I phoned Dorothy, the stiff-legged woman from the Mildura bird club, and told her I’d be thrilled to join them on Thursday’s bird outing.
‘And how’s young Liam?’ I said. ‘I did enjoy meeting him.’ Given I’d met him at Rex Patterson’s funeral, a man I was supposedly close to and grieving for, I added rapidly, ‘I mean he was such a comfort. It’s good to know some of Rex’s knowledge lives on, via him.’
‘And through you, of course,’ she said. ‘I’m looking forward to hearing about all your trips with Rex. I bet you know some excellent birding spots.’
‘Well, my memory isn’t what it used to be.’
She laughed. ‘Come on, you’re not that old.’
‘Anyway, it’ll be nice to see Liam again. He will be there?’
‘Oh yes, school holidays. I’m sure he’ll come.’
‘Excellent. See you soon.’ I hung up.
*
It was getting dark by the time I parked outside the squat, apricot-brick building of the Garden of the Gods Extended Care Nursing Home. I say outside, but it was hardly by the door: the only two vacant spots were way down the far end. I unstuck my thighs from the car seat, wondering why the car park was so chockers.
I found out as I stepped inside and a discordant wailing noise drifted down the corridor. It took a moment to realise it wasn’t anyone dying: it was singing. A wide variety of voices, all unable to hold a tune but determined not to let that stop them. The wails were accompanied by the sound of hands clapping, each pair keeping its own independent rhythm.
I looked at Taylah: she too was tapping her hands on her desk. She gave me a smile, then mouthed, ‘All Shook Up’.
A huge poster hanging from the reception desk explained:
ELVIS: HERE TONIGHT!
I scurried rapido down the hallway to Ernie’s room.
Ernie wasn’t taking part in the Elvis festivities. He was in his little sanctuary, door shut, sitting with his iPad, his white hair squashed under a huge set of earphones. I stepped inside and closed the door. Tapped Ernie on the shoulder.
He ripped off his earphones and glared at me. ‘Can’t a fella have some peace? Fucking Elvis. And now you. It’s not even flaming-well Monday.’
‘I’m busy Monday. Gotta…’ yeah, get ready for my drive-in date in Coburg. Or possibly go to Mildura and see Greg. Best not mention any of that to Ernie, it would only get him worried. ‘But look, I brought your yo-yos.’ With a flourish, I handed over the container full of homemade yo-yos, freshly defrosted. ‘And thanks for the warm welcome, by the way.’
‘You did make these today?’ He gave me a suspicious look, his yellowed moustache quivering.
‘You ever heard an expression involving gift horses and mouths, Ernie?’
‘So they’re not fresh.’ He stared at the wall, clicking his false teeth. ‘Well, s’pose I could try to use up a few for you.’
‘Don’t put yourself out.’ You wouldn’t want to break the habit of a lifetime. I didn’t say that: Ernie was good to me when I was young. That’s my mantra, whenever he annoys me. Which would be pretty much any time I see him.
I dragged a chair over and sat down. ‘Anyway, I thought you liked Elvis?’
‘I don’t like sitting in a room full of people who’ve lost it. Especially when they’re trying to sing.’
Fair point. ‘Listen, I need information. You know anything about Nic Peluso? What’s he like?’
‘Sick of you coming in to ask me things. I’m not the flaming internet.’
‘You’re way better than that. You know stuff Google will never find. There’s no way any government could justify data retention if they had access to you.’
‘Peluso’s a dodgy bastard and you’re best off staying away from him.’
‘A dodgy bastard in what sense, exactly? And I’m not looking for a romantic partner, if that’s what you mean. I’m involved with Leo.’ Well, involved in the sense of being about to split up with him. Probably.
‘What, you’ve flicked off that Piero whatsit at last?’
‘Piero died four years ago, remember?’ Maybe it was best if I didn’t remind him, or myself, of Piero’s death fighting a bushfire.
‘Anyway, Peluso?’
‘That bastard stole me pump.’
Oh no. Not all this again. ‘Not Patterson, Ernie. I’m talking about a man called Nic PELUSO.’
‘Point one: don’t shout at me. I’m old and fragile. Point two: dunno why you have to keep going on about flaming Patterson. Although as it happens the two of them are connected.’
‘Oh?’
‘I lent the pump to Patterson. He was working on that pub demolition, years ago, in Ouyen.’
‘Yep, terrific. Can you tell me about Peluso?’
‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to interrupt?’ A watery-eyed glare.
Some more wailing started up. A song that could conceivably have been ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ and for one delicious moment, I considered using my own shoe to give Ernie a little kick along.
‘All I ask for is a little sensitivity. Bloke at my time of life.’ He blinked rapidly.
‘Sorry, Ernie.’ I patted his hand.
‘You’d best take yourself off home, Cass love. I’m sure you got better things to do than listen to me. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Just an old war hero, dying on his own. We all die alone, in the end.’ He stared sadly out the window.
‘You’re not dying, Ernie.’ Or a war hero, as far as I was aware.
‘Just hope this isn’t me last ever evening. Contaminated by that flaming racket.’ He sniffed; gripped the arms of his chair. ‘Reckon a nip of whisky could be in order.’
‘Right.’ I got up and rootled through the drawer in his bedside table. Found the bottle of Bakery Hill Peated Malt I gave him on his birthday. Somehow the staff had missed it. I poured some into his mug, and a touch into my own.
A few sips later, Ernie was looking a little happier.
‘So, anyway, Peluso?’
‘Well, like I was trying to tell you, that Chang woman bought the old Ouyen pub. You know, she’s the daughter of Stella McEwan; married Robert Chang? The McEwans who had the post office in Hustle, way back. Anyway, she hires Peluso. He undercut all the competition, naturally.’
‘To do what?’ My mind was still back there somewhere in Hustle’s post office. When did that close? Was Ernie talking about this century? Or even the last one? The whisky wasn’t helping my focus, I’ll admit.
‘Joint in Ouyen. Pub de-mo-lit-ion and re-con-struction,’ he said loudly, enunciating each syllable. ‘Keep up, will you? So she hires Peluso…’
‘Hold on. Is this Nic Peluso? Or some other person unconnected to anyone or anything I actually need to know?’
‘How in hell you manage to run a takeaway business when your mind’s a flaming sieve beats me, Cass. I’m talking about the hotel. Nick Peluso senior was in charge. And Patterson, as I was telling you, was stupid enough to work for him.’
‘Oh right. Well, if you’d just said he worked for him in the first place…’
‘Do you want my help or not?’
‘Here, have a yo-yo.’
Three yo-yos and half a mug of whisky later, Ernie was more relaxed. He ran a hand through his hair. I held back from tidying him up: his hair was endearing. Kind-of. A big white batwing on the side of his head.
‘Peluso gets his blokes in to knock down the pub,’ he continued, his voice slurring. ‘Then a flaming wall falls down on one of the workers. They get the bloke out but he dies on the way to hospital.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘Had an inquest, of course. Coroner ruled it was an accident. Strong gust of wind made the wall collapse.’
‘Right.’
‘Then Peluso does what becomes his usual.’
‘Which is?’
‘Goes bust.’ Ernie waved his mug. ‘Patterson doesn’t get paid, none of those poor bastards get paid. And the Chang woman—she’d paid him a big deposit—well, she’s enraged. Nothing any of them can do, bastard’s bankrupt, or so he says.’ Ernie paused for another sip of whisky.
‘Elizabeth Chang’s left with a pile of crushed bricks, a big hole in the ground and a bigger hole in her bank account. Six months later, Peluso starts up a new business, he’s into car parks all of a sudden. Got out of the demolition line. Then his son took over. Same bloody style—three bankruptcies so far. Fella’s latest venture is flaming casinos.’
‘Right.’ I considered all that. So Nic Peluso was a dodgy businessman? Unless this was just another Ernie-ancient-history rant. I tried comparing said rant with Mel’s view that Peluso was a trusting sweetie. Maybe Mel wasn’t as fast a learner as she made out.
‘So…’ I hated to ask, but couldn’t help myself, ‘…your pump?’
‘Not my pump. Ingrid’s dad’s. Seized by the flaming liquidators, since idiot Patterson took it onto the site and left it there when they finished up that evening.’
‘You didn’t tell them it was Ingrid’s dad’s?’
‘Course I did, once I found out what he’d done.’
‘And?’
‘Cost more to have the solicitor say “I’ll sort it out for you” than the pump was worth in the first place. Anyway, I offered Ingrid’s father market price.’ He paused. ‘Yeah. The cold bastard turned me down.’ He clicked his false teeth; gave me a sad-eyed look. ‘And soon after, so did Ingrid.’
When Ernie fell asleep I tiptoed out of his room. Pondered on what he’d told me as I squeaked my way down the miles of grey lino-clad corridor. Elvis had left the building, it seemed, and his entourage had all gone to bed. The place was deserted; even Taylah had gone.
So Peluso, possibly not the most honest of blokes, wanted to talk to Joanne. About what, exactly? His VCAT appeal, or something more sinister? And Peluso’s father had once employed Patterson (borrower of Ernie’s girlfriend’s dad’s pump, not that that was necessarily of any relevance). I wondered if Dean knew about this connection between Rex Patterson and the Peluso clan.
As I opened the door to step outside, I shivered. Not sure why—the air was cool, but not cold. I scuffed across the deserted car park to my car.
A cat wailed. They really need to organise some illumination in this joint, I told myself; only about the hundredth time I’d thought that. I took my car keys from my hand bag; gripped them firmly, arranged them so a key protruded sharply from between my knuckles. Glanced over my shoulder. Just a couple of cars parked up the far end.
I’d have to take up this lights issue with Taylah. And the street lights: hopeless too. I’d talk to the council about that, when I got a moment.
At my car door, keys in my hand, I heard a sound. A scuffling kind of sound. I turned, holding my breath. A shadow flitted across the car park; small, fast. A kid?
‘Hey?’ I said. Tried to breathe normally.
Nothing.
‘I know you’re there.’
Just some little smart-arse who should be home in bed, no doubt.
But still, I jumped into my car and locked the door. Started up quick smart and drove briskly out of there.