‘I won’t tell you again.’
‘You kill as many people as I have, Lee, you get to not caring whether you live or die. You can pull that trigger, or not pul that trigger, it’s all the same to me.’
‘Likewise.’
Brad glanced at him and saw that he wasn’t joking. He pulled 123
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into the left lane. ‘I’m gonna pretend this never happened. Let you think about what you’ve done. We’re buildin something
here. You won’t find it easy to run from us. We’re not some bunch of Geraldton dropkicks.’
The cars in front were slowing for the lights. Lee cracked the door, got ready.
‘Son, we’re the only ones who can help you. It’s Friday. I
need a hand changing the clutch on my Charger tomorrow
afternoon. I’ll swing by and pick you up round three. I’ll have more news for you then. Something from your father. You’l
see.’
They both looked at the bag of cash on the floorpan. Brad
shook his head. The car pulled to a stop and Lee climbed out, tucked the Luger into his jeans and started walking north. He walked past schools breaking for the day, and offices where men and women stared at computer screens. Pubs where men
in overal s clutched at their drinks. Factories where the hiss and grind of machinery made a kind of music. He walked
across the park where the blacks were gathered by the lake, cackling and shouting at one another. He walked with his
shoulders hunched and his head down. People on the footpath saw him coming and stepped out of his way.
He left Beaufort Street and took suburban roads up the long hill toward the house where he hoped Frankie was waiting for him. He hadn’t examined why she might be waiting for him,
or why she was caring for him, because he didn’t care.
He felt sick by the time he reached the street. His skin was clammy and his eyes were watering. He felt hot and cold.
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The front door was locked and he shouldered at it, once,
twice, until he heard footsteps in the darkened hal . Frankie took one look at him and waved him in. He went straight into her room and sat on the bed.
The hours felt like minutes. He wasn’t aware of his finger-
nails on his skin, only the sensation of pinpricks rising to the surface of his flesh and a pleasure that flared when he scratched. Inside his head there was a blossoming of light
that surged through his body. He was aware of noises and the pressing of cold air on his eyelids and the gravity that pinned him to the bed, and everything was better as long as he was still, and quiet, and kept his eyes closed.
But there was a new weight on the bed and then a hand on
his face, caressing him. ‘Wake up, Lee.’
‘I am awake.’
‘I know. I could tell from your breathing.’
He opened his eyes and it was night. Frankie scratched his
head, smiling down at him, backlit by the glow from the hal .
‘Get dressed. We’re going out.’
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11.
Lee couldn’t help himself – he liked the music. Loud and
ferocious in the low dark room, all hard-charging guitar and manic drums with a solid melody weaving through bouts
of chaos; the strutting and clowning of the lead man. There were a few dozen people dancing, nearly all of them males,
slamming into each other and leaping about the place. The
odd fist thrown. Some girls bobbing on the edges. The stage was low and vibrating with the stomping and smashing
drums. It was so loud that Lee’s ears felt like they were being torn. He didn’t get to see a lot of live music back home and he’ d never seen anything like this crowd. Some of them were in their late twenties, like the band, but lots of them were his age, skinheads and the odd punk, and they’ d all taken a deal of care with their clothes and hair. Some were English, but most were local kids.
The club was called Minsky’s and according to Frankie
this was the first time it’ d hosted what she called her people.
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Her hair was teased out and her eyeliner was heavy. She
wore a tartan skirt and boots. A singlet and no bra. A faux knuckleduster ring on her left hand. She seemed to know
everyone in the room, although most of the time it was too
loud to talk. She sat on a pink vinyl pouf next to Lee, beside a couch made of the same material. People passed by and she nodded and waved, squeezed Lee’s hand.
The taxi had dropped them an hour earlier, and Lee
immediately recognised the street. It was the same one from earlier today. The bank there on the corner, dark now. Students on the footpaths, carrying bags and pizza boxes.
Every now and then some student-looking punters rose up
the entrance stairs, although they didn’t get very far. A couple of them took a look and turned on their heels. One drunk
young man in jeans and flannel walked into the crowd and
was set upon by skinhead boys crustying him on the top of the head, and when he started swinging, they took turns kicking him in the arse until he was down and crawling back to the
stairs.
The band now paused their set and the singer leapt into the crowd, was backslapped and offered a jug.
‘That’s Nigel,’ Frankie shouted, pointing out the bass player.
‘He just got back from a few months playing with Skrewdriver in England.’
The bass player saw her pointing and walked through the
crowd and leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. He
wore a cardigan over a swastika t-shirt. Jeans and plain black shoes. He took a cigarette from Lee’s pack and Frankie lit it for 127
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him. He drifted off toward the crowded bar.
‘They’re real y called Final Solution?’ Lee asked.
Frankie grinned. ‘I know.’
Lee wondered if she’ d taken something else, because her
eyes were dilated and she talked in blurts and wouldn’t sit stil . They were drinking lukewarm beer. She wouldn’t let him drink anything else because of how high he was.
It was true. He was awake because of the noise and the sense of violence in the room, but he still felt like he was floating on a carpet, the surges of pleasure weakened now to flushes of warmth.
With no music, the dancers started looking for distraction, shoving one another. More punches were thrown. One boy
who was punched in the mouth wiped away the blood and
forced a bloody kiss on his attacker, rolling around on the floor.
An older skinhead came to them. He nodded to Frankie but
leaned down to Lee.
‘I’ll fight you for her,’ he said quietly in a northern English accent.
Frankie heard too. ‘Go away, Geordie.’
‘Follow me out to the carpark and we’ll fight for her. How
you gonna protect her from scum like me if you’re too chicken to fight for her? That what happened to your face already? You wanna defend your woman, right?’
‘Fuck off, Geordie,’ said Frankie.
Lee looked him over. The guy was heavy-set and wore the
uniform of stovepipe jeans and boots. ‘Love’ and ‘Hate’ on his 128
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knuckles. A walking cliché, but Lee had the feeling that he’ d been there from the beginning.
Lee was just about to get up and take him on, but Frankie
put her hand on his thigh, squeezed forceful y. ‘Don’t worry about Geords. He’s just fucking around.’
Lee looked up into his face, which cracked with a cold
smile. ‘Yeah, I’m just fucken around with ya, mate. Hang on.
He doesn’t know, does he? Your prince charming?’
‘Know what?
’ Lee asked.
The big man roared, scratched his head, walked away.
‘Ah, nothing,’ Frankie answered. ‘This is about to get ugly.’
‘It sure is.’
The punters stranded on the dance floor were capering about and calling for the band to return, but the lead singer gave them the finger from the bar. One or two started kicking at the base of the stage. Another few started pulling the soundproof cladding from the wal s. Beer glasses rained onto the stage, smashing over the rear wal .
‘Just in time.’
Lee hadn’t seen the young woman enter until she leaned
over Frankie, and they began kissing. It was a long, passionate kiss.
Geordie shouted from the bar, ‘Give a man a go would ya,
ya dirty lezzos!’
Frankie’s finger went up, but she was smiling in the kiss.
Geordie too was smiling, hefting a table over his head and
launching it onto the dance floor.
The young woman kissing Frankie broke off first, turned to
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him. Frankie laughed. ‘Believe you two have met.’
He almost didn’t recognise her, with her purple eyeliner
and lipstick, the baggy jumper and gelled-up hair. It was the girl from the bank.
She took Lee’s hand and reached over and took Frankie’s
arm. ‘I’m Jen. Let’s get out of here before the cops arrive. I’ve had enough of the cops today, thanks to you two.’
She nudged Lee in the ribs and then they were headed for
the door. Outside, there was fighting in the street and someone had thrown a bin through a shop window. They walked to the
corner of the highway and flagged a taxi. The two women were laughing about Lee in the bank. Frankie tickled his chin while he walked, her arm around Jen.
‘So serious, were you? I bet!’
It wasn’t Frankie having a girlfriend that surprised Lee.
Frankie and Lee had spent many nights together in her bed,
but they’ d never made love – the gear they shared was enough.
Lee was more surprised by what Jen had said. ‘… thanks to
you two.’ Not that he should’ve been surprised. He’ d been housed with Frankie for a reason, and while he didn’t know
where she fit in, he didn’t particularly care, because his blood was still buzzing with warmth and they were headed back for more.
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PART II
12.
School was nearly out. Lee sat in the truck and checked his reflection in the rear-view mirror. The bruising on his face was gone. There was a pale scar on the bridge of his nose and a strip of sandpapery skin on his left cheekbone, but other than that he looked no different from when he’ d last seen Emma
those eleven months ago.
Despite the letter she’ d written, he wondered whether she’ d forgiven him, would want to see him again. He didn’t plan to tell her about his current situation but he craved the sound of her voice and that playful sparkle in her eyes, the feeling of her soft skin against his own, however brief that might be.
He’ d robbed four banks now and was getting to like it. He
wore a kerchief over his face like an old-time bushranger and Brad wore the same. The banks they were knocking over were
two-man operations, and there was always the driver in the
car outside. His name was Mick and he was also a veteran,
now a prison guard on the night shift. It was all done with 133
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military precision, from the planning to the execution.
Nobody got hurt, although Brad put the fear into the staff and customers to the extent that they didn’t remember too clearly.
The identikit pictures published in the papers were way off.
Lee checked his driver’s wing mirror to see if there were any students leaking out of the school grounds, but all was silent.
He’ d scouted Emma’s exit from the school. She always left by the main entrance with the same group of friends, walking the two hundred metres to the nearest bus stop. She looked happy as she undid her braids and shook out her hair, something
that none of the other girls did.
He wondered if she’ d seen the identikit pictures in the daily papers, and thought of him, even though the resemblance
was poor. He was described as young and of medium build.
Average everything. Brown hair and eyes beneath the grey
cap.
The truth was that his new life had become normal, from
the bank jobs to working his tow truck solo, the other drivers of True West Towing leaving him alone. He only went to the
depot to fill up his Ford, or to deposit those vehicles that were written off. He’ d towed a Mitsubishi people-mover
with a busted transmission on his way to Emma’s school, had dropped it off at the mechanics workshop in Spearwood run
by Gerry, the boxer. After that he went to Gerry and Frank’s boxing gym to train for an hour. He showered there, so he’ d be cleaned up. He trained there most days of the week now,
letting himself in with the key Gerry had given him. They
were alright, those two.
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A single girl in the full uniform walked out of the front
building, holding her straw hat against the sea breeze and
wincing into the sun. Lee rolled down the sleeves of his check shirt and popped the buttons closed. He was fixing himself
now. Frankie had shown him how to avoid infection, and
although the ground-up morphine tablets she sourced from
the hospital were pure and clean, he knew that the small red spots in the crux of his arm and on the back of his wrist were there, and that was enough to want to hide them. He didn’t
get much of a high anymore, but he still looked forward to the end of every day, when he got home and fixed himself. During the day he cracked the pil s with his teeth and swallowed the bitter juices. The pil s kept him on the level, where he needed to be.
He saw her then. Not dressed in the long woollen skirt and
blazer, but in a dark blue tracksuit with white tennis shoes.
Lee climbed out. He walked to the front of the truck and
took his position. He was more nervous than before the last bank robbery. He straightened his col ar and shot his cuffs and leaned on the roo bar, trying not to look too obvious.
Such a country boy, he thought, with his check shirt, jeans and workboots. He remembered his sunglasses and took them
off, waved a hand over his shorn head.
She was with the same group of girls as every day, taller than the rest of them. She shook out her long black hair, something she’ d inherited from her Chinese-Burmese mother. Her lips
were a natural red and her cheeks were rosy.
He wasn’t going to say anything. She would see him, and
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her reaction would tell him what he needed to know.
She hefted her bag that contained a hockey stick strapped to its side, which kept slipping. She fell behind her friends, who hadn’t noticed.
They passed and looked him up and down, not liking what
they saw. The hick. The dirty old truck.
She was in the process of catching them up when she saw
him. Her face broke into a smile. Her eyes, so warm and
brown.
‘That stick for use on me?’ he asked.
‘Might be if you don’t come and give me a hug.’
He stepped to her and she slipped into his arms. Her hair
smelled the same, like pine needles. It was as though the last eleven months weren’t real.
One of her friends, a short pale girl who under her boater hat looked like a cartoon duck, was right there. ‘Em, everything ok?’
Emma didn’t introduce him, or speak. He felt her nod on
his shoulder, and the girl stepped away. Emma leaned back
and framed his face with her hands, stood on her toes and
planted a kiss on his mouth.
*
They sat at a café table on Fremantle’s main street. Most of the other people were old men and none of them were speaking
English. There were some heavy-looking boys with ratty mullets dressed in black jeans standing around a red Monaro on the
street. One or two of them glared at him, and he looked away.
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They hadn’t talked about it on the drive down, and he could see that she didn’t want to talk about it now. Perhaps later, once things were settled.
He’ d lied to her and said that he was working on a farm near Albany, was just up for a few days to buy parts for his truck.
But he’ d never been that far south, and hoped she didn’t ask questions.
He thought about telling her that he was working on the
tuna-boats, but that would be a big mistake. It was a prawn trawler that her favourite cousin, David, was found hanged
on, there in Geraldton Harbour. A middle-class city boy who’ d made the mistake of telling Danny Hislop, by then a Knights prospect like Lee, to fuck off. They were all drinking, and Lee and Emma had been kissing on the bow, their legs hanging
over the polished steel surface of the night water.
They shouldn’t have brought David along. He was funny
and anxious and didn’t fit in, didn’t know what the rules were.
Danny was ribbing him a bit but Lee knew that he was holding back, too. But it obviously didn’t feel like that to David. Both Lee and Emma heard the ‘fuck off’, as did everyone else on the boat, and down the jetty. Then a nervous giggle. Lee stood over them where they were seated on the deck, sharing a bottle of green ginger wine, and a joint. Danny looked up and met his eyes, and Lee looked for it, that meanness he was famous for, aroused. But Lee didn’t see it, and that was his biggest mistake.
No matter how many times Emma pleaded with David to
join them, to come back home with them, he refused, insisting that he and Danny were going to finish the bottle and go to 137
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a nightclub. He was happy-stoned. His face flushed with the wine.
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