“Minna, hey,” he said to himself, “you got two featherfoots on your arse.” Tim’s confidence had risen after hearing the old man’s words.
He won about seventy dollars that afternoon and returned to Charlie’s around six with a dozen beers and a couple of steak sandwiches. He offered one to Charlie.
“Great, I’m starving, haven’t been out all day.”
“D’ya want a beer?” Tim asked.
“Naah, brother. Them Koories put it all over me when I’m charged up.” Tim took the steak sandwich and a beer out the back to the little spot that he’d claimed as his own.
He heard some voices and then Charlie saying “out the back”. The old man came out first with two whitefellas who were definitely not from around here. He introduced them as Bill and Gary. They were lawyers who did part-time work for the Legal Service. One of them used to live with a black woman and they had kids, as the old man explained. Tim got them all a beer and then went scrounging for wood for the fire bucket. He gathered enough for a couple of hours and lit the fire. There was no urgency to the conversation. Tim preferred to listen and observe the two lawyers. The taller one with the beard who had been married to a Koori woman was taking it all in quite casually and it seemed he had heard similar talk before. The shorter one with a few extra kilos around his waist was listening intently and nodding and smiling occasionally at some new-found knowledge. The old man was his usual sharp-tongued self and it seemed he was intent on getting his message across to the two lawyers.
The old man’s face was illuminated by the fire. Even with his four top front teeth missing he looked like he wouldn’t be out of place among the wisest men in the country. His missing front teeth, as he’d told Tim, were the result of an altercation with West Australian police, who had picked him up one day with guns drawn and taunted him about being a Lawman, bashing him and knocking his teeth out. He was younger than most Lawmen, almost a decade younger, but he had an awesome reputation as a powerful man. In the early fifties, as the old man explained, anyone looking sideways at a copper invited a bashing. If you dared stand up to them you were found hanging in a cell. They threatened his family. They wanted to humiliate him, so he let them. For a Lawman to die prematurely without breaking those strict codes laid down by the elders was an ugly sign. He remembered the old man telling him that he used to drink and raise hell when he was younger and that some of the best Lawmen he knew had turned to grog out of sorrow and despair. Tim had questioned him on this and was told that alcohol and self-abuse were not against their laws. They lost their power. When they gave up the grog, they were empowered again.
“Our boss knows you’re in town,” said the hairy-faced lawyer. Tim looked up. This was new knowledge and his interest in the conversation picked up.
“That dog will have his last day and when he does that will be a warning to you men to start running,” the old man said.
“He wants to meet you, to talk about a peace offering,” the hairy-faced lawyer said.
The old man turned to look at Tim and started laughing, reverting to his old self in the process.
“He’s got a four-wheel drive and ten thousand dollars ready for you.”
The old man replied, “Tell him to do what he’s good at, bend over:”
The grim expression on the hairy-faced lawyer meant he probably wouldn’t get his bonus this week. They both left. When they were gone Tim asked who their boss was. “The bloke who took the diamonds out of my country, Hans Cocklan. He used to live with the blackfellas and when he found out where the diamonds were he shit on us like a dog. What he’s done to us he can only repay with his life. I told you they’d come,” said the old man as he made ready to leave.
It was around nine o’clock, and the old man asked Tim to go with him up to the Cross. He was asking but Tim knew better than to refuse. On the way the old man said to himself, “Well Tim, I have to scramble your mind a bit tonight, just to confuse those idiot spirits that dog you.”
At the Cross the old man walked casually as if time was of no consequence. He pointed out places he used to frequent. The names were different but he remembered them clearly. They went down some back streets and up a set of stairs to a back door. The man they came to see was not home. The old man fiddled around with the back door, humming while doing so, and it opened. Tim started to believe those stories about not needing keys. The door was still locked, everything was intact.
The old man put the kettle on for tea. Tim felt a bit strange being in a flat without the owner’s consent. “He’ll be here shortly,” the old man reassured him. It was obvious the man was not poor and also that he was gainfully employed, judging by the room, which Tim gathered was the man’s workplace. The flat was not overly large and there was no sign of a woman’s presence.
When the owner arrived he was relieved to find the old man there. He called him by a name which Tim didn’t catch. The old man introduced his friend as George, and encouraged George to show Tim what line of work he was in. Apparently George was a lighting designer who used to do the lighting for the big bands from Australia and overseas. He showed Tim some lighting paraphenalia and the plan of his next project, but Tim knew that George was only interested in talking to the old man. George and the old man sat down for a discussion while Tim made out he was interested in what the man did by flicking various lights on and off and casually going over the apartment again. Tim had an uneasy feeling about George even though he had known the old man for over thirty years.
The old man and George caught up with what each had been doing for the last decade. Tim realised that they must be true friends and made an effort to see where George was coming from. The old man didn’t mix his conversation up as he did with other whitefellas and enjoyed a friendly chat. George offered them apple pie and ice cream which the old man accepted and Tim declined. After about three-quarters of an hour the old man and George shook hands and said their goodbyes.
Tim thought they were heading back to Redfern but the old man walked past the station entrance and on towards Darlinghurst. They crossed Oxford Square and went into a pub. The old man quickly started up a conversation with some people at a table. There were three men and a woman at the table designed for two. The old man returned from the bar with two beers. He laughed and joked with the strangers and Tim couldn’t figure out whether he knew them or not.
The old man pulled out a joint and lit it up. Tim, feeling paranoid by now, still smoked the pot but sipped his beer. The old man looked to be happy and enjoying himself. “Go and have a look at the band,” the old man encouraged Tim. Tim didn’t move. The Thing was playing, they told him. It was getting creepier by the minute. One of the strangers stood up and said, “Come on, I’ll show you.” Tim reluctantly followed the stranger into the stage area. Much to Tim’s surprise the band was playing, because he thought they were having a joke on him. They went back to the table and Tim was glad to see the old man still sitting there.
The old man laughed and laughed as they left the pub. The queaziness and paranoia did not go away until Tim knew that they were heading for Redfern. It was obvious to Tim that the old man had planned it like that. He had got a taste of the old man’s power and was now totally unsure of himself.
As they parted company in Redfern, the old man, still laughing at Tim, told him, “Don’t worry. Have asleep. You’ll be alright.” Tim stood and watched the old man go down the street, still chuckling.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A SPELL
Charlie was asleep, Tim gathered, when he arrived home. He turned the TV on and put the volume down low and watched music videos before falling asleep. He woke around daybreak, turned the telly off and went upstairs to bed.
He woke again around ten that morning. He put his mind into gear and thought over the past few days. It became clear that the old man was testing him about the law. He couldn’t put it down to anything specific and it nagged at him. He was just about to put his head back down on the pillow when he heard footsteps
coming up the stairs and Charlie entered the room. “I’m going out for a few hours. Are you going anywhere today?”
“I’m going to have a rest and stay home,” Tim replied, propping himself up on his elbow on the mattress on the floor.
“I’ve got some money and pot stashed away and I don’t want anybody coming in. Sam’s alright, but nobody else.” Charlie’s sharp instructions to Tim.
“I’ll do that for you, Charlie.”
“If anybody comes looking for yarndi, tell them I’ll be back after one.”
“Okay.”
Charlie left and Tim put on shorts and a T-shirt and went downstairs. He turned the TV on and the volume down and put a cassette on. After the first three visitors, Tim opened the door but left the security grille shut and answered from the couch as people came. He recognised some of the regulars, who thought that Tim was lying to them. He was glad when Charlie finally got back and opened up the house. Tim decided not to go anywhere until he had fully recovered from the roasting from the old man the night before.
It was around four o’clock when Tim got spruced up, ready to go. He had a quick cup of tea with Charlie and headed off to walk to Surry Hills.
The patrons had already begun leaving the theatre. Tim was not unduly concerned as performers take a while after the show to change out of their stage gear. There were a dozen or so people at the bar and a few others milling around waiting to talk to the cast. Tim had an orange juice and watched the cast come out in dribs and drabs. Sylvia was one of the last. She came over to Tim and they greeted each other warmly.
“What would you like to do?” he asked.
“Let’s get out of here. To my place.”
“Okay. Do you want to catch a taxi or take the bus?”
“Let’s take a bus. Taxis become too expensive after a while,” Sylvia said, grabbing Tim’s hand.
Tim was starting to fall for Sylvia. This path he was heading down with Sylvia was totally opposite to what his real job was. He reminded himself a couple of times just to enjoy her company and leave it at that.
Sylvia knew that she liked Tim, but she’d only met him a week ago and reminded herself to take things slowly. Like the consummate professional she was, she didn’t want to rush things.
“If I get any more relaxed than this, they’ll put me in a coffin,” Tim smiled at Sylvia.
“Maybe it’ll rub off on me,” she replied.
“I’ll do better, I’ll make sure it rubs off on you,” Tim said.
Sylvia and Tim got back to Bondi just before sunset.
“I’m hungry. Want to eat out?” Sylvia asked.
“Sure. What food do you like?”
“Thai seafood. There’s a restaurant up around the corner.”
“I have to go to a bank. I should’ve done it in the city. Are there any automatic teller machines around?” Tim checked his wallet in case there was any spare cash hidden away.
“I’ll shout,” Sylvia said. “The Land Council pays me well.”
“I’ll still have to get some money,” Tim said.
“Which bank?”
“The National Bank.”
“Yep, there’s one not far from the restaurant.” And Sylvia added, “I hope you’re not one of those blokes that resent women picking up the tab.”
“No, but I do like to pay my way when I can. A bit of independence, if you know what I mean.” Tim joked.
After the restaurant, they walked down by the beach for a while before heading home. Tim broke the silence of the walk by facing the ocean and saying, “It looks alright out this way. But when you turn around…” And he pretended to cower at the sight of the city.
Later, Tim turned the conversation to the Land Council. “I hear you’re having a bit of trouble with the Land Council.”
Sylvia shrugged and gave a look that said “don’t say another word, boy.”
“I guess we’re not that close,” he thought to himself.
At her apartment block Sylvia turned and said to Tim, “I don’t wanta distract you from any business that you have to do. You have a one-track mind. I’ve watched you thinking about your business and I know that I’m only … how would you put it, your rest and recreation.”
“I didn’t choose to be what I am. I had this job when I was born. To give up now would be a waste of my life.” Tim tried to gain some respect. “I gotta experience some of the normal things occasionally.”
“Yes, but a black man’s gotta do what a black man’s gotta do. That’s what I always hear.” And with an edge in her voice Sylvia adds, “Just before they disappear.” She made eye contact with Tim knowing that she had hit the mark.
“You’re absolutely right.” Tim held her gaze and added, “How much was it that went into offshore deals, Sylvia? One hundred million.” Sylvia’s eyes widened only a fraction and not wanting to let it rest, Tim added, “The upper echelon of the New South Wales Land Council will have some explaining to do.”
Sylvia glared at Tim, but he continued. “Think I don’t know these things. Don’t protect those dogs. Imagine wasting one hundred million dollars in a bad offshore deal while promising the blacks in Redfern that they would get nothing. I was there the day that Keating made that speech. As soon as he finshed, I overheard some of the blacks saying, ‘Them blackfellas in Redfern will get nothin’.’ I didn’t want to knock ‘em arse over tit straight away. Wanted to get a bit of dirt on ‘em. Now I’ve got the dirt and I’m going to rub it in their faces.”
Sylvia, staunch in her stance and just as resolute, asked forcefully, “Are you finished?”
“I’ve been watching them uptowners, and make sure you tell them that,” he added.
“Where do you get your information from?” Sylvia asked.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s important,” Tim responded.
“All that was done before I got on to the committee,” Sylvia said.
“I know that and I know who the major player was,” Tim replied. “I been spreading yarns about him.”
“You’ll get yourself killed interfering with this stuff. They got too much at risk,” Sylvia warned Tim. “Besides, who’s gonna back you up?”
Tim looks towards the sky and says, “Him.”
Sylvia shook her head as Tim made his way down the street.
The wind rustled through the leaves keeping pace with Tim. The only sounds were his boots hitting the sidewalk and the wind which occasionally shook the trees. There was a fine mist of rain, the prelude to heavy showers. He crossed the brightly lit street hurrying, as he knew it was going to rain and rain heavily. He’d reached the awning of a shop as the rain began to bucket down. He moved back in to the shadows away from the rain and pulled out a cigarette. While staring at the rain coming down, his mind wandered back to his days on the streets of Sydney.
The thought of her opened old wounds and he wasn’t tough enough to hold back the tears that ran down his face. She was a white girl and they were best friends. She was wild, but who wasn’t in those days. “Where are you now?” he cried out softly. They were both fifteen and living on the streets. The coppers raped her one night and when she came back to Tim she had changed. The reckless innocence was gone and her smile had been replaced by a vacant look. She had been to hell and back but it took depraved coppers to break her spirit. She left that same night and Tim had not seen her since.
It was a rolling storm and the tail end was passing. He knew that there was a spirit with him as the wind danced across the sheets of water, making the rain fall in patterns across the road. However brief the dance, Tim knew that something was in the air. The rain was light, then heavy, light, then heavy, as Tim stepped out into it.
Sam was standing under an awning in Redfern, just about to run across the road, when he spotted Tim running across the road further down the street. Sam watched him go into the pub and looked at the rain and made a dash for the same place.
Tim was just about to order when Sam hopped through the door shaking off the water. He s
canned the bar for Tim. Tim was already watching him when they locked eyes and Tim pursed his lips and nodded towards his finger which was pointing at the schooner he was being served. Sam nodded.
From where they sat they could see three black men in their late teens. Among them was a red hair and freckles black fella. Tim instantly recognised them. One of them dropped his matches and caught it with his foot and then flicked it back into his hand. He smiled and looked around the bar to see who had seen it and been impressed. Tim and Sam were watching him and when his eyes fell on them his cigarette dropped out of his mouth. Tim and Sam laughed softly to themselves. The three got up and left. “They’ll be back,” Tim said, heading for the juke box. When he returned Sam was looking at Tim with a “don’t fuck me around with that weird bullshit” and a deadly serious look on his face.
“I’ve been spreading yarns. He’ll be here soon,” Tim said, putting Sam’s mind at rest, adding, “I might need ya.”
“Yarns about who?” Sam enquired about the identity of his prospective sparring partner.
“Bobby ‘Minna’ Manson.”
“Go for the little blokes, hey Tim,” Sam responded, going to get two more beers and adding over his shoulder, “You could’ve done that yourself.”
“I was going to. You just showed up.” And Tim added jokingly, “At the right time too. Here they are.”
Bobby Manson walked into the bar and headed straight for Tim. He had two very solid black back-up boys with him. “What you been saying about me, boy.”
“If they were lies I would apologise right now. I hear murder has been added to your charge sheet. That pretty little nurse.” Tim noticed a reaction and went for the jugular. “Brings back memories does it, Minna.”
“I have an intense hatred of corruption and I’m going to die one day because of it, but it’s not going to be to-fuckin’-night,” Tim said as the big man launched himself. After trading blows for a few seconds Minna landed one on Tim and it sent him reeling onto his back. Minna’s boot crashed into his body and head. Tim managed to grab his leg and as a last resort sunk his teeth into it. In the ensuing melee Tim scrambled to his feet as the big man rushed him again. Tim lined him up and put all his effort into one punch. It caught Minna and slowed him down. Blood began to flow from his nose.
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