True West Page 12
They left him and returned to the Sandman, made love at
the base of the dunes on the back beach, the doors open to
the starry sky and the sound of surf on the reefs. Then Lee dropped Emma home.
David was found the next morning, hanging from the steel
boom of the net-winch, there in the harbour. There was no
note. No sign of a struggle.
No arrest made. They were all questioned and everyone told
the same story. That David and Danny were the last ones on
the boat. Danny claiming that David was too drunk to walk,
had wanted to sleep on the boat. So he’ d left him, like the others left him, and drove home to his parents’ servo. Danny’s father confirming his time of arrival.
Only Emma and Lee mentioned the ‘fuck off’. Both of them
admitting that Danny didn’t appear too concerned. Both of
them knowing what had happened, but not able to prove it.
Emma’s family drove down to Perth for the funeral, and
Emma never came back. Her father quit his principal’s
position. He refused to speak to Lee about it. He wouldn’t give him a number to cal .
Lee sought out Danny Hislop. There were no witnesses at
the plantation fifty K east of the town, on a track that only a few Knights knew about. Lee had long suspected that the bush weed Danny was selling in ounce bags to the fishermen he
worked alongside was harvested from a Knights’ crop.
Lee caught him on a bend that threaded two granite rocks.
138
TRUE WEST
He’ d parked and blocked the track, knew the sound of
Danny’s old HQ utility. He smoked and waited and thought
about what he was planning to do. The places it might take
him. What it might mean for his father, now that Danny was
a prospect too. Both their fathers leaders in the hierarchy.
Danny’s father a volatile man. Said to be a contract killer for the bikies. Like everything else to do with the Knights, it might be true, or it might be bullshit, although most people in town played it safe and assumed it was true, laughed at
his jokes and steered clear. Danny was also a nephew of the Downs brothers, also in the hierarchy. Together, the three of them could make things very difficult for Lee’s father.
The sun was drifting to the mallee scrub horizon of
gnarled shapes and fire-blackened skin. The flies were bad
and gathered on the sweat patches over Lee’s shoulders and
back. He waved them away and they arose in a swarm and
then returned. They crept into his eyes and mouth, seeking
moisture.
There was a loaded .303 rifle standing behind a termite
mound to his left. There was a shillelagh leant against a
wizened acacia next to the track. He had a knife strapped to his belt.
Just in case.
He took off his flannel shirt, sunglasses and hat. He didn’t want anything interfering with his movements or his vision.
He heard the ute sloughing over the sandy track, whirring
through the gears, then the faint sounds of AC/DC’s ‘Hel s
Bel s’, incongruous out there in the great openness. The
139
DAVID WHISH-WILSON
sky arched wide and blue above him, emptying his head of
everything except what he needed to do.
The ute nosed around the nearest boulder, Danny’s eyes
widening as he realised that he was hemmed in by rock. He
stopped the car and put it into reverse, but the boggy track and the angle of the turn gave Lee time to reach the door.
Danny locked it and began to wind the window up but he was
too late. Lee punched Danny so many times that he lost count.
Got his body half in the cab and started slamming Danny’s
head on the steering wheel, the horn blaring with every blow, Danny losing consciousness. Lee unlocked the door and
dragged him onto the track.
Now he went to work on Danny with his boots, curled into
the foetal position or trying to get to his knees, wheezing blood from his broken mouth. Lee remembered his father’s
words. How back in the old days Danny was the kind of boy
that the vil age elders would get rid of, make it look like a hunting accident or a fall from a height. Lee hadn’t planned on murder but it was like his father’s words were guiding him.
He knew with perfect clarity what his father would do. Kil
Danny and bury his body deep. Drop his car in town.
Nobody would ever know except Lee, a secret that he’ d
nurse for the rest of his life. Plenty of men around town had the same secret. You could see it in their faces. Not the secret, but the guarding of a secret.
There was sand stuck to the blood on Danny’s face, in his
eyes. His mouth bubbling blood. Lee looked down upon his
work. Broken ribs. Broken jaw. A shattered wrist.
140
TRUE WEST
It would be kinder to kill him.
Danny wasn’t complaining any longer, as though he wanted
it to end, as though he was complicit.
Lee had the shillelagh, tossing it from hand to hand, looking down at the fragile egg.
He raised it and stepped.
Made to swing down.
Feinted, and tried again.
But his arm wouldn’t fal .
He spat and tried again, failed to strike, again.
There were tears in his eyes. They stung, made it hard to see.
He stepped back.
It wasn’t him.
Wasn’t in him.
The drive into town took an hour, but he wasn’t aware, didn’t remember it except for the times he stopped to dry-heave on the graded shoulder.
Later, the shame settled in.
At what he had done, and what he had failed to do.
There would be consequences, for both.
*
She was looking at him, the coffee mug at her lips. ‘Did you have to leave because of Danny Hislop?’
Lee nodded. She’ d obviously been thinking about it. Smart
of her not to ask what he’ d done.
‘Can you go back?’
‘No.’
141
DAVID WHISH-WILSON
‘I’m sorry about your father.’
Lee looked at her then, wondered what she knew. Did she
mean that his father was missing, or that he’ d turned dog?
He changed the subject, asked her about the new school.
It was alright, she said. She wasn’t used to the uniform or the rules dictating ladylike behaviour, and sometimes she felt like pulling her hair out. But her aunt Josephine still blamed her father for David’s death, which had occurred while her son
was under his care. Her father had become withdrawn and
depressed. Emma was trying to do the right thing.
There was so much that Lee wanted to tell her. That he
needed to tell someone. But she would be disgusted to hear
that he was working with people like Kinslow and his boys,
even if he didn’t have a choice. Lee’s friends had known better than to make comment when he started dating Emma, but
she’ d picked up on their disapproval anyway, and they’ d
talked about it – Emma describing how much crap her mother
had to put up with, both in Geraldton but also back in Perth.
Lee already aware how much Emma was mocked at school,
until she got with Lee, and then at least the comments about her Asian features were no longer made to her face.
He enjoyed sitting with her in the warm afternoon sunshine, the sounds of life around them. Her hair blowing in the faint breeze. The sparkle of
light in her eyes, squinting a little.
He thought about walking over to the docks. Or buying her
something in the streets of shops that surrounded them.
She needed to be home by six.
He looked down the road. Saw the sign, just past an old
142
TRUE WEST
two-storey gold-rush building with a balcony over the street.
‘Hey, you ever been ice skating?’ he asked.
She smiled. ‘No, never. You?’
143
13.
It was dark when Lee got back to Frankie’s house. She was
waiting in her room. ‘I was worried you wouldn’t be home in time. Take a seat. You’ve only got ten minutes.’
Lee warmed to her smile. ‘Why? What’s up?’
‘A reward. For your contributions.’
‘Very mysterious.’
Frankie passed him the gram packet she’ d already opened.
He tapped out a mound of powder and began the routine
while Frankie applied eyeliner in front of a hand mirror.
‘We going out?’
‘We are, but not to the same place, not together, I mean. I’m going to a gig at the Shents.’
‘And me?’
‘That’s confidential.’
There was no use pressing her. They’ d spent a lot of time
together, but Lee was no closer to understanding where she fit in with Kinslow and the old man’s organisation, or even what 144
TRUE WEST
she believed. Ever since that first day, she hadn’t returned to the differences between them, except to say that she judged people by their actions, not their words. She’ d taken on the role of the proud big sister. She always seemed to know what he’ d done, and where and when.
Lee found the vein in the back of his wrist and capped his
fit, put it on the bedside table. He wiped his eyes and rolled his neck. He closed his eyes and felt the surge in his blood.
When he opened his eyes Brad was standing in the lintel of
the open doorway, sneering down at him. He wasn’t dressed
for a job but was wearing workboots, ironed King Gee khakis and a tight Bonds tee. Brad ignored Frankie like he always
did, angling his head toward the road.
*
They drove down the Kwinana Freeway until they reached
the turn-off for Jandakot Airport, then turned east toward the hil s. Soon the new housing developments disappeared and
then it was bush blocks and then just bush. Lee knew better than to ask where they were headed, although the further
they drove, the more wary he became. He was unarmed – the
Luger was back in the locked compartment of his truck. Brad had frisked him and emptied his pockets before they’ d left, allowing him only his money and driver’s licence.
Brad was silent until they reached the floodlit wal s of a
fenced perimeter. Inside the fence was a higher concrete wal with watchtowers and razor wire. The sheet-metal sign said
‘Canning Vale Prison’, its lower half stained red with bore 145
DAVID WHISH-WILSON
water rust that in the darkness looked like blood. The carpark was empty and the buildings outside the wall were dark.
Brad killed the engine and turned in his seat. ‘You know
what this means. This is a once-only thing. We had to call in favours. You look the wrong way or say the wrong word and
I’ll pull you out and deal with you. The rules are simple. You don’t mention any operational activities. You don’t mention the beating you took. You don’t mention us by name. You
don’t say where you’re living or any of that shit. You’ve got five minutes. I’ll be listening in, to enforce the rules.’
Brad looked at his watch, which had gone five past eight.
‘Fuck.’
The front gate was lit by high-pressure sodium lamps
mounted above CCTV cameras, although the doorway was
hidden in shadow. Brad took something from his back pocket
that he clearly didn’t want to show. It was a snap-hinged and laminated ID card that, together with his open wallet and Lee’s driver’s licence, was raised to the security camera mounted inside the doorway. The front door clicked open, followed by a loud buzz that echoed in the next chamber. Brad repeated
the process, Lee trying to steal a glance at the badge inside his wallet before he returned it to his pocket.
Without looking at him, Brad grunted, ‘Good try. What’ d I
tell you about looking wrong?’
Four prison guards at a low brushed-steel desk ignored them as they passed, continuing to read the paper, pen crosswords and scan CCTV screens. They were met at the end of the hal
by a TRG officer in his regulation dark blue coveral s and
146
TRUE WEST
boots. There was no rank insignia or name tag on his uniform and he didn’t look familiar. He nodded at Brad, then looked at Lee.
‘I checked him already. We’re good to go.’
The TRG officer turned and they followed him down a
corridor. Inside a room to their left, a dozen more TRG men worked out on weight machines or watched television, their
chest armour, helmets, batons and shotguns within easy reach.
‘Keep yer eyes to yerself,’ Brad hissed.
They were waved through two more gates by disinterested
guards before they entered the darkened visiting room. Brad flicked a switch and ceiling fluorescents in steel cages buzzed and filled the space with a sickly light. The wooden desks
looked like they’ d been rescued from a high school, scratched with graffiti and images of dragons, knives and breasts. The chairs were no different, and Brad kicked one toward Lee,
nodded for him to sit. Brad and the TRG officer went and
stood at opposite wal s.
Now it was real. Lee’ d done everything asked of him to make this possible, but that was only one side of the equation. His father was proud and wouldn’t take to being stood over, or blackmailed.
Brad’s demeanour in the car was hard to read. For a while there, Lee’ d thought he was being taken out into the bush to be deep-sixed. Presumably his father, then, had also been playing their game, doing what was asked of him to keep Lee safe. His father had what they wanted, but this meeting was something else,
too – a demonstration of their power.
Behind the steel door he could hear the buzz-echoes of
147
DAVID WHISH-WILSON
other doors opening and slamming shut. The nerves in his
stomach rose into his chest. He felt blood in his face as his heart beat faster. His father would see the smack in his eyes.
The nerves helped. Lee gathered himself and sat forward.
The door buzzed and clicked open. An old screw with a paunch and silver hair entered the room, swinging keys on a chain. He looked at the TRG officer and nodded, stepped away.
Jack Southern shuffled into the open doorway. He was
cuffed. Even from a distance Lee saw the note in his fingers.
His father took his time scanning their faces before stepping through. He wore the prison green tracksuit and plastic slip-ons. His eyes remained cool under their gaze until he was at the desk, playing a role. He’ d done plenty of time after he got out of the army, before Lee was old enough to remember.
Final y, their eyes met.
‘Fuck this.’
The words were Lee’s. He stood, stepping around the desk,
took his father in an embrace. He felt the note slide into his left hand. His father’s gauntness was confirmed in the seconds it took Brad and the TRG officer to reach them, and break
them apart. In his urgency to embrace his father Lee held on tight, had even lifted him momentarily from the floor, was
shocked at how light he was. His fi
ngers felt bone and sinew.
Ribs, spine, shoulderblade.
‘Sit the fuck down.’
The TRG officer pushed his father onto a chair. Lee hid the note and raised his hands in surrender. Brad and the TRG
officer returned to their wal s. The screw at the door twirled 148
TRUE WEST
his keys, looking at the floor, scraping something off the sole of his left boot.
‘Dad. I’m alright. I got the Ford from Uncle Gary. We fixed a towing rig onto it. I’m working it …’
There wasn’t much time. Lee gave the summary, leaving out
the boxing gym and Emma.
‘Show me yer arms.’
Lee knew what that meant. He opened his wrists.
‘I suppose you reckon I’m a hypocrite, but –’
‘I understand.’
‘Plenty of time in here, to think. Nothing but fucken time.
Nothin but fucken thinkin. We can talk about al … this … me, you, when I get out. But you’re lookin good. Reckon you’ve
even grown. You got a confidence about you. It suits.’
‘You too,’ Lee said. ‘Bit paler, but then I guess you don’t get much sun.’
‘Thanks for lyin. I look like shit because I feel like shit –’
‘What about the meditation? Your exercises?’
Jack Southern shrugged. ‘Like I say, nothing but fucken
thinkin.’
Lee bowed his head, lowered his voice. ‘Why didn’t you get
a message to me? I thought you were dead.’
‘I tried, son,’ he whispered. ‘But listen now. I’ve heard on the wire that it was Danny Hislop who killed his uncle. Danny killed Brady Downs because he refused to move against me.
Greg Downs is refusing to believe it.’
Lee’s stomach tumbled. He knew immediately what had
happened. ‘Because of what I did to Danny?’
149
DAVID WHISH-WILSON
Jack Southern blinked, a nod. ‘I always told you what Danny was. He killed his uncle then framed me up. And it worked. I had to disappear and you’re on the bolt.’
‘What are you gonna do?’ Lee asked.
‘Not me. You.’
Brad clapped his hands. The noise was sharp in the locked
room and it made his father flinch. Lee wondered if Brad had overheard their conversation. ‘Dad, you eating? You got stuff to read?’
Brad kicked through the table, sent it clattering away. ‘I said, that’s enough. Family reunion’s over. We done our part here.’