23

THEY WERE WAITING for him at Darlinghurst Police Station. He was dragged from the back of the stifling wagon and left standing for a moment, manacled under streetlights as cool air dried his sweat. His eyes were wide, uncertain and fearful. His suit was ripped, his white shirt was bloodstained and there was a bruised welt across the back of his neck, which made it hard to stand up straight. Then the reception party came pouring out of the station and he was shoved into a gauntlet of clubs, fists and boots.

He ran awkwardly, arms cuffed behind his back, shoulders hunched, turning this way and that to take the blows. He was driven by blows into the green fluorescence of the lock-up, an open space heaving with arrested protesters. He saw in the faces of the cops that they didn’t give a fuck if there were witnesses. He’s resisting arrest, trying to escape, whatever it takes to justify the brutality. The other prisoners automatically stepped back from the pariah, making space as he was herded through them with whips and scorns, like a dangerous animal.

‘SCUM! DOG! FUCKEN WOG! DEADMAN!’

The rumours were unclear as to his exact crimes. Cop-killer, attempted cop-killer—however the fuck it ended up, whatever the final charges, he’d put two of their own in hospital! Two! He was a mythical demon, deserving the full treatment. Have to show these fucken hippies: You fuck with us? THIS is what happens! The prisoners stayed silent, holding out their hands to be printed, answering questions respectfully, fearful of being targeted themselves like this martyr, whoever he was.

Marin was in a whirlpool of violence.

Bouncing around in the back in the cage of the wagon, gagging on the repellent stench of hosed-out vomit, he had known without doubt that what he’d done had torn him loose from his life. Nothing would ever be the same. He had started the day in one place and now he was in this other place, this dark place. It was a simple, terrifying fact.

They hauled him down a corridor too narrow for the beaters. They flung open a door, pushed him through it and ran him headfirst into a wall. A door slammed behind him. He was alone. It was not a cell. A desk, two chairs. An interview room.

A thin stream of blood ran into his mouth. It was salty sweet and sickening. He spat it onto the floor in disgust. Every part of his body seemed to be throbbing. He wanted to throw up, but forced it down. He lowered himself painfully into a chair and let his head drop to rest on the desktop, hands still pinned behind his back. He fell into blackness, spinning down into the whirlpool.

‘SIT THE FUCK UP!’

Marin opened his eyes, ready to obey any order. He forced his beaten body upright. A heavy-set man in a dark suit was standing over him. One look at the man told him this was a veteran of bad shit. A detective, he assumed, from some hard-core division. There was a large book under his arm. A phone book. Residential. A to Z.

The big man sat down opposite Marin, stared at him for a long moment before pulling a face. ‘Marin Kat-ich,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘Fuck kind of a wog name is that?’

Marin sat tight-lipped.

‘Think you’ve got the right to remain silent, do you, dickhead?’

Marin bit his cheek, tried to keep his face neutral.

‘We’ll see about that,’ said the detective, distractedly. He didn’t look up, but flicked instead through the phone book until he got to K.

‘Quite a few of you cunts in here. Kat-ic with an I-C. Kat-ich with an I-C-H. None with the initial M.’

‘I live with my dad. His name’s Ivo. I.P. K-A-T-I-C-H. Stanmore. Can I call him?’

‘What do you think this is, a fucken hotel? Get reception to put a call through, you reckon?’

‘No.’

‘No. Good answer. You think I’m here to ask questions, do you?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I’ll use your poofter name, shall I, Mar-in … No answer to that? Eh … Marianne, Marie, whatever the fuck they call you in Wog World. I’m not here to ask you questions, girly. I don’t care about your fucken answers. I’m here because of the two young coppers you put in hospital. One of those blokes is still in a coma, right. You better hope he wakes up, or it’s murder Got anything to say about that?’

‘They were beating a woman,’ said Marin quietly. ‘They were going to rape her.’

‘Oh, Marianne! That’s a bad answer. No one’s going to believe your bullshit. You know that, right? They’re gonna throw the fucken book at you, girly. You know what it’s like, having the book thrown at you? Do you? No? Let me show you.’

The detective was quickly on his feet. He scooped up the phone book, braced his legs and swung it two-handed, like a square cut on a rising ball, into the side of Marin’s head.

WHAM.

‘That’s what it’s like. That’s for being a stupid fucken wog.’

WHAM.

‘That’s for the young bloke in hospital.’

WHAM.

‘That’s for the other one.’

WHAM.

‘That’s so you know this will never stop.’

WHAM.

‘There’s a special hell in jail for blokes who attack coppers. You’re fucked, mate.’

Marin came around on a hard bunk in a dimly lit cell. He was nauseous. The pain in his head was crippling. Someone had removed the cuffs while he was out. He lowered himself onto the cement floor and crawled to the open stainless-steel toilet, gathered his arms around the rim of the bowl and threw up until he had totally emptied himself. He crawled back to the bunk, climbed onto it and passed out again.

The next time he opened his eyes, it had been a loud noise that brought him around. The cell door had opened and clanged shut. Violent nightmares had drawn his body into a foetal position. Without moving, he watched a man coming towards him with a wooden chair. The man put the chair down close to Marin and sat. He was lean and thin-faced, with sharp, intelligent eyes. He wore a crumpled linen suit that looked like he’d gathered it up from the floor that morning. Marin saw the signs of a heavy drinker: a once-handsome face now haggard, bloodshot eyes, a slight tremor. Marin tried to focus on the man, but his head was splitting. He was in so much pain in so many parts of his body that he could barely move. His mouth was so dry that his tongue felt swollen in it. He tried to talk, but all that came out was a loud groan.

‘B-B-Bloody hell,’ said the man. ‘They really d-did you over, didn’t they?’

‘Water …’

‘Here,’ the man said. He carefully opened the lid of a green, military-style canteen and handed it across. When Marin tried guzzling it on his side, water ran out of his mouth. He painfully forced himself to sit up and took a long drink.

‘Slowly,’ said the man. ‘You’ll be sick. I b-brought these. Take a c-couple now. Two more in a few hours.’

Marin was handed a small bottle labelled Codeine. He tapped out three of them and swallowed them down. He gripped the canteen hard, staring at the man.

‘Not the strong stuff, I’m s-sorry. Best I can do for now.’

‘Who are you?’

‘You can call me T-Tom. I’m a friend of your father’s.’

‘I’ve never heard of a friend called Tom.’

The man gave a frozen smile that never touched his eyes. ‘He won’t have spoken about me. I’m one of those special friends you don’t t-talk about.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The kind of friend you call when you’re in trouble. And believe me, son, you’re in a serious p-p-pickle.’

‘Are you a lawyer?’

‘Do I look like a lawyer?’

Marin looked at him for a moment and decided not to answer. ‘Do you know what happened to Anna, Anna Rosen?’ he asked. ‘I have to know how she is.’

‘Don’t worry about her. W-worry about you.’

‘I don’t care about me. What do you know about her? How is she?’

‘Stop f-f-fretting, Marin. She’s fine. Believe me. She was taken to c-casualty. Her father came and took her home.’

‘You know that for sure?’

‘I know that for sure, Marin. Like I said: Don’t worry about her.’

‘How do you know so much? How do you know about her?’

‘It’s my b-business to know things.’

‘You say you’re a friend of my father, but Ivo knows nothing about Anna.’

‘He knows what I’ve told him.’

‘What does that mean? If you’re not a lawyer, who are you?’

‘That’s not important right now. Take a b-breath.’

‘It’s important to me.’

‘Take a fucking breath, son. You need to listen to me or your life is about to go down the g-gurgler.’

‘My father …’

‘Shut the fuck up and listen. That policeman you attacked is in hospital. He’s got a c-c-cracked skull, a broken jaw, serious concussion; you’re lucky you didn’t k-kill him. The other fellow’s not so b-bad. But you beat the shit out of two c-cops, Marin. What do you think’s going to happen next?’

‘He tried to tear off Anna’s T-shirt.’ Marin mimicked the cop’s actions, dragging up an imaginary T-shirt. ‘He exposed her breasts! He was all over her. He was going to rape her.’

‘I’d be angry too, son,’ said Tom. ‘But exposing a girl’s t-tits, even if you could prove it, is not rape.’

‘Anna spat in his face,’ cried Marin. ‘She spat in his face, and he smashed her skull with his baton again and again while the other cop held her arms. That’s what happened. That’s why I hit them.’

‘I’m not saying this prick is a g-good man. I’m saying he’s a police-man. Are you with me? He’ll have a dozen w-witnesses. All of them p-p-policemen! They’ll all testify that your attack was unprovoked, a vicious unwarranted attack on a young police c-constable doing his very best to protect the community and restrain a violent r-r-radical she-wolf. Are you following me?’

‘That’s not what happened. Anna will tell them. She’ll give evidence against them.’

‘Don’t be so fucking naïve. I thought you were smart. She was out c-c-cold when most of this happened, accidentally hurt while resisting arrest. You think any j-jury will believe d-differently? Don’t you get it, son? It doesn’t make a b-blind bit of difference what really happened. It’s what all those upright, honest policemen say under oath in c-court. That’s what matters.’

‘There must be other witnesses. And Anna’ll have wounds, medical reports. That’s real evidence.’

‘You need to understand how angry the police are. You’ve put t-two of their men in hospital. Beat one almost to d-death. Let me explain some simple facts. Do you know what they see when they look at you?’

‘No.’

‘What the judge will see? What a jury will see?’

‘No.’

‘A fucking r-radical wog who’s f-fucking this pretty little Jew communist …’

Marin was up and braced, his fists clenched.

‘Sit down!’ barked Tom. ‘Sit, I said!’

‘Who the hell are you?’

‘I’m your f-fucking saviour, son! Believe in me. Now sit or I’ll walk out now.’

Marin slumped back down onto the bunk, shaking his head. ‘What sort of man talks like that,’ he demanded, and Tom responded with a remorseless grin.

‘I’m t-telling you the hard truth, son. So shut up and listen! It’s not what I think. It’s what they think. The police. The p-prosecutors. The j-judges. The juries. The fucking juries Have you got the faintest idea what sort of c-c-country you live in? We’re barely out of the Stone Age. You spend a few years at university now, maybe you think everyone’s n-nice and civilised? You’ve stepped outside the sheltered workshop now, son. This is the real world you’re in And your name is what? Ma-rin Katich? Croatia, you say? Croats! They’re all fucking bomb-throwers, aren’t they? Violent types? Why’d we let ’em in here in the first place if all they want to do is kill each other? We know these fucken people. Short fuses, hot-blooded b-b-bastards. And look at this one, will you? Big cunt, isn’t he? That poor fucking copper’s half his size. I wouldn’t do their job for quids. And what about this sheila he’s screwing? Half his luck. Anyway, he’s f-fucking her, so she’ll say anything to get him off. Plus, she’s a fucken commie, isn’t she? And a Jew. Can’t trust any of them. Fuck ’em all. Lock him up. Throw away the key … Are you with me now, Marin? Are you hearing me?’

Marin was silent, indignant, fuming.

Tom glared back at him. ‘You better lose that f-fucken attitude quick smart or you’re on your own. Are you hearing me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Now, if you’re ready to really listen, I’ll answer some of your questions.’

‘Who the hell are you?’

‘All right First, I’ve known your f-father for many years. We share certain interests. Political interests. Your father and I … Well, you could put it this way: we’re on the same side. From time to time, we help each other out. There’s a bigger picture to all of this. I’m not going to go into all the d-details right now. Let’s just say that we’re allies. He wants to see the end of the communist dictatorship in Yugoslavia. He wants Croatia to be free again. We want to see the end of c-c-communist dictatorships all over the world and, above all, we want to make sure the bastards don’t t-take root here in Australia.’

‘We?’

‘What?’

‘You said “we”,’ Marin said.

‘I’m not alone. I’m p-part of an organisation. A government organisation.’

‘ASIO, you mean?’

‘Look, depending on what happens next, you’ll learn all of this in time. You have to be p-patient. But understand this: we have the same enemies, your father and I. Real enemies. Existential enemies. I’m talking about the r-real evil in this world, the source of it. This is not some game played by uni students. This is a game with consequences for all of us. And right now it has consequences for you.’

‘What have I got to do with this?’

‘You’re a smart young b-bloke, Marin, I know that much about you. We’ve been following you. I’ve read your essays. That piece you wrote for The Tribe. How the hell you got them to publish that, I’ll never know. That surprised a few of us.’

‘You’ve been watching me?’

‘Let’s just say we’ve been k-keeping half an eye on you. Your father’s a good friend. Of course we’d have some interest in his s-son. But I wouldn’t say we were “watching” you that closely, at least not until you took up with Anna Rosen. You just tumbled into the n-net there. If I were a fisherman, I’d call it by-catch. We’re f-fishing for one species and another gets caught by accident.’

‘You’re watching Anna? What, bugging her phone? Following her around? Got informants in the anti-war movement, have you? The Tribe?’

‘I’m not going to go into all of that, but obviously the R-Rosen family tree is communist from its very roots. Each time it b-bears fruit we take an interest, of course we do. What else would you expect? Even they understand that. We’re just doing our j-job. But, then, as I said, you entered the frame. That really took us by surprise, I can tell you. But I do understand the attraction. She’s quite something, that girl.’

‘Don’t you fucking talk about her like that!’

‘But we have to talk about her, Marin. We have to talk about Anna because now we’re getting to the heart of the matter.’

‘What the hell is this? You want me to spy on her? You can get fucked!’

‘Okay, Marin, you need to get something into your head right now. You’ve come to the most important c-c-crossroad in your short life. Today, you either grow up or you d-disappear from the world altogether. The police prosecutor is ready to throw the book at you. They’re r-racking up a collection of charges against you: intent to cause grievous bodily harm, m-maximum sentence twenty-five years in prison; assault police officer in the execution of his duty, maximum sentence seven years; threaten injury to resist lawful apprehension, m-m-malicious wounding, and on and on it goes. They are out to get you. The Police Commissioner himself has asked the prosecutor to consider attempted murder. Are you starting to see the position you’re in?’

‘Yes.’

‘No matter what the final number of ch-charges is, they intend to prosecute you to the full extent of the law and, believe me when I say this, you will go to jail for many, many years. That is the truth. Do you d-doubt it?’

‘No, no, I don’t.’

‘I said earlier that I’m your saviour. Or, at least, I c-could be. What if I told you that I could make all of this go away?’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I should add that everything I’m about to say I have d-discussed with your father. I have his complete agreement.’

‘Can I speak to him?’

‘No. You’re going to have to make this decision on your own. Trust me or don’t trust me. It’s not going to work any other way.’

‘What do you want from me?’

‘The first thing that you’re going to do is w-w-walk away from Anna Rosen.’

‘What?’

‘You’re to leave her and not look back. You have to s-sever ties with her completely and not tell her why.’

‘I’m not doing that! Fuck you!’

‘Say that one more time and I will walk away right now. I’ll be the one who doesn’t look back, and you can sit alone in a p-prison cell for the rest of your pathetic life wanking off while you think about her fucking other men because, I promise you, she will move on You want me to go? I’m out of here.’

‘No, no …’

‘Marin, you have to understand. It was over from the m-minute you beat the shit out of those c-coppers. There’s only one way to get you out of this. We have to cut a deal with the prosecutor and the j-judge. Even the fucking p-premier will have to sign up to this. And when it’s done, you will be working for us. You will be under orders.’

‘Working for you? What does that mean?’

‘It means you’re being recruited, son.’

‘You want to turn me into a spy?’

‘It’s not as simple as that. You won’t be on the b-books anywhere. You won’t be c-clocking into an office. You’ll be what we call an “asset”. You probably won’t meet anyone else in the organisation apart from me. That’s how it will w-work. This is a long-term thing. The m-moment you cease to cooperate, those charges will be reactivated and you’ll be hauled in like a fugitive and thrown into the deepest d-darkest cell we can find. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. When they let you out of here, you will set up a m-meeting with Anna Rosen and tell her that it’s all over between you. You’ve had enough of her r-radical bullshit. You can’t stand it anymore Say whatever you need to say and then walk away from her and don’t look back. Do you agree?’

Marin refused to look up. His eyes had filled with tears and he felt them streaming down his face.

‘Marin! Do you agree?’

‘Yes.’

‘You will tell her nothing else. You will tell her n-nothing about me, nothing of this m-meeting. Do you agree?’

‘Yes.’

‘After that, you will go to your f-father’s house and wait. I will contact you there. Is that c-clear?’

‘Yes.’

‘When you get to your father’s house, there will be a l-letter. It will be an official envelope. Many young men have received the same letter. In it will be your d-draft papers.’

‘My what?’

‘Your d-draft papers, son, your n-number just came up.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Marin, listen to me. This is part of the d-deal to get you out of here. We will use it to m-mollify the prosecutor, judge, the premier. It’s the only way. You’ll be d-drafted into the army. You’re going to Vietnam.’