'No,' I said. 'I can't. More of a city man, I'd say.'

  "S right. Bloody well right. Rupert MacKnight doesn't want shit on his boots. Wants t'walk on carpet, and sit on chairs not bloody horses. Hate horses, don't you?'

  'No. Can't say that. Horses are fine with me.'

  He made a circular motion with his hand. 'All right running around a track. Money on 'em. That's all right. You go to the track, Dick?'

  I hadn't in a good long time and when I said so nothing would do but that we went that afternoon. I protested but I had nothing better to do really. MacKnight splashed water on his face which seemed to sober him. He lent me a clean shirt (we were much of a size for sleeve length) and off we went to Santa Monica in the Dodge. I cashed a cheque on the way because Rupe said he didn't have any ready money on him.

  'Where's your office?' I asked.

  'Downtown.' I was driving and shouldn't have been as I was still too drunk. I was giving the road all my attention or I wouldn't have been satisfied with the answer.

  At the track Rupe borrowed some money and we drank steadily. Chaplin was there, I recall, and a few lesser lights such as Charlie Farrell and Marie Dressler.28 I offered to introduce MacKnight to Farrell but he didn't seem interested.

  'Fairbanks isn't here, is he?'

  Christ, I hope not, I thought. I shot an anxious look up to the grandstand and across the sea of faces clustered in the betting ring. There was an aura around Fairbanks, he'd stand out in any crowd no matter how big. 'No, he's not here. Charlie's good fun, he . . .'

  'Gotta gamble,' MacKnight roared. People heard him above the hum of odds-calculating and winnings-collecting voices and turned to look. 'Gambling man, Dick. Backed Spearfelt inna Cup.29 Ten to one. You on it?'

  'No. Look, Rupe, take it easy. Put that bloody flask away. You can't do that here.'

  'Corsican. Napoleon brandy. Get it? Napoleon. Corsican. Hah, hah. Like this Tijuana Lass inna third. Been to Tijuana, Dick? Course you have. Chap like you. Girls like that . . .'

  This set MacKnight off on a long spiel about brothels from Sydney to San Francisco. Interesting enough talk in its way and I had a bit to say on the subject, although nothing very recent. I was more interested in trying to get details about Elizabeth and my child from him, but either he wasn't as drunk as he made out or he didn't know much, because I learned nothing. MacKnight was a great newspaper reader though and he was able to fill me in on things that had happened in Australia since my cover-of-darkness departure.

  'Hear about the forty-four hour week?' he said, sometime after Tijuana Lass had finished next to last.

  'No. What's that?'

  'Lang30 got in in New South. Passed a law – forty-four hour week.'

  'Christ,' I said, 'that's Communism, near enough.'

  'Plenty of them around too,' he said darkly. 'What d'you like in the next?'

  'Nothing. What're Elizabeth's . . . ah, circumstances?'

  'Y'mean how's she fixed for cash?' He tilted the flask, concealing it in his meaty hands. 'Be better if she was in New South.'

  'How's that?'

  'Got a law there gives an allowance to parents. So much per kid.'

  'God, the micks'll be breeding like rabbits.'

  'Right. Trade Unions've formed their own Parliament – ACTU. Land o' the free, home o' the . . . Whaddya like again in the next?'

  Rupe had more losses than wins so that he was into me for more than fifty bucks when we left the track. Maybe this was what made me stick with him, maybe I just wanted the company, but we ended up making a night and day of it and another night. I can't remember all the places we went – low dives mostly, speakeasies and gin joints as our shirts wilted and our tongues got furrier. Some of what happened came back to me later: I remember Mexican girls and tequila . . . no, it was all too vague. What I can say is that I was lying on the couch in the front room of MacKnight's bungalow when I felt something burning my hand. I yelled and jerked awake and MacKnight came lumbering naked into the room. He was fatter than I'd thought and he looked ghastly with a dark shadow all over a ghostly pale, flabby face.

  'What? What?' he roared.

  I found that my hand was in the middle of a pot in which stood a big cactus plant. Several cactus spines were half an inch or so into my flesh. MacKnight laughed. The sound nearly took my head off but didn't seem to bother him. Again the thought came dimly to me that he couldn't have been as drunk as he seemed.

  'You stole that from the whorehouse,' he said. 'They put something on the spikes – chilli or something.'

  I pulled my hand free and rubbed the spreading red blotches. 'Christ,' I said. 'Who drove home?'

  'Me.' He seemed strangely business-like, for all the signs of high alcohol and tobacco intake along with bad food and sleep. 'I'll make some coffee,' he said. 'Fancy breakfast?'

  I shuddered and slid back down on the couch. Everything hurt, from head to hand and down the legs to the feet. One foot, I discovered was bare; the shoe and sock were beside the couch. The lace on the other shoe was undone – that must have been as far as I'd got. Commendable try, Browning, I thought, I'm surprised your pants aren't wet.

  Rupe came in with a pot of coffee, two cups and a bowl of breakfast cereal. He'd shaved and washed himself, changed his shirt and combed his hair. For the first time I noticed that he had very white teeth. They helped him to look healthy and normal as he wolfed down the cereal.

  'Have a cup,' he said. 'You'll feel better.'

  Would you mind pouring? I don't think I can manage.'

  He smiled, put his bowl down carefully and poured the coffee. I got some down and looked at him as he munched happily.

  'How come you're so chipper?' I said. 'Seems to me you owe me money.'

  He shook his head. 'Not me.'

  'Come on! Jesus!' Shouting hurt my head. I drank some more coffee and tried for a calmer tone. 'I cashed cheques, I . . .'

  'You signed a paper, son.' He took a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket, unfolded it and held it out for me to read. I tried but shook my head.

  'It says: I, Richard Kelly, also known as Browning, willingly avow that no financial obligations are entailed in my dealings with Rupert B. MacKnight, Attorney at Law, other than those stipulated in such signed and duly witnessed contracts as may exist.'

  'What the hell does that mean?'

  'You'll note the witnesses' signatures.'

  I tried to focus on the paper before he snatched it away. 'The madam was one,' he said. 'Not so good perhaps, but the other signature is okay. He's a distinguished member of the California bar. A few of his colleagues were there, too. I took you to the right place.'

  I was beginning to locate things – thoughts and feelings even – in the midst of pain and confusion. 'All this to clear a few bets, a few bar and whorehouse tabs? I don't get it.'

  He shook his head and poured himself some coffee. After a quick sip he heaved himself up. 'Just wait there, Richard. Something to show you.'

  I drank some coffee and wanted a cigarette but there was nothing in my pockets. Absolutely nothing. When MacKnight came back he was carrying a Smith & Wesson .38 and some folded, legal-looking papers. He put the gun by his right hand and smoothed the papers with his left. 'You signed a good deal last night, Richard. Tequila's like that, I've found. Leaves a man with motor control but no will.'

  'Signed?'

  'And witnessed by the aforementioned colleagues.'

  'Signed what?'

  'An agreement to pay Elizabeth Browning, née MacKnight, the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars in lieu of marital support, duties, child maintenance, etc.'

  There goes my affidavit, I thought. 'What else?'

  'A transfer of all interests in the firm of Aussie Air to Yarra Enterprises Ltd., in return for and in due payment of all fees pertaining to the conducting of all transactions in respect of the said Elizabeth MacKnight. I may say that I am the principal of Yarra Enterprises.'

  'You bastard,' I said.

  He nodded. 'Once a MacKnight, Dick, always a MacKnight.'

  25

  If I had been a violently disposed sort of chap I'd have hit him, but I'm not, and in my time I've seen too much violence rebound on the perpetrator to think it's a good strategy. In tight corners I tend to lick my wounds, look around for allies and get ready to run. Besides, MacKnight was considerably bigger than me and he looked a lot fresher. He scribbled his telephone number on the back of a card, gave it to me and showed me the door.

  'Talk to your partner, Dick. Tell him how you're fixed although I suppose you'll doctor the details a bit. Anyway,' here he slapped me on the back hard enough to send me reeling and perhaps to give me the idea that his weight was not only legal, 'you can tell him Aussie Air doesn't have to change a thing. I'm as Australian as . . .'

  'A Sydney Harbour shark?'

  He roared and hit me again. 'Very good, Dick. Very good. Tell you what, I'll come around myself, say about four, to talk things over with you and Tait. I hear he got back yesterday.'

  I was off the porch now, blinking in the sunlight and trying to see my car. 'How could you hear anything yesterday?' I said. 'You were drunk all day.'

  'I got to the phone a couple of times, mate. Don't you worry. See you at four, Dick. I know where you live.'

  I nodded and stumbled towards the car which I'd located, parked skew-whiff, by the gate. MacKnight followed me and gripped my shoulder. 'No funny business, Dick. It's all watertight and legal and you're a deserter, an illegal alien with criminal charges against you. You haven't a leg to stand on.'

  On the drive to Encino I thought about possible allies. Blue? He'd been cool lately for no reason I could fathom. With all the talk of oil contracts and such, he might welcome lawyer MacKnight as a partner instead of two-pilot Browning. Terri? I'd hardly seen her in weeks. I could offer to marry her if the deal with MacKnight went through and then I could offer her empty pockets and fresh air. Silkstein? He was interested in only one thing – his ten per cent. I'd heard him talk about former clients, failed actors, drunks and hop heads who got banned from the studios. I'd seen him hang up, stony-faced, on a weeping actress who'd managed to get her call past Miss Dupre.

  'This is a tough business, Dick,' he said. 'You know how I look at it? Ten per cent of sumthin' ain't much an' a hunnert per cent of nuthin' is nuthin'.'

  I couldn't expect any help from Silkstein.

  The immediate problem was lack of money and low gas in the Dodge. I pulled in at a bank on the other side of Las Palmas and got a hell of a surprise when the teller wouldn't cash my cheque. I was unshaven and rumpled, true, but this was California and some millionaires looked that way when it pleased them.

  'I'm sorry, sir,' the teller said. He smoothed his hair down and continued the gesture through to his moustache. 'We can't cash your cheque for that amount at this branch. You'll have to take it to Encino.'

  'I need to buy gas to get to Encino.'

  'I'm sorry, sir.' He didn't look sorry. I felt anger rising in me and tried to keep calm.

  'I've cashed cheques at other branches before without trouble. What's new?'

  'There is a new policy. With all the share speculation that's been going on, personal cheques have become, shall we say, a little suspect.' He gave me a toothy grin. 'You could cash a dud cheque, rush out and buy RCA stock and make a killing in a half hour.'

  I ignored the cough from the person in the line behind me. 'Do I look as if I'm going to buy RCA stock?'

  'No, sir. But that hardly helps your case.'

  A wise guy, I thought. The anger rose further and I was talking through gritted teeth now. 'There must be a way.'

  'We-ll, I could telephone to the Encino branch . . .' 'That's it!'

  'Have you got the cost of the call?'

  This was in the days before bullet-proof glass around bank tellers. He was about five and half feet tall and a hundred pounds. I could've reached over and shaken his teeth out and he knew it. 'You can deduct the call from the withdrawal,' I said.

  'Yes, sir.'

  He scurried off and I continued to ignore the coughing and shuffling behind me. He returned and flipped my cheque to me, standing well back from the counter. 'There are no funds in this account!'

  'But . . .'

  'I'm sorry, sir, you'll have to discuss it in Encino. Stand aside, please. Next in line, thank you.'

  Banks are bad places to feel bad in and the worst way to feel in a bank is poor. I shuffled away to make room for the folks with money in their accounts and went back out to the car. I wasn't too worried about the empty account. Blue and Terri could write cheques on it and it sometimes happened, particularly when we weren't conferring often as we weren't just then, that funds dipped low. It seemed more important that I was hungry and thirsty and out of cigarettes but at least I had the car. Cars are like banks – they tend to hold money in them when there's money about. I dug under the seats, into every compartment and fold, and came up with a little over two dollars. It was enough for gas, cigarettes, a sandwich and a near beer – hard to believe nowadays but it's true.

  As it turned out, it was also enough for a newspaper to read while I ate, smoked and digested in a cafe two doors from the bank. I knew I was delaying getting back to the house and talking to Blue and Terri about my problems, but why not? Anyone who hurries towards his problems is an idiot in my book. You never know what can happen and how useful a little time can be. Think how useful a couple of seconds were to Tunney in Chicago.31

  This thought sent me to the sports pages. An enquiry was on into the running of Tijuana Lass at Santa Monica two days before. The horse had been doped, apparently – looked like MacKnight had got his signals wrong. This cheered me up until I remembered that it was my money he'd lost. They were still looking for a heavyweight champion following Tunney's retirement. There was talk of Schmeling which was all right with me, the war was a long time over. I regretted that I'd never seen Dempsey fight. Maybe he'd make a comeback and I could get to see him – I was pretty sure he could make liverwurst out of Schmeling.

  Business was still booming. There was nothing in the paper about banks being careful about cheques. There was trouble about Al Wilson and the stunt in Hell's Angels. Looked like Wilson would lose his pilot's licence. That seemed tough but it was great publicity for Hughes and the movie. A real live death scene – it'd pack 'em in, almost as good as a hanging. That led me to regional news. There were elections here and there and Al Capone was in gaol for carrying a concealed weapon. That was news – I'd never heard of him bothering to conceal one before.

  'Another drink, buddy?' He didn't know that I'd have two cents in my pocket after I'd bought the gas. I stubbed out my cigarette and stood.

  'No, thanks, but here, take the paper. I'm through with it.'

  'Gee, thanks. I can check on my Montgomery Ward stock.' He was a fat man with no teeth and a dirty apron but he could have been serious. That's how things were in 1929.

  'Fifty cents worth of regular, please.'

  'You won't get out of the state on that, Mac.'

  This was the gas station attendant, a kid with red hair like Blue's and a cocky grin. 'What?' I said. 'Who the hell's getting out of the state?' I was too edgy to get the joke.

  'Take it easy, mister. No need to blow your top.'

  'Check the air.'

  In my scramblings around for change in the car I'd come across its registration papers. Like the house and the planes and the cheque books, it belonged to Aussie Air. As I drove through the warm afternoon I thought of all the Company papers I'd signed and witnessed – transfers of this, leases of that – I didn't pay much attention because businesss bored me. But now I reflected on what the company might be worth and whether there could be any change over me for me even if the deal with MacKnight held. There had to be – America was booming, fortunes were being made.

  A Studebaker shot across an intersection in front of me just before I reached the driveway to the house. I braked and yelled, dropped my cigarette into my lap and rabbit-hopped the rest of the distance. I had a hole in my trousers, a powerful thirst for some real liquor and a drumming headache when I opened the door to the house. Before I went in I turned and looked around the front lawn. It was overgrown as usual; the garden was drying out in patches as usual; the earth around the rose bush nearest the porch was littered with my cigarette butts the way it always was. But something was different. I shaded my eyes and squinted. No bottles in the hammock. No bottles anywhere. The place had been cleaned up.

  Terri's back, I thought. The woman's touch! Clean dishes and dry towels in the bathroom. I opened the door and walked in to silence except for buzzing flies, and emptiness, apart from the furniture that had been in the house when we rented it.

  'Hello!' I called. 'Hey, Dick's back! Aussie Air forever!'

  There was no reply. Silence took up all the available space. I stumbled down the passageway into the kitchen. There was a bottle of Canadian whisky in the middle of the table and propped up against it was a white envelope with 'Dick' written on it in Terri's neat, precise hand.

  26

  I've kept that letter for fifty years and I have it in front of me now. It reads:

  Dear Dick,

  Maybe you had better sit down and pour yourself a shot because this is going to come as a surprise to you. We've sold the Company to one of Hughes' corporations. When I say sold I mean it – lock, stock and barrel. Everything.

  We're sorry to deceive you like this but there was no other way. You have to admit that Blue and I did 99% of the work so it's only fair that we should get the benefit. Or maybe it isn't fair but that's the way it is. Blue says that tough times are coming for this country and it's time to get out. He said you'd never understand or not quickly enough to do what was necessary, so we had you sign your interest over to us. It's all legal. Blue says you're a survivor which is right and I know you'll get over this.

  The lease on the house runs out at the end of the week. All the bills are paid. We made sure not to leave you with any of the Company's debts. We're going to South . . . well, it could be America or Australia or Africa. It's better you don't know.

 

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