ThornyDevils (18 page)

‘Thanks,’ Peter replied.

‘You must bring Stella to the Velour Lounge for some decent, decadent entertainment.’

‘The Velour Lounge?’ Stella repeated. ‘Sounds fantastic.’

‘Darling, you’ll think you’re in New York,’

‘The information,’ Peter interjected. ‘What’s your take on it?’

‘We’re getting closer,’ said Stella. ‘But we just don’t know how close it is yet. Damn.’

Peter and Dave opened the door of the flat to the scent of corned beef boiling. It was warm and familiar and, after the Antarctic blast of a Melbourne winter’s southerly, more than a little welcome. Sam was standing over the stove in singlet and shorts with a tea towel hanging over one shoulder, ladling potatoes and pumpkin out of the simmering pot.

‘You blokes are home early.’

‘I haven’t had corned beef since I was a kid on the station.’ Peter smiled as he hovered over the stove drinking in the smell. ‘Potatoes in their jackets. Tomato sauce on the meat. Yum.’

‘Mum used to make this every Sunday,’ Dave added as he was drawn into the kitchen to inspect the pot. ‘She used to be such a good cook.’

‘It’d taste better in a camp oven over an open fire,’ Sam said. He replaced the lid of the pot and shooed Peter and Dave away. ‘Stop hanging around! Don’t upset the cook. Out!’

‘It’s a pity you can’t build a campfire in Collingwood, isn’t it, Sam?’ Peter laughed as he reached into the fridge to retrieve a can of VB and a bottle of soft drink for Dave.

‘Where did you get the corned beef?’ Dave asked as he poured out a glass.

‘At the butcher’s. Where else?’ Sam said shaking his head.

‘Is there a butcher around here?’ Peter asked as he flopped onto the couch.

‘Just up the road,’ Sam replied. ‘I suppose you’ve never been to it.’

‘The only place I’ve bought food around here is the Apollo. Okay— I know I should cook for myself more.’

‘You, cook?’ Sam sniggered. ‘I’d like to see that.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. I have cooked noodles in the past. Boiled eggs. Oh, and that’s right,’ Peter recollected, ‘I once cooked apricot chicken for a girlfriend. She was a babe. I thought I’d be in after I cooked her that. Unfortunately she became an ex-girlfriend soon after that.’

‘Why’s that?’ Dave asked.

‘I left the chicken out too long,’ he replied sheepishly, ‘and she got food poisoning.’

Sam and Dave burst out laughing.

‘Fuck. I don’t know why she was so upset. I got the frigging trots, too!’ He sipped at his beer. ‘We’d just gotten into bed and we were getting all hot and bothered when it happened. She rushed to the toilet and closed the door. For the rest of the night. She wouldn’t let me in.’

‘You didn’t?’ Sam laughed.

‘I tried to get to the Tote but it was too late.’

‘Where did you end up?’ Sam asked as he pulled three plates out of a cupboard.

‘Have you ever shit yourself and spewed at the same time?’ Peter continued. ‘That bloody happened.’

‘Not in the flat?’ Dave chuckled.

‘I managed to get down a laneway, thank God. And went about my business in privacy with my arse in one bin and my head in another.’

‘Disgusting.’

‘Tucker’s up, boys,’ Sam was already dishing up the meal.

‘Still feeling hungry, Dave?’ Peter teased. ‘After my story?’

‘Starving.’

‘Bugger. It didn’t work.’

‘I don’t mind cooking,’ Sam commented as they sat down to eat, ‘but I wouldn’t mind doing some work. I’m getting a bit stir crazy in this pokey flat.’

‘I haven’t been able to find you anything, Sam. I have been asking around,’ said Peter.

‘I’ll have to go back to Queensland if I can’t get anything around here. I’ll take my chances with Max.’

‘Don’t do that, Sam,’ Dave advised. ‘It’s not going to be safe.’

‘I want to do something. I can’t just lie around here.

‘You think you have problems,’ Peter said as he hopped off the couch.

‘Where are you going?’ Sam questioned.

‘To the Tote. I can’t think here.’

‘Do you go to the pub every time you have a problem?’ Dave asked.

‘Just about,’ Peter shrugged. ‘Some people go to shrinks, I go to the Tote. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing, I suppose,’ Dave ventured.

‘Bullshit, it’s nothing. Listen here, young fella. I’ve told you this once before. You drink too much,’ said Sam.

‘I can cut down. I could even stop drinking altogether if I wanted to. I’ve done it before,’ Peter retorted.

‘I’ve seen plenty of good men go bad because of that stuff. Do it for one day. Just one,’ continued Sam. ‘Don’t drink for one day.’

‘Okay, I’ll do it. But not today. I’ve got a lot on my plate.’

‘Why don’t you talk to us about it?’ Sam asked. ‘We may be able to solve it.’

‘Sure. How are you going to help me find a way back into this story?’

‘Well, I’m definitely a genius,’ Sam laughed, ‘and Dave must be close to one, cause I’m teaching him everything I know.’

***

Even at six-thirty in the morning, South Wharf was a flurry of frenetic activity as gantry cranes, forklifts, trucks and men moved together in a close, at times, to the uninitiated eye, shambolic choreography. Long gone were the days when teams of men used nothing more than brute strength and trolleys to unload cargo from the bellies of ships, risking their health, and receiving only basic wages in return. Now, the machines outnumbered the men and cargo was enveloped in large metal containers. Containers that could be removed from the desks of the ships and placed on the waiting trucks within minutes. Where once hard living old wharfies would have taken two days to unload a ship, now it could be done within hours.

To Sam, who was picking his way through the men and machines, it seemed pointless that he should even ask for a job on the wharves. He could lift and carry any load, despite being middle-aged, no worries, but his only claim to fame was that he had once worked on the docks in Darwin. He’d never worked in a busy port like Melbourne. He wanted
to turn around and find something else to do. But what? Jobs custom made for Aboriginal stockmen from far north Queensland were rare. He was making a mental list of everything he couldn’t do in a big city. And then he smelt the sea and a strange calm overtook him.

Whenever he smelt it or saw it, he thought of the times he had spent with Annie all those years ago, eating crab or fish and making love on the beach in Darwin. He missed Annie every day. Even though she had died ten years ago, it still hurt like a fall off a bucking horse.

A forklift blew its horn impatiently at Sam. He called out to the forklift operator as he passed, but the forklift had whizzed away before Sam could shout ‘
Where is…’
Still, he pressed on and eventually found a ramshackle demountable building that had
Office
scrawled in paint on the front door. Two burly men wearing jeans and leather jackets stood out front. It took Sam several minutes to convince them that he wasn’t from the media or the cops.

‘Have you ever seen a blackfella in the police force or on television?’ he asked the men.

They had no response to that.

The office was a mess of different smells: tea stewing in an urn, photocopy toner, sweat and stale tobacco. It was equally full of visual clutter: rusty filing cabinets, a sink piled with empty cups, and sheets of paper stuck on a noticeboard. Sam’s eyes settled on the bearded man and a stout, short, middle-aged woman with bleached blond hair gelled into spikes, sitting together behind a new computer. It looked to Sam like the woman was trying to teach the man how to use it. He alternated between stabbing at the keyboard and scratching his beard with frustration. Another man—tall, irritated, red-haired and business groomed—was shouting into a phone.
Fuck
surged out of his mouth.

‘Excuse me,’ Sam muttered as he removed his stockman’s hat. ‘Is this where I come for a job?’

They each continued on without noticing Sam.

‘Excuse me?’ Sam raised his voice a notch.

The woman lifted her gaze from the computer screen. ‘What do you want?’ she asked brusquely. Her accent was so broad that she sounded like a parched crow.

‘Got any work?’ Sam repeated nervously.

The bearded man looked up and laughed. ‘I didn’t think any of you blokes had the ability.’

‘I’m here to work, all right?’ Sam answered back, only barely containing his anger.

‘What’s your name, mate?’ the woman asked, her voice softening as she looked Sam over.

‘Samson Clancy,’ he replied. ‘But everyone calls me Sam.’

‘I didn’t think blacks had names,’ the bearded man smirked. ‘Just blackfella. What are you doing here anyway, Abo? Did you walk off the mission and get lost?’

Sam clenched his fists. The man might have been younger, but Sam could have had him on his arse before he had enough time to jump out of his chair. Instead though, he relaxed his hands and smiled widely at the bearded man.

‘That’s enough!’ the woman chastised, rapping the man in the back of the head. ‘Sam’s looking for work, so enough of the racist comments.’ She stood up and smiled back at Sam.

‘Just a joke,’ the bearded man sulked.

‘The name’s Babs,’ she began, ‘Babs Bell. What sort of work do you do?’

‘I’m a jack of all trades. Mainly worked in the bush but I’ve worked in the city too. Worked on the wharf in Darwin for a while.’

The man on the phone tried to drop the receiver back onto the hook but missed. ‘Fuck! Fucking prick!’ He replaced the receiver carefully and pulled a chair in beside Babs. He looked Sam over.

‘We don’t need any jack of all trades around here,’ the bearded man smirked again.

‘I do the hiring and firing around here, Robbie, remember?’ the suited man interjected.

Robbie turned his gaze back to the computer screen. ‘Sure,’ he said timidly as he started tapping, ‘you’re the boss now, aren’t you?’

‘They’re brothers,’ Babs added, shaking her head in despair ‘Always been like this.’

‘Whatever,’ Robbie pouted.

‘I have no problem with Aboriginals, unlike my brother. But he’s not the human side of this organisation,’ the suited man announced, ‘I am. The ones I’ve met are tough, honest people. Shame they get treated so badly.’ The suited man stood up and held out his hand. ‘Tommy O’Leary.’

Sam shook hands.

‘Take a seat, Sam.’ Tommy pointed to a chair near a wall. Sam pulled it over and eased himself into it. ‘Been in trouble with the law?’ he asked.

‘Do I have to answer that?’ Sam replied uneasily.

‘Do we look like the law?’ Babs smiled displaying badly stained teeth.

‘I haven’t been in trouble for a long time. Not since I was a young bloke,’ Sam replied. ‘I try to avoid trouble.’

Robbie rolled his eyes.

‘We like to give people a second chance. We find that people give us more loyalty that way.’

‘We don’t like fucking cops either, blackfella. They still think everyone’s crooked, like the old painters and dockers days. They’re always sending in undercover cops to find out what’s going on. Sometimes they come here looking for a job. You can pick ‘em all right. You can almost smell the pricks. I’m still not too sure about you. You don’t look like you’re from around here,’ Robbie sneered as he stuck his head over the screen.

‘I’m down from Queensland,’ Sam stammered. ‘I’ve got relatives down here. I want to stay with them for a while.’

‘Are you joking, Robbie?’ Tommy laughed. ‘Look at him. Does he look like a cop to you?’

‘Just saying. You have to be careful.’ Robbie looked down at the screen again.

‘Honestly, I’m not that keen on them myself.’ Sam replied. ‘I don’t like the bastards picking on us.’

‘So, you’re looking for a job?’ Babs interrupted. ‘Can you operate any machinery?’

‘I’ve operated a forklift, driven trucks. I can lift.’ ‘Not a lot of lifting these days, although sometimes muscle power is needed,’ Tommy added.

‘You look too old, Abo,’ observed Robbie. ‘You won’t be able to keep up. And you’ll probably go walkabout on us.’

‘I can work like a blackfella,’ Sam joked.

Tommy and Babs laughed. Robbie didn’t.

‘I can give young fellas a run for their money,’ he continued. ‘No worries.’

‘Show us what you’ve got, then,’ Robbie said and pointed to the metal filing cabinet. ‘Let’s see if you can lift that.’

‘Okay.’ Sam rolled up his sleeves and went over to the cabinet. ‘I’m up to it.’

‘You don’t have to.’ Tommy held out his hand to stop Sam. ‘It took two men to bring it in here and that was empty. I don’t want you to kill yourself. My brother is just being a prick.’

‘I’ll be right,’ Sam replied, brushing Tommy aside. He stood in front of the cabinet and took several deep breaths, as he wrapped his arms around it in a bear hug. With another deep breath, he gripped the cabinet and slowly lifted it off the ground. ‘Where do you want it, then?’

‘Put it down, Sam,’ Tommy said, ‘before you blow a gasket.’

Sam slowly lowered the cabinet to the ground and stretched out his arms and then his back. ‘I must be slipping. I could have lifted two of those once, one under each arm.’

‘Not bad, Abo,’ Robbie nodded in quiet approval. ‘It must come from eating all that goanna.’

‘Actually, you’ve come at the right time. Just so happens that we’re short on men at the moment,’ Tommy stated, ‘When do you want to start?’

‘Well, I’m here,’ Sam replied. ‘Might as well be today.’

‘Right then. We can get the formalities done later. Welcome aboard.’ Tommy shook Sam’s hand again. ‘I’ll show you the lay of the land and then we’ll get you started on a forklift.’

‘You’ve got to go,’ Robbie interrupted as he pointed to the clock on the wall. ‘You’ve got to take Mum to the funeral.’

‘I nearly forgot.’ Tommy grabbed his suit jacket off the back of the chair. ‘Babs can fill you in. Won’t be long.’

‘Sorry to hear of your loss,’ Sam said with respect.

‘No, no one close. Some old friend of Mum’s,’ Tommy replied dismissively as he headed for the door.

Northcote Cemetery. Mid-morning

An icy drizzle fell on the few mourners gathered around the grave. Peter raised the collar of his coat and shivered. Twelve mourners, including himself and an aging Catholic priest. The priest was reading out the service like he was an auctioneer, intent on getting it over and done with before the rain set in.