Blood Is a Stranger (13 page)

‘Sorry, Mick,' Burra said. ‘No trucks get through.'

Seconds later Malone pumped the accelerator again and this time pushed his vehicle hard at the logs. They moved a few metres. Burra was forced to jump clear. He ordered his colleagues to return to the clearing.

‘Mick,' Burra called, ‘we have spoken to O'Laughlin. He agrees that no vehicles get through until he arrives.'

Malone braked his juggernaut. He leaned out of the cabin and tried to address the Aborigines at the clearing.

‘What's wrong with you pricks!' he boomed, with amazed indignation. ‘I'm carrying plenty of grog. You can all have some if you let me through.'

While the big man repeated his offer, Cardinal eased
the rifle from under the front seat of the ute and began to make his way to the causeway from behind trees.

Malone was puzzled when no one came forward to take up his bribe. Burra bounced onto the logs again.

‘You've got your answer, Mick,' Burra said, pointing to the other side of the causeway. The expression on Malone's face turned to anger. He bent down out of sight and then climbed down from the cabin holding a metre-long iron pipe.

Burra stood his ground, but Malone came at him, cursing. Burra jumped clear of the logs. Malone showed surprising agility for his bulk as he hurtled over the logs swinging the pipe. Burra ducked and slipped on the causeway gravel. Malone jumped forward and swung the pipe down but missed by a tiny amount as Burra rolled over. The weapon left a gap in the gravel. Malone swung it back over his head and caught Burra a painful glancing blow. He groaned and fell flat. The big man scrambled to straddle him and deliver a blow to the skull. He raised the pipe but hesitated. Cardinal was crouching with the rifle in front of him.

‘Don't!' Cardinal warned, coming close so that the rifle was only centimetres from Malone's heaving chest. They were surrounded by blacks.

‘Shoot the bastard!' several urged Cardinal.

‘We'll say it was self-defence!' one of them called. ‘The cops don't care about scum like him!' Malone was uncertain if Cardinal was bluffing or not. Their eyes were locked.

‘Blow his brains out!' Beena hissed at Cardinal.

‘Too small a target,' he replied. The blacks roared their approval and pressed close. Malone realised that even if Cardinal were bluffing he would be slaughtered by the mob that now stood between him and his vehicle. He lowered the pipe to his chest.

‘Watch the tricky bugger,' Burra said as he got to his feet. A red welt had developed on his back.

‘Drop it very slowly,' Cardinal commanded.

Malone hung his head and grimaced as the weapon slipped from his ringers and clattered to the ground. Cardinal pointed at the juggernaut, and Malone began to shuffle towards it.

A black grabbed the pipe and ran to the vehicle. He leapt on the cabin and smashed the windows. The big man roared as several Aborigines blocked his path. He swung several punches but was brought down by blows and kicks.

Burra winced in pain as he rushed to restrain them. He hauled a couple off Malone and ordered them to let him go. The big man got to his feet holding a bleeding nose. He stumbled over the logs to his damaged cabin and cleared it of splintered glass.

‘I'll get you fuckers!' he said.

He reversed his vehicle across the causeway. Cardinal lowered the rifle and joined Elaine and the men who were attending to Burra. A bandage was wrapped over the wound.

Burra looked up at Cardinal whose face was drained of colour. ‘Thanks, mate. That's two I owe you.'

‘Would you have pulled the trigger?' Beena asked Cardinal. He managed a wan smile but said nothing as he returned to the ute to replace the rifle.

‘Would he have?' Beena asked Burra.

Burra looked up at him. ‘I don't think the gun was loaded.'

An hour later O'Laughlin arrived at the head of the convoy and was driven across the causeway accompanied by three officers. Burra had the logs removed and met the police delegation in the clearing's shade where the temperature was a debilitating fifty degrees.

Cardinal stayed out of sight in the ute and watched. Burra had promised a meeting with Jimmy Goyong, and
Cardinal hoped to speak to him that afternoon, although he was beginning to feel the trip to Arnhem Land had been a waste of time. He could see Malone, distinguished by his bright red hair and bulk, standing by his vehicle, which was in the convoy line that stretched from the other side of the causeway along the track like a sleeping reptile. Groups of truckies were sitting around in the limited shade drinking. O'Laughlin's men were assembled between them and the crossing, which was blocked by police cars and a van.

The atmosphere felt dangerous, and the heat promised to put a limit on everyone's patience. A breakdown in the meeting would mean that the truckdrivers might try to run the blockade.

The only person who seemed pleased with the confrontation was Beena. He offered the officers beer. They stepped forward, but when O'Laughlin refused the drink, they changed their minds.

‘Your boys are well trained, Chief,' Beena said, as he zipped a can for himself. ‘I once had cattle dogs like that.'

‘What happened to Malone and his juggernaut?' O'Laughlin snapped, his anger directed at Beena.

‘What did that prick say happened?' Beena asked.

‘He said he ran into a flock of big birds,' O'Laughlin said in disbelieving tones. ‘They did quite a bit of damage to his cabin.'

‘Poor Mick,' Beena said in mock sorrow. He guzzled his beer.

‘And what happened to you, Burra?' O'Laughlin asked. ‘You run into the same flock of birds?'

‘I slipped on the causeway,' Burra said.

He beckoned O'Laughlin towards the river.

Cardinal watched the two men arguing but could not hear them. After about fifteen minutes they parted, grim-faced. O'Laughlin led his officers over the crossing, and Cardinal jumped from the ute to learn the outcome.

‘We've got until seven tomorrow morning, at the
latest,' Burra said. ‘If we don't produce evidence of desecration of sacred sites by then, those trucks will be allowed through.'

‘You gave him that assurance?' Beena said.

‘We have no choice!' Burra replied. ‘Look at them!' He pointed at the convoy. ‘They have the law behind them, unless we can prove they have broken the law!'

‘Spoken like a true lawyer,' Beena said. Burra restrained himself.

‘I want a meeting of everyone,' he said to the others. ‘I want this done democratically. But not here. Kelly's Clearing is better.'

‘I want to be able to assist you,' Burra said. They finished their steak lunch on the wooden table in his house in the reserve's town. ‘It would help if you told me more.'

Cardinal sipped his drink and told him the hunches he was running on.

‘That explains why Richardson went out of his way to destroy the sketches Jimmy made of his companion the other morning,' Burra said.

‘They must have been good drawings.'

‘A good portrait man like Jimmy can do wonders. You ask O'Laughlin. He used to use him to do ID sketches of crims from very flimsy evidence. The police were always able to track down the guy they wanted.'

‘Why doesn't he use him now?'

‘Because the old bugger hits the piss! But he can still sketch better than anyone in the bloody north!'

Burra paused to sip his drink. ‘There's another thing. You two have similarities.'

‘Like what?' Cardinal said, surprised.

‘Like what you do with your fingers.'

Cardinal frowned. ‘You mean when I crack my knuckles?'

‘No. I noticed when we were driving along that you
move your fingers around on the dashboard of the ute — like you were sketching something. You did it again in the back of the ute earlier in the day when Judy first spoke with you.'

Cardinal was surprised. It was a lifelong habit, something he did unconsciously.

‘Jesus!' Cardinal said, ‘you're observant!'

‘You're the only other person I know apart from Jimmy I've seen do it. Do you know why?'

‘Not really,' Cardinal said.

‘I'll tell you. You do it to form an imprint of a face in your mind. You probably have a photographic recall of faces.'

‘I do!' Cardinal smiled.

‘So does Jimmy. That's why you must meet him. Those sketches may have been destroyed by Richardson, but I'm certain Jimmy will give you something.' He leant forward. ‘You see, when an artist like him sketches someone he takes an interest in, the images stay in his brainbox forever!'

Cardinal asked many questions about Jimmy's background, but noticed a growing irritability in his host.

‘Anything the matter?' Cardinal asked. ‘You look worried.'

‘I am,' Burra said, reaching for another beer. ‘Tom Beena is up to something. It bothers me. We've always suspected he has been in Richardson's pocket.' Burra pushed his steak away. ‘I've got to win this one,' he said, ‘otherwise that bastard will take over.' He poured them both a beer. ‘That, more than anything, will kill my people.'

‘Guns!'

Exuberant Aborigines worked the word into a chant. A wild crowd of Bididgee members had gathered and in Burra's absence Beena had called on several speakers who
wanted a violent confrontation with the police.

When Burra returned, he sensed the ugly atmosphere immediately.

He turned to Cardinal as he climbed from the ute. ‘I'm going to introduce you to Goyong after this,' he said. ‘Just trust me now, okay?'

Cardinal waited for an explanation, but Burra closed the ute door and hurried to the front of the crowd. He waited until the applause and yelling had died down.

‘I can guess what the speakers have been saying before me,' he said with a knowing grin towards the group at the front near Beena. ‘And it's what I would expect from some of the brainless ones among you who are forever . . .'he paused to punch the air and repeat, ‘forever going to be outsmarted by those truckies and people like Richardson!' He turned so that he was facing Beena and his small group of supporters. ‘Don't you understand?' he said. ‘You are saying exactly what those bastards want! They want you to obstruct them. They want the police to fight you. They want a confrontation! Why else would that moron Malone be sent forward to set you up?'

The noise fell away as Burra took command.

‘And do you know why? I'll tell you. They want to destroy Brockman. And they'll do it if you fight them, because once they get through to the mine with the law supporting them, they'll have nothing to stop them. Everyone will be against us.' He faced his people. Invoking the comradely ‘us' was the beginning of his effort to turn the mob against Beena.

‘We outnumber them!' one of Beena's group cried. ‘We have nothing to lose.' That brought a less supportive cheer than before, but there was still a residue of feeling, as another called, ‘If they destroy Brockman, we are finished!'