Black Water (23 page)

‘Is that you, Farren?’ Souki’s voice, from close behind the door, was not much louder than a whisper.

Fear sliced Farren’s stomach. The house was never locked. Not ever. Quickly he looked around the yard, but could see only the looming shape of the woodshed, the clothesline, and the indistinct boundary of surrounding scrub.

‘Yeah, it’s me, Souk.’ Farren spoke close to the timber. ‘Come on, lemme in. What’s goin’ on? Why’s this locked?’

Farren heard the key grind and the door opened. He stepped inside, Souki shutting and locking the door fast behind him. Across the room he saw Danny in his chair holding a bloody towel to his face.

‘Jesus, what happened?’ Farren staggered as if he’d done a knee. ‘What happened, Danny?’

‘I’d just got home from school and some blokes come’n belted him up.’ Souki’s face was white, her eyes wide. ‘Two onter one. So I went and got the gun, but before I could freggin’ shoot ’em they took off.’ Farren saw the rifle on the table. ‘An if they ever come back, I’ll bloody nail ’em right between the eyes.’

Danny dabbed slowly and methodically with the towel. Farren saw that his eyes, almost swollen shut, were bruised black and purple and his cheeks, forehead, and eyebrows were scored with deep, dark cuts. Dreamily Farren moved towards him, not really believing what he was seeing.

‘A couple’a bad-mannered visitors, is all.’ Danny dabbed gently. ‘I’ve ’ad worse. Nothin’ an old soldier’ll have any trouble dealin’ with. Still, lucky Souk was ’ere.’ He looked at her. ‘Just a pity a couple of the boys from the old battalion weren’t around to help us out. They would’a sent those two lightweights home with their bones in a bag for reassemblement.’

Farren felt the numbing effects of shock and something more pitiful than grief.

‘But bloody
why
?’ Suddenly he knew. ‘It was them coins they was after, wasn’t it, Dan?’ He thought back to his run-in with Joe Clouty and the men in the bar. ‘I
bet
I know who done this.’ He spoke in a torrent. ‘Was one a great big feller and the other a kind of a little skinny bloke? One with black hair and the other –’

Danny moved the towel thoughtfully to his other cheek.

‘I dunno who they were, mate. Not bloody locals, though. Because they smelt like flowers and wore bloody gloves. Pig skin. I could
smell
it.’ He looked directly at Farren. ‘And since I couldn’t remember
where
I found those thingos, I couldn’t tell ’em where they were, could I? So they got nothin’. Apart from nearly shot.’

‘I shot
over
’em,’ Souki said. ‘When they was goin’ across the inlet. I could’a shot
at
’em but Danny said not to. So I didn’t.’

‘Across the –?’ Farren was surprised; that seemed like it’d be a dead-end. ‘They left by boat? Which way?’

‘Up the back.’ Danny wiped blood off his split lip. ‘They must’a had someone over on the other side with a car or somethin’. Probably back in bloody Melbourne by now. Mongrels. Bloody dogs.’

‘I’m gettin’ the coppers.’ Farren turned for the door. ‘What if they come back? We can’t ’ave Souki here if that ’appens, can we? I’m gunna go get Dicky Decker.’

Danny coughed, holding his elbows tight into his sides as if his ribs were cracked.

‘Yeah, orright.’ He wiped more blood from his mouth. ‘But don’t mention the rifle.’

‘Right.’ Farren was glad Danny had agreed to the police being told. ‘C’mon, Souk. We’ll go see the coppers and maybe you c’n stay at Maggie’s or something.’

‘I might limp down to the bridge with yers,’ Danny added. ‘Just in case I see somethin’ I might like to pot for dinner.’ Danny put his hand out. ‘Give us a hand up, Farren. I’m not as crook as I look. And toss us the rifle, there’s a good chap. But be careful, she’s loaded.’

As Farren and Souki arrived at the police house, Constable Decker, as tall as the door he’d closed, came down the path buttoning his tunic, cap tucked under his arm.

‘Gidday there, Farren Fox.’ He spoke in a friendly rumble. ‘And hello to you, miss.’ He nodded to Souki. ‘What’s up? Because I gotta get out to an accident on the Geelong road pretty quick
smart. Evidently a motor car full of city jokers ’ave put themselves under the evening train, and she’s all a bit of a mess.’

Farren couldn’t help but wonder if some kind of crude natural justice hadn’t already caught up with the blokes who’d belted Danny. Maybe it was them that got ploughed by the train? He hoped so. Unsteadily he told Constable Decker what had happened out on the island.

‘But since he couldn’t remember
where
he found ’em, these coins,’ Farren finished with, ‘because his memory’s not that good, they smashed him up. So maybe it was them blokes that got hit?’

‘I
hope
so.’ Souki stared defiantly at the big, young policeman. ‘They got stuck inter him somethin’ shockin’. I hope they’re as dead as bloody doornails and as flat as pancakes.’

Farren touched her shoulder, to calm her.

‘Souki said she saw these two fellers get away across the inlet by boat,’ he added. ‘Danny reckoned they had a car waitin’ over the other side on one of the tracks.’

‘The bloke rowin’,’ Souki added, ‘he must’a been waitin’ for ’em. An’ they left a couple a shovels on the beach, which I got.’

Thoughtfully Constable Decker straightened his coat with big-knuckled hands.

‘That’s interestin’,’ he said, as if ‘interesting’ was a word for police use only. ‘And you saw all these, er, goings-on, Souki?’

‘Yes-I-bloody-did.’ Souki was like a wind-up toy let go. ‘An’ I didn’t like it one liddle freggin’ bit!’

‘No, I’m sure you didn’t.’ Constable Decker shuffled. ‘But I’ll wander out to this accident now and then things might look a little clearer. And I’ll come out to the island tomorrer morning if I don’t get a chance tonight, all right?’

‘I gotta go to school tomorrer,’ Souki said bluntly. ‘So I won’t be ’ome. And Charlotte said I’d ged in strife if I’m late.’

Farren saw Constable Decker smile at Souki, as everybody did, sooner or later, for one reason or another.

‘That’s all right, Souki. We’ll get this sorted out. And if you two want a lift down to the bridge, and we can get my motor car started, I’d better be off.’

‘Oh!’ Souki was so surprised she took a backward step. ‘Yeah? Us? I never been in a motor car. C’mon, Farren, let’s go!’

Souki was in bed, Farren and Danny sitting tiredly by the stove. The door was locked, the rifle was on the table and outside, at Danny’s suggestion, Farren had set a few rabbit traps.

‘It just don’t sound like the sort of thing Joe Clouty’d bloody do,’ Danny said, holding out a slice of bread on a toasting fork to the firebox. ‘Still. I’ll go over the bridge in the mornin’ and ask him. Here. Turn that around, will ya, mate. Me old arm’s not up to it.’

Farren turned the bread. He didn’t know whether he should be pleased or worried that Danny had said he would go over the bridge.

‘God strike me.’ Danny, hunched low, held the toasting fork out like a fishing rod. ‘Don’t it seem that any time a bloke just wants a quiet old life, he finds that he’s gotta go and attend to duty? Even if he doesn’t freggin’ want to.’ Danny grinned through cut lips. ‘It never stops.’

‘I’ll go and see Joe for yer.’ Fear weighted Farren’s words. ‘You stay ’ere.’

‘Nah, yer won’t.’ Danny checked his toast. ‘It’s Danny-boy’s
job. I’ll get the old shyster to buy me a beer.’ He offered the toast to Farren. ‘Yer want this? I’m too tired to eat it.’

Without warning tears blasted from Farren’s eyes and great wrenching sobs forced him to cover his eyes. He almost fell onto the floor.

‘Ah,
Jesus
, Danny!’ He spoke into his grimy, hot fingers. ‘Those dirty bastards. What’d they have to do that to yer for? God, you been through enough already. By Christ I’ll fuckin’
kill
’em if they ever come back.’

‘Hey, mate.’ Danny managed to reach across and put a hand on Farren’s knee. ‘It’s
all
right.’ His voice was low and soothing. ‘Plenty copped worse than me, sport. Plenty. And they’re all in the cold, old ground sleepin’. But hey, I’m ’ere and we’re doin’ orright. Life’s sweet, mate.’ He laughed. ‘At least, the next ’alf comin’ might be.’

‘What’s wrong, Farren?’ Souki appeared in the doorway of her room. ‘Why yer cryin’? What’s ’appened now?’

‘Nothin’s ’appened, sport.’ Danny spoke quietly, his eyes glimmering under swollen lids. ‘Me an’ Farren are just havin’ a bit of a talk. You go back to bed. I promise yer everythin’s as good as gold and’ll be even better in the mornin’.’

Souki looked around, spotting the rifle.

‘Then why’s that still out?’

Farren got up, wiping his face with a sleeve.

‘It’s goin’ away.’ He picked it up, and facing the door, began to unload it. ‘Everythin’s orright, Souk.’

Souki watched him. ‘I’m hungry,’ she said slowly, as if it was something she’d been dreaming about. ‘Let’s ’ave them freggin’ sardines and bread the fishing blokes left on the step. I like sardines. Even if they do freggin’ stink.’

Danny slapped his leg, knocking his cigarette tin onto the floor with a sound like a cymbal.

‘My oath, mate! Let’s have sardines. And then –’ he wagged a finger at Souki, ‘it’ll be everyone
inter
bed because tomorrow’s gunna be a brand new day and you’re off ter school.’

‘That motor car was good.’ Souki was now wide awake. ‘That horn’s like a cow. It made me laugh. I wish me mum’d bin ’ere to see me.’ And then, just as Farren was finished with crying Souki started, her hands to her face as if they were stuck there.

Danny took a deep breath. ‘Eh, come over ’ere, little pal.’ He put his good arm out like a harbour for a small boat to sail into, which Souki did, as if blown there by a gust. ‘You’ll be right. We’ll get yer home soon and everythin’ll be fine. You just listen to your good-old uncle Danny-boy. He knows what’s what.’

Souki was sitting at the parlour table when Farren got home. She was writing laboriously in a new exercise book, her hand bunched around a thick blue pencil.

‘He gimme bloody ’omework, that teacher!’ She dumped the pencil and sat back. ‘I already
bin
ter school once today. And now I ’ave ter do it at
freggin’
’ome, too!’

Farren, grinning into the collar of his coat, carried a box of groceries to the sideboard.

‘So whadda ya ’ave to do? I’m sure he wouldn’t have given yer too much. Old Derri’s not a bad bloke.’ Farren put the kettle on and went over to sit at the table. ‘I just saw him up the shops havin’ a cuppa tea with Isla. Anyway, do yer like it? Robbie’d be looking after yer, wouldn’t he?’

‘Yeah, he’s funny.’ Souki covered her work with a crooked arm.

‘I gotta write about ’ome.’ She hunched lower. ‘An’ draw that teacher some bloomin’ pitcher.’ Then she sat back, as if she did want Farren to look at what she’d done. ‘I already done three stinkin’ pages and two ’opeless pitchers. See?’

Farren saw Souki’s writing was large and dark, as if she’d pressed as hard as she could. Keen for information on her life he studied her drawings of banana-shaped boats, people, a cottage with smoke corkscrewing from the chimney, and a flock of simply-drawn birds tilting in the sky. He could feel the energy in her work and reckoned that the big female figure wearing a black dress, with a straight mouth and a mane of yellow hair, had to be her mother.

‘They’re bloody bonzer, Souk,’ Farren said. ‘And is that your mum there, eh? She looks nice.’

‘Yeah, it is.’ Souki looked slant-wise at the picture. ‘But she ain’t that fat, really. I wouldn’t mind goin’ home now.’ Souki lapsed into silence, staring at her book.

Tentatively Farren put a hand on her back. He could feel the hardness of it, the tight muscles and fine bones, nothing soft about it except for her warmth.

‘Well, soon you will,’ he said. ‘Soon as the weather clears up there’ll be more boats comin’ and goin’ from everywhere. And then we’ll get you on one, no worries. Or someone’ll take yer back.’

Souki poked at five or six shiny coloured pencils held by a rubber band.

‘That big girl, Nerrie,’ she said. ‘The one Robbie likes. She gemme them colours and they’re brand new. I wanted to sit next to ’er but om not allowed. I ’ave ter sit in the middle with Charlotte’s liddle sister, Edna. An’ she ain’t got no colours at all. So I lended her these ’uns and that’s why they’re blunt. Anyway, she’s not a bad kid, Edna, ’tho she whinges a fair bit.’

‘Well, you’re a
great
kid.’ Farren spoke with feeling. ‘You’ve been real good, Souki. Full of guts and everythin’. Old Derri’ll think you’re terrific and so will Danny. So, d’you know where he
is?’ He wondered about the wisdom of Danny leaving Souki alone in the house.

‘Out takin’ the rabbit for a walk. He took the rifle.’ Souki renewed her stranglehold on her pencil. ‘So when’s that copper comin’ over? I ’eard one of them blokes got kilt by the train an’ the others got knocked aroun’ somethin’ rotten. Which’ll serve ’em right if they was the ones that belted Danny.’

‘I heard that, too,’ Farren said. ‘But I’d better go find him, eh?’ A tremor of fear made it all the way down to his fingertips. ‘You keep on with yer work, Souk, and I’ll see yer in a minute. Don’t worry, I won’t go far.’

‘Orright.’ Souki turned over to a fresh page. ‘It’s ’opeless, my stuff. But now I’m gunna do Danny pullin’ me outta that freggin’ –
disgustin’
– black seaweed.’

Farren wouldn’t have found Danny if he hadn’t heard a low whistle.

‘’Ere, mate. Behind yer.’

Farren turned to see Danny sitting in a bunker of bracken that was the stripy colour of burnt bacon, the rifle in front of him resting across a mossy stump.

‘What’s goin’ on?’ Farren waded into the ferns. ‘Bit of a funny place to sit.’

Danny nodded towards the house that was barely a good stone’s throw away.

‘Nice little sniper’s possie,’ he said. ‘If you ask me.’ He held a cigarette turned inside his hand. ‘Any unwelcome guests, well, you know. I been here all day, on and off. Quite enjoyed it, too. Haven’t seen a thing.’

Farren accepted this, knowing Danny would do what Danny would do.

‘So’d yer catch up with Joe?’ Farren had been thinking about that all day.