Bloke, page 20
‘They’re just scared,’ she cautioned.
‘That’s a generous assessment. Darce says, you know the bloke I cut the willows for, he says Australians can’t bear to think they didn’t discover the land. Try to pretend they inherited it, the first to love the land, the first to use it. He says they hate the idea that there were humans here before them. Unconscious racism. Hardly says a word, Darce, but it’s not because he’s got nothing to say.’
‘Bit of a long bow, don’t you think?’
‘They think all the incarcerations and discriminations are the fault of being black.’
She shrugged and selected a newspaper article. A report on the abalone disease. Department of Fisheries trying to distance themselves between their approval of the aquaculture factory and the destruction of the industry.
‘Anyway, it’s not going to go away. There’s going to be a Cabinet Inquiry and if the Opposition get their way a Royal Commission. National Party have gone ape over the evasion of Customs. They’ll come knocking at our door. And I told you about Stoker, even though Madeleine says he’s cooled down.’
‘She hopes.’
‘And I’m worried about Dominic too.’
‘The Dominator, why?’
‘He’s been shelling for Bob while you were away.’
‘How’d he ever get the Dominator to go to sea and actually work?’
‘That worries me too. He likes a soft life, that boy, and soft lives come a bit too easy to Stoker and his mates.’
‘Using the imports, you mean?’
‘I don’t know, but he’s silly enough. And it fits the pattern. Another idiot to blame.’
‘Thanks.’
‘People don’t ask too many questions when the pay’s that good. You didn’t.’
‘No.’
‘That’s how they did Dad. Reeled him in, let him take the risk, let him go out at night to meet the ship, made sure it was him to deliver the stuff to Melbourne. Get his car seen up there. That’s how they work it. They did it to you.’
‘Anyway, we’ve got La Paz.’ I fondled the pup’s profoundly sleeping ears. Giovanna stroked his tender pink belly. I closed my hand on hers. She just looked at me. The kiss was not forgotten.
‘About Retha …’
‘Look, I’d been —’
‘I know what you’d been, up hill, down dale, in the lady’s chamber. I know what’s happened and I’ve tried to think what it would have been like, and I’ve decided … well, not decided … I’ve been thinking …’ She trailed off, looking across the river, her hands twisting on the rung at the back of the chair as she sought the words. ‘You’re a bloody idiot. You tell me you can’t live without …’ she trailed off again. ‘And then you tell that girl —’
‘I didn’t tell her anything.’
‘You tried to kiss her, Jim. It said the same. And she wouldn’t have forgotten it, even if …’ Words failed her and she sat abruptly on the step, her chin on her hands. ‘You’re a bloody fool, but you’re a good fool and I miss you. Talking to you.’ I could tell by her shoulders she’d stopped.
‘I’ll make it up to you, Giovanna.’
‘Make it up,’ she muttered. ‘Muck it up.’
‘Can I stay here with you and La Paz? I’ll do everything I can to …’ Words came as easily as extracted wisdom teeth on this verandah, smashing as soon as the pliers gripped them, the shards spiky and dangerous in our mouths.
This was where I always struggled, saying what I meant. And not even just saying it, understanding why I wanted to be with her. I knew it was more than her beauty and my loneliness, but I’d never spoken to a woman like her. I had trouble with the friendship part, or whatever it was. The thing that lasted.
I looked up at her. ‘I will make it up to you.’
‘We’ll see. But you may as well stay, this is what it’s for, a bloody love nest.’
I touched her. Just cupped the round of her shoulder. Not stroking, not squeezing. Too scared I’d send her flying away, screaming her frustration and disappointment. In me.
‘Oh, come on,’ she said at last, her voice tired and wounded, matter-of-fact, bereft of hope. ‘I’ll turn the roast off.’
I woke to the sound of the phone, my face pressed into the sweet cup at the junction of her neck and shoulderblade.
‘Did I tell you we had a phone too?’ she murmured.
‘No, I’ll get it. I can’t stand to let them ring.’
It was Aunty Cookup.
‘Jim?’
‘Yeah, g’day, Aunt.’
‘Government fella been here. Askin bout you. Tracked you down.’
‘Government?’
‘That’s what he said. Department of Primary Industries. ’
‘What’d he want?’
‘Just said to talk. I said you were up north. Didn’ know what to say. Anyway, thought I should let you know.’
‘Thanks, Aunt. How’s Lilly and Retha?’
‘They’re good. Been swimmin. That’s all that girl wants to do. Don’t forget about us, Jim, will ya? Ya found ya family an’ that’s it. Ya can’t just forget about us.’
‘No Aunt, I’ll remember. I know you think I was just … but it’s not like that. I won’t let her down. I’ll do my bit, Aunt. And I won’t let you down either.’
‘Bet you do. But never mind. Government bloke was quizzin about your family. I told him who you were, so you’re stuck with us now. Of course they’ll think yev let the side down or on a lurk. Like I said, they can’t believe you’d choose black other than for a scam. Anyway, remember ya mother, Jim. She loved ya.’
‘I’ll remember.’ I replaced the phone on its cradle.
‘Who was that?’ Giovanna called.
‘Aunty Cookup. Australia calling.’
‘They’re looking for you, aren’t they?’
‘Seems so.’
‘I don’t think we’re out of the woods yet.’
‘You and me?’ It was a lame attempt at a joke.
‘That too.’ Went over well, it seems. ‘Come on, I’ll turn the roast back on.’
We stepped about each other like mice on eggshells. A bit rocky.
The phone rang again.
‘Hey, bruz, it’s Smearcat, eh. It’s all right, we got ya number from that old aunty, eh. You know that fulla we frightened for ya?’ How could I forget? ‘Well, he’s in trouble, man. When he was in hospital after his accident —’
‘And his cat.’
‘Eh?’
‘His cat.’
‘Wasn’t his cat, bruz. Anyway you listenin or what? Cops got his mobile phone. Very interesting messages and numbers, bruz. Anyway, coppers reckon I done ’em a good turn. Die of shame I will. Stoker an’ Baras have got this boat comin. Got presents on it for ’em. Me an’ Nectar are helpin with investigations, eh. Turn-up, eh, bruz? Can we crash at your place, man?’
So we had the little cottage cluttered up with Smearcat and Nectar. It was built for normal people, so we were always tripping over their legs. Giovanna made a point of not being around. She didn’t like the way either of them looked at her. A boarding house for gymnasts wasn’t how I’d seen it either but I felt obliged. One of the gym rules, accommodating the brothers.
They were more comfortable with a beer in their hand and Giovanna out of the room but they were still awkward as if just sitting in a lounge-room was a habit they hadn’t perfected. It was better on the verandah, but they looked about them as if it was a foreign land.
‘What’s that?’ Smearcat asked, glaring at a bird on the railing.
‘It’s a currawong.’
‘Why’s he lookin at me like that?’
‘That’s just what they do.’ I didn’t think it was a good time to mention that they were thieves. ‘They’re just like that.’
‘I’d shoot the prick if it was my place.’ Glad to see he was on his best behaviour.
He glared at the bird, which glared back with its wicked yellow eye. I could almost feel Smearcat’s fingers twitching and his eyes looking about for a cleaver. La Paz made a point of always having a piece of furniture between himself and our guests.
‘Come on, puppy, puppy,’ Smearcat cajoled, but La Paz thought it approximated the tone of a fox whispering to chickens. He stayed clear and Smearcat hated him for it. I could see it in his eyes.
Fortunately Nectar began a yarn about a boat called the Long Sue. I was only half listening, concerned for the health of the currawong, when it dawned on me that this particular boat story, of the many in Nectar’s repertoire, was the reason I had the two guests intimidating my household. Apparently the police had been following the Long Sue down the Australian coast ever since she left Surabaya.
‘Stoker and Baras hev got a little present on that boat, men. A little item of trade, eh. But all this shet about the fesh meal that you brought en …’ I took a breath, ready to set the record straight as far as my involvement in the business was concerned, but Nectar held up a massive hand. ‘I know, I know, bruz, but they lefted the led and the ben was full of meggets.’ Nectar smiled, glanced at Smearcat to see if he appreciated his literary allusion but the Cat was still glaring at the currawong. The currawong just glared back. Ever seen one take a backward feather?
‘You’re in the shet, bruz, but as shet goes et’s pretty safe shet because the coast es crawling with coppers, eh.’
Smearcat and Nectar told the story of Baras’s connection to the Long Sue but concentrated on the betrayals, violence and criminality with an unsettling delectation. They mentioned the names of key players in the scam, unaware that some of them had acquired respectability and access to the levers of power by buying opera companies and football clubs. But Smearcat and Nectar were admired by such men for their maritime and diving skills rather than Nectar’s thespian excellence.
Which is how they came into contact with Baras. Not at the opening night of The Pearl Fishers, but as the grunts in one of Baras’s illegal enterprises. But these days, jaundiced by Baras’s failure to fully recompense their criminal labours, Nectar referred to him as a cheating, thieving, no-good bastard who should have his tentacles fed to frogs.
‘Testicles, Nectar,’ Smearcat advised kindly. ‘You mean his cods, man, not his octopussy arms.’ How did he always work cats into the conversation?
Giovanna and I were supposed to be impressed by the violence and daring, but I wondered if the police were really interested in Smearcat and Nectar’s assistance in the apprehension of drug barons, or whether their presence had more to do with their inability to stay away from the trouble zone.
‘I can’t stand them,’ Giovanna whispered when we’d gone to bed.
‘They’ll be gone tomorrow. I’m sorry I agreed for them to stay.’
‘I know, it’s hard to refuse men like that, but I think they’re up to something. The police would never involve people that dodgy.’
‘Been thinking the same myself, wondering if they’re a bit closer to this deal than they’re letting on. Did you ever come across them when you were with Baras?’
‘Never seen them before, but he dealt with a lot of their type – suss divers, blokes good with boats. Blokes like you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘La Paz hates them too.’
‘Smart dog.’
Unfortunately no one in Baras’s syndicate had been able to risk a call to the captain of the Long Sue. She steamed west, sailing, sailing.
I promised to help Smearcat and Nectar because I’d seen their recruitment by police to crack the drug cartel as a way of extricating myself from the mess. If it could be sheeted home to Baras and Stoker, I might be in the clear. The Pied Piper could smell a rat but sadly, not me. Loyalty to the gymnasts’ union and my determination to maintain solidarity with the black brotherhood clouded my judgement. And Smearcat and Nectar now knew where we lived. Perhaps I feared that more than I was willing to admit.
And so here we are camped in a banksia glade on the south-east corner of the continent, a slab of Carlton Cold stashed in crushed ice. Smearcat and Nectar were in fine form, high on criminal expectation. As they reminisced wildly about their naval adventures I cursed myself for getting involved. What brotherhood! They were crime junkies and I was certain the police had no need of their services at all. How was I going to explain my presence if the show went pear-shaped?
The mad boys slurped eagerly on cans fresh from the ice while I slumped into the gloom of self-deprecation, while not far from our glade in the dunes the Long Sue ploughed on toward her assignation because no one had told the captain, and captains follow orders. And his orders were to lay the cargo over the side at exactly 1600 hours on a certain latitude and longitude while six hundred metres offshore. The parcels floated.
The Long Sue was close enough for us to see that the crew began to look around, concerned that the pick-up launch had not arrived to take delivery of the imported goods. Nevertheless they laid out the parcels, which stayed in roughly the same position because the tide was right. We observed the ship but deck activity had gone strangely quiet.
Suddenly a great pile of the goods were dumped in one spot and the Long Sue began to turn about and head for open water. The captain had the foresight to smell a rat. A drowning rat. She was no slouch, the old Long Sue, not just any trading hulk. She had massive, turbocharged, injection-fed Volvo motors, and she virtually stood on her screw as she leapt in the water and surged away. Pandemonium on the beach, except in the banksia glade where three lads bunkered down with a frosty slab.
The police panicked. The evidence was in the water and the ship was clearing out. A police vessel was launched to pick up the cargo while a helicopter was called in from Sale to track the Long Sue.
It took the copter three hours to find the vessel, which was sailing into a maelstrom where the Tasman and Southern oceans met, about where the storm took out the greater part of the Sydney to Hobart fleet. Never were more tax-deductible toys lost on any one evening. And it was happening again, the Long Sue was getting away.
Then the tide began to change. The parcels of imports began to saunter on the waves in a westerly direction, a trajectory which would have them graze the shore at about Rame Head. Smearcat and Nectar calculated this from sixty-five years of combined sea experience and latent criminal intent.
‘Bet of bed luck thet,’ Nectar mused.
I stared at him. He expressed no surprise at how the operation had imploded, almost as if he’d predicted it, contributed to it. My fear of them and annoyance with myself immobilised my reason. I could see steel doors closing.
‘You’ll have to excuse us, men,’ Nectar declared as he took another can. ‘Coz the the cops are a bet besy and seem to have lost treck of the plot.’ Nectar could be relied on for the odd theatrical reference. ‘Me an’ Smearcat might just secure some envestmunts a bet further up the coast. I don’t think there’ll be any need to do much identifying tonight.’
‘We’ll gather you some securities too if you like, bruz,’ Smearcat assured.
I continued to stare at them, incapable of even the barest warmth of brotherhood.
‘Have a look, men,’ Nectar continued, ‘it’s McHale’s fuckin navy out there. They’re not comin beck for us tonight. See ya, bruz, we don’t acquire many portfolios like this, eh Cet?’ Smearcat winked at me.
I didn’t even watch them go. I stared at a bluff of sandstone, which by some peculiarity of its own consistency and the prevailing seas had been separated from the coast by fifteen metres. Sea box clung and scrambled on the lee side, a small haven of shelter for tiny birds, a respite from the wild spume. Perhaps no person had ever sat on that exposed knoll since its isolation. I admired the slow determination of the plant, its ability to cling and grow despite being bitten back, cauterised by salt spray every time an easterly breathed its bitterness on that flank. We, people, are seldom like that. We are fickle to whims, to selfish opportunity. Smearcat and Nectar might have warm and cuddly feelings in their heart, let’s do Jim a good turn, but should the wind change and turn up fortune, ah sorry bruz, something urgent has turned up.
I tried to rally my spirits. At least if the police found me I wouldn’t be in criminal company. Just lurking in a coastal glade with an esky of cans while one of the country’s biggest drug operations proceeded a kilometre out to sea.
I tried to spin their characters as larrikins incapable of pursuing a serious thought, but my sober mind was saying, mate, they can’t wait to get back to the gym and tell their mates of the grand lark. And if the lark dragged me in its wake they’d go, ah bruz, you in here too, how’d that happen?
But nothing worked. Face it. I was scared of them and beginning to actively dislike their capricious souls. Anything they did in the next few hours had a good chance of implicating me. I knew they’d think nothing of saying they were staying at my place to establish an alibi. Too bad if it did the reverse for me.
Predictably the press had a picnic. Drugs, boats and police bust gone wrong, an irresistible combination. Police divers were up and down the coast looking for packages floating out to sea. Most were never found. Any half-bent swimmer in possession of a mask and snorkel was helping the police with their operation – and stashing their find in tea-tree glades so remote some of the scrub wrens had never seen a white man, especially ones with a glass face and a pipe sticking out the top of their head.
There were so many divers in the water it looked like the Snorkelling Olympics. Every head for a hundred kilometres was suddenly into a bit of reef diving. The surf shop sold out of snorkelling gear in three hours. Even blokes who couldn’t swim thought they might rely on water wings and good luck. One bloke was on his way down for the third time when his mate gave up the search for a hundredweight of heroin and towed him into shore. No greater love hath man. Talk about Simpson and his dolphin.
Of course, Smearcat and Nectar had the advantage of being in the water a clear two hours before anyone else. In that two hours all the marbles fell out of the bucket and the spin doctors of the law had to fight so many battles on so many fronts that the papers got access to stories the police didn’t even know had happened yet.
