ThornyDevils (13 page)

‘Then you have three extra special souvlaki. We make the best,’ Con thumped his chest. ‘But this one, I make extra special for you.’

‘What’s that?’ Dave asked.

‘Souvlaki,’ Peter repeated. ‘Lamb.’

‘No worries, is extra good. You come back and tell me if is no good. But I know you love it.’ Con started preparing their order.

Peter noticed Dave still looked anxious. ‘Sam and Dave have never eaten Greek food before. Where they come from, a Chinese take away is considered high dining.’

Con laughed. ‘They come here every day for more after they eat this one. Is very good.’

Roula busied herself warming the pita bread on the grill, while Con sawed off chunks of barbecued lamb. The boys salivated, watching her smear the pita with garlicky yogurt and loading it with the lamb and salad. She rolled the lot up and pushed three fat cylinders towards them, wrapped in white paper and squeezed into plastic sleeves.

The boys were gathered around Peter’s flimsy 1960s dining table, tearing mouthfuls from the now half-wrapped parcels.

‘Good tucker, this,’ Sam announced, biting into a piece of meat. ‘Best lamb I’ve ever tasted.’

Dave nodded and wiped juice from the corner of his mouth. ‘Really good.’

Peter took another mouthful. ‘This is only the start. You’re gonna love eating in Melbourne. There’s everything here. And if it’s not good, it soon closes down.’

‘I wish those people would come up north,’ Sam remarked. ‘Clarkes Flat would love this.’

‘You reckon they would?’ Peter jibed. ‘I doubt they’d try it. They’d think it’s too exotic or spicy. All they like is their cold beer and burned barbecued steaks.’

‘Hey!’ Dave bit back. ‘We’re not all rednecks. There are some open-minded people there. We’ve just met a lot of rednecks lately because of all the crap with Max. Don’t forget, you came from there.’

‘Precisely,’ said Peter. ‘
Came
being the operative word.’

‘Okay, boys,’ Sam raised his voice, ‘enough of the arguing. We have to think about camping arrangements.’

‘I’m not sharing mine,’ Peter joked.

‘I’ll sleep on the floor,’ Sam suggested. ‘I brought my swag.’ He pointed to a rolled up khaki ground sheet, tied with a cracked leather belt. Inside were Sam’s clothes, bedding and a bag of toiletries.

‘You can have the fold-out bed in the spare room, then,’ Peter told Dave.

‘Lucky me,’ he sighed. ‘I just saw it. Will it last the night?’

‘It’ll be fine.’

‘I hope so. My back isn’t the greatest.’

With Dave looking maudlin, Peter decided to steer the conversation in a different direction. ‘So, what do you want to see while you’re here on holidays?’

‘We haven’t talked about it,’ Sam replied.

‘I could take you to a Collingwood game this weekend at the MCG,’ Peter said as he wrapped up the bundles of paper. ‘There’s lots to do.’

Sam and Dave were silent. Sam lowered his head and fidgeted with his feet.

‘For two blokes who are supposed to be on holidays you don’t look very excited.’

Another long silence. Dave finally spoke. ‘We’re not actually here on holidays, Peter.’ He looked at Sam anxiously.

‘What’s wrong?’

Sam pulled out a note from his shirt pocket and handed it to Peter. He unfolded it and read it out aloud.

The only good nigger is a dead nigger. Prepare to die, coon
.

Peter screwed up the paper and threw it on the floor. ‘Disgusting. Must be something to do with the case.’ He reached into his trouser pocket and retrieved his wallet. He took out a crumpled note. He gave it to Sam to read.

If we ever see you in Queensland again you’re dead, Clancy.

Sam handed it back to Peter who scrunched it up as well. ‘It was left for me at the motel I was staying at.’

‘I got one too.’ Dave read his out:

You’re a traitor and traitors are going to die
.

He ripped it into several pieces and sprinkled the pieces on the table.

‘Looks like we’re members of a select club,’ Peter attempted to joke. ‘I wouldn’t make anything of it.’

‘Those notes were only the beginning,’ Sam murmured.

‘Beginning?’

‘Someone ran me off the highway when I driving from Clarkes Flat to Prospect Hill five nights ago. I just managed to avoid a tree.’

‘It could have been a drunk driver?’ Peter conjectured.

‘Then someone started shooting in my direction when I was backing up the car,’ Dave sighed.

Peter’s eyes widened with disbelief. ‘That’s terrible,’ he said.

‘Lucky it was dark and there was a rock to hide behind because I reckon they would have got me.’

‘You didn’t see who it was?’

‘Landcruiser ute,’ Dave replied. ‘Could be anyone.’ Dave turned to Sam. ‘Tell Peter what happened to you.’

‘I was staying at the caravan park near the beach in Townsville when I heard the window breaking and then next minute the van was on fire.’

‘What the hell!’ Peter exclaimed.

‘Someone threw a Molotov cocktail in through the window,’ Sam added.

‘They’ve been following the both of you. Is it Max, you think?’

‘Max or his devoted supporters, I’d say. Could be his wife, for all we know,’ Dave said as he stretched out in the chair.

‘It’s madness,’ Peter shook his head. ‘It’s the wild west.’

‘So that’s why we’re here,’ Sam lamented. ‘I’ve always wondered how you live down here.’

‘Queensland is a big state. You’ll eventually find somewhere to live away from Max,’ Peter observed. ‘You won’t have to stay here forever.’

‘Wherever we go in Queensland, the cops are going to know and some of them are going to tell Max,’ Dave said. ‘And I should know. I was once one of them.’

‘Well,’ Peter assured him, ‘you’re going to be safe in Melbourne. No Max or his henchman will get you here.’

‘Don’t go and live back there for a while,’ Sam added.

‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ Peter replied. ‘With that thought, I need a beer.’ He hopped up from his chair and went to the fridge, retrieved a VB and pulled off the tab. ‘Nightcap,’ he said. ‘Sorry I didn’t offer, but you two like the lolly water. There’s some in here, if you want it.’ He returned to the table and sat down.

‘Thought you were cutting down,’ grumbled Sam, glaring at Peter. ‘So this place is safe?’ He stood and picked up his swag. ‘Can you leave your house and car unlocked?’ He undid the strap around the swag and rolled it out.

‘I would strongly advise against it. This isn’t a country town. So, if I leave you the key to this place you have to make sure it’s locked up. The druggies will break in and steal everything.’

‘But we can walk around the city,’ Dave asked. ‘We’re not going to get robbed, are we?’

‘Of course not,’ Peter laughed and took a final drink from the can before crunching it up. ‘This isn’t New York. You can even walk around the city at night. I feel a lot safer here than up north. I think they’re mostly friendlier here than up there.’

‘We believe you, maybe,’ Dave replied up as he got up from the table. ‘So what’s happening with your crime column? Anything exciting?’

‘A father and a son got gunned down in their garage as they were going to work.’

‘Hey, you said it was safe here.’ Sam stopped making up his bed.

‘Excepting psychopaths, there’s always a reason why people get killed like that.’

‘They’ve either dogged on someone or they owe a debt,’ Dave surmised.

‘So you’re safe, Sam,’ Peter grinned, ‘for the moment.’

‘Those psychopaths,’ Sam asked nervously, ‘where do they hang out? Are they around here?’

‘You have more chance of being struck by lightning than being killed by one of them. So don’t worry about it,’ Peter sounded a little annoyed. ‘They don’t all live in Melbourne, as we all know by now.’ With that statement, Sam appeared to relax. He slipped off his clothes down to his singlet and underpants and crawled into his swag.

‘Smells like the bush,’ Sam said as he stretched out and snuggled into his pillow.

‘Dave, I’ve been meaning to ask you,’ Peter continued, ‘you know a bit about photography.’

‘It was part of the private investigator course. Why?’ Dave replied.

‘The crime photographer at
The Truth
went crazy yesterday and we need another one in a hurry.’ Sam’s eyes popped open and he sat bolt upright in his swag.

‘Is he one of the mad blokes? The ones that kill people with axes?’

‘Sure was. He nearly chopped my head off,’ Peter teased. ‘No, he just went crazy. He was in the Vietnam War. Go back to sleep.’

He continued talking to Dave. ‘So what do you reckon?’

‘Yeah. Sounds all right. I could do that.’

‘Come in and meet the boss tomorrow morning,’ Peter called out, as he headed to the bathroom. ‘If he likes you I’ll need you to cover a funeral I’m going to.’

‘Have you got a job for me?’ Sam asked. ‘I don’t want to sit around here all day.’

‘I don’t know if they’ll be much work for a stockman in Melbourne,’ Peter laughed.

‘I can do more than that,’ he replied defensively. ‘I’ve done a few things in my time. Crocodile shooter, labourer, boxer, truck driver. I worked on the wharves in Darwin. I’ve done a bit, you know, young fella.’

‘I’ll ask around,’ Peter yawned. He smiled wryly. ‘I know…I know a drag queen who runs a club. Maybe you could be one of her dancers. You’d look good in a sequinned dress and feather boa.’

‘Piss off, young fella,’ Sam said as he threw his pillow in the direction of Peter.

‘I assume you’ve seen a bit of blood and guts, being an ex-copper?’ Bob asked as he eyed Dave up and down from behind his desk. Bob pulled out the familiar bottle of Jameson’s and three glasses from the top drawer of his desk.

‘Enough.’

‘You drink, Dave?’

‘No. I used to get bad hangovers,’ he replied quietly as he fidgeted in his chair.

Bob poured out two glasses. ‘Unlike your mate here,’ he grinned as he handed a glass to Peter. ‘If I thought you two were going to get on the piss all the time, forget it. You’re not on drugs?’ he asked.

‘No way.’

‘You haven’t got a psychiatric condition?’

‘Of course not,’ Dave replied uneasily, looking at Peter.

‘It’s a good chance you’ll go mad hanging around Clancy,’ Bob laughed. ‘Peter probably told you about the last bloke. I don’t want a repeat of that.’ Bob drained the remnants of his glass. ‘You seem a quiet bloke, Dave. A solid country boy.’

‘I guess.’

‘I like that. I was one of those once. Came from Wangaratta. Now look at me,’ he tapped on his gut. ‘Good. I want someone dependable. On time.’ He glanced at Peter.

‘Why are you looking at me?’ Peter asked.

‘You have other qualities, Clancy,’ Bob said. He turned back to Dave. ‘And you know a bit about cameras?’ he continued.

‘I did a private investigator’s course. Cameras are a major part of the job.’

‘Good.’ He poured out another scotch. ‘How are you going to find living in the big city? You’re not going to get frightened by the noise and all the people?’

‘I lived in Brisbane for two years.’

Bob and Peter laughed.

‘Brisbane,’ Bob teased, ‘that’s a country town.’

‘I’ll teach him the lay of the land, Bob. Don’t you worry,’ Peter grinned as he slapped Dave on the back.

‘All right. The job is yours.’

‘Great,’ Dave and Peter replied in unison.

‘But don’t let me down,’ he warned as he checked his watch, ‘I don’t want any stuff ups, especially now. We could be onto the biggest story this paper’s ever done so I don’t want anything missed. No pressure, Dave.’

‘I work better under pressure, Bob,’ Dave assured him.

‘It’s nine-thirty. You’d better get down to Saint Pat’s for the O’Leary funeral to get a good position. It’s going to be a big one.’

Peter sculled his glass and both men jumped out of their chairs.

‘I know I’m throwing you in at the deep end, Dave, but I’ve always found it a good way to learn. Now piss off.’

‘We’re gone, Boss.’ Peter threw open the office door.

Hundreds of mourners were already filing into the grey monolith of Saint Patrick’s Catholic Cathedral when Peter and Dave arrived in Cathedral Place to take up a vantage point among the media throng opposite the entrance. They managed to push in beside a camera crew from a commercial television station, who were reluctant to yield an inch to accommodate them.

‘Give us some room here, you pricks,’ Peter complained as he jostled in beside Barry Pritchard, a tall reporter with a blond tipped muffet, a surfer’s tan and a huge ego. He was known in the Melbourne journo community as
Ilmo. I Love Myself Only
. Ilmo was not a trained journalist, although he was once a ruck-rover for Carlton. Which were two big reasons for Peter to really dislike him.

Barry Pritchard easily pushed the lighter Peter back onto the street. ‘What the hell are you doing here, Clancy?’ he laughed. ‘Shouldn’t you be in the pub?’

Dave stepped in and elbowed Barry out of the way. Barry nearly tripped on the kerb.

‘Don’t argue, mate,’ Dave glared at Barry, who took a step back when he realised he was outclassed by the infinitely younger and more solid Dave.

‘Yeah don’t argue, Ilmo,’ Peter said as he wriggled in beside Dave. ‘This bloke is an ex-Queensland cop.’

‘You
Truth
blokes are a bunch of bloody cowboys,’ Pritchard said as he adjusted his tie. ‘Gutter press.’

Peter laughed. ‘Not me. But it looks like you are, Ilmo.’ Barry was actually standing in the gutter. ‘Don’t get the leather shoes dirty.’

Suddenly all attention was drawn to two long hearses coming into the street followed by three black limousines. The convoy pulled into the cathedral’s courtyard. Dave lifted the camera and started snapping.

‘Good, Dave,’ Peter encouraged. ‘Don’t hesitate.’

The mourners in the limousines streamed out and headed up the front steps of Saint Patrick’s. Other mourners who had not made it inside took up positions in the courtyard and spilled onto the street. Peter noticed Slugger getting out of the second car. He looked dapper but also bewildered, in a suit that looked brand new. One of the O’Leary boys waved impatiently at him to join them.