Dust Off the Bones

by Paul Howarth

  Billy stood there beaming. Proud as a baboon’s arse. Bitterly Tommy smirked and put the kettle on to boil. “The new John Sullivan. Just like you always wanted.”

  “It ain’t like that.”

  “It’s exactly like that. Right down to your fucking boots.”

  “Hey now.”

  “We were never good enough for you, Billy. You grew up ashamed.”

  That silenced him. Tommy patted himself dry with a towel, then when the water was boiled made the tea. He cleared space at the table, shoving aside the papers and crockery, the ashtray and dirty cups, and set their mugs opposite each other, though neither moved to sit down.

  “It’s not what you think,” Billy said. “I never meant for things to work out how they did. Truth is, I didn’t want it, the estate, not at first anyway. She’d have likely married someone else if William hadn’t come along.”

  “Seems you’re making the best of it, anyhow.”

  “Is it my money you’re most jealous of, little brother, or my wife?”

  “Jealous? Do you have any idea the shit I’ve been through? By rights I should probably be dead, and there’s you moaning about making your fortune, not a hair out of place. Sitting up there on Sullivan’s throne, wearing his clothes, fucking his wife . . . hell, you even talk like him almost. That man was behind everything, Billy—he knew damn well there were never any natives at the house that day. You knew it too.”

  The hurt on Billy’s face was obvious. Quietly, he said, “We found Joseph’s gun.”

  Tommy sighed. “The gun proves nothing. It never did. All those people we killed—how is that still all right in your mind?”

  “It was only Joseph I went after. The rest was up to them.”

  “But Joseph wasn’t there! And Sullivan, Noone, they already knew he wouldn’t be—they used us, you more than anyone, as an excuse to slaughter the Kurrong. And we let them. Went with them. If you can’t see that you’re even stupider than I thought.”

  Billy stood there, his face flushed and knotted with doubt. He scraped out a chair and flopped into it. “Yeah, well, I ain’t done with that cunt yet.”

  Tommy shook his head. Billy hadn’t changed. Reluctantly he sat down. Watching his brother sip the steaming tea, returning his stare over the rim. Billy pulled a cigarette tin from his pocket, popped the lid, offered the tin across.

  “I heard you like a smoke nowadays. So my man said anyway.”

  Tommy paused then took one. “What else did he tell you?”

  “That you’re fond of your dog,” Billy said, tapping his own cigarette on the tabletop, turning it over and pinching it between his lips. “And you’ve a blackboy here, no woman . . .” He glanced around the room. “Which seems about right to me.”

  Tommy smoked with his arms folded, holding himself across the chest. “You’d better not have told anyone else.”

  “’Course not.”

  “He can’t find me, Billy.”

  “Who you on about now?”

  “You know who I’m bloody on about. He said it wasn’t allowed. This.”

  Tommy waved a hand between the pair of them. Billy sighed. “Ah, Noone’s not interested in you no more. If he’d wanted to find you he could have. He knew you killed that overseer down in St. George. Told me all about it too.”

  Dread crippled him. He couldn’t move. The cigarette at his lips, his mug gripped in his hand, picturing the two of them, Noone and Billy, laughing in John Sullivan’s old parlor, drinking whiskey and sharing the news. Of course Billy would be in with him. Of course he would, the dog.

  “This was a good while back, mind you. Long story short, one of his troopers had took off, Possum or Wombat or whatever the fuck he was called.”

  “Rabbit,” Tommy whispered, his bat-like face rearing to mind.

  “That’s the fella. Anyhow, you remember Drew Bennett, Daddy knew him, has that little place to the south there; the stupid bugger let the boy hide in his barn. Noone said unless I helped bring him in he’d ride out and track you down. He guessed where you were headed, everything. I saved you from him, Tommy, can’t you see?”

  So Noone had spared him, had let him get away. It shocked Tommy to realize that he’d meant so little; that he’d been running from a man who didn’t care.

  “The point is,” Billy said, sliding the ashtray closer, crushing his cigarette, lighting another, “if Noone didn’t give a shit back then, he sure as hell doesn’t now. And things are different, I’m a rich man these days, I ain’t scared of him. Keeping us apart all this time, treating me like his lapdog . . . he wants something, he whistles, like he did with that trial. It wasn’t me they were after, but he roped me in as well.”

  Blinking, Tommy tuned in again. “What trial?”

  “You didn’t read about it? Thing was all over the Brisbane papers.”

  “I don’t exactly follow the northern news.”

  “There was this inquest, back in ninety-seven, into the killings, and all what came after. Remember that priest we stumbled on out there, well, he hired this city lawyer, name of Henry Wells, who stirred up all sorts of trouble on the coast. They did the trial in Bewley, though, the whole thing was rigged. Noone walked. So did I, not that I should have been there in the first place—we were the victims after all.”

  “They put Noone on trial?”

  “In a manner of speaking, aye. ’Course, he fed them a load of horseshit, which I had to back up, and that priest never made it to the courthouse, they must have got to him before.”

  A creeping fear rose in Tommy. There was something in how Billy was talking, that smirk in his eyes. I ain’t done with that cunt yet, he had said, and Tommy had dismissed it. But there was more to this than just sharing a tale.

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “I thought you might be interested. Among other things.”

  “What other things? What have you done, Billy?”

  “Nothing yet,” Billy said, exhaling. “But I plan to. Noone needs paying back. I met with that same lawyer in Brisbane just now, he’s going to cut us a deal. Immunity, including for you. All what happened in that crater, even the St. George thing, you’ll be rid of all of it, gone. I was thinking, if you wanted, you could come back home, get the old place going, or anywhere else you fancied, there’s enough land, take your pick. I put Noone away and we’re free again, Tommy. Neither of us was to blame.”

  “We’re as much to blame as anyone! You even more so!”

  Billy waved a hand. “Ah, Jesus, can you not just let all that go?”

  “Let it go? Have you heard yourself. Let it fucking go?”

  “It was twenty-one years ago, we were children.”

  Tommy was shaking. “I still wake up in that crater sometimes. The noise of it, the smells. You talk like it’s forgotten, like we did nothing wrong.”

  “We didn’t. That’s what I’m saying. Not compared to him. Noone used us, Tommy, you just said so yourself. Twisting everything, like he did with me and Drew Bennett, the man’s a fucking snake in the grass. He ruined our lives, sending you off, splitting us up. Now’s the chance to put it right.”

  “I don’t want nothing from you. I’m happy. Don’t go fucking that up.”

  “He’s old now, Tommy,” Billy said, smiling. “A feeble old man, so I’ve heard. Got comfy in his mansion in Brisbane, sitting in lounges, smoking cigars.”

  “Leave it alone. For God’s sake, Billy. Please.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not just for me I’m doing this. I’ve a family now.”

  “Exactly. And you know what he’ll do. Who he’ll go after next.”

  Billy stubbed out his cigarette. “After the inquest, after it all came out, me and Katherine have had no kind of marriage, she can’t stand to look at me almost, told me so herself, and the children’ll find out soon enough who their old man is, if they haven’t already figured it out. I have to do something, Tommy. Before it’s too late.�
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  “It is too late. You already are whatever they think.”

  “I know that. Which is why I have to change it, confess.”

  Utter disbelief in Tommy’s stare. “And what? Then they’ll forgive you?”

  “Aye, maybe.”

  “It isn’t worth the risk.”

  Billy looked at him sadly. “You’re still that scared of him, eh?”

  “With good reason.”

  “Not anymore, mate. Not anymore. It’s a whole different country out there. Look, I came down here to see you, and tell you, not ask your permission about all this. I’ve missed you, Tommy. Thought maybe you felt the same. I suppose I was hoping you’d come home, get Glendale going, be together again.”

  “Glendale’s a slaughterhouse. How can you even . . . ?”

  Billy stared at him a long time, faint pity in his eyes. Outside, through the rain patter, Tess barked then fell silent and the horses nickered loudly in the barn. Billy rose and gathered his cigarettes, shoved them into his pocket, drained his tea.

  “I’m glad I found you, anyhow. I was worried you might be dead. If ever you want to visit, you know where we are. Stay safe, little brother. Thanks for the tea.”

  “Wait,” Tommy said, standing. “What you doing?”

  “I didn’t come all this way to lose you again. Not like this.”

  “Hold up, now. Sit down.”

  “I know when I’m not welcome.”

  “’Course you bloody are.”

  A wan smile. “You know, I actually thought you’d be all for it, me coming forward, saying what went on. I know how cut up you always were.”

  Tommy had no answer for that. The idea of publicly confessing had never occurred to him before. He asked, “When is this hearing anyhow?”

  Billy waved a hand. “Not soon. Months, maybe, the deal needs arranging first. And Wells is on about visiting the crater. I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “You’ve not been back?”

  “What do you reckon?”

  “You were so casual about it, Billy. Even after, it was like they were nothing.”

  Billy was silent a long time, a faraway look in his eyes. “I’m not proud of who I was back then. There’s a lot I’m not proud of, even now.”

  His head hung, searching the floor. It was the first glimpse of contrition Tommy had ever seen from his brother, more than he could have imagined, and for a moment the admission hung like fire smoke, clogging the air in the room, clouding everything between them, until Billy jerked to life and snatched a breath as if it was forgotten, a gust of wind blowing the smoke clear.

  “Right, well, I’d best be off.”

  “What time’s the Melbourne train?”

  “Next one’s not till tomorrow. There a decent hotel in town?”

  Tommy scoffed. “There’s rooms at the pub but nothing decent about them. Stop for a bite at least, won’t you? I could put some supper on?”

  “You sure? A minute ago you seemed ready to throw me out the door.”

  “Mind, I’ve not got much food in and I’m no kind of a cook. Emily was meant to be bringing two pies up, and Rosie usually does the meals, so . . .”

  “Two women now, is it? Ain’t you a dark horse?”

  “Rosie’s Arthur’s missus. They live in the house out back.”

  “Arthur? As in . . . ?”

  Tommy nodded. “We split the land between us. Share it, I mean.”

  “Well, bugger me.”

  “Not sure how welcome you’d be at their place though.”

  Billy raised his hands in acceptance. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got.” He reached for his mug. “And maybe something stronger than tea?”

  They took a bottle of whiskey out onto the front verandah and sat together on the bench, watching the gully through the curtain of the rainstorm, the daylight already fading, raising their voices over the din. Tommy lit the lanterns and sloshed a large measure of whiskey into their rinsed-out mugs; they touched, silently saluted, and sat there drinking contentedly, until Tommy said, “You really married Mrs. Sullivan?”

  “I did,” Billy said, laughing. “Luckiest bastard that ever lived. Like I said, if it hadn’t been for William coming it might not have happened—I missed you at the wedding, brother, stood up there on my own.”

  “In Bewley?”

  “The little church. Same as always. Nothing much has changed.”

  “I saw the birth notice in The Queenslander. Suzanna. Four, it said?”

  “I thought you didn’t read the northern papers?” Billy said, glancing at him. Tommy shrugged. “Aye, two boys, two girls. The girls are angels. Isobel, the eldest’s called. The boys . . . well, William’s nothing like me, gave him my name but that’s about it. Fucking useless around the station but good with his books, seems better suited to school. I tried teaching him but there’s no point, too much of Katherine’s side in his blood. But the other boy, Thomas—”

  “You called your sons William and Thomas?”

  “’Course I did, what else? Now, Thomas is a proper McBride: only eleven but there’s a natural way with him, good on a horse, roping, all of it. Takes after his uncle, I reckon. Reminds me of us at that age.”

  Tommy drank, swallowing hard, pushing down the lump in his throat. To hear Billy speak of his children, of Tommy’s nieces and nephews, of the boy Billy had named after him and who was skilled on a horse . . . of a family, blood relations, still out there somewhere, after all this time. He said, “I had no idea, Billy.”

  “No, well, it’s not always as perfect as it sounds. Nothing just landed in my lap. Most places up north folded in the drought—you must have heard how things was. It was close for a while there. I worked my arse off to keep us afloat. And our name’s not done me any favors along the way, neither, I can guarantee you that.”

  “Aye, well, you and me both.”

  “Where did this Robert Thompson come from anyway?”

  “Saw it on a gravestone, outside St. George.”

  “You nicked the name off a dead bloke?”

  Tommy shrugged. “Figured he didn’t need it no more.”

  Billy laughed, they both drank. “See, that’s what I was thinking. It might be we can put all that into the deal, clear your name for good. Then you could properly be yourself again, move on.”

  “I know it might not seem much, but honestly, I’m happy here as I am.”

  “You belong up north, though, Tommy. This rain, the hills and valleys, it’s all wrong. A tiny hut, no family to speak of, I mean your dog’s nice enough but . . .”

  Tommy leaned forward, glancing up and down the verandah.

  “What you lost?” Billy said.

  “She normally beats me round here. Reckon you must have scared her off.”

  “I have that effect on females. Even dogs.”

  Billy lit a cigarette, offered Tommy one. Another splash of whiskey in each mug. They drank and smoked in silence until Billy said, “So who’s this Emily you were talking about? The one with the two lovely pies?”

  Tommy smirked, took a drag of the cigarette, glanced at him sidelong. “She runs the little bakery in town.”

  “I saw her! Pretty blond thing? I saw her through the window this afternoon!”

  “That’s her. We’ve been off and on about a year now. Well, not off exactly, just . . . her husband died, we’re taking it slow.”

  “For a year?”

  “I’ve not always been well.”

  “As in sick?”

  “I’m fine, we’re fine. She would have been up here now if it wasn’t for some suspect-looking bastard snooping around town. I told her to stay home.”

  “Hey now, don’t blame me for your woman troubles, it ain’t my fault you—”

  Billy’s head erupted in an explosion of blood and bone, smacked hard against the house wall then rebounded and came to rest hanging with his chin against his chest. The back of the head was missing, a smooth round hole at the front, a trickle of blood beginning to
seep. His whiskey mug slid from his grip and thudded on the deck and turned a slow circle through the spillage; he was still somehow holding his cigarette. Aghast, Tommy stared at him, while in the distance, across the gully, through the rain, a single crack of gunfire reverberated in the hills.

  Chapter 37

  Tommy McBride

  Billy’s body slumped forward, arms hanging low. The cigarette finally fell. Half-lidded eyes, staring; the bullet hole in-between. A thin red bead ran along the bridge of his nose and dripped like sweat from the tip.

  On the far bank of the gully, squatting drenched among the ferns and trees, Percy rodded another ball into that great Hawken rifle, and took aim again.

  Tommy watched his brother tilting, the bead of blood hanging, the mug rocking lightly on the deck. Lost in a kind of reverie, numb, dimly registering the fading rifle report and the silence that followed in the hills. Then at the last a jolt of clarity, a premonition, and he hurled himself to the floor just as a second gunshot fizzed overhead and tore through the wall behind.

  Percy tutted irritably. Tipped in a measure of powder. Dropped another ball in.

  Around the bench Tommy scrambled, through the pool of spilled whiskey, past Billy’s knees, legs, stockinged feet. He shouldered the door open and fell into the front room, and was showered in splinters as another shot hit. He kicked the door closed behind him, scrabbled on all fours for the kitchen archway, a cacophony of glass breaking as the front window was blown out.

  Percy peppered the house, laughing. Like taking potshots at the fair.

  Out of range around the archway, Tommy cowered with his back against the kitchen wall. Desperately scanning the room for a weapon, but there were only knives in the house. The nearest firearm was in the stables, the shotgun on the table, he’d seen it there earlier on. Idiot. Stupid to assume he was safe. But then he’d not counted on Billy, his arrogance, thinking he could come here, that Noone would not know, all the while leading him directly to Tommy’s door.

  Percy wiped the rain from the scope lens, then settled his sights again, smirking at Billy keeled over on the bench. “Chickenshit,” he mumbled through his chewing tobacco, a wet brown squelch between his teeth. He roved the front of the house slowly. The other brother was hiding in the back. Meaning he’d either run for the stables or take off on foot over the fields. Percy knew which one he would wager. He placed his bets on the corner of the building and waited to see if he’d won.