The Outing, page 10
“Is it for the Courier Mail? I wouldn't have thought so, given where they sit.”
“You mean on the fence or in Joh’s pocket. Haha. Or on his lap,” said Johnny. “No. That's another reason it's hush hush. He's working with his mate, Tim Harper from 4 Corners. It's Tim's story. Simon’s doing some prelim articles to stir up more interest and then the follow up print stuff. They’ll be wanting it then. The Courier Mail.”
“Does Harry approve?”
“He doesn't know how they're gonna get away with it, but he said something's gotta give. It's not petty stuff. It's big league. Massive.”
“I told you I'd talked with Mike Ahern at my dad's?”
Johnny nodded.
“Do you think Simon might be interested in talking to him?”
“Probably. Maybe not yet. What about your dad? He's not mixed up with these crooks is he?”
“I don't think so.” Robert looked vacantly ahead, “If he was in the thick of it, he'd be part of the Gang. And he's not. I think he knows some of what's going on, the shady deals and whatever. Not that he could do anything about it. And there's this thing, they call it 'The Joke', but unless you're in on it, you don't know what they're talking about.”
“I can see how they’d think it was a joke. On all of us.”
“Did I tell you my mum fancied being Mrs Premier when Dad started out. He was a minister of something for all of five minutes way back when Joh first got in. But Dad isn't a National-country bloke. He grew up in the Brisbane suburbs, and he's Catholic.”
“I'd heard Joh's not fond of cattle-ticks, or city-slickers.”
“I don't think he's fond of anything he's not the boss of.”
“I suppose,” said Johnny, “we should call it a night and head home?”
“You know, I’m rather proud of you,” Robert said.
“Meaning?”
“I meant I admire you. What you’re doing. Tank too. I know what I said, ages ago but, well, I am proud. And yes, we’d better get going.”
***
“It’s been weeks Johnny,” Robert said looking up at the blank end of the lamp post across from Johnny’s apartment. “They should fix these.”
While his eyes adjusted to the dark, he tripped on a bump in the bitumen, where the root of a Moreton Bay fig, sprawling across the parkland between the road and the river, was trying to break through. Johnny reached out to steady him, too late.
He picked up his jacket and brushed the dirt from the knee of his trousers. A prickling sensation on his palm made him stop and look. As the tree branch lifted in a breathy gust and the sliced moonlight broke through the leaf canopy, he could see little red droplets bubbling around a graze.
“You OK? Don't want you going home all banged up,” Johnny joked, “Lauren mightn't let you come out to play anymore.”
Robert examined his hand again as they walked on, “I'll live. Nice neighbourhood.”
“Will be one day. Courtesy of Expo 88.” Johnny chatted as they walked. “Real estate agent said this will all be gentrified. The dockyard and workshops will be gone, and my place overlooking the city and the river will be worth a lot more than I paid for it. And I'll be rich. Not that it matters now, thanks to Harry. We should get a move on. The ferry only comes every hour after nine.”
Robert looked down at his watch. Except it wasn't there.
“My watch. Bugger.”
“Really, Robert?” Johnny's eyebrows arched.
“I can't go home without it.”
“Why not?”
“Why do you think? Jeez Johnny. Lauren'll notice.”
“So? You left it at work.”
“Why would I take it off? At work?” Robert's voice was edgy, “I can't-”
“Go back to the apartment and get it. I'm not gonna argue with you.”
“How much time do we have?”
Johnny looked down at his, “Twenty minutes or so. I can ask the driver to wait. Sometimes they will.”
“I'll make it in time if I run. Here,” he thrust his jacket at Johnny.
“I'll wait,” Johnny called after him. “If you're not back when the ferry comes. I'll wait. Do you hear me?”
Robert raised a thumbs up and kept going hoping Johnny had seen it.
Chapter 17
Robert fumbled unlocking the foyer door, and again at the apartment. His breathing wasn't slowing down, and he realised it wasn't only the running. He'd reacted without thinking things through. Johnny should have come back too. They'd have called a taxi, which is exactly what they'd do if they missed this ferry. Even if they hadn’t missed it, he decided, shaking the thought of shattered lamplight glass, and the slurping of thirsty mangroves out of his mind. Johnny would be OK. There'd be someone else waiting. And he wouldn't be long.
Inside he went straight to the bedside table.
No watch.
He frowned. Maybe he hadn't forgotten it. Did you put it in your jacket? It could have fallen out when you tripped. No. Think. You didn't put it on, did you? He tried tracing things backwards, but the delay kept distracting him with thoughts of Johnny waiting alone, of missing the ferry, of getting home late. He was turning in unproductive circles. Stop moving. Calm down. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, he frowned again. It should be right there on my bedside table. In spite of himself he smiled. My bedside table. But no watch.
Time wasn't standing still but he needed his mind to. He sat on the bed, then bent forward looking under and behind the bedside table. Frustrated he pinched his lips. I was in the shower, Johnny was tidying up…’
He leaned forward again, this time running his hand along the side edge of the table, closest to the bed, in the space hidden by the valance. A triumphant sense of relief washed over him and he stuffed the watch into his pocket.
*
Jogging steadily Robert touched his pocket, Stupid bloody watch. We’re definitely not hanging around for any ferry. It’s way too dark, way too isolated and way too fucking late. All he wanted was to get Johnny and get home. Despite the angst he grinned again. Home. The apartment. C’mon relax. Won't be long now. His face softened further wondering if Johnny had given all his spare change to roving homeless people. Bound to be a few in the park this time of night. His heart swelled.
Slowing down to a fast walk he let his mind wander. It settled on Johnny waiting patiently in the shelter, absently stroking Robert's jacket, and glancing towards the big tree in the way of the footpath, his face alight with welcome as Robert came into view.
At the Jazz club, he stopped to peer at a car, its interior light on and someone inside. The headlights made it difficult to see. Another car behind it with something on its roof. A taxi light? He put his hand up to block the headlights and started moving again. No, a police car. The man in the back seat was leaning uncomfortably forward with his hands behind his back, his face turned towards the sparse hedging and the park beyond, intent on something. The occupant must have sensed someone looking at him and his head swiveled towards Robert.
The rear window was wound down and Robert took another long glance at the man. As their eyes caught each other, Robert registered the dazed shock. Then the man turned back to whatever he was watching, and as Robert rounded the bend the pathway made to accommodate a huge fig tree, it became clear what it was.
Four figures standing around something. Kicking it.
Robert's head jerked, shaking off confusion.
The thing on the ground jerked too. Oddly. Not stiffening against the blows.
A tall muscled figure stepped back with a small laugh, which didn't match his size. Something was sitting out of sight at the corner of his memory.
A fat-bellied skinny-legged figure patted the muscled shoulder, and Robert noticed the shirt gaping, straining at its buttons and its ends flapping above the lowered waist of the trousers. There was a hat, and something else, on the ground close to the man.
The awful thud of more flesh absorbing kicks sank into Robert's consciousness.
Flash card images crowded his mind. No orderly one-by-one, but jumbled and jostling to get to the front of the pack.
He pushed them aside. Where’s Johnny?
Another figure stopped kicking and moved, unblocking the shelter light momentarily. Was that his jacket, sprawled on the ground?
The horror dawning.
“Hey,” he yelled. “What the fuck do you think you're doing? There's a fucking police car here. Next door. I'm calling the police.”
Four heads turned.
Laughter, bemused and bordered by hysteria, cut off the silence.
Transfixed, Robert watched the fat one bend down leisurely and pick up a hat, pushing it securely into place on the head of the slight figure next to him. Then light again. The band on the hat, blue and white check, and the face jutting in his direction. He knew it. Nichols.
Robert stared unseeing, unthinking.
Then a thought.
Run. Get help. Call an ambulance. Where? Where to? He felt the heavy hand of Mr Sullivan clamping his shoulder. Had he imagined it? He looked over at Johnny. Was that Johnny? What's wrong with him? Why wasn't he getting up?
“Johnny!” he shouted, “Johnny! Get up!”
Johnny didn't move.
A voice from somewhere, 'Run. Go.' It was Johnny’s voice.
He looked around.
And then his own anguished, “Come on. Get up.”
Something was coming towards him. Navy pants, light blue shirt, police hat and another, tall, un-uniformed. He recognised Muscles from the pub. He put his face down, and stepped further back into the shadowy arm of the fig before he heard it again, Johnny's voice, 'Run! Now Robert. Now!'
Robert didn't notice the tears as he sped down McDonald Street. His awareness filled with a familiar theme singing in his head, in time to his breathing and footfall. Johnny will be OK. Please God. Johnny will be OK. Footfall footfall, breathe, footfall footfall.
PART TWO 1985 - 1986
Chapter 18
Footfall. They'd be listening for footfall.
He headed for the grassy verge and a brief despairing glance as he passed the apartment. Instinct told him he wouldn't make it inside. How the hell was he supposed to get help, with them after him?
Johnny will be OK, breathe footfall footfall.
His mind settled into the altered state clarity that came with running and he changed tactics. He bent over in the light of the street-corner lamp-post pretending to get his breath. When he was sure they'd seen him, he doglegged and ran past the Story Bridge Hotel. Subconsciously he noticed the lights were still on, the front door closed. Then over the refrain, he reasoned there were only two possible routes back to Johnny's and the phone, and the bad guys were on one of them. And where were Nichols, and most likely Andrews? Still at the park with Johnny? Surely they wouldn't stay? If someone got off a ferry or decided to get one, they'd be seen. Would they wait for these two? Don't they have walkie-talkies? Stop thinking. Go up Main Street further. Misdirect them, convince them you've headed towards East Brisbane then double back after they've gone past.
Checking they were following, he turned at an intersection leading out of Kangaroo Point, and half-way down the street, crouched in the shadows between two cars and hidden by the A-frame sign on the footpath. He heard them approach the intersection, and then the footsteps stopped.
Shit. What now?
He strained to hear them.
“That's it… tell’m… got away.”
“…lie?”
“Well I'm not… all fucking night.”
“B- But you can't…”
“Watch me.”
Robert held his breath as the words faded and leaning against the car looked skyward. Fuck.
He waited. They had to get clear enough away to not see him or hear him. He closed his eyes, but the image of Johnny rushed in filling the blackness. He opened them, Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck them. He had to get an ambulance.
The pub. There'd be a phone and people and even if they were there, and even if they recognized you, they wouldn't do anything stupid there, he reasoned. Even so, he took a roundabout route back.
A car was parked in the bus stop opposite the rear of the pub, where it shouldn't be. No mere mortal would park there. He sank, crouching into the shadows and began inching blindly backwards, his painstaking progress making his heart go even faster.
Finally, around the corner he crept through the gap in the ti-tree fencing where the pub's bins were, and walked up to the verandah like any other patron who'd been taking a convenient leak where they shouldn't.
The lights were low. Robert, wobbly with fear and crouching thigh-strain tripped on the step.
“You all right mate? Pub's closed.”
Robert looked at the speaker, “Jimbo?” he said, scanning for Pete. “I need a phone.”
“What's wrong? It's Robert, isn't it?”
“It's urgent, an emergency Jimbo. Do you think they'll let me in? I need an ambulance.”
“Ok. Ok… stay here.” Jimbo looked around, “I'll get Pete, he'll call one.”
“No. No. It's not for me. Can't I go inside. Make the call. It won't take long.”
Jimbo's hesitation was brief, “Come on.” They waited at the closed pub door while Jimbo knocked. “Blue,” it was a loud whisper, then louder “Bluey?”
The door opened enough for Blue's head to appear.
“We need the phone. Emergency.”
“What? Oh, I know you,” Blue took in Robert's condition, and checking down the hall towards the back bar, steered Robert in the opposite direction. “Here, come into the office.”
The phone sat between a wire basket of invoices and a spike of speared till receipts. Robert's hand stopped vibrating when it closed over the receiver.
He'd never called in an emergency and looked at the space above the door as if the instructions might materialise on its aging off-white paint.
“Hi. This-… Ambulance…No. No, just ambulance… The ferry at Kangaroo Point… No. The other one at the end, I can't-… Yes, yes Holman Street…”
The door opened.
Bluey with a tumbler half-filled with brown-gold liquid. Robert swallowed his nausea and half the liquid and nodded a thanks as Blue left, “…no the park. A man. Injured. Between the shelter and the playground… No. I'm OK.” He looked up again as Pete's face appeared in the doorway, “Yeah honestly, I'm OK,” Robert spoke into the receiver. “My name?” he hesitated, Pete raised a finger to his lips and pointed to the phone, miming. Robert followed his directions and replaced the handset.
“Drink up mate- Robert. I'll get you a cab, eh?”
Robert stood, grateful for the warmth drifting down his throat.
“No. Wait here. I won't be a sec, I'll use the cab phone in the bar.” The door closed again.
Robert slumped into the chair. The tears instant. He put the glass on the table. The icy fingertips, still shaking, were almost soothing against his closed eyelids. He sniffed, opened his eyes and drained the glass.
When Pete came back in, he put a coaster in Robert's pocket, “My number. In case. I told them to come around the front. We've got-ah, visitors out back.”
Words had abandoned Robert after the phone call. He hoped he'd given Pete a grateful look, and then the white mist in his head turned into fog.
Pete guided him into the cab, “You got some money?”
Robert nodded, still mute.
The driver turned unsurprised but not pleased to have a non-vocal passenger, “Where to?”
Pete turned to Robert, “Where's home?”
“Camp Hill,” the words struggled out.
“He'll give you directions on the way mate. Off you go.”
The cab driver grunted.
As they approached the turning for the main road leading onto the freeway, an ambulance sped in the opposite direction, its siren pulling Robert's attention with it.
“Can you turn around please. The ambulance. I need to-”
“Are you fucking kidding me buddy?” The driver shook his head, “I can't turn around here.”
Hope lingered on Robert's out breath. He closed his eyes and tried to pray. But after Dear God, words disappeared, except for Johnny will be OK. Johnny will be OK.
Chapter 19
Snippets of disjointed kiddy chatter, kitchen and mummy noise, broke through the whiteness of Robert’s non-dream.
He opened his eyes blinking at the sight of a window where it shouldn’t be and sat up. He was in the study. Why was the phone on the floor? His heart flickered sending a spurt of adrenaline to his throat and setting off a drumming pulse in his ears.
He’d put it there, the phone, then closed his eyes, waiting, before calling the hospitals again.
His eyes found the corner of the room. Breathe, one, two, three… the numbers drowning the drumbeat. Breathe deeper. His chest expanded and he held the breath while thought caught up.
You saw the ambulance. Breathe out now. Everything’s OK. But his out-breath stuck in a strangled sob. He pressed his fingertips against his lips and the movement sent the sour smell of last night’s fear out to maraud the room.
He got up and opened the window, and the door.
*
“Look, Daddy's awake,” Lauren's smile was brightly out of place.
Emma and Thomas clambered past her in the doorway, and hugged a leg each, and he bent to ruffle their hair.
“You didn't have to sleep in the study.”
“I didn't want to disturb you.”
“Pee-eww. You look like s-h-i-t.” She fanned the air under her nose, “Go and shower. We'll drop you at work. Is it still OK for tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“Robert. Girl's night. You don't get to have all the fun.”
He shook his head, “Yeah. Yeah. Of course. Yeah.”
“Want any breakfast?”
