CHAPTER EIGHT
A SPELL
Charlie was asleep, Tim gathered, when he arrived home. He turned the TV on and put the volume down low and watched music videos before falling asleep. He woke around daybreak, turned the telly off and went upstairs to bed.
He woke again around ten that morning. He put his mind into gear and thought over the past few days. It became clear that the old man was testing him about the law. He couldn’t put it down to anything specific and it nagged at him. He was just about to put his head back down on the pillow when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and Charlie entered the room. “I’m going out for a few hours. Are you going anywhere today?”
“I’m going to have a rest and stay home,” Tim replied, propping himself up on his elbow on the mattress on the floor.
“I’ve got some money and pot stashed away and I don’t want anybody coming in. Sam’s alright, but nobody else.” Charlie’s sharp instructions to Tim.
“I’ll do that for you, Charlie.”
“If anybody comes looking for yarndi, tell them I’ll be back after one.”
Charlie left and Tim put on shorts and a T-shirt and went downstairs. He turned the TV on and the volume down and put a cassette on. After the first three visitors, Tim opened the door but left the security grille shut and answered from the couch as people came. He recognised some of the regulars, who thought that Tim was lying to them. He was glad when Charlie finally got back and opened up the house. Tim decided not to go anywhere until he had fully recovered from the roasting from the old man the night before.
It was around four o’clock when Tim got spruced up, ready to go. He had a quick cup of tea with Charlie and headed off to walk to Surry Hills.
The patrons had already begun leaving the theatre. Tim was not unduly concerned as performers take a while after the show to change out of their stage gear. There were a dozen or so people at the bar and a few others milling around waiting to talk to the cast. Tim had an orange juice and watched the cast come out in dribs and drabs. Sylvia was one of the last. She came over to Tim and they greeted each other warmly.
“What would you like to do?” he asked.
“Let’s get out of here. To my place.”
“Okay. Do you want to catch a taxi or take the bus?”
“Let’s take a bus. Taxis become too expensive after a while,” Sylvia said, grabbing Tim’s hand.
Tim was starting to fall for Sylvia. This path he was heading down with Sylvia was totally opposite to what his real job was. He reminded himself a couple of times just to enjoy her company and leave it at that.
Sylvia knew that she liked Tim, but she’d only met him a week ago and reminded herself to take things slowly. Like the consummate professional she was, she didn’t want to rush things.
“If I get any more relaxed than this, they’ll put me in a coffin,” Tim smiled at Sylvia.
“Maybe it’ll rub off on me,” she replied.
“I’ll do better, I’ll make sure it rubs off on you,” Tim said.
Sylvia and Tim got back to Bondi just before sunset.
“I’m hungry. Want to eat out?” Sylvia asked.
“Sure. What food do you like?”
“Thai seafood. There’s a restaurant up around the corner.”
“I have to go to a bank. I should’ve done it in the city. Are there any automatic teller machines around?” Tim checked his wallet in case there was any spare cash hidden away.
“I’ll shout,” Sylvia said. “The Land Council pays me well.”
“I’ll still have to get some money,” Tim said.
“Which bank?”
“The National Bank.”
“Yep, there’s one not far from the restaurant.” And Sylvia added, “I hope you’re not one of those blokes that resent women picking up the tab.”
“No, but I do like to pay my way when I can. A bit of independence, if you know what I mean.” Tim joked.
After the restaurant, they walked down by the beach for a while before heading home. Tim broke the silence of the walk by facing the ocean and saying, “It looks alright out this way. But when you turn around...” And he pretended to cower at the sight of the city.
Later, Tim turned the conversation to the Land Council. “I hear you’re having a bit of trouble with the Land Council.”
Sylvia shrugged and gave a look that said “don’t say another word, boy.”
“I guess we’re not that close,” he thought to himself.
At her apartment block Sylvia turned and said to Tim, “I don’t wanta distract you from any business that you have to do. You have a one-track mind. I’ve watched you thinking about your business and I know that I’m only ... how would you put it, your rest and recreation.”
“I didn’t choose to be what I am. I had this job when I was born. To give up now would be a waste of my life.” Tim tried to gain some respect. “I gotta experience some of the normal things occasionally.”
“Yes, but a black man’s gotta do what a black man’s gotta do. That’s what I always hear.” And with an edge in her voice Sylvia adds, “Just before they disappear.” She made eye contact with Tim knowing that she had hit the mark.
“You’re absolutely right.” Tim held her gaze and added, “How much was it that went into offshore deals, Sylvia? One hundred million.” Sylvia’s eyes widened only a fraction and not wanting to let it rest, Tim added, “The upper echelon of the New South Wales Land Council will have some explaining to do.”
Sylvia glared at Tim, but he continued. “Think I don’t know these things. Don’t protect those dogs. Imagine wasting one hundred million dollars in a bad offshore deal while promising the blacks in Redfern that they would get nothing. I was there the day that Keating made that speech. As soon as he finshed, I overheard some of the blacks saying, ‘Them blackfellas in Redfern will get nothin’.’ I didn’t want to knock ‘em arse over tit straight away. Wanted to get a bit of dirt on ‘em. Now I’ve got the dirt and I’m going to rub it in their faces.”
Sylvia, staunch in her stance and just as resolute, asked forcefully, “Are you finished?”
“I’ve been watching them uptowners, and make sure you tell them that,” he added.
“Where do you get your information from?” Sylvia asked.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s important,” Tim responded.
“All that was done before I got on to the committee,” Sylvia said.
“I know that and I know who the major player was,” Tim replied. “I been spreading yarns about him.”
“You’ll get yourself killed interfering with this stuff. They got too much at risk,” Sylvia warned Tim. “Besides, who’s gonna back you up?”
Tim looks towards the sky and says, “Him.”
Sylvia shook her head as Tim made his way down the street.
The wind rustled through the leaves keeping pace with Tim. The only sounds were his boots hitting the sidewalk and the wind which occasionally shook the trees. There was a fine mist of rain, the prelude to heavy showers. He crossed the brightly lit street hurrying, as he knew it was going to rain and rain heavily. He’d reached the awning of a shop as the rain began to bucket down. He moved back in to the shadows away from the rain and pulled out a cigarette. While staring at the rain coming down, his mind wandered back to his days on the streets of Sydney.
The thought of her opened old wounds and he wasn’t tough enough to hold back the tears that ran down his face. She was a white girl and they were best friends. She was wild, but who wasn’t in those days. “Where are you now?” he cried out softly. They were both fifteen and living on the streets. The coppers raped her one night and when she came back to Tim she had changed. The reckless innocence was gone and her smile had been replaced by a vacant look. She had been to hell and back but it took depraved coppers to break her spirit. She left that same night and Tim had not seen her since.
It was a rolling storm and the tail end was passing. He knew that there was a spirit with him as the wind danced across the sheets of water, making the rain fall in patterns across the road. However brief the dance, Tim knew that something was in the air. The rain was light, then heavy, light, then heavy, as Tim stepped out into it.
Sam was standing under an awning in Redfern, just about to run across the road, when he spotted Tim running across the road further down the street. Sam watched him go into the pub and looked at the rain and made a dash for the same place.
Tim was just about to order when Sam hopped through the door shaking off the water. He scanned the bar for Tim. Tim was already watching him when they locked eyes and Tim pursed his lips and nodded towards his finger which was pointing at the schooner he was being served. Sam nodded.
From where they sat they could see three black men in their late teens. Among them was a red hair and freckles black fella. Tim instantly recognised them. One of them dropped his matches and caught it with his foot and then flicked it back into his hand. He smiled and looked around the bar to see who had seen it and been impressed. Tim and Sam were watching him and when his eyes fell on them his cigarette dropped out of his mouth. Tim and Sam laughed softly to themselves. The three got up and left. “They’ll be back,” Tim said, heading for the juke box. When he returned Sam was looking at Tim with a “don’t fuck me around with that weird bullshit” and a deadly serious look on his face.
“I’ve been spreading yarns. He’ll be here soon,” Tim said, putting Sam’s mind at rest, adding, “I might need ya.”
“Yarns about who?” Sam enquired about the identity of his prospective sparring partner.
“Bobby ‘Minna’ Manson.”
“Go for the little blokes, hey Tim,” Sam responded, going to get two more beers and adding over his shoulder, “You could’ve done that yourself.”
“I was going to. You just showed up.” And Tim added jokingly, “At the right time too. Here they are.”
Bobby Manson walked into the bar and headed straight for Tim. He had two very solid black back-up boys with him. “What you been saying about me, boy.”
“If they were lies I would apologise right now. I hear murder has been added to your charge sheet. That pretty little nurse.” Tim noticed a reaction and went for the jugular. “Brings back memories does it, Minna.”
“I have an intense hatred of corruption and I’m going to die one day because of it, but it’s not going to be to-fuckin’-night,” Tim said as the big man launched himself. After trading blows for a few seconds Minna landed one on Tim and it sent him reeling onto his back. Minna’s boot crashed into his body and head. Tim managed to grab his leg and as a last resort sunk his teeth into it. In the ensuing melee Tim scrambled to his feet as the big man rushed him again. Tim lined him up and put all his effort into one punch. It caught Minna and slowed him down. Blood began to flow from his nose.
Tim smiled, “I’ve messed up your face. You’ve got an important meeting tomorrow, I hear?”
Minna went for the stool as Tim rushed him. Tim caught him in the bread basket as the stool smashed across his back. Minna’s two minutes of ferocity had passed and Tim was still on his feet.
“If I was frightened of my enemies, I wouldn’t do this to you.” Then Tim set about carving up his face. The big boy had a lot of pride and wouldn’t go down easily. It didn’t bother Tim, as his fists were standing up a lot better than Minna’s face.
Finally Minna succumbed. Slumped and holding the bar-rail, he looked quite pathetic, still defiantly refusing to go all the way down. His body wasn’t physically touching the floor but his dignity was, and Tim left it at that. “I guess you’ll be voting by proxy at the Land Council meeting tomorrow.” Tim pulled a bone out of its hiding place on his body and knelt beside Minna.
“That bone don’t scare me. I’m one of you, remember?”
Tim put the bone up close to Minna’s crimson face. “Oh, you’ll be interested in this one.”
Minna finally recognised the markings on the bone. “God,” was his simple reply.
“That’s the only time man ever calls out for God. When he’s in deep shit,” Tim said.
“My tribe sent you?” Minna knew the answer.
“You know what this is?” Tim was going to remind him anyway.
“It’s my grandfather’s bone.” His reply was emotionless, looking away from the bone and skywards.
“You must have done some really bad things for your own tribe to be wanting you dead,” Tim said, running the bone through the blood on Minna’s face. Minna’s eyes widened as an invisible craftsman carved a fourth notch on the bone.
“And I bet you can’t guess who that was?” Tim stood and walked over to Sam and on the way out Tim noticed one of the back-up boys was toes up. Tim and Sam laughed and headed off to the block.
“Well, he’s not gone yet. There’s all sorts of wild stories floating about. I thought you would have been on the first train out of Sydney.” Charlie stood up to shake his hand. “Too good for him brother. Too good!!” They sat at the table. “Gis a look at your hands?” “Not much damage.”
“I’ve been training,” said Tim.
“They charged young Calvin with that whitefella’s murder,” Charlie said in a state of agitation.
“Just him?” Tim asked.
“Yeah. Just him. Them coppers must be totally stupid. Anybody could see it was a gang killing.”
Hank knocked at the door. “I just come to get a fifty off ya,” he said to Charlie. Charlie handed the pot over to Hank in exchange for money. Hank began to roll a joint as Tim put a cup of tea in front of him and Charlie.
The shift in conversation eased the static which was beginning to charge the air in Charlie’s kitchen, but Tim was still thinking about the young man arrested for the murder.
Downtown at the city lock-up Calvin was being questioned by two detectives. “Gee you black fellas get in a lot of trouble. Why did you do it? For the money. What?” asked one of them.
“I didn’t do it,” Calvin said.
“You’re gonna be in for a long time. Make it easy on yourself. Who helped you?” the same detective asked.
Calvin stood in a fit of rage, and screamed, “I didn’t fuckin’ do it.”