but came away, bouncing on the road.

  Heathy groaned, pushed himself to his feet. ‘I thought you said this was going to be easy,’ he said, then spat blood onto the road.

  ‘It would be if you’d pull your fucking weight,’ Crow replied.

  Harry staggered back into the middle of the road, putting himself between them and the knife. His stomach churned. His bag was lying there, but they seemed to have decided that getting the bag alone wasn’t enough now. Just down the road, traffic continued to pass, the drivers oblivious to the life-and-death struggle going on less than a hundred metres away.

  Harry sucked in lungfuls of air. Blood was flowing from his arm and the other hand now. Heathy and Crow started towards him, wary.

  ‘Do you want to cut, or dig?’ Harry said.

  They stopped.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Heathy said. The streetlight caught the whites of his eyes.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Crow said, unsure of himself. ‘Let’s finish this.’

  ‘It’s not worth it,’ Harry said. ‘You kill me, the story’s still going to come out.’

  It was as though they didn’t hear him. Crow lumbered in. Harry lashed out with his fist. Crow’s head darted to one side at the last minute, the blow smacking against his cheek. Pain buzzed up Harry’s arm. The bikie’s head rocked back slightly, but momentum carried him forward. Before Harry could retreat the big man had him in a bear hug.

  ‘That’s it. Hold him,’ Heathy said.

  Harry tried to lift his knee, but Crow had him turned slightly. Harry pummelled Crow’s sides with his fists. Crow grunted, but held firm. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Heathy step in and pick up the knife.

  As Heathy launched himself, Harry slammed the heel of his boot against the top of Crow’s kneecap. Crow screamed. His grip loosened and Harry burst free, the knife catching him on the way through.

  ‘Fuck!’ Heathy screamed.

  Heathy lunged, grunted, bringing the knife across. Harry darted sideways and watched the blade slide past, feeling the passage of its arc. Slightly off balance, he grabbed Heathy’s wrist, pulling the knife towards him. He lifted his leg and drove it into the bikie’s ribcage. Heathy yelled. He tried to free himself. Harry twisted under Heathy’s arm, curving the knife back around towards him. He saw it in his mind: the knife twisting under, slamming between Heathy’s ribs.

  ‘No!’ Harry screamed.

  He jerked his arm. The knife tore through Heathy’s shirt and into the flesh below. The man staggered backwards, tripping over the kerb. The knife clattered across the bitumen, bounced off the gutter, and slipped down the stormwater drain.

  Crow was on his side, shivering. Heathy lay beside him, panting. Heathy pressed a hand against his side, hissed in pain. The hand was black with blood, but the wound looked superficial, from what Harry could tell.

  In the distance, a siren rose and fell through the late night air.

  Harry stood over Heathy, pressed a boot against his throat. He could feel Rob, back in his cage, urging him to stomp. He resisted.

  ‘Tell Cardinal he’s going down,’ Harry said.

  He limped up to the top of his street to get his bag.

  CHAPTER 37

  Royal Brisbane Hospital glowed in the night, but Harry made it only as far as the smokers milling in the shadows before exhaustion overcame him. He staggered over to a low wall, sitting just as his legs gave way. He watched the nicotine addicts, some in wheelchairs, some with IV lines still attached. Bare feet shuffling in the dusty ground. An ambulance drove past, its lights and siren dead.

  Harry texted Dave, and minutes later he saw a solid silhouette striding out of the light, into the darkness. Harry waved.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Dave said.

  ‘I’m in trouble.’

  Dave glanced up at the hospital, then back at Harry.

  ‘Dave, I’m in trouble and I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘You look like you’re in shock,’ Dave said. Then, when he got closer, ‘Shit, you’re bleeding.’

  He took Harry’s arm and studied it. Harry realised he was shivering.

  ‘How did you get here? You didn’t drive, did you?’ Dave asked.

  Harry tried to remember. He remembered getting off the bus after talking to Vessel. He remembered figures running towards him. After that, it was just flashes. Pain. Blood. A knife clattering across the road. Then nothing.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Harry said. ‘Bus. I think.’

  ‘Yep. You’re in shock. Come on,’ Dave said. He held a hand out.

  Harry looked up. ‘What?’

  ‘Come on.’ He grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him to his feet.

  ***

  It was quiet for a Friday night; Dave was able to find a spare cubicle in Emergency. Harry lay on the bed, eyes fluttering closed, while Dave washed his arm with saline. He felt safe.

  ‘You were lucky,’ Dave said, swabbing the back of Harry’s arm. ‘No stitches required.’

  He checked the hand. ‘This thing will bleed like a bitch, but then hands always do.’

  A head poked through the curtain. A woman with dark hair and bright eyes, holding a cup of tea. Dave took it from her.

  ‘Thanks, Elva,’ Dave said.

  She looked from Dave to Harry, then back again. ‘He hasn’t been ad
mitted, has he?’

  Dave shook his head. ‘He’s a friend of mine. Cut himself shaving.’

  ‘You’re dead if they find out.’

  Dave shrugged. ‘I can always go back to pizza delivery,’ he said. Elva smiled, then closed the curtain.

  Harry tried climbing off the bed; the world spun around him.

  ‘Whoa!’ Dave said. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘I don’t want you to get in trouble. I better. . .’

  Dave planted a hand on Harry’s chest. ‘Let’s just worry about you for a while. Here.’

  Harry took the tea with a shaking hand. Sipped it. It was lukewarm, too sweet. He grimaced.

  ‘Just drink it,’ Dave said. He pulled together some bandages and started working on Harry’s arm and hand.

  Harry closed his eyes but when he did the world swam and he saw Crow’s face, felt the knife-blade pressing against his stomach.

  ‘Two Dreadnorts,’ he said. ‘They came after me.’

  Dave stopped what he was doing. ‘Dreadnorts? As in, outlaw motorcycle gang Dreadnorts?’

  Harry nodded. ‘I confronted Vessel tonight, at South Bank. He must’ve. . .’

  Harry sucked in breath as Dave rubbed antiseptic into his arm, then sipped more tea. He’d never felt so tired.

  Do you want to cut, or dig?

  Harry’s stomach cramped. Hot bile bubbled up his throat. He thrust the back of his hand against his lips as his stomach tensed again. Dave reached out and pulled a cardboard dish off the bedside table. He held it under Harry’s mouth as he vomited the tea into it. Dave passed him a couple of tissues and he wiped his mouth.

  ‘Feel better?’ Dave said. ‘Hang on. Ron Vessel. And Dreadnorts?’

  ‘Cardinal is the link. They came after me, and somehow I beat them. Rob beat them.’

  ‘Rob?’

  ‘Yep. These were his tattoos. He was in the SAS. The guys who came after me are the same ones that took him and his girlfriend down. It was as if – it was as if he were in control. I was just along for the ride.’

  Dave stopped working on the arm for a moment, and stared at Harry.

  ‘He wanted me to kill them,’ Harry whispered. ‘He wanted me to destroy them.’

  For a long time, Dave said nothing. Outside, a siren blared, then cut out. Shoes squeaked on linoleum.

  ‘I told you, Harry,’ Dave said. ‘I told you to get out of there.’

  ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘I told you, and you stayed there, and now. . .’

  ‘They’re pieces of shit,’ Harry said. Anger flared. ‘They deserve it.’

  Dave stared at Harry. ‘That’s Rob talking. No-one deserves to bleed to death in a back street, Harry.’

  Harry felt a sullen rage pulsing behind his eyeballs. He forced it down, and the extreme fatigue overcame him again. He couldn’t see a way out. But Rob could; Harry just didn’t want to accept it.

  ‘Then help me, Dave! Help me end this!’ he pleaded.

  ‘The best way I can think of to help you right now is to offer you somewhere safe to sleep,’ Dave said.

  Dave finished the dressing on Harry’s hand, then rubbed his nose with his forearm. He tidied up, put Harry’s vomit bowl into the hazardous-waste bin.

  ‘You right to walk?’ he asked.

  Harry nodded.

  ‘Come on then, you crazy bastard. Let’s get you home.’

  CHAPTER 38

  Harry lay on the lounge, wide awake, watching and listening as the world came alive around him. Dave and Ellie’s house was a blend of order and chaos. Neatly ironed uniforms hung off the ornate scrollwork between the lounge and dining rooms. Medical textbooks, scraps of paper and mouldy mugs covered the coffee table, which underneath housed Monopoly, Trivial Pursuit and a stack of battered Tom Clancy paperbacks. The only concession to the festive season was a string of Christmas lights, hanging over the TV. Outside, a kookaburra announced the arrival of dawn.

  Perfect day for a run. But Harry’s running days were over. He woke with the plan fully formed in his head, as though Rob had been busy, burning the midnight oil, so he could deliver it as a fait accompli when Harry opened his eyes. The borderline panic from the night before was gone, replaced by calm determination.

  After returning from the hospital, Dave had put him in the shower and found him some old clothes. Harry considered popping home to get something instead, then realised that might not be such a smart move. They’d do.

  He sat up, and pain tore through his body. His bandaged arm throbbed, his fingertips tingling with pins and needles. His thigh muscles screamed. His shoulders cramped. His other arm, and his legs, were covered in bruises, and one ear pulsed sickly.

  He picked up his phone and texted Jim, setting the wheels in motion. Then Harry took a deep breath and pulled himself to his feet, relieved to find that he could still walk.

  Dave poked his head into the room from the kitchen. ‘Want a coffee, old man?’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  Dave laughed, turned and carried two mugs out the back door onto the verandah. Multicoloured prayer flags fluttered in the warm breeze. Harry followed Dave outside.

  Dave had cleared away enough beer bottles for the coffee cups.

  ‘Good to see married life hasn’t slowed you and Ellie down,’ Harry said.

  ‘I hardly think you’re in any position to offer lifestyle advice.’

  ‘Touché.’

  Harry sipped his coffee. Wished he had his sunglasses. He checked his phone.

  ‘So let me get this straight, because it was a bit much to take in last night,’ Dave said. ‘You told Vessel about the story you’re working on. And then you got attacked by two Dreadnorts.’

  Harry nodded. ‘Not just Dreadnorts. The same guys who used to do Cardinal’s dirty work.’

  ‘So either Vessel is in on it. . .’

  ‘. . . or he told Cardinal, and Cardinal set them on me.’

  Dave sipped his coffee. ‘Either way, it’s not pretty.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You should call the cops,’ Dave said.

  Harry shook his head.

  ‘Why not? You were attacked last night. You know who these guys are.’

  ‘I beat the shit out of them, Dave.’

  ‘It was self-defence!’

  Harry nodded. He couldn’t tell Dave what he was thinking. He was thinking about Afsoon, talking about blood. He was thinking about what Rob wanted to do to those guys, and the repercussions of Harry not following through.

  ‘Once the cops come in, it’s going to get complicated, Dave. They’re going to want to know the full story.’

  ‘So tell them the full story!’

  Harry shook his head again. ‘The election is a week away. The cops are going to want to confiscate my computer, they’re going to want me to hold back on the story. . .’

  ‘Harry! This is your life! You can’t fuck around!’

  Harry didn’t care about his life. He was thinking of someone else’s life. Andrew Cardinal. The Cardinal juggernaut. This wasn’t going to end until he stopped Cardinal. He and Jess wouldn’t be safe until Cardinal was gone.

  ‘Dave, listen to me. If Cardinal is elected, he’ll have all kinds of power. The evidence I have, it won’t stand up in a court of law. It’s hearsay, mostly. Without the documents, all I’ve got is what a couple of people have told me, and what’s up here,’ he said, tapping the side of his head.

  Dave looked as though he were about to push it further, then sighed. ‘There’s got to be a better way.’

  They sat in silence for a while, drinking their coffee. Harry would have liked nothing better than for all of this to go away. For him to be able to hand it over to the cops. But that wasn’t going to work. Deep down, he knew that.

  ‘At least let me take a look at your injuries,’ Dave said.

  Without waiting for a response he moved around the table, unclipped the fastener and wound the crepe bandage from Harry’s hand and arm. The bandage was spot
ted with blood. He pulled it away, then gently removed the gauze pads. Down the road, someone fired up their lawn mower.

  ‘Hang on a sec.’

  When Dave disappeared inside, Harry checked his phone again. Dave returned with fresh gauze pads and smeared some antiseptic on the wounds. Harry sucked in breath.

  ‘Don’t be a baby,’ Dave said.

  He pressed the pads on top, then set to bandaging Harry’s arm. When he was done, Harry flexed his hand. He could feel the cuts pulsing.

  ‘Can’t you just publish the story, see what happens?’ Dave said.

  ‘No. Been there, done that. I’m not going to press until it’s watertight.’

  Harry thought he sold the lie. There would be no story. Not from him anyway. And yet soon everyone would know his name. But Dave looked at him, and didn’t look away until Harry stared down at the ground.

  ‘Harry. I don’t know what you’re planning to do. But whatever it is – don’t.’

  Dave got up and went into the house. Harry texted Jim again, finished his coffee and followed Dave inside.

  ***

  Harry sat on the old bench in the park. Above him, the jacaranda tree rustled in the breeze. At the end of the road he watched a 747 climbing in the sky. He felt totally calm. He didn’t know what it was like to be Rob, but he thought this was part of it. Understanding he was in danger, understanding he had to do dangerous things. Coming to terms with that and being at peace.

  He smelt Jim’s tobacco before he saw him. Harry twisted in his seat – wincing as the pain spiked up his back – and watched the former soldier shuffle down the steep slope from the road above.

  ‘G’day,’ Jim said.

  ‘Hi.’

  Jim sat down. ‘No notepad today?’

  ‘I think it’s gone beyond notepads.’

  Jim nodded, as though he knew it would come to this.

  ‘I need a gun. Preferably a sniper rifle. And I need it today.’

  ‘What! Harry. . .’

  Harry didn’t have time for a debate. He pulled off his shirt. Jim gasped. The colour drained out of his face. He started out of his seat but Harry grabbed his arm, dragged him back down.