The Story of Danny Dunn (49 page)

At most, two of these plywood cubicles might have a window; the other two would not, a single overhead light bulb being the only source of light. Windows were barred to prevent a moonlight flit, as was the back door. The only entrance and exit was the front door, kept under almost constant surveillance and locked at 9 p.m., except on Friday and Saturday nights.

Fifteen people would share the original bathroom and kitchen, with their unreliable power and water supply. Electrical circuits were overloaded and the wiring usually done by amateurs, because qualified electricians risked losing their licences if they followed the owner's instructions. This, in turn, created huge fire hazards. Fire extinguishers and hoses simply weren't supplied.

Premises converted in this way provided rental income that was usually ten times greater than that allowed under the Act. Brokendown Street, reduced to near-Dickensian conditions, was proving a veritable goldmine for its owners. Sammy and Bullnose explained the rules for living in one of these converted shit holes to Danny. Well, there was only one rule, really – the landlord's word was law. Any complaint resulted in the threat of eviction or a beating if a tenant couldn't fight back. It was known as CNO: ‘Clout 'n' Out'. But in fact it was far worse: standover tactics were common, tenants who complained were often beaten severely and women were sexually assaulted. The ‘managers' were thugs, and often enough drunken thugs. No receipts were issued for rent or bonds. Any work tenants did on a place to ensure their own safety or comfort was not credited. Councils, except for collecting the garbage, stayed well away, their councillors happy to receive a regular brown envelope.

Bullnose, with Sammy acting as cement-machine mixer and barrow boy, rebuilt the terrace wall and then enthusiastically set about constructing their new home in the cellar. They weren't fast but they were thorough and Danny was surprised at the skills they brought to the task. In fact Sammy did do the wiring and Bullnose the plumbing, and in their absence Half Dunn, at Danny's request, sent down a certified electrician and plumber who were regulars at the Hero to inspect the result. The electrician claimed the work was first rate and laughed when he saw the switchboard. ‘Perfectly good, but I haven't seen it done like that since my dad's time,' he said. The plumber suggested one or two small changes to the configuration of the pipes to prevent the possibility of the kitchen sink clogging and an air block forming in the shower recess, and that was about the extent of it.

Danny visited J. B. Sharp, Fine Traditional and Modern Furnishings, and ordered two beds and mattresses. He was duly confronted by Mr Sid Sharp, the son of the founder, who wore a bowler hat all day and quite possibly all night, inside and outside. He'd never been seen without it and there were frequent but pointless bets laid over whether he was bald as a bandicoot, but nobody ever found out.

He was also famous for his driving and owned a big maroon 1939 Buick, all chrome and show-off, which he drove with an abandon that sent everyone running for cover. He'd get into the car, put it into low gear and slam his foot down hard on the accelerator so that the big V8 engine screamed for mercy. Then, releasing the handbrake, off he'd go, ignoring traffic lights and stop signs, with one hand permanently jammed on the horn to warn off anyone silly enough to approach. His driving knowledge never extended beyond what he considered to be the five essentials: handbrake, low gear, accelerator, horn and brakes. Though he'd had countless accidents miraculously he'd never killed anyone.

In desperation Sergeant McCusky, the local police sergeant, had finally revoked his driving licence and the big automobile now stood permanently parked outside the shop, all the dings removed, maroon duco polished to a mirror shine, its whitewall tyres pumped and perfect, the leather upholstery glossy, while on the driver's door, beautifully painted in a gold copperplate script, were the words:

Sergeant McCusky

Is a right mug lair!

The bastard went and busted me.

That's just not fair!

*

J. B. Sharp Esq.

‘Danny, glad you came in, son,' Sid Sharp called in welcome. ‘As a matter of fact I've got a bone to pick with you,' he said, stabbing Danny lightly in the chest with a pudgy finger.

‘Oh? What is it, Mr Sharp?'

‘Dining-room suite. You know the rules. When you get married, son —'

‘Oh, yes, right. But I've . . . we've been married for years, Mr Sharp.'

Sid tapped his forehead. ‘Elephants never forget, son.'

‘But the flat we lived in was too small – there wasn't room for a table and chairs,' Danny protested.

‘And now with that big house by the water surrounded by the stink of factories, that you and – Helen, isn't it – foolishly bought?'

Danny charitably ignored the remark. Sharpy was famous for his direct manner. ‘Yeah, but when we bought it the original furniture was still there. We restored a beautiful old cedar table – French-polished it – and upholstered the twelve matching chairs.'

‘Twelve! My word, that's a big table. Righto, son, you're forgiven for not getting one from J. B. Sharp.'

What the old man was alluding to was a Balmain wedding tradition. J. B. Sharp Pty Ltd had been established by his father in 1890, and Sid hadn't changed the name. Since the time of the coal mines the firm had allowed local engaged couples to select a dining-room suite – table, chairs and sideboard – from the shop and then permitted them to pay it off in their own time. When the suite was finally paid off, the old bloke would present the family with a locally made bentwood rocking chair. This was his private joke, as some couples were indeed grandparents before they made the final payment. Some few never did pay him. ‘Not because they're dishonest,' the old man would explain. ‘Life is short and the struggle is long.' Danny was reminded that Pineapple Joe had taken the idea of his pay-as-you-wear suits for Balmain lads from J. B. Sharp.

The contention over the dining-room suite resolved, Sid Sharp patted Danny on the shoulder and asked, ‘What can I do for you, my boy?'

‘I need two single beds with hard mattresses,' Danny answered.

‘For the twins, eh? They must be growing up. Hard mattresses, that's good.'

Danny simply grunted. No point in telling him about the arrangement in the cellar. By tomorrow morning it would be known to one and all that he'd taken on a couple of boarders.

‘I hear your twins are still rowing with you,' Sid chuckled. ‘But now they're regular porpoises in the pool as well. Two new Dawnies in the making, eh?' He paused. ‘You want to pay off the beds instead of a dining-room suite?'

Danny laughed, shaking his head. ‘Nice of you, Mr Sharp, but it's okay. We can manage.'

‘I always said you would have played for Australia if it wasn't for what the war did to you. Mind you, that's not a real bad second-hand face the Yanks gave you.'

Danny couldn't possibly take umbrage. Sid knew everything about everyone on the peninsula and his directness or lack of subtlety was more than compensated for by his kindness.

Danny, having selected the beds and mattresses, prepared to leave, the old man accompanying him from the shop to the pavement, where traditionally furniture was displayed. A small boy stood close by. ‘Ah, I see you still use a dog whacker,' Danny laughed.

‘Dogs don't change,' the old man said laconically. The dog whacker was a small boy who watched out for stray dogs that threatened to piss on the legs of the furniture on display.

Danny grinned. ‘I remember doing dog whacking one school holiday soon after we'd arrived in Balmain from Wagga. I can't say it was the most fulfilling job I've ever had, but in the process I got to know every stray mutt in Balmain.' He turned to old Mr Sharp. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Sharp. Wouldn't be the same around here without you.'

‘Don't worry, there'll always be a Sharp. My son Jack will take over from me, and then his son, baby John will. He's already got the gift of the gab. Wouldn't surprise me if he becomes a politician.' Sid laughed. He looked directly at Danny. ‘I just want to say this before you go, son. It's good what you've done for the women around here. Too much nasty stuff been happening for too long.' He grinned. ‘I hear they're calling it the Danny Dunn wing at Long Bay. You should be proud of yourself, my boy.'

The basement flat was all but complete except for laying the lino in the kitchen and bathroom. The original clay floor tiles that covered the basement were still in good condition, but what with Bullnose's arty-ritis and it being late April with a cold winter promised, Danny had ordered Feltex to be laid over the remaining area of the flat and had a Warmray slow-combustion heater installed.

It was all over bar the shouting and Sammy and Bullnose were justly pleased with themselves; they'd done a grand job and had only to wait for the lino and carpet to be laid before they could move in the beds and the rest of the furniture. In the twins' words, they'd be snug as a bug in a rug. Only one week to go to moving day.

At 2 a.m. on Saturday the 30th of April, Danny was jerked awake by the sirens of several fire engines approaching. He jumped out of bed, shaking Helen awake. ‘Fire!' he yelled.

‘Where?' Helen cried.

‘Close! Smell the smoke?'

Danny ran out to the upstairs verandah in his pyjamas while Helen, who slept naked, hurriedly put on her dressing-gown against the autumn chill and followed him outside. A house in Brokendown Street had gone up in smoke, the flames already leaping high into the night sky. Danny counted along the houses. ‘Oh shit! It's Sammy and Bullnose!' he cried. ‘Jesus, no. No, no!'

Helen clutched his arm, ‘Hurry, Danny! They may have got out – they could be safe!' she said, her eyes brimming with sudden tears.

DANNY FLUNG ON HIS
rowing gear – a pair of gym shorts, an old Tigers football jumper and a scruffy pair of tennis shoes – and ran. As he approached the fire, a generator started up suddenly and the scene was bathed in light from three spotlights rigged up by the fire brigade. Danny found Bullnose on the pavement at the edge of the light, strapped to an ambulance stretcher well clear of the blazing boarding house. Only his head showed above the blanket, the skin on his face blackened but already peeling in places, showing a dozen or so bright-red patches of raw flesh the size of postage stamps. His eyes were closed, his eyebrows and hair burnt off. The old man was sobbing, calling out distractedly, ‘Sammy! Sammy!' Danny dropped to his haunches beside him, panting.

‘Bullnose, mate, it's Danny!' he gasped, sucking in air.

Bullnose managed to open one eye. ‘Sammy! Sammy's in there! Lemme out! Lemme out! Sammy! Sammy!' he shouted, his body struggling against the straps, and then suddenly he was seized by a paroxysm of coughing.

‘Steady, mate, take it easy,' Danny said. He looked up at the house. The back of it was ablaze, sheets of flame leaping into the sky. The firemen had only just managed to get their hoses going, but the looping jets of water emptied into the inferno seemed to have no noticeable effect, although clearly the firemen were trying to stop the flames spreading to the front of the old house.

Two ambulance men ran over. ‘Sorry, sir, we've got to get this man to Emergency,' one of them shouted above the roar of the flames.

‘He's got a mate – did they get him out?' Danny cried, still breathing heavily but trying to stay calm.

The wind gusted around and they were able to talk normally.

‘He's all we've got out, sir,' the first and older of the two men replied.

‘Meter board! Meter board!' Bullnose whimpered, then was once again overcome by an attack of coughing.

‘Smoke inhalation, but he's not too bad,' the assistant volunteered.

‘Is he going to be okay?' Danny asked fearfully.

‘He's not burned too badly – face mostly. It's the shock.' He shrugged. ‘But I'm not a doctor. Some people can die of shock,' he said quietly. ‘Especially the old ones.'

‘He's got a mate,' Danny repeated.

‘Afraid there's no way of knowing who's still in there. If there's people in the back, they won't be needing us.' The first man shook his head. ‘Back windows are barred and the back door too . . . they've got Buckley's. Those who come out the front are all there's goin' t'be comin' out.'

‘It happens all the time with these slum boarding houses,' the assistant said.

They bent down simultaneously and lifted the semi-conscious Bullnose. The first attendant nodded down at him. ‘This old bloke got lucky. He almost made it to the front door, so the firemen could get to him.'

‘His mate would have been close by,' Danny said helplessly.

‘Yeah, well, like I said, some of the people in the front of the house got out before it filled with smoke. No good going in there now – smoke'd kill yer sooner than the fire.'

‘I'm sorry, sir, we have to be going,' the second attendant urged.

‘Where are you taking him?' Danny asked.

‘This time of the mornin' . . . St Vincent's.'

Danny walked beside the stretcher to the ambulance, where he touched Bullnose lightly on the shoulder, trying to hide his panic. ‘See you tomorrow, mate.' He waited by the ambulance until its rear doors were closed. ‘Thanks,' he called to the two attendants, then ran over to a group of a dozen or so people, survivors who had obviously come out of the house, one or two in pyjamas, most wrapped in blankets issued by the firemen. All were standing, except for one old woman who was huddled under a red and grey army blanket, her grey hair loose and completely obscuring her face. She was weeping hysterically. Danny knew Sammy wouldn't be among them. Obviously, if he'd been okay or able to move he would have been with Bullnose. Nobody took any notice of the hysterical old woman. Danny stepped over and shook her, but she continued to wail, so he slapped her across the face, hard enough to shock her but not hurt her, the way he'd done countless times in the prison camp when men, at the end of their tethers, suddenly lost control. The woman collapsed onto her side and the blanket fell open to reveal her emaciated body, but her wails changed to quiet sobbing.

A young lad, maybe seventeen or so, with the unfocused look usually worn by the mentally retarded, was sucking his thumb. ‘She fell down,' he said, pointing. ‘Look.'

‘All right, Jimmy,' an old bloke said. ‘Don't point at her. She'll be all right.'

Danny hurriedly covered the woman, then gently lifted her into a sitting position, brushing the hair from her face. ‘You'll be okay, love,' he said, holding onto her for a moment, while checking the shocked faces around them, hoping, but also knowing it was in vain, that he would see Sammy's among them. He turned back to the old crone and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. ‘You okay, love?' The old woman, unable to speak, looked at Danny, her eyes frightened, then she nodded and a tear ran down her cheek. ‘Good girl. Help is coming,' Danny said to comfort her. Then, rising to his feet he looked at the group. ‘Anybody see anyone else hurt . . . any other survivors?' he asked.

The old bloke gestured towards the flames. ‘Few dead, I reckon. Burning flesh, know it from the war. They been caught out the back. Windas barred, back door too. Mongrels done that,' he growled. He seemed the only one able to respond.

‘Do you know Sammy Laidlaw?' Danny asked him.

‘Yeah, but I ain't seen him,' the man replied, then, peering at Danny he said, ‘You're Danny Dunn, the lawyer bloke, ain't ya?'

Danny nodded. ‘Yeah. And you are?'

‘Jack . . . Jack Medlow. Yeah, you sent me son-in-law to Long Bay for a spell, mate.' He paused momentarily, then added, ‘Good onya, Mr Dunn. Drunken bastard beat me daughter and the kids regular.' Then he turned and spat to the side. ‘Dirty mongrel, couldn't keep his filthy hands off me little granddaughter.'

Helen, fully dressed in slacks, jumper and the gumboots she used in the garden, suddenly appeared at Danny's side. Taking his arm she looked anxiously up into his face. ‘What's happened, darling? Did you find Sammy and Bullnose?' she asked.

Danny excused himself, drew her aside and explained the situation to his increasingly tearful and protesting wife. Finally, brushing away her tears, Helen sniffed and nodded. ‘Come, Danny, there's nothing we can do here. The twins may wake up and find themselves alone in the house. Let's go home. I have something I have to tell you.'

Danny turned and pointed to the old woman who was now lying in the foetal position. ‘We have to take her – she's in a bad way. She can't stay out here all night. She has nothing on under that blanket.'

Helen hurried over to the old woman, bent and shook her gently, then lifted her arm and felt for a pulse. ‘Danny!' she cried.

He strode over. ‘What?'

‘I can't find a pulse,' Helen said, concerned.

Danny dropped to his haunches beside the old woman and searched for a pulse, first on her wrist, then in the angle of her jaw. ‘Nothing,' he announced. He opened the blanket, rolled her gently onto her back and put his ear to her chest, listening. Then suddenly he threw back the blanket altogether and began to press forcefully and rhythmically on her sternum. The survivors crowded around, mute. ‘Helen, move 'em back,' Danny gasped, continuing to pump. But after several minutes there was no change. ‘It's no use,' he said at last.

‘Here, let me take over,' Helen cried.

There was the sound of police sirens in the distance and everyone looked up to see the cars' flashing lights exploding in bursts of blue against the night sky, and reflecting off the harbour water.

‘About bloody time! Bastards don't like comin' down here,' Jack Medlow snorted. They all watched as a police car and a paddy wagon drew up beside the fire engines. ‘Maybe they'll arrest Lenny Green,' he said hopefully. This drew a titter from the survivors, who'd shown little concern for the dying old woman, too numb or too used to misery to respond, but at the mention of Lenny Green they seemed to come to life. ‘Manager,' Jack explained to Danny.

‘Danny, I think it's hopeless,' Helen said, panting. Then, rising, she drew the blanket back over the motionless body.

It was almost 4 a.m. when Helen and Danny got back home. Danny had made a statement to the police sergeant and provided his office phone number. He knew all the local police, having gone to school or played football with most of them, but had been surprised to see that this lot were not from Balmain but from police headquarters in the city – no doubt the reason for their late arrival.

Helen made tea and they sat in the wicker chairs on the upstairs verandah, too exhausted and overcome to go back to bed. The twins had, thankfully, slept through the disaster. It seemed the firemen had finally gained control and had kept the fire from spreading to the front of the house, although much of the back half had been gutted. Two more police cars and a police bus arrived on the scene and, shortly after, a large black Bedford van appeared. Six men in white overalls jumped from the back carrying what looked like stretchers, though not the hospital kind. ‘Morgue van,' Danny said quietly. ‘They're moving the bodies quickly. No forensics – that's unusual.'

The morgue attendants carried out eight stretchers covered in what looked from a distance like green canvas sheets. ‘Funny, they're not treating it as a potential crime scene,' Danny remarked, as he watched the police leave without cordoning off the house.

Helen made a fresh pot of tea, and toast with Vegemite for them to have as they watched the dawn opening up the new day. The fire was finally out and the smoke had cleared, except for a few innocent-looking grey spirals. All the survivors had been transported elsewhere in the police bus, and as the last of the stretchers was placed in the black van and the doors closed, Danny, suddenly overcome, let out a sob. ‘Sammy!' he cried, as the tears began to flow.

Helen came over and knelt on the tiles beside the wicker chair. The dawn sky was just starting to colour as she silently took Danny in her arms and held him against her, allowing him to weep. After a while Danny sniffed and wiped at his eyes, then, accepting Helen's handkerchief absentmindedly, blew his nose. Realising what he'd done he shoved it into a pocket. ‘I'm sorry about that, darling. I guess I lost it. You get used to people not dying around you,' he said quietly.

‘Don't apologise. The fact that you can still cry for a mate makes me love you even more, if that's possible.' She kissed him tenderly. ‘I think after you've had your tea we should go to bed, don't you?'

‘The twins will be up soon,' Danny nodded in the direction of the harbour, ‘expecting to go out.'

‘I'll tell them,' Helen said.

Danny lifted his cup. ‘You said you had something to tell me.'

‘It can wait, darling. Beddy-byes now,' Helen replied, smiling.

‘No, tell me,' Danny insisted. ‘Please.' He was enjoying Helen's hand massaging the back of his neck.

She turned slightly, her hand still on his neck. ‘Riley owns the house that burned down. As well as all the others in the street. He's a slum landlord . . . rather, he's head of the syndicate that —'

‘Jesus!' Danny shot out of the chair, his teacup smashing on the tiled verandah. He spun around to face her. ‘How long have you known this, Helen?'

‘Don't be angry, darling. Not that long,' Helen said, alarmed by his reaction.

‘Angry? Jesus Christ, I'm furious! Sammy's dead and Bullnose . . . who fucking knows!'

If Danny expected Helen to be contrite, he was in for a big surprise. Her voice was suddenly cool and measured. ‘That's precisely why I didn't tell you; it's because of them, and because you're reacting exactly as I feared you would!'

‘Eh? Come again? Because of
them
! One of
them
is dead, and the other may be dying in hospital as we speak!'

‘I didn't start the fire, Danny!' Helen said sharply. ‘I'm not responsible.'

‘You knew that Riley was the slum landlord and you didn't tell me? Jesus, Helen!'

‘And that would have made a difference? Stopped the fire? Prevented Sammy's death?' Helen cried.

Danny, fighting to gain control, dropped his voice. ‘So when did you propose to tell me?'

‘In precisely one week, after Sammy and Bullnose had moved into the flat. That way Riley wouldn't have been able to get his standover man to beat them up.'

Danny sighed, and flopped back into the chair. ‘Helen, you'll have to explain that piece of exquisitely feminine logic. After all, I'm a mere male.'

‘And acting like one, my dear,' Helen suggested coolly, his sarcasm no match for her own.