Chapter 5

Bundy Bundy Aboriginal

Community. Deep in the

Northern Territory

John Kelly appeared from his humpy. His long, greying beard, which stopped just short of his belly button, fluttered in the warm breeze. In a small bag, he carried what clothing he had left. He checked his pocket to make sure he had the address he would need in Darwin.

His deep-set eyes glanced over the rough terrain, at the community Ute waiting to take him to the bush airstrip, then on to Darwin. It didn’t feel right to be leaving. These black people had saved him from death. Fed him. Asked no questions. Fifteen years had passed since he and his team had walked out of the military police’s most secret and protected prisons. They had woken one morning to find the camp guards no longer there. They simply took one of the vehicles that had been left behind and drove out.

It was not until John found a newspaper that he realised he had a hope of getting back what they had taken away. He would go public about the true events on Devil’s Rock. Eighteen months later, the new government had been sacked and his old nemesis was back in power. The soldiers’ chances of being free again were dashed. John no longer trusted Canberra. He was even not sure of Dale’s motives; even though he had made sure the banished troop stayed hidden from the grip of politicians who were determined that John Kelly and his team would remain in exile. However, Dale sounded sure he could pull it off this time. With hesitation, John stepped onto the back of the Ute.

‘When you’re ready, Billy!’ he shouted to the driver. The vehicle lurched forward and began its bumpy journey towards the dirt airstrip.

The flight to Darwin took an hour. John looked down on the country he once would have laid down his life for. Now he was a total stranger in his own birth land. The light aircraft touched down gently on the long black airstrip at Darwin Domestic and taxied to its parking point.

‘Your taxi is organised. He’ll meet you at the arrivals lounge. The driver will be holding a card with JK on it.’

The pilot remained behind, shutting down the twin engine Cessna.

John walked the short distance to the lounge. He stopped at the drinking fountain and took a sip of water. He noticed the curious stares of his fellow travellers. Not surprising that a half-dressed white man would attract attention. He returned their incredulous stare, sniffing his underarm as if to say, “The smell is not from me.”

‘Why don’t you take a photo? It will last longer.’

Many of the people instantly looked down; realising that the roughly dressed “hobo” was affronted by their ill-concealed curiosity.

‘Don’t worry people. I’m not going to jump you.’

The crowd dispersed, leaving John standing alone. Glancing around, he saw a “JK” sign, held by a young, well-dressed Aboriginal taxi driver.

‘JK, that’s me,’ he introduced himself to the driver.

‘Well, JK, the taxi is this way.’ He grinned, showing his row of white teeth that looked like he had just come out of a dentist chair. ‘My name’s Jimbo.’ He smiled again, taking John’s small bag from him.

‘Jimbo, you wouldn’t have a fag would ya?’

The taxi driver gave him a packet. ‘Boss told me to bring some.’

‘You must be one of Dale’s new boys.’

‘Yep. Dale figured no white taxi driver would let you in his vehicle, so here I am.’ Jimbo drove expertly through the traffic, pulling to a stop at a men’s tailor shop.

‘You’ve got new clothes waiting for you.’

‘Thinks of everything.’ John got out and walked into the shop. Once again, he could feel people’s stares. He looked around as they tried to pretend they were not looking. John swung around and glared defiantly. The shop soon emptied. Laughter erupted from behind the counter.

‘Well, fuck me! John Kelly, the wild bushman! The one they couldn’t root, shoot or electrocute. I’ve got your bundle here, and your play money.’

John took the bundle of clothes then shook hands with Ralph.

‘Thanks for that last delivery of whiskey you organised.’

‘Not a problem, John. You’re booked into the Darwin Hilton. I’ve got a shower out back if ya want to clean up before you wipe yourself out at the bar over there.’

John thanked him and took the offer. He was soon standing in clean matching clothes that perfectly fitted his every sinewy contour. The shoes were a battle. His feet were long unused to being encased in leather. Looking in the mirror, he was tempted to shave but put the razor back in the small toilet bag. He picked up his bush clothes and walked back out to the shop front.

‘Size bigger in the shoe I think. Got a bag for these?’ he asked placing the old clothes on the counter.

Having replaced his shoes for a larger size, John’s feet now felt okay, though he knew it would take time to get used to wearing them again. He handed the smaller size to the shop owner. ‘Thanks.’

Ralph handed him an envelope.

‘Flight is at ten in the morning, direct to Adelaide then on to Sydney. Dale will pick you up at the airport.’

He handed John the money. ‘Ten grand, as ordered. I wish I could be a fly on the wall when you and Jimbo try to book in.’

John stuffed the cash in his pocket. He waved goodbye then left the store.

‘Okay, Jimbo, time we got pissed at the Darwin Hilton.’

‘Na – they won’t let a black fella drink in there.’

‘Bullshit. Just watch them try while you are with me. Hilton James, and don’t spare the horses,’ he yelled, taking another smoke from the packet.

The hotel was as plush as John figured it would be, with high pile carpet, a smoker’s room and a gaming room. Wait-staff hurried around to meet their customers’ every need. A young girl came up.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ she asked.

‘Yep, Paul Marsden booked a room for me and my buddy here.’

The girl looked at Jimbo, then back at John.

‘Mr Marsden, we are not permitted to allow your friend to stay here.’

‘Why, because he is black?’

‘Company policy, sir.’

‘Call the manager, please. Now,’ John replied tersely.

Hearing the ominous voice, a short-framed man approached.

‘Perhaps I can assist you, sir.’

‘Unless you’re the manager, no, you can’t.’

‘I’m the assistant manager; the manager is away on his meal break.’

‘Well then, you will have to do. I have a room booked for me and my friend. Do you have a problem with that?’

The assistant manager avoided eye contact.

‘No, sir, but our policy is that we don’t allow blacks in the bar. However, he is welcome to stay in your room with you.’

‘So I have to lock my mate up like a puppy dog because you don’t want his black arse on one of your chrome bar stools?’

‘No, sir – it’s just policy.’

‘An outdated, provincial policy of gutless racism, correct? Yes, Jim is black, but he bleeds the same colour blood as we do, and if you keep this charade up, I am going to splatter that thing you call a nose all over your shitty pimple infested face. Compendia?’

John spun around, addressing the other people in the lobby.

‘Anyone here got a problem with my friend James having a beer at the bar with me?’

Not a word came from anyone.

‘Figured as much, though deep in your guts you say no. Well, let me tell you something. This man has fought for his country, even taken a bullet in the guts so you noses-up-in-the-air types can enjoy the Hilton. You got a problem with that, then come and talk to me, Paul Marsden. Remember that name. Ask for it at the desk if you don’t have the guts to come up and have a chat now.’

The manager arrived to the spectacle of this commotion in the lobby. He walked over to the assistant manager.

‘In my office now you two,’ he commanded, pointing also at the young girl.

‘Paul and Jimbo, welcome to the Hilton. Room 44 is yours for the night. The items you ordered are in the safe.’

He slipped John the combination.

‘I’ve got to take care of these two arse wipes in my office.’ He grimaced, rolling his eyes and stalking away.

‘Don’t think I’d like to be in their shoes right now,’ Jimbo said as he followed John to the lift. ‘You laid it on a bit thick about me back there didn’t you?’

‘Who gives a shit? Got the result I wanted. Now we can have those beers in peace. Bet ya we get freebies all night.’

‘Ten bucks we pay.’ Jimbo put out his hand.

‘Deal! Ugly.’

Room 44 was made up. Two single beds, a private bathroom and a balcony. John found the safe at the bottom of the wardrobe. When he punched in the code, it gave a beep and popped open. He put his hand in and took out two 9mms with a 13-round clip. He handed one to Jimbo.

‘Hope you’re carrying your badge?’

‘If the cops come, I don’t know you, Paul,’ Jimbo said, placing the pistol under his pillow. ‘Are you expecting trouble?’

‘No, but Dale called me on the flight in. Someone made a hit on him at the PM’s lodge so he figures we’d better be ready in case there’s a leak somewhere.’

Jimbo took the pistol from under his pillow, shoved it in his belt and pulled his shirt over it. ‘Beer o’clock, bro.’

The lounge bar was crowded as they walked in. A lot of faces looked them up and down. Muttering between groups could be heard. John sat down, offering Jimbo a seat.

‘Two of the coldest long beers you’ve got on tap,’ he said placing a fifty on the bar.

The bartender returned with the drinks. ‘On the manager,’ he said and stepped back.

John swallowed his in two mouthfuls and put his glass back down. ‘Same again.’

Once again, the barman returned with the drinks and didn’t take any money.

‘A ten spot I believe, sir,’ said John holding out his hand to Jimbo.

‘Patience, impetuous white man. The night is young. It was for all night, wadjella,’ Jimbo replied with aplomb.

The now merry men found a table and a menu. John ordered seafood and a lot of it. Jimbo took on one of the house dishes.

‘So why has this secret offsider of Dale’s been called into play?’ Jimbo asked.

‘I’ve got to go to Canberra. It’s all I know.’

‘But you’re not an agent are you?’

‘Na, just a person the government forgot existed. That’s all.’

‘Maybe they’re going to un-forget you.’

‘I don’t think so, Jimbo. If they did that, they know they could never serve their country again as politicians.’

‘So what Bardi has told me is true?’

‘How do you know Bardi?’

‘He’s my cousin, brother. First cousin, man. We grew up together.’

‘Well, fuck me. First blackfella I run into is the cousin of one of my best operatives in the field. Hell, Jimbo, are you for real?’

‘Scout’s honour,’ Jimbo replied, making the scout’s salute with three fingers. ‘We just got told you’re a VIP fella, that’s the long and short of it.’

‘Well, I am a no one, Jimbo; just a man trying to get his identity back, same as Bardi and the others. Dale reckons he’s got the plan to pull it off, so for my men I’m taking the punt and standing up in Canberra; least that’s the plan.’

‘Sounds like Bardi told me the truth about the rock then.’

‘Figure you’re right, Jimbo.’

‘Shit! They did a number on you blokes didn’t they?’

John put his finger to his mouth; he touched his ears and indicated towards the door. A police officer was looking over the crowd of people eating. He walked straight to John and Jimbo’s table.

‘Got a call, you and your mate’ve been shit stirring a bit.’

‘Who, us? We had a bit of trouble with the assistant manager until the real manager got it sorted. So it’s all cool.’

‘Well, that explains why the assistant manager no longer works here. You two have a good night.’ The senior constable turned and walked away.

‘Well, fuck a duck, thought we might have a shouting match on our hands.’

‘He’s cool. One of us actually.’ Jimbo smiled at John.

‘Seems Dale has a lot of your kind around these parts.’

Back at the bar, they drank and drank. John was starting to talk left-handed Braille, while Jimbo just got the funnies. No one seemed to complain any more. As the hours rolled on, the crowd in the bar decreased. Soon the bartender called last drinks.