Black Angels???Red Blood (8 page)

“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.”

CHAPTER NINE

“The Aboriginal grapevine is the best in the world, as I'm sure we can all testify.” Tim laughed at the wild stories floating about. One story had him knocking all three of them out. It was a forced high-pitched laugh, mainly to relieve some stress from his soul. It worked. He grabbed a bat and ball and asked Charlie and Hank if they wanted a hit. Soon they were joined by the local kids and they played cricket on the street. They had to move the milk crate occasionally for police and locals who drove through. The locals got cheery hellos from the players while the police got boos and cat-calls plus a few Koorie expletives from the younger ones.

Tim and most of the blokes called it quits within the hour but the kids kept playing. The game with the kids made Tim feel alive again. He decided to do a round of visiting and Hank made off to his brother's house. Charlie resumed his normal position.

Tim kept low, not wanting to attract attention, and had wandered over to the university grounds. He picked a shady spot, sat down and opened the newspaper. He could see out of the corner of his eye a young white man approaching him and he stood up to greet him.

“Bloody hell. Joey!”

“Tim.” They had a very solid and fond handshake.

Tim had stayed with Joey and his mum every now and then when he was on the streets. They sat and talked for a while. Joey was studying Aboriginal history. They chatted about his thesis. Tim told him about the Premiers' conference in Western Australia.

“Yeah, it's true, 1907 or very close. Premiers' conference in Perth,” Tim said.

“The bastards. And what! They got together and said they would never allow blacks any social or economic means whatsoever? It'd put the blackfellas in a right mess.”

“If you're gonna destroy a people or a nation that's what you would do.”

“Yes. That's what you would do,” said Joey.

“Do your thesis on that, it'll give us more ammunition for the courts,” Tim said, thinking about the long-term struggle for the blacks.

“Yeah, I'll do it on economics and politics and give everything I dig up to you guys. I've been wondering why I was studying Aboriginal history ... you know with the way things are, Koories regaining control and everything ... white fellas teaching black history to white students.” And then Joey leant towards Tim and confided, “I don't tell Koories that I study Aboriginal history. They go off their brain.”

“Don't you worry about that. You just tell ‘em who your big brother is,” Tim said.

“I'll tell Mum you send the best and all that. Make sure you come and say g'day next time you're in Sydney,” Joey said as they shook hands.

“I will,” said Tim as they parted company.

Back at Charlie's, sunning himself out the back, joint in hand, he heard the old man come in, have a short conversation with Charlie and then come on through to the back
yard. Tim felt there was another job in the offing and was a bit reluctant to take it on. That is, until he heard what the old man told him.

“I'll do it,” Tim said, after some urging from the old man. “One thing that worries me though is I haven't gone through the proper steps of law that allow me to do it.” Thoughts flash through his head of being strung up by his balls.

“You have. You know the law. I've seen the spirits guarding you because of what you know.” And the old man added, “This is my last job in Sydney. This is the one I missed ten years ago. I had to bring you in, Tim. To finish what I should've done.”

The old man left Tim with a headful of thoughts and a little bone wrapped in feathers. He'd never had this sort of job before. The old man had already done the preparation. To Tim it was like delivering a bomb. He went to his room to prepare himself, carefully unfolding his dilly bag and removing two objects. He then went through the ritual of thanking the spirits and asking them for guidance.

When Tim came downstairs, Charlie could see he was stony-faced, so he didn't reply when Tim said, “I gotta go out.” People crowded past him but he didn't bother to look at any of them. He got off at Wynyard and took five minutes to find the building. He went directly to the eighteenth floor and asked the receptionist for him personally.

“Have you got an appointment?” she asked.

“No,” Tim replied.

“I'm sorry, he doesn't see anyone without an appointment.”

Tim knew all of this and had come prepared. He pulled
out a little box and opened it and showed the receptionist the little ornament. “It's a gift from a Ngyoonga from Western Ausralia. Would you see that he gets it, please?”

“Of course. I'll do that for you. Who shall I say it's from?”

“He'll recognise who it's from,” Tim said and then left.

The receptionist buzzed her boss and took the object in to him. She told him what the stranger had said. “That old bastard still playing games after all these years. He worked with me on my first diamond find.” He laughed and told her to get back to work, and picked up the phone. “Howdy Dave. What's up?” His face sort of drained. “What do you mean everything?” His jaw dropped, then finally horror took over. Suddenly he clutched his chest and slipped out of the chair onto the floor.

Tim called in at the Royal for a drink and a few bets to empty his mind. He was glad Agatha was working and settled into some beer and small talk with her. He was not concerned with winning or losing and backed the most likely longshots and names that he liked. Soon he felt like himself again. Hank came in as Tim cheered on a winner. “Beauty,” an elated Tim said to Hank. “Only one race to go. I won't be losing this back to the bastards.”

“Gee, that was a roughie,” Agatha mused, enjoying Tim's elation. Tim was starting to feel a little tipsy so he suggested to Hank that they walk over to Newtown to the “Shaky”.

“Ya got any yarndi?” Tim asked as they were walking along.

“Yeah. I got one rolled,” Hank answered.

They walked the back streets in order to smoke. Back on King Street, they stopped at a service station so Tim could have a much-needed piss. Tim liked walking King Street.
He thought it was the best balanced street in Sydney with people from all walks of life. He wanted to stop in at the Marlborough Hotel, it being a watering hole of his in years gone by. They had a beer but it didn't feel the same and they moved on to the “Shaky”.

Sam was playing pool out the back with a couple of likely looking lads. This pub didn't have the best of reputations but that didn't bother Tim. He used to score pot from here for years, but the dealers had now moved on or been pushed on by the police. Tim was about to shout some beers when Hank stepped in and bought three schooners. They played pool and listened to the juke-box for a couple of hours.

Tim decided he'd had enough and told the other two he was going. They were a lot fresher than he was and wanted to stay. He went back to Charlie's and stumbled up the stairs to bed.

When he woke again around nine in the morning, he felt much better and all he could think of was a nice juicy rump. Charlie was up but the house was still closed when he came down the stairs with a towel wrapped around his torso.

“I'll put a cup of tea on. You look like you need it.” A look in the mirror confirmed that he did look a bit messed up and needed a shave. Inside he felt good, and he set about rectifying the other parts which didn't comply.

“That looks much better,” Charlie remarked.

“Surprising as it may seem,” Tim said, doing a little leg shake and finishing with a thrust of an unseen spear, “I feel great.”

Charlie was reading a review of Sylvia's play. “This bloke didn't like the play. He bags the writer and director. Sylvia
and the actors got a plug. Overall, I don't think it's gonna put bums on seats.”

“Who wrote the review?” Tim asked.

“The notoriously infamous Bob Evans,” Charlie replied.

Tim read the review. “I hope the crew don't take it too much to heart. He's torn the heart out of a lot of actors.”

The old man knocked on the door and Charlie let him in. The old man looked straight at Tim who returned his gaze. They said nothing and then the old man showed him an article in the paper.

“Died of a heart attack. I had him pegged for jumping out the window. Well, that's what they did in America when they lost everything.” The old man's left hand imitated someone jumping out of a twenty-storey window accompanied by the death fall whistle. With his left hand the old man reached across the table and motioned with his eyes for Tim to hold out his hand—and in it he placed the diamond. Inside himself, Tim was singing the old man's graces and the only place it was showing was in his eyes. The old man smiled when he saw Tim's eyes.

“You know them old fellas in the Centre that are goin' to put that little diamond inside of you? They believe what you believe.”

Tim felt his spirit lift and he enjoyed the weightlessness that freed his mind. Only a smile gave away what he was feeling inside.

“I'll be leaving now,” the old man said as he stood up. Charlie shook his hand and said good-bye and Tim walked him out to the street. “Drop in to see me if you ever pass by. You know where I am.”

“I will,” Tim said.

They shook hands and the old man patted Tim on the
shoulder and left. Tim felt a little sad as he watched the old man walk down the street.

“Shit, I've gotta put me dole form in,” Tim recalled sharply, “Wanta go to the beach?”

“I wish,” Charlie replied.

Tim headed up town to Social Security and then to Coogee beach. The beach wasn't all that crowded and Tim dived straight in and swam around for ten minutes, with his eyes straying over the bikini-clad girls. He got out and dried himself and lay on his belly. The midday sun was nowhere near as hot as it was at home, but it still had a bite.

After he dried off, he rolled a joint on his knapsack. He noticed a man looking at him and then at the joint. He motioned to the man to join him. Tim rarely enjoyed smoking by himself. The man introduced himself as Gavin. “I think my friends wouldn't mind a smoke as well,” he said, as he pointed to the two bikini-clad women Tim had been eyeing off.

“Sure, bring them over.” Hopefully, they both don't belong to him, Tim thought.

The strangers were regulars at the beach judging by their tans, Tim guessed. The girls' names were Julie and Carina. After the joint, the parts which were hidden by the bikini became of no interest to Tim and he began to talk to them like he'd met them before. Gavin went in for another swim. Tim took the opportunity to see if they wanted to have lunch with him. “I'd like to,” Carina said, adding, “These two have to go to work.”

“I don't mind being at the beach by myself but eating by myself is another thing altogether,” Tim said to Carina. “Do you have a job?”

“I have a part-time job. It's my day off,” she replied.

“I'm going back in, getting a bit hot,” Tim said as he made for the surf.

Tim lolled around close to the shore trying to catch the biggest of the small waves. Gavin came past and thanked him for the smoke and told him that they were going. He and Julie waved from the beach. Tim went back to where Carina was lying and lay face-down beside her, not bothering to dry himself off.

“Where would you like to go for lunch?” Tim asked.

“I wouldn't mind a counter lunch and a beer,” Carina said. They showered the salty water off then headed for the beer garden. Tim bit into a sizeable steak while Carina had a cold chicken salad. Carina accepted Tim's offer to take her to a film later that evening, and she gave him her address and directions.

The train pulled into Redfern Station and Tim bounded out and up the stairs. He wanted to run to Charlie's, but instead he put on a smile and walked casually. The feeling of oppression had lifted from Redfern and people were going about their normal business. A couple of boys he knew said g'day and he was generous when they asked for cigarettes and money.