Big White Lies

by Jay Darby

  “What have Jane and Amber said?”

  He hesitated. “They can’t remember a thing, both were knocked out.”

  “I can hear it in your voice, Port…What aren’t you telling me?”

  Porter didn’t want to lie, but stuck to his vow to trust no-one. “There’s nothing more, mate.”

  “Why’d they take Amber? They must have links to the traffickers? Or this, ‘KA’ organization we’re looking for?”

  “What’s with the interrogation, mate?” Porter shouted into the phone. He wasn’t angry but wanted to sound it, in the hope Williams would back off. “I don’t fucking know…Alright?”

  “Hey, careful, I’m still your boss...” After a few seconds, Williams sighed. “Shit, Port, I didn’t call to argue with you…I just hoped for the slightest clue, something to pull us out of this quagmire. And if you don’t have it, I’m worried these pricks will get away with every abduction and murder they’ve committed.”

  “Your blokes’ need patience, until more leads develop overseas…I’ve gotta focus on Carinya for now, and getting Lionel’s inquiry…International media coverage and political pressure – it’s the best hope for these girls.”

  “Understood…Well, at least the abductions have stopped. But I worry Sydney’s lost interest in those still missing, and they’ll soon be forgotten...”

  “Not if Carinya can force a public inquiry?”

  “Yes, I guess so…In the meantime, you need to find the historical evidence that Lionel was convinced exists in that outback shithole.”

  Porter saw himself raise the lid of a wooden chest and gaze upon the Cumal files. “That’s the plan, mate... And for the record, reckon you’re spot on, that this KA mob did hurt my girls. And when I find the mongrels, I’ll be dishing out my own form of bush justice…”

  FORTY EIGHT

  “Bloody hell, dad, turn your friggin’ phone off will ya,” Jim Thompson said with a slur. He pointed to writhing naked bodies on the television in the corner. “Between it and your porn, how the fuck can we concentrate on cards? And it’s ten-thirty, who the fuck keeps calling you this late?”

  Bill Thompson took a cigar from his mouth. He blew smoke towards the cloud hanging over the dining room table, then leaned back in the chair. “It’s Dan Porter…The prick hasn’t left me alone since Sunday at Cobb mine…Wanted to interview me tonight and I told him to fuck off, ‘cos Wednesday night’s poker night. Right boys?” He raised a whiskey-filled glass to the four men around the table.

  Jim guzzled beer from a bottle, then brushed spillage on his white polo shirt. “If Porter turns up here, I’ll kill him…”

  “I know it, son,” Bill said with a frown. “And you wouldn’t have to if these useless turds had finished him on top of Bunyip Hill…” He pointed to the three-man assassination team sat opposite. They wore black t-shirts and cargo pants. “It'll take a Thompson to finish the job…” His face lit up, he slammed cards onto the table. “Now, beat that beauty.”

  “Fuck, another straight?” Chubby KA72 scratched his grey-flecked, ginger beard. “Very suss…”

  “Now, now, 72, stop whinging…I’ve given you boys refuge in my home, it’s only fair I take your money.”

  KA72 threw cards into the air. “Your deal, 256,” he said to the muscular man in his mid-twenties next to him.

  KA198 swore. He was the team’s third member, of similar age and build to KA256. “I’m out, broke…”

  The doorbell buzzed, louder than the moans coming from the television. The assassination team jumped to their feet and drew pistols from shoulder holsters.

  Jim pulled a Glock from the utility belt slung over his chair. He glared at KA72. “Get down the hallway, hide in the bedrooms. Porter’s here.”

  “Fucking relax,” Bill said. “It’s Ronny from the pub, delivering beer...Don’t freeze like you’ve pissed your pants, let the boy in.”

  Jim strolled towards the front door, the other soldiers sat. He returned carrying two cartons of beer.

  Ronny Goodwin stood behind him holding two more cartons. He wore khaki bib and brace overalls, too tight at his shoulders and ample gut, over a red flannelette shirt he’d rolled to the elbows. He greeted them with a shy smile.

  Jim peered at Bill. “It okay if Ronny stays for a beer?” He placed the cartons on the kitchen bench, and Ronny did the same.

  Bill waved Ronny towards him. “Pull up a chair, son. Have a drink.”

  KA72’s face turned crimson. “Wait…Who’s this guy?” He stared at Ronny. “Can we trust him?”

  Jim pushed Ronny into a chair, slapped his back, and handed him a beer. “There’s no-one I’d trust more. Ronny’s one of us…” He slapped him again. “Aren’t you, mate?”

  Ronny coughed and swatted cigar smoke. “Yep, that’s what you always ta, ta, tell me.”

  “Fuck me.” KA256 rocked back in the chair, eyes wide. “You sharing our secrets with a retard now?”

  Jim cuffed him across the back of the head. “Enough,” he growled into his ear. “Don’t forget, it’s Ronny who saw you and Fred Klose with Rhodes at Bunyip Hill…Carinya hammered him, but Ronny never said a word…So lay off.”

  Bill pointed to the KA soldiers. “Ronny, these are mates of ours from the city.”

  Ronny rocked back and forward towards the table. He sipped beer, rested it on his gut, then turned towards the television. A dark-skinned girl kissed a fat white man. “Wow,” he said, “she’s pretty hot.”

  Jim laughed. “But not as hot as Lyn Foster, eh?”

  “No girl’s like Lyn...”

  Jim punched his shoulder. “Too bad she wants me, mate.”

  Ronny winced and pretended to throw a jab. “Hey, Lyn’s mine.”

  Bill chuckled in between puffs of his cigar. “Ronny,

  you think the skank in that movie’s a good sort?”

  He wobbled in the chair and burped. “Down the hall on the right’s my darkroom.” He signaled for Ronny to stand. “There’re two boxes on the bench, bring me the smaller one. And no need for a sticky beak…Go on son, I’ve something to show you.” His glazed eyes swept around the table. “All of you.”

  Ronny wandered down the hallway.

  “That reminds me…” Jim took sheets of folded paper from his shirt pocket. He handed a page to each man. Two spares fell to the floor. “Printed these today, as a memento. Thought you’d appreciate them...”

  KA72 laid the sheet on the table. It was a photo, of a group in black combat uniforms and balaclavas. They posed outdoors with a naked woman. “Hmm…Jane. Gotta say, she had amazing tits.” He winked at Jim. “Ta, one for the album…”

  The others giggled at their photos, then hid them from view when Ronny returned with a blue shoebox.

  “That’s the one.” Bill said as he took the box from Ronny. He dropped bundles on the table. He removed the rubber bands that bound them and spread the photos in front of him. Tens of them, all in black and white. Some depicted white men in sexual acts with young Koori girls. In others, girls posed naked, barely in puberty.

  Ronny sat back and sipped his beer. The others sifted through the photos, grinned and whistled.

  Bill glanced sideways at Jim. “These pics are what your mum found, bless her soul...Wish she hadn’t…”

  Jim grunted and sculled his beer.

  Bill plucked a photo from the table and handed it to Ronny. “Now, she’s a beauty…Not bad eh, son?”

  Ronny cringed. “She looks ta, ta, too young.”

  KA72 scoffed. “That’s the best part, dickhead.” He held a photo in front of Bill’s face. “This one’s a trooper, four guys at once.”

  Bill nodded.

  “No slappers in here, boss,” KA198 said.

  “Had plenty of scrumptious black bunnies in my day...” Bill pulled a bundle covered in black plastic from the box and unwrapped it. “But this one was by far my favorite girl from the mission…”

  Ronny sipped beer and watched the porn movie.

  Bill
held the photos in two hands, his eyes sparkled while he flicked through them. “Hmm, hmm.” His head tilted, he licked his lips. “Had fun times with this one...” He handed photos to KA72.

  KA72 studied them, then passed them around the table. “Gorgeous...” He let out a low whistle. “Well developed for a teenaged Koori. Must’ve had some whitey in her…Thin nose, round arse, decent tits. Nice skin…” He looked at Ronny. “Same caramel color as our friend here...”

  “She was a teenager in those pics, but only eleven the first time I had her...Crazy bitch fought like hell.” Bill made a devious sniggering sound. “Had to whack her to stop the screaming. Cut her open, but she didn’t flinch. Was prouder than a stallion’s cock, and had more balls than any of the Koori men, who never once tried to stop us.”

  “Stop, ‘us’? How many of you went there?” Jim said.

  “Oh, more than twenty over the years. Most have already dropped from the perch…”

  “And Barrett?”

  “George would drive me out there, but never partook. Was too smitten with Mary…Plus he got spooked out there one time and…” Bill hesitated, then frowned as he glanced to Ronny. Ronny stared at the TV and seemed oblivious to the conversation around him. “Did you boys hear what George said in the cavern before we escaped?”

  “Yeah, the fucking lunatic…” Jim said.

  “He’d been talking of those Koori ghosts for years…” Bill laughed, then his smile vanished, and he continued like the melancholic drunk he was. “Shame about George and Mary, were good friends of ours...” He turned to KA72. “When you took the files, did Mary suffer?”

  “Nope, it was a clean hit…”

  “Good, and speaking of cleanliness…When you put the helicopter down with our boys in it, are you certain the explosion would’ve incinerated them? We can’t have investigators finding their gun-shot wounds…”

  “Don’t concern yourself, boss, that bird exploded hotter than Vesuvius. Felt it as I landed a hundred meters away…Forensic cops will be lucky to find a bone, let alone flesh…”

  “Who’d you put in as the pilot?”

  “Fred Klose, he was already half cooked when we took his body from the car wreck. Cops are saying his indentity can’t be confirmed.”

  Bill dipped his head, sucked the cigar.

  Photos of Bill’s favorite girl made their way to Jim. His face screwed as he studied one. “Ewh, fuck me dad, could’ve said you’re in some of these. Didn’t need to see your fat guts and wrinkly little cock…”

  Bill smirked. “Pass them to Ronny if you don’t appreciate beauty...”

  “Is this favorite of yours still around?” Jim grinned. “Still a good sort?”

  “Christ, son, she’d be well over sixty now. Heard a rumor in, shit, ’68 or thereabouts, that she was up the duff with my kid. Would’ve been aged thirteen or fourteen by then…”

  Jim’s eyebrows furrowed. “Fuck, what happened to her and the baby?”

  “No idea…She disappeared, was never seen around here again. Searched the city for a bit, around Redfern, and spoke to the locals. No-one knew of her.”

  Jim grunted and passed photos to Ronny.

  He held one at arms’ length and turned his head away.

  “Go on, son,” Bill said, “look at her... None these days do what that firecracker could.” He pumped a fist at shoulder height. All except Ronny joined him in a chorus of laughter.

  Ronny thumbed through more photos, his forehead wrinkled. Others shouted and cursed and started a new game of poker. Bill sorted photos. Jim filled beer cartons with empty bottles and soggy cigars.

  Ronny threw the photos of Bill’s favorite girl onto the table and dropped his bottle to the timber floor. The raucous banter stopped, all eyes fixed on him.

  Bill chortled. “Christ son, they’re raunchy pictures, but didn’t think you’d get that excited...”

  Ronny picked the bottle from the floor. “Sa, sa, sorry.”

  “What’s up, Ron?” Jim yanked a thumb towards KA72. “You’ve gone whiter than ginger here. Feeling crook?”

  “Yeah, bit dizzy from the beer.” Ronny rubbed his gut. “Haven’t had dinner yet.” His hands trembled as he drew the photos into a pile.

  “Ronny, I’ll pack those away in a sec,” Bill said. “Grab a cloth, clean up the beer.” He burped and wobbled to his feet. “Going for a piss…”

  “Will throw a few pies in the microwave, Ronny can eat with us.” Jim strolled into the kitchen. “Feeling a bit peckish meself.”

  Bill returned five minutes later, scooped his photos from the table and wrapped them in plastic.

  Jim put a plate of meat pies on the table. “Tucker time...”

  Ronny stood when he’d finished cleaning the floor. “Thanks, but I gotta go. Emma wants me back there…”

  Bill squinted at him. “Alright, son…But as Jim said, you’ve been loyal to our cause. Stay a minute, to help us toast old friends.”

  Ronny said nothing.

  “We’ll have the blue, son,” Bill told Jim.

  Jim grabbed a bottle of Johnny Walker blue label from a side cabinet. He filled six glasses and handed one to each man. They stood.

  “Unfortunately, for obvious reasons, we couldn’t attend their funerals today…” Bill said, his voice tinged with sadness. “But those boys know we’re thinking of them all the same. Here’s to lost brothers, Chuck McKinlay and Boozer Watkins.” He raised his glass. “Leaders, friends, and great, great men.”

  “To brothers lost,” four of them said.

  Ronny pretended to drink.

  “As you boys know,” Bill continued, “the highest-ranked, remaining high council member, is yours truly.” He grinned. “From this moment forth I will hold the title of KA1, a Regal Lord, Supreme Leader of the Knights of Alba...”

  “To our new leader,” Jim led the toast. “Si Diis Placet.”

  “Pleased be the gods,” all but Ronny replied.

  “Thank you, boys, thank you,” Bill said. “Sadly, inexplicably, in the madness of the past week, we’ve also lost our Secretary, KA6.” He stepped closer to Jim, his blood-shot eyes scanned his face. “Jim, my son, you’ve made me a proud old man.” He took a brass skeleton key from his breast pocket. “Take care of this key, and the history it protects...Fellow Knights, I present to you,” his arm extended towards Jim with an upturned palm, “our new Secretary, KA6, keeper of the Cumal files...”

  “To KA6,” all but Ronny said.

  Jim embraced his father. “I’ll protect them with my life.”

  “Damn right you will...” Bill thumped a fist against his chest, and they separated. He handed him the key. “No son of mine will be the first to lose them.” He sculled whiskey, then sat and continued sorting his photos.

  Ronny placed his glass on the table. “Thanks for the drink. Have ta, ta, to go. Emma will kill me.” He moved into the kitchen, towards the front door.

  Jim slapped his back as he went past. “Give my love to Lynny...”

  Ronny hurried through the kitchen and front foyer, then tugged the door open. He stepped through the doorway and began to close the door behind him.

  “Stop!” Bill yelled from inside. “Get back here you black bastard. Right now!”

  Ronny’s shoulders slumped, he froze for a few seconds then shuffled back to the dining room. Bill sat with his palms on the table, he breathed loud and labored. Jim and the other KA soldiers stood behind him, arms folded.

  Ronny stopped in front of Bill and bowed his head. “Yes, Mr Thompson? Sa, sa, something wrong?”

  “Well, son…You tell me.”

  Ronny’s eyes searched the ceiling. “What do you mean?”

  “Look at me!” Bill waited until Ronny did. “I’ve always had fifty photos of my beauty. But just now, I’ve counted only forty-nine…” He snorted as he stood, an enraged bull ready to charge, face redder than a matadors’ muleta. “So tell me son, where’s the missing photo? ‘Cos if I don’t get it this minute, you’re a dead man.
”

  FORTY NINE

  Ronny stood in front of a livid Bill Thompson, his head bowed. He gulped for air like a fish on a jetty.

  “Well?” Bill slurred. “I asked you a question, son...Did you take one of my photos or not?”

  “No, I never,” Ronny blurted.

  “Bullshit.” Bill turned to Jim. “The bastard’s stolen it, search him.”

  “No, look.” Ronny turned all pockets inside out and held his palms open.

  Bill moaned. “Christ, son, think I’m a fucking idiot? Do a proper search, Jim.” He fixed his eyes on Ronny. “Last chance…”

  Ronny blinked, tears welled. “Got no photo, Mr Thompson. Promise.”

  “Fuck me, dad, give the fella a break,” Jim said. “I aint searching him...”

  Bill glared. “Jim, do it. He’s stolen my girl.”

  “You’re pissed, and can’t remember how many photos you had…” Jim placed an arm around Ronny’s shoulders. “And why would he take one? He only looked ‘cos you forced him to…”

  Bill’s brow furrowed, he watched Ronny in silence. “I’m drunk as ten men, and it’s been an emotional day…” He dismissed him with a flick of his hand. “Fuck off back to the pub…And if you tell anyone what you’ve heard here tonight, I’ll kill you.”

  ------------------------------

  Porter and Lyn Foster sat on stools along the Crooked River Hotel’s main bar, two of the four patrons that remained. The barman Patto, in his mid-thirties and resembling the wild pigs he liked to hunt, poured beers. Emma Rowe bent next to him and chatted with Porter and Lyn while she tapped a keg.

  Ronny Goodwin rushed to the bar and panted as he leaned on it.

  Emma straightened and scowled at him. “You took your time…”

  “Sa, sa, sorry, Bill made me have a beer.”

  “Well, Bill Thompson’s not your frickin’ boss…Speak to Patto, he’s got more deliveries for you.”

  He stepped towards Porter. “Can we ta, ta, talk?”

  Porter noticed his flushed face. Couldn’t he have a few quiet beers without some jealous drongo looking for a scrap? “What’s up, mate?”