The Outing, page 29
Johnny had barely moved when he was grabbed in a chokehold, catching the nauseating whiff of nicotined fingers. He struggled, gasping for air and freedom.
The blow to his solar plexus came without warning and the choke released as he fell forward with an air sucking grunt. Half-kneeling, half-crouching, he saw a black lace-up boot coming towards his jaw. He turned to protect his face. It caught his eye. The pain was momentarily masked by the shock of blood spurting from the gash. He couldn't see the warm drops splodge rhythmically onto the back of his hand.
Blindly, he moved the hand tentatively upwards to explore his face while he coaxed air past the other point of impact. A foot crashed against his raised arm, then a knee with the full force of a body behind it, pinned his arm and shoulder to the ground. Someone else's foot kicked his other shoulder, tipping him back before planting itself on him, so he lay spreadeagled, face up, one leg straight and one knee half bent under him. A steel capped boot exploded into his groin and behind his bloodied unseeing eyes, a flash of searing white arced and lit the blackness. Every nerve in his body spasmed in unison, and what breath he had restored, expelled itself in silence.
“Let's see who've got here,” Johnny couldn't see through the slick bloodied curtain of eyelashes, but somehow through the pain-haze, he felt a hand reach into his jean's pocket and take his wallet.
“That wasn't so hard, was it?” Nichols' matter-of-fact voice paused, then chuckled. “Well, whaddo-ya know. Not following a police order is a crime, isn't it John Saunders?”
Johnny couldn't move or speak.
The voice turned cold and sinister, “And so is being a mangy filthy fag, isn't it? You fuckin' animal.”
Silence.
Then another voice, sing-song, “And what do we do with these animals, boys?”
There was a titter, nervously eager.
He continued, answering his own question, “We have a re-sponsa-bility. We gotta teach them to behave like normal people, don't we?”
Johnny could hear muscle man's sick smile.
“And how do we do that s-sir?” The uniform.
Sinister and matter-of-fact, Nichols voice, “Aversion therapy.”
A chorus of harsh laughter preceded the next kicks. Johnny flinched. His arms still pinned. At first the assault came from one direction. Over and over in the soft tissue of his side between his ribs and his hip. Then when he couldn't bear it, a stomp on his chest. He heard a cheer over the sound of the crack. Then stomping on his shoulder and pinned arm, so even when it stopped, he couldn't move his arm.
Pain was searing and sudden and unpredictable and exhausting and everywhere.
He heard them grunting with effort. A savage kick to his jaw took the pain from the other side of his face, and he tasted blood. Another smashed his cheek above it. An invading viscous drizzle clogged his airways. He coughed, and gagging coughed again. Blood splurted out of his nose and mouth.
“Look what he's done to my shirt. Where's your fuck-ing manners. How'm I supposed to clean that off. Fuckin poofter.”
The tirade finished. The blows didn't.
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't feel. He coughed again.
Another blow to the side of his head and a roar inside it.
From somewhere else, he watched as the boots connected with his body.
It continued to jerk limply, unresisting with each kick.
Nothing hurt anymore.
*
…“And then I saw you. Remember?” Alan looked at Robert. “We caught each other’s eyes, but I had to look back. And I heard you yell at them, and I thought holy shit, this isn't gonna end well, and two of them started to come at you and you took off like the clappers. When I turned back I saw the other two half carrying and half dragging Johnny towards the river. I lost sight of them at the shelter. I figured they be back soon enough, so I lay back over on the seat like they'd left me. I knew what happened. Their shoes were muddy, and the bottom of their trousers was wet.”
Robert's face had grayed, his half full glass of bubbles was hot and flat, his words were small and soft, “I’m sorry Anna, I can’t finish this.” He put the glass down. He wondered if he’d ever be able to drink champagne again.
Anna didn’t say anything. No-one did.
Robert forced thought back into his blanked mind. This has to end, Johnny.
The colour started to come back into his face, and he turned to Alan, “How did you find Anna?”
“Your business card. Ernie had it.”
“And luckily,” added Anna, “I happened to be passing the reception desk, and heard your name.”
“I'd been coming in every day. Asking for you. Dumb girl at-”
“He kept getting told you didn't work here and would he like to make an appointment with someone else,” Anna interrupted again, “even though I'd given instructions.”
“So Anna comes over all polite and says 'Come with me,' and we went to the conference room and she made me a cuppa, and rang you.”
“And rang you, and rang you, and rang you,” said Anna, “But there was no answer. I couldn’t figure out why you weren’t returning my calls. I was starting to worry.”
“You were ringing home. Lauren had gone to Duncan's and… but I rang. I left my number for you. The new one.”
Anna raised her eyebrows, “Yes, well. Eventually I asked Mr Eldridge. And then I rang and rang and rang that one.”
“And you've been staying here?” Robert looked at Alan then Anna.
“She insisted,” Alan nodded towards Anna. “Said she'd been given strict instructions not to let me out of her sight. It was a godsend.”
“Not just for you,” Anna's mum piped up from across the room.
“I've been helping out a bit is all.” Alan's jaw jutted upwards, “I'm no bludger. Gonna get some cards made up and sort some tools. Won't be long and I'll be paying my way.”
“You're staying?” Robert looked from Alan to Anna, “Here?”
“For as long as I'm welcome,” said Alan.
“He's hardly stopped,” Anna’s face was soft. “Seems he was a bit handy with a hammer in a previous life.”
“Cabinet maker. I was a subcontractor. Got shafted though. Head contractor went under and couldn't pay me. Couldn't pay anyone. But miraculously finishes the job with a new business name. Big government job. Ask me why I don't trust politicians. Anyway,” he looked over at Anna's mum, “what is it we say?”
“Onwards and sideways,” her smile was sad.
Chapter 57
“Seriously had my doubts,” Callum's head made a slow no.
Robert's grin almost split his face before contracting again.
“And he'll testify?”
“It's tricky, since he's supposed to be dead.”
“Have you told anyone else? Simon Draper?”
Robert shook his head, “Haven't seen him. He's been busy. I… it's confidential.”
“I am your not-lawyer,” Callum's eyebrow lifted. He opened the Sunday Mail, pointing, “Anything to do with this?”
Robert skimmed the piece.
“A few stories like this have been popping up,” said Callum. “Hopefully people will start asking questions. Or more questions.”
“I'll call him,” said Robert. “Actually, you two should talk. And I should touch base with some other people too. See what they know about all this.”
“Your mates from the pub?”
Robert nodded.
“Do you think that's wise?”
Robert shrugged, “Probably not.”
“I know it's frustrating.”
“Understatement. Anyway, at least they're not talking about me at the moment.” Robert looked at his wrist where his watch should be, “I should get to work. I'm supposed to be meeting Alex at CAMP shortly. Weren't you scheduled for that?”
“No. Do you know who's going to be there?”
Robert shook his head, “Committee Progress Meeting. My first one.”
“Do you think they'd mind if I turned up?”
“I'll call.”
“I’ll do it. You get going. I’ll be fifteen minutes or so behind you.”
*
“Oh my God,” Robert grinned, when he walked through CAMP’s door, thinking this is becoming a habit. A nice one.
Tank had lunged, wrapping him up, and only let go when Blue nudged him aside. Simon avoided the hug, and Robert grasped his hand instead, feeling like he’d found the end of a rope, dangling from a boat, after he’d been treading water for weeks.
Alex smiled, “Good to see we all know each other. And Callum’s on his way. I’m sure you’ll find something to talk about while we wait. There’s tea and coffee in the meeting room.”
*
“Should I take the notes?” Robert looked up from the previous minutes, as they finally got down to business.
“This latest legislation affecting pubs,” Alex started. “Any progress?”
“Progress?” Blue's top lip puckered, “We got a notification from the Hotel Association. The law is official now. Assuming they mean gays when they're talking about perverts and deviants, and along with child molesters and drug users, it's illegal to serve them.”
“But how do they police it? How can you tell who's a child molester?” Robert asked.
“Can't,” said Blue.
“Of course, we sometimes know who the gays are,” Tank turned his head to one side and arched his eyebrow. “I know. Missing the point.”
“Which is?” Callum asked.
“More opportunities to collect money. They're getting greedy- greedier. You want to stay open? Pay up.” Blue shook his head, “It's worse than ever.”
“Did you hear anything from your dad on this?” Callum's eyes were on Robert and the question hovered over the despondent silence.
Simon put his hand up, “If I may? We spoke over the weekend. Cabinet was unanimous as you'd expect, they just do everything Joh wants. The opposition had a word or two to say against it, at least they try to be a voice for reason. The rest of Joh's lot didn't even whimper. I don't know why they even turn up.”
“What happens now, besides it costing publicans more money to keep the cops off their backs?” Callum again.
“The QHA, the Association, are going to issue a press release,” Blue said, “saying the legislation is untenable. That even if we ask patrons to verify they aren't any of the excluded categories, we have no idea if they're telling the truth, and that staff and owners, can't be held responsible. They’d be open to fines and prosecution. And of course, there’d be the cost of ‘we’ll keep it between ourselves, nudge-nudge’, and the accompanying cash donation.”
Callum's eyes narrowed, “How did the Commissioner even think this would work?”
“Don't you worry about that,” Simon impersonated the Premier and laughter temporarily lifted their spirits. “I asked your dad if he could shed any light on the origins of this unholy Joh and Terry alliance. I mean really? Politics and policing this close together in any other language would be a dictatorship.”
Robert stopped writing, “I've asked him that too. All he says is, the old bastard has a lot of secrets. Did he tell you that Joh never signed up to the superannuation scheme. If he leaves the job, he won't have his salary or a pension.”
“Which explains this, I s'pose.” Simon nodded towards the paper, “And how the likes of Iwasaki and other shady developments get approved despite planning permissions being denied at the regional level where they actually should be. Smells a bit like Joh's retirement plan to me.”
“Speculation,” said Robert. “Makes sense, but still speculation. We need proof.”
“Working on it,” said Simon.
“Well get a move on,” said Alex. “And while you're at it, a bit more action on our behalf would be good. I'd like to be alive when I'm legal.”
“You could move interstate,” Tank offered.
“That's why CAMP's here. Why I’m here. We shouldn't,” Alex stopped when he recognized Tank’s sarcasm, “Oh.”
“Simon,” said Robert. “Next point we were hoping you'd be able to do something with in the paper. AIDS. This business of outlawing condom vending machines. It’s tantamount to lining people up and shooting them if you ask me. And fobbing off research funding requests. Can you do anything?”
“According to my editor, people aren't interested in quote, civil liberties shit.”
“What are they interested in then?” Callum snorted.
“Whatever he decides. And that of course, depends on who's paying for advertising. In this case Joh and his buddies. The Nationals.”
“It's an uphill battle,” Callum scoffed.
“But we have to keep trying,” said Alex. “It's people's lives.”
“Yeah. People's lives,” Robert's eyes clouded, and his face had a sheen over its pallor.
“You don't look crash hot,” Simon frowned.
“I'm ok,” Robert looked up and felt a hot flash before an icy damp formed on his forehead. “No, actually, I'm not. Here,” he passed the minutes to Alex and rushed to the bathroom.
After heaving up the brown slime of regurgitated coffee and nothing else, Robert looked into the mirror. Are you a grown man? Are you capable of feeding yourself? Then why the fuck aren't you doing it? He found the kitchen and took some plain biscuits from the jar and headed back to the meeting, catching the tail end of what they'd been discussing in his absence. Him.
“…janitor,” said Callum and Robert's face scrunched, “and working with me on this. So keeping busy. But until there's a date, he can't see anyone and of course, bail conditions. But it's to his benefit, and the less they know the better.”
“And I suppose the less people he sees, the less he hears what they're saying about him,” said Tank.
“Exactly,” said Simon. “It's not pretty. The letters to the editor are still coming in. Some of them want to give him a medal, but, there's a lot of people who don't. They don't get much space. But I wouldn't want him to come face to face with any of them.”
“I don't know which is worse,” Tank's voice sank. “Being the poster boy for poofter-bashing bigots, especially, well… Johnny. Or being vilified by your own kind. Being blamed for killing him.”
“They don't know,” Robert's voice came from the open doorway.
“I'm sorry Lovey,” Tank's remorse was stark. “We weren't-”
“It's OK,” said Robert. “Honestly. At least with all of you I feel safe. But it’s sort-of lonely, and, demoralizing. Thinking about them getting away with what they did to Johnny.”
“And to you,” Tank's tone had shifted. “They did this to you. You've got no Johnny, no kids, no wife, no career-”
“I appreciate your support, Tank,” Robert said. “And it’s a bit of a list-”
“But?”
“But I did this. If I hadn’t ventured out with Johnny, none of this would've happened.”
Blue's head was shaking, “No mate. You've got that all wrong. If it wasn't you and Johnny, it would have been someone else. And, if it happens to one of us, it happens to all of us. That's the way it is. Understand?”
Alex patted Robert's vacant chair, “Come on.”
“We'll get there,” said Callum.
And Simon added, “They're not going to get away with bloody murder forever.”
“I certainly hope not,” said Robert. “Not if I can help it.” He looked over to Callum, “But right now, I need to go home, I'm definitely under the weather.”
“We'll take you,” Tank offered.
“My car's at QIT,” Robert said. “I'll need it to get to work in the morning.”
*
“No, honestly,” Robert insisted when they stopped near the parking area at QIT and offered to swap around and drive his car home for him. “But thanks. I do feel a lot better.”
Tank checked Robert's temperature with the back of his hand, “OK then.”
Savouring the cool air coming off the river through the trees and drying his perspiration, Robert watched them go.
He had almost made it to the car park when he heard, the voice angry and accusing, “Hey you!”
He instantly forgot Callum's advice.
Someone pushed his shoulder. Someone else stepped in front of him. He saw a pair of faded brown leather shoes, and a pair of grubby trainers.
“It is him,” another voice. Excited. “Hey, it's him. It's the gay panic killer.”
Tucking his briefcase under his arm, he pushed trying to get past.
A blow to his middle stole his breath. He bent over trying to find it, and someone pushed him to the ground. A foot connected with his ribcage and he grunted.
He heard, “Over here. Quick,” and “Bastard,” and rolled away from the next kick, getting up on one knee and then making a break for it.
“Come on,” a voice.
And another, “Don’t let him get away.”
More shouting. He changed direction, away from the carpark, heading for the Botanic Gardens. It was big enough to get lost in. He hoped.
Almost on the other side of the Gardens, he veered towards the city to Johnny's old workplace, The Park Royal, and stopped running. Be normal.
Inside the building he locked himself in a cubicle in the men's toilets sitting on the lid, hunched over, while the memory of Terry interrupted the hammering in his ears.
He'd get the car later, he decided. When it had all died down.
***
At home he swallowed a glass of water then lay on the bed and drifted into a black heavy and welcome sleep. Until suddenly he heard shouting. He jerked to avoid the shoulder push he thought was coming, but for some reason it didn't. Then he saw the boots and coiled into a giant foetus as they swung towards him. He braced against the anticipated blows, turning sharply. And woke up.
The sun was still hanging over the city. Just. He pulled the gray uniform shirt from his case and smelled the underarms. Oh well. He pulled it on over his office shirt and went back to get the car. Cleaners were invisible. And when people did see them, if they didn’t look away, they looked beyond them. Even so, he'd have to be more alert. Perhaps he could get a haircut, or a cap. Or another fucking life.
