- YOU HELP US, WE HELP YOU. CAPICHE?
William knew something was wrong as soon as he came back and saw his secretary wasn’t at the reception desk. Miss Jones always told him if she had to go out.
When he saw a silhouette through the frosted glass to his left, he flung open his office door.
What in the blazes was he doing in there without permission?
He forced himself to smile when he realised there were actually two men in there, and they were both wearing fedora hats. ‘Um. Can I help you?’
The men were enormous. Both wore suits that looked two sizes too small. The one who looked like a stocky ex-weightlifter was reclining in William’s leather chair and blowing smoke rings from a cigar. The taller one was standing near the window scrunching up a piece of paper.
‘Come in, but shut the door,’ the man with the thick neck said. ‘It’s freezing in here.’
His accent was American. New York. Like he had a bad cold, or perhaps a mouthful of cotton wool. He made a series of O shapes with his mouth, which sent more little puffs of smoke into the air.
This was Hobart, Tasmania, in 1974, hardly the place you’d expect to find gangsters.
But everyone knew the opening of Australia’s first legal casino would bring crime in from elsewhere. Sure enough, there had been a sudden rise in large men swaggering around town in dark suits, dark shirts, dark hats, and white ties.
This was why William had put aside his jocular side and attempted to enter politics — so he could apply some serious pressure to claim back law and order. But the count for the Senate seat had finished on a knife-edge and the result now hinged on postal votes. That’s why he had ducked out: to check in at his party headquarters to see if the last ballots were in.
Thick Neck scowled. ’I figured you’d look different.’
‘Different?’ William felt awkward standing in the middle of his own smoke-filled office still in his overcoat. He wanted to cough but suppressed the urge.
‘Well, you don’t look like no attorney I’ve ever known. I thought you’d stink of expensive after-shave, be better dressed and be much taller. Am I right that people call you The Magician? Because I gotta say you look more like a ventriloquist’s dummy.’
William’s voice came out all squeaky. ‘How did you even know I do magic?’
‘We’re reliably informed that you can make things go away.’ The American snapped his fingers. ‘Like that?’
‘Rabbits, mainly.’ William studied the man. Did they actually sell that neck size off the rack or were his black shirts all tailor-made? ‘I, er, do tricks in my spare time.’
The visitors exchanged looks, and smirked.
The man in the chair looked at his watch and blew out a stream of smoke as if he didn’t have the patience to produce smoke rings any more.
He glanced around the desk until his eyes fell on a tea mug, which he flicked ash into. William tried not to show emotion as he watched the mug he inherited from his father being used as an ashtray.
Thick Neck sighed. ‘You’ll have to do. The boss is due in court soon. Take a seat, Charlie McCarthy.’
William turned and pointed to the back-to-front image of a name stencilled on the glass panel at the top of the door. ‘I thought you would have seen my name when you came in. William Clarin, barrister at law.’
‘Shaddup and sit down. We know who you are. The boss is calling in your services.’
‘You’re in my seat.’
The American pointed towards the two empty seats on the other side of the desk. ‘Why can’t you sit there?’
From the window, William heard the other man protest. ’He can’t sit there, Benny. He’ll be in my line of sight.’ Just then, a flying paper ball grazed the rim of the waste-paper basket beside the desk before falling on to the rug next to five other paper balls.
Benny raised his voice. ‘How many times do you need to miss, Luigi, before you get it into your thick skull that even though you’re built like him you ain’t no Wilt Chamberlain!’
Luigi stormed over and grabbed another legal document from the in-tray and started pounding it into a ball as William removed his overcoat, sat down tentatively, and draped it over his lap. Luigi went back to the window. ‘You think I can’t shoot over his head?’
‘We are here to talk business, goddamnit.’
William’s eyes were watery from all the smoke in the room. The last person who had smoked in this office had been his dearly departed father. William thought about opening a window but he sensed these men wouldn’t appreciate a blast of frigid air fresh in from Antarctica.
As Benny leaned back further in the chair, his coat opened just far enough for William to get a glimpse of a revolver in a holster.
‘You help us, we help you. Capiche?’
The barrister cleared his throat and tried to sound more authoritative and deeper voiced. ‘What kind of trouble does your boss find himself in?’
‘What can I say? He likes to take the wheel.’
William smiled weakly, and reached over to pick a pad up from the desk. He took a pen out from his shirt pocket and started writing. ‘If he was involved in an accident, I’m sure the barrister I’m recommending to you can make that charge go away easily.’
Benny looked darkly at him. ‘The boss was very specific. He wants you to represent him. Anyway, it wasn’t no accident. That other stupid bum was driving on the wrong side of the road.’
William’s false smile disappeared. ‘You do know we drive on the left side of the road in Australia?’
‘Do you?’ Benny frowned. ‘Really?’ He shook his head. ‘What’s wrong with you Aussies? Does everyone here have death wishes?’
‘Please don’t tell me he killed the other motorist?’ William sucked the end of his pen. ‘Hmm, now who is the best barrister I know who’ll take on homicide cases?’
‘Save your breath, Charlie, because the boss didn’t kill him — not yet anyway.’ Benny took a final puff, and stubbed out the cigar in the mug. The butt made a ssssssss noise as it sank into the dregs of cold tea. ‘Both drivers saw each other in plenty of time and slowed down to a crawl. But it was a matter of principle for the boss. Why should he move when that jerk kept coming straight at him?’
‘Let me guess?’ William rolled his eyes. ‘The cars collided.’
Benny cleared his throat noisily and looked around as if he were looking for a place to spit. ‘I’ve seen worse damage on bumper-cars at fairgrounds,’ he mumbled through the gob in his mouth. ‘Luigi and me didn’t have time to lay a glove on him because two cops saw the whole thing and issued the boss with a summons to front the court. And that’s why we’re here.’
William was trying to choose diplomatic words to tell the gangsters they really did need to find themselves a proper mob lawyer when Luigi cried: ‘Fuck.’
When something slammed into William’s right ear, he realised he might have heard that wrong. Luigi had probably cried duck.
‘Will you cut it out,’ Benny growled.
‘I did warn him it was coming his way.’
‘Quit messing about.’ Benny looked at William and smiled. ‘I’m sorry about that.’ The smile turned sinister. ‘You know anything about body language, Charlie?’
William clutched his sore ear. ‘Body language? No. What are you talking about?’
Benny kept smiling at him. ‘In our line of work, I guess it’s an important skill. It helps us to read people. Capiche? I gotta say I don’t like your body language.’
William inspected his hand for blood.
Benny thumped the desk so hard the cup jumped six inches and landed on its side. The soggy butt landed in the in-tray and streams of cold tea and ash snaked out in three directions. ‘Although I can’t condone Luigi’s behaviour, it does serve as a warning if you’re unwilling to help us with this one little thing, the next warning shot to the head is gunna hurt a lot more.’
Benny rose and buttoned his coat, and walked around the desk, pausing to spit into the rubbish bin. He looked William in the eye. ‘See you in Court Number Three at 2.15. Don’t be late. Or else!’ He aimed a finger at the barrister’s head and pulled it back like he was pulling a trigger.
* * *
When the gangsters slammed the front door of Clarin and Son, William realised he needed to check on a matter of law in a hurry.
He opened the door to the little archive where the leather-bound law volumes were kept on two rows of dusty metal shelves along either side of the room.
When he switched on the light, a dark shape on the floor revealed itself.
So that’s where his elderly secretary had got to!
Miss Jones was lying on the concrete floor right where his father must have died!
She was gagged and trussed, and her dishevelled skirt revealed her black witches britches with red lace trim under that demure grey woollen skirt.
William bent down and lifted her into a sitting position. When he stripped back the tape over her mouth, she cried out loudly in pain. ‘This really is the last straw.’
‘It’s not my fault you have a bit of a moustache going.’ William started untying her hands.
She was trembling. ‘That’s typical of you, William, making light of this. I thought they were going to rape me.’
‘At your age?’ William stared at her. ‘Christ, I thought they were going to kill me!’
She rearranged her dress. ‘I didn’t come in here to be insulted or be a party to you taking the Lord’s name in vain. But I just want to remind you that your father would have punched their noses.’
’That’s not fair criticism. He never stood for politics in a bid to rid our streets of men just like them. Anyway, do we have to talk about him here! Even Father would never have tried to take on those men. Did you even notice the size of them?’
‘Nearly everyone is taller than you.’ She shook her hands, trying to get some circulation back, then she hoisted herself up using a shelf for support. ‘You think I enjoy doing this job for nothing?’
‘I told you.’ William put a hand on her back and guided her out of the archive room and into the better-lit reception area. ‘I’ll start paying you again when I can. I’m having a cash-flow problem.’
‘And what if you don’t even win the Senate seat? How will you afford the upkeep on that fancy house in Sandy Bay then?’
William placed his hands on his hips. ‘You mean the house I’ve been locked out of?’
‘James would roll in his grave if he knew how you’d taken this legal practice so downmarket.’
‘Will you please stop banging on about my father. You know his death still upsets me.’ His eyes widened. ‘You think I asked those gangsters to come here?’
‘I’m not just talking about them! Do you have any idea about the number of low-lifes I have to deal with? How many daggy sheepskin boots and tie-dye shirts I see each day?’
‘Strewth! You think you’re the only one! Somebody has to help society’s downtrodden people, and keep them out of jail.’ He paused and thought about it, then lowered his voice. ‘With the exception of Wacko Jacko, of course. I’d be happy to pay extra taxes to keep him incarcerated. You weren’t even here when he called on me last week.’
‘Why can’t you at least have a mix of clientele like your father used to have? If you had more money coming in, you’d at least be able to cover some of your gambling losses.’
‘You know as well as I do, I don’t gamble.’
‘You go to Gamblers’ Anonymous meetings.’
‘I go there as a voluntary legal adviser.’
Miss Jones scoffed.
‘I don’t need this.’ William turned his head so she could see his wound. ‘Can’t you see they’ve made my ear bleed!’
She placed her hands either side of his head and rotated it towards the light. ‘It’s red, but it’s not bleeding.’
‘You sure? You must have been in that dark room for a while. At your age, you probably need longer for your eyes to adjust.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my eyes. Or your ear!’ Miss Jones pushed his head away, turned and grabbed her coat from the cloak stand next to her desk.
William opened his eyes wide. ‘Where are you going? I’m due in court soon to represent those gangsters. Someone’s got to keep the office open.’
‘It’s not my problem. I quit.’ Miss Jones stormed out the front door.
* * *
MOST people removed their hats in the corridor before coming into court. William guessed they did things differently in the USA.
He wasn’t the only one who looked up when the rear door burst open. He had been sitting down pretending to study his notes, and the police prosecutor, the clerk-of-the-court, the court stenographer, the four journalists in the press box, the police guard and the three strangers in the public gallery looked just as surprised. It wasn’t every day three large men wearing fedoras blow into Court Number Three like they have a typhoon at their backs.
The guard directed the man leading the way to stand in the dock at the front and the other two to take a pew in the public gallery.
‘Hats off, gentlemen,’ said the clerk-of-the-court in the black gown.
The gangsters at the back of the room looked at each other quizzically, then looked towards their boss for direction.
William was not sure how the boss knew what he looked like. But he glanced down from the dock with a look that said, ‘can he make me do that?’
William nodded. First the boss complied, then the two cronies at the back followed his lead. But none of them looked happy.
‘All stand,’ announced the clerk-of-the-court.
This confused the boss even more because he hadn’t been able to sit down anyway since there was no chair in the dock. His eyes followed the magistrate, Mr Rockingham, who emerged from a door at the front of the court and walked half the length of the bench before sitting down. The officials bowed their heads and the clerk-of-the-court announced: ‘Sit.’
This time the boss’s glare seemed to say: ‘What is this malarkey?‘
William broke his gaze by looking down at the papers on his desk again. They actually had nothing to do with the case, but the unusually tall prosecutor sitting on the other side of the big desk wasn’t to know that.
Had Geoffrey Brooks-Dixon bothered to crane his giraffe-like neck it would have been easy for him to see William was in fact perusing the photocopied form guide for race six at Randwick. It was true William didn’t gamble on the gee-gees or anything else, but it was an image he liked to cultivate in the hope his opponents would drop their guard. Same with his crumpled look.
But it was a waste of effort today. The man William called ’Sticks’ — mainly because he knew Brooks-Dixon didn’t like being called that — sat there smirking as if he thought the case was going to be a doddle.
William couldn’t wait to wipe the smile off his face and bring him down to size.
How hard could this be? William had never asked to become a mob lawyer but now he realised there was something they could do in return. They could provide protection from Wacko Jacko.
He rehearsed his spiel in his head and imagined the accompanying hand movements.
‘These are the facts, Your Worship. One: Our American friend admits he was driving on the wrong side of the road, but he was merely driving on the side of the road he is used to. Two: It was a low-impact collision. Three: Nobody was injured in this minor traffic infringement.’
Mr Rockingham would probably just dismiss the charge and criticise the cops for wasting the court’s time. At worst, he’d adjourn the case to be heard at a later date. William would then apply for bail, which would be a foregone conclusion. At the very worst, they’d take away the gangster’s passport for surety.
None of this happened.
What happened was the crime boss got off to a terribly bad start when the clerk-of-the-court asked him: ‘Are you Giovanni Salvadori Biggi?’
He stuck out his jaw like it he was daring someone to take a shot at him. ‘What if I am?’
Then the smarmy prosecutor stood. ‘If it pleases Your Worship, I want to submit a document that was faxed to me not 20 minutes ago.’
Brooks-Dixon’s Adam apple bobbed as he opened his leather folder, extracted a piece of paper and waved it theatrically.
‘I submit to the court an international warrant for Mr Biggi’s deportation to the United States where he will face murder charges.’
* * *
‘Take your hands off me,’ Mr Biggi shouted as he was escorted to the door behind the dock that led to a set of stairs down to the jail. He looked back over one of the policemen’s shoulders. ‘What am I paying you for, ya bum?’
William turned around. Since no-one had offered him any money, the crime boss must have been referring to his lackeys. But Benny and Luigi’s threatening glares told him he was wrong, and their dark looks intensified when the command came from Mr Biggi. ‘Get him, boys.’
‘All stand,’ the clerk-of-the-court said, after which the magistrate disappeared through the other rear door.
William watched the thugs get up and leave. If ever a door was destined to be slammed, it was that one. But the journalists were right behind them, and stopped the door from closing as they rushed to file their copy. Then it closed softly after the last one.
When the room had emptied, William glanced at the smarmy prosecutor. ‘You might have warned me about the extradition order, Sticks?’
The prosecutor scowled back. ‘You heard about it about 20 minutes after I did.’
‘Don’t give me that nonsense. I’ve never seen so many reporters in here. Someone must have tipped them off!’
‘I must say I was surprised when you came into the court. The word I heard around the traps was they had engaged a Queen’s Counsel from Sydney. Fellow who goes by the nickname The Magician.’
This confirmed what William had already guessed. He had been the victim of mistaken identity. He turned to the clerk-of-the-court. ‘You heard the defendant? He told his men to get me. They’ll be waiting for me outside.’
‘Hmm, I only heard him say get him. He might have been merely asking them to pick up his dog from boarding.’
‘You’re kidding, aren’t you?’ William pointed at the door. ‘Why does he need a dog when he’s got those two obedient Rottweilers? Can I at least leave the court by one of the back doors?’
‘You know Sergeant Jenkins locks the door that goes down to the cells.’
‘What about the other side?’
‘What are you thinking!’ The clerk-of-the-court glared at him. ‘You can’t go into the magistrate’s chambers.’
William mopped his sweaty forehead with his handkerchief. He looked up at the tall man. ‘It’s up to you to get me out of here, Sticks. You owe me!’
2. THE BOUNTY ARRIVES
About the time William was secreting himself beneath Geoffrey Brooks-Dixon’s coat in preparation for making the great escape from Court Room Number Three, Captain Christopher Rose was feeling nostalgic up on the bridge of The Bounty XIII.
Even if they haven’t read the book or seen the movie, most Australians know the story of The Mutiny on the Bounty.
It happened in 1789 when Acting Lieutenant Fletcher Christian led a mutiny against Captain William Bligh, and set him and 18 loyalists adrift in an open row-boat.
It is the stuff of legends that the cantankerous old bugger reached safety 3500 nautical miles later.
The Bounty XIII had a new, different story to tell.
It was the cruise ship’s inaugural trip to Hobart but Captain Rose knew this stretch of Derwent River well.
He had grown up in one of Hobart’s eastern suburbs and had fond memories of sailing sabots on the river when he was a kid. Sydney was now his home base but he had been in Hobart two years before as the owner/skipper of a wooden boat that had finished the Sydney-to-Hobart yacht race. That time he had sailed to the very edge of the city.
This time a tug boat had rendezvoused with the cruise ship at the head of the Derwent and the pilot had climbed up the rope ladder that had been dropped over the side. This is when Captain Rose had relieved the First Officer of his duties on the bridge. His second-in-charge didn’t want to leave his post but Captain Rose insisted, pointing out he really needed to go get some sleep after having crossed Bass Strait mostly on his own.
‘How come I do all the donkey work, and you do all the glamorous work?’ Wallace Christian said.
‘You’ll get your turn one day … maybe. Right now though, you need to leave the bridge. That’s an order!’
So Mr Christian didn’t get to see the pilot take the wheel of the red behemoth, which carried 455 passengers. Captain Rose was wearing a freshly pressed blue uniform, courtesy of a less-than-impressed worker in the laundry room who had to get it to him at short notice. He stood next to the pilot and watched the landmarks come into focus as he puffed on his cigarette.
Up ahead he could see the elegant Tasman Bridge spanning the mile-wide river, and snow-capped Mount Wellington looking down on the city.
Captain Rose pointed to a building shaped like a tower on the foreshore. ‘Is that the casino?’
‘Sure is.’ The pilot puffed out his chest. ‘Tallest building in Tasmania. 19 floors. You won’t get a better view from anywhere.’
Captain Rose stifled a snigger. Call that a skyscraper? Ha! The Australia Square building in Sydney rose to 48 floors. And this ship had docked in cities with far taller buildings than even that.
Nevertheless, he had to admit the casino had a certain authority as it looked down on far smaller buildings. It was enhanced by a green hilly backdrop of natural beauty you didn’t find in bigger cities.
It also carried a mystique as Australia’s first legal casino.
If you knew where to go in Sydney, you could find an illegal casino to take your money — which Captain Rose knew all too well.
He also knew most of his passengers would make a beeline to the casino during their short stay here.
The pilot looked around at him. ‘You really sailed here in the Sydney to Hobart? You weren’t crewing on American Eagle by any chance?’
Captain Rose took a deep draw on his cigarette, and shook his head. He blew out a stream of blue smoke, and after he had emptied his lungs said, ‘No, we finished way behind the winner. We spent nearly five days in a washing machine. Crossing Bass Strait last night was a lot smoother, I tell you, though I have four green members of the crew who mightn’t agree.’
He didn’t tell the pilot he actually owned the yacht he was on in 1972. Nor did he tell him he subsequently lost it in a wager with a skipper whose boat finished an hour and 23 minutes better.
* * *
Geoffrey Brooks-Dixon had not inherited his grandfather’s bulk but he had inherited both his tremendous height and the thick woollen greatcoat that had kept him warm waiting on the docks for ships to berth so they could be unloaded.
William Clarin counted his luck it was a chilly winter’s day, despite the blue sky over Hobart, because the coat Brooks-Dixon removed from the court coat rack was surely his ticket out of here.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ the prosecutor said. ‘It’ll never work.’
‘Why not? You could secrete two people under that thing.’
‘You don’t think they’ll notice I’ve got four legs?’
‘Not if you carry me on your shoulders. They’ll be too busy looking up. What are you? Seven foot? I’ll make you look even more impressive. I know for a fact one of them is a big basketball fan.’
Brooks-Dixon scoffed. ‘I’ve never played basketball in my life.’
‘Luigi doesn’t know that. I bet he gulped when you stood up.’
Brooks-Dixon peered down. ‘Anyway, I’m actually only six foot nine.’
William scratched his head. ‘You’d be surprised how tall you can make yourself if you stand up straight. Look at me. I’m only 5 foot 6. I tell anyone who asks I’m 5 foot 9. What are they going to do? Call me a liar? It’d be a brave person who’d risk a slander suit from a barrister for the sake of three inches.’
The clerk-of-the-court looked at him quizzically. ‘I would have pegged you at about 5 foot 2.’
‘Then you’d be a poor judge. Anyway Mr Astute, we’re going to need you to create a diversion.’
‘Me?’ The clerk-of-the-court screwed up his face. ‘Why me?’
‘Well, I can’t do it! Sticks is probably right. Sooner or later, those knuckleheads are bound to notice something is wrong. I’d prefer it if they didn’t notice it was my head sticking out the top of his coat.’
The clerk-of-the-court scrunched up his face even more. ‘It’s not even my business.’
‘It’ll be very much your business if the outside of your court becomes a murder scene. How will you sleep at night knowing you have my blood on your hands?’ He pointed to Brooks-Dixon. ‘And his blood — which, by the way, is a mystery to me. I don’t know how such a little heart could possibly pump blood all the way up to his brain.’
This comment caused the tall man to scowl. ‘Unbelievable! First, you want my help to get out of here? Then you’re happy to insult me. Who just outmanoeuvred whom?’
‘Don’t be like that, Sticks! Look for the silver lining. If they aim with their guns at your heart they’ll only get your head, which means they’ll be miles away from mine.’
Brooks-Dixon and the clerk-of-the-court exhaled heavily in unison.
‘What do you want me to do?’ The clerk-of-the-court closed his eyes as he shrugged.
‘I’m guessing you haven’t got a smoke-bomb in your lunchbox?’
The clerk-of-the-court shook his head.
‘Didn’t think so. Plan B it is then.’
* * *
Benny and Luigi had seen some weird things, but when the clerk-of-the-court started removing his clothes in the foyer, they couldn’t take their eyes off him.
By the time he took off his underpants, the 12-foot beast (or 12 foot 6 if you accepted the lie, or a tad under 12 foot if you wanted to be sceptical) had slipped out the door and was walking awkwardly down the last steps.
* * *
William had been sleeping in the office since Nancy had thrown him out of their marital home. But he knew he couldn’t go back to the Clarin and Son premises. Benny and Luigi would look there.
His car had been repossessed, so he trudged 30 minutes up Sandy Bay Road — only to discover Nancy had changed the locks.
He pounded on the door. ‘Let me in, please.’
‘Go away.’ He could see her through the frosted glass at the side of the Tasmanian Oak door.
His voice escalated. ‘You don’t understand. The Mafia are chasing me, and they know where I work. I have nowhere else to go.’
‘Not my problem,’ came the reply from behind the glass.
‘For goodness sake, have a heart. I’ve only got the clothes I’m wearing. My fresh stuff is back at the office.’
‘I put your magic things and some of your clothes in a case in the shed around the back. The case is next to the rabbits’ cage.’
‘But where will I sleep?’
‘Try your girlfriend’s.’
‘I told you, there is no girlfriend. You weren’t supposed to walk in when my assistant and I were rehearsing.’
‘Is that what you call it? Now you see your magic wand, now you don’t.’
‘It wasn’t what it looked like.’ He pinched his nose. ‘For goodness sake, can’t you open the door so I can come in out of the cold?’
‘You should be ashamed of yourself for breaking your wedding vows with a 15-year-old girl!’
‘She’s 16!’
‘And you’re 35!’
‘Thirty-six actually! If you really cared, you would have known I had my birthday three days ago. But, oh no! If it wasn’t for Miss Jones remembering to bring in a cake, the day would have gone completely unnoticed.’
‘There’s a thought. Maybe Miss Jones will let you into the warmth of her bed? Like she used to keep your father warm.’
William felt a surge of heat shoot up to his face. ‘How dare you make up stories about Father!’
‘Really? You think I made that up? Ha! You must be the only person in Hobart who didn’t know he was playing away from home.’
This is where the conversation came to a halt.
William collected his case and the rabbit cage, which had three rabbits inside, and trudged back towards town. The sun had vanished behind grey rain clouds that had pushed the last patches of blue out of the sky, and he felt icy spits of rain on his face. Flopsy, Mopsy, and Peter Rabbit were heavy, probably quite bewildered, but William felt jealous they had warm fur coats.
His mind raced as he walked.
Why would Nancy make up such a thing about his father? To hurt him more?
No way could he find refuge with his assistant. Not only did she still live at home, her father had forbidden her to have any contact with him. Just like Nancy, Wacko Jacko had also got it all wrong. William wasn’t responsible for the bun she had in the oven.
The trip into town took him 50 minutes this time — what with the extra weight and the constant juggling.
When he reached the ABC offices, he veered right and trudged down to the old derelict docks at Salamanca Place, where he was away from the glare of people.
It was getting dark but he could see lots of lights cast from a large ship moored out in the harbour.
The downpour hadn’t started but he could see a sheen of wetness on the footpath.
He looked around for cover, and his eyes fell on the boarded-up door of an abandoned Georgian sandstone warehouse.
Using his hands, he worked free three warped planks, which was enough to give him access. He threw in the suitcase and pushed the cage through the gap.
* * *
It Was cold in the warehouse, and visibility was close to zero. The thick walls kept out the wind and the rain but not the jaw-chattering temperature overnight.
William had left his overcoat back in the cloak-rack at the court, so the best he could do was pull on an old sweater he managed to locate by touch in his suitcase, and cover himself with his thin magician’s cape.
Whenever he felt himself sliding into a deeper sleep, a noise would rouse him.
He’d raise his head, sure he had just heard the scurry of little feet, a hiss or the slight movement of one of the pieces of junk that littered the warehouse. Now everything was quiet. Damn those rats. The little buggers knew when to stand still and hold their breaths.
William lost count of the times he looked at his luminous watch during the night.
He longed for the first rays of light to come through the cracks in one of the boarded-up windows.
3.ROCK THE BOAT
It went against Captain Rose’s low-as-a-snake’s-armpit principles to come clean with his employers. But he had fessed up because he felt he really didn’t have a choice. He knew they’d get suspicious of him if they heard about his gambling habit elsewhere.
As long as he kept his nose clean, they said they were happy for him to continue in the well-paying job as captain of The Bounty XIII.
It probably helped that he ran a tight ship. He kept crew levels just on the wrong side of minimum and kept wage levels low by telling employees if they didn’t like the remuneration, he’d be happy to drop them at the next far-flung port.
But even though he was saving his masters a shipload of money, he knew they were keeping an eye on him.
This is why he resisted the urge to join the tour bus to the casino. Shame. After all the overnight rain, the skies had cleared. It was chilly, but skies were blue again and that was always a good omen for him.
Reluctantly, he took up a position instead behind a recruiting desk in a big tin shed on the docks.
The assistant purser was surprised to be suddenly given the morning off. ‘This is my job, sir.’
‘Run along, Jane, before I change my mind. You can thank me later.’ He winked at her. ‘If you hurry, you can still make the bus.’
She gave him a look that said: are you kidding?
‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘I haven’t always been captain.’ He added: ‘Bet you didn’t know I’ve got a waterbed in my cabin?’
‘That must be nice for you,’ she said flatly. Careful not to touch his hands, she handed him the folder that detailed the four jobs they were recruiting for.
Bass Strait hadn’t exactly been a millpond but the big ship had churned through the night waves fairly effortlessly. Someone on every trip, however, couldn’t handle the smell of diesel and a deck that rocked and rolled a little. But normally they were passengers.
This time, four crew members refused to make the return voyage. This meant they had to be replaced in Hobart, which was a pain.
The only good thing was the water-tight contract they had signed ensured if the wimps ever wanted to get off the island, they’d have to fly to the mainland at their own expense.
Captain Rose pined for the good old days when a ship’s captain could order errant crew members be tied to the mast so they could feel the sting of the cat o’nine tails on their backs.
The ship was scheduled to return across Bass Strait and sail up the coast to Cairns.
* * *
At 20 minutes past nine, a little man in a crumpled blue pinstripe suit came through the door carrying a battered suitcase and a cage.
He looked around the barn-like room to get his bearings then approached the desk, put his things on the floor and sat down on an empty chair. ‘It says on the sign outside this is the recruiting centre for the cruise ship moored out there.’
‘Correct.’ Captain Rose blew cigarette smoke at him. The man hadn’t shaved or even combed his hair. ‘We have some very specific needs though.’ He referred to his folder, which was on the desk next to his packet of Viscount 20s. ‘Two security guards, one waitress and one —’
‘I could work security?’
Captain Rose tried to keep a straight face as he locked eyes with the man, who was at least a head shorter than him.
‘What?’ The man picked up on the silent ridicule. ‘I’ll have you know I’m bigger than I look. Your boss will have your guts for garters if he finds out you’ve missed the opportunity to hire a person with my talents.’
‘Is that so?’ Captain Rose turned in his chair and pointed through the window behind him. ‘It might come as a surprise to you I am the boss on that ship.’ He pointed to the stripes on his shoulder. ‘Captain. Get it? I’m only sitting in for the assistant purser to get inside her knickers.’
‘You can’t say that!’
‘Why not?’ Captain Rose looked around to make sure there were no other witnesses. ‘It’s your word against mine, and who in their right mind would believe the scruffy likes of you.’
‘I’ll have you know, I’m a member of the bar.’
‘That would explain why you look so hungover.’
The little man bristled. ‘Not that kind of bar. The legal bar. If you must know, I was forced to sleep rough last night. All I’m asking for is for you to give me a break and I won’t be without a bed tonight.’
‘Bunk.’ Captain Rose dragged on his cigarette.
‘What?’
‘We sleep on bunks on the ship.’ The words came out in a stream of smoke.
The little man waved his hands to cut through the haze. When he finished coughing, he said: ‘I don’t care if I have to sleep in one of the lifeboats. In fact, I might enjoy the fresh air.’
Captain Rose shook his head. ‘I’m afraid we like our security guards to be a bit brawnier and a bit younger.’
‘That’s ageism!’
‘What?’ Captain Rose looked at him blankly.
‘You can’t discriminate against me because of my age. You don’t get that I’m a barrister, do you?’ Then his facial expression softened and his voice changed. ‘You said you also needed a waiter. I could do that.’
‘You think?’
‘Easily! I’ve even got experience. I worked as a waiter to pay my way through university.’
‘And this was when exactly?’ Captain Rose stubbed out his cigarette in his ashtray.
‘It was only 14 or 15 years ago.’
‘And it was on a ship, was it?’ Captain Rose examined the little man’s eyes for the truth. When nothing was forthcoming, he said: ‘I didn’t think so. I think you’d find a ship’s restaurant more challenging.’
Captain Rose thumbed the paper on his desk to double-check he had remembered it correctly. ‘Besides, the requirements are very specific.’ He read from the folder. ‘WAITRESS, must look good in a cocktail dress.’
‘There you go again! Not only have you slandered me by calling me a drunk, and probably given me cancer by blowing smoke in my face, overlooked me for a job because of my size and my age, you are now discriminating against me on account of my gender.’
‘Last I heard, that wasn’t against the law.’
The little man thumped the table with his fist. ‘It will be one day though and then you could be in trouble.’ His expression changed. ‘Unless … you sign me up and put me on a retainer as your personal counsel so I can defend you if it ever gets to court.’
Captain Rose swept his hand across his face in the same movement he might make to shoo away a fly. He picked up the cigarette packet, opened the lid and extracted another smoke, which he popped into his mouth. He took a box of matches out of his pocket, opened it and removed a match. Before he could strike it though, the little man held up a hand.
‘Do your bosses know you have a chain-smoking problem?’
Captain Rose lit his new smoke and sucked the flame into life. He blew the smoke out. ‘As if it’s any of your business! If you don’t like it, I’d say it’s your problem, wouldn’t you?’
‘You don’t think it’s discourteous to smoke in an enclosed space when there are non-smokers present?’
‘You’re not trying to tell me you don’t smoke? How else do you explain your stunted growth?’
‘You know they’ll make smoking in public areas illegal one day?’
‘They wouldn’t dare,’ Captain Rose hissed. ‘I have rights.’
Now the little man craned his head to look at the folder. Captain Rose could see what he was trying to do. But good luck with that. Not only was it upside-down, the assistant purser had chicken-scratch writing.
‘You didn’t tell me you’re also looking for an entertainer?’
Captain Rose sent another stream of smoke his way. He had underestimated his ability to be sneaky. ’You’re not going to tell me now you used to be a singing waiter at university.’
‘Better than that.’ The little man tapped the top of his rabbit cage. ‘Bet you don’t know what I have in here?’
Captain Rose craned his neck, and could hardly believe his eyes. ‘Are they rabbits?’
‘Certainly are. Tools of my trade. I’m well known in legal circles as a very good magician. They call me Bill The Magnificent.’
Captain Rose pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Give me strength! I’m not letting you bring vermin on to my ship.’
‘How bad do you want an entertainer?’
‘I’m not that desperate. A magician? Spare me! You seriously want me to explain to the ship’s owners how one of our first-class passengers met her end? The ship’s entertainer didn’t mean to cut Mrs Smith in half.’
The little man scoffed. ‘What if I promised only to pull rabbits out of my hat, do dazzling card tricks, that kind of thing.’
Captain Rose shook his head. ‘The last chap was an Italian crooner.’
‘And he wasn’t any good?’
‘No, he was great. He just couldn’t handle the swell.’
‘There you go. Do you know how many times I’ve been across on the Bruny Island ferry? And not once have I had to lean over the side.’
Captain Rose put his cigarette down in the ashtray so he could put all his energy into glaring across the table. ‘You don’t get it do you? We’ve never had a magician as our main entertainer. Never have, never will.’
‘You can’t say that. The first time must come for everything. Neil Armstrong and Edmund Hillary would tell you that.’
Captain Rose sighed. ‘Tell you what I’ll do.’ He just wanted to get the persistent little twerp out of his hair, and if he had to lie, well, he had done worse. ‘The ship sails at 7pm. Come back at 5pm and if we haven’t signed a singer by then, you’re on.’
* * *
As soon as he left the tin shed, William recognised the man coming towards him. That mop of hair, droopy moustache and gold chains around his neck had been all over telly and in the newspaper, and William had even seen him performing at a cabaret on the eastern shore.
He was a wannabe Perry Como, and he wasn’t bad.
William’s heart sank. He hadn’t had time to come up with a plan on how he was going to keep rival applicants away. He knew they’d snap the Italian up right away.
‘Well, if it isn’t Tony Cappuccino?’ He put down his things and slapped him on the back as they passed. The Italian stopped and turned around.
He studied William’s face as if he were trying to place it. ‘My name’s Tony Doppio, not Tony Cappuccino.’
William slapped his forehead. ‘Of course! How could I be so stupid? And me? One of your biggest fans.’
Tony Doppio puffed out his chest. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, which showed a thick forest of hair. ‘You wanna me to sign your autograph book?’
‘Autograph book?’ William looked down at his suitcase. ‘Oh that? No, I didn’t have room for it with all these legal documents.’
‘Scusami?’
‘Oh, I didn’t explain myself. I’m a lawyer.’ He pointed to the tin shed that obscured the view of the liner beyond. ‘I’ve just been to visit the captain to serve some summonses on him.’
Tony Doppio’s eyes widened. ‘Really! What for?’
‘I really can’t discuss that.’ William frowned. ‘I say, you’re not one of the passengers, are you?’
Tony Doppio laughed nervously. ‘No, I heard they wanted to hire another crooner.’
‘Where did you hear that?’
‘From the singer who came here on this ship. He knock on my door last night and say he’s not going back.’ He put a hand on his stomach to demonstrate why.
‘That doesn’t mean you have to take his place?’
Doppio fixed his eyes on him, then pointed to the sign by the door. ‘I don’t have no choice. This other crooner is molto bene, even though he’s not Italian.’
William turned his head towards the recruiting shed. ‘I heard he was?’
‘He will steal the work away from me. You donna understand how the Aussie bosses will always hire one of their own kind.’
‘Well, this is your lucky day.’ William looked around again. ‘Bet you didn’t know this ship has a problem with cockroaches.’
‘Scusami? What kinda cockroach problem?’
William pinched his eyebrows. ‘I’ve probably said too much already. Let’s just say if you don’t mind cockroaches in your bed, you’ll be fine.’
‘Is that all? Bugs don’t worry me.’
‘Really? You like to eat them?’
Doppio’s face dropped. ‘You said they’re in the sleeping quarters?’
‘I did. But that’s only where the dirty little critters go to sleep, obviously. When they’re hungry, they go to the kitchen. Did this other singer happen to mention what exactly made him sick? Mysterious crunchy bits in the stew?’
‘That’s horrible.’ Tony Doppio screwed up his face.
‘Quite right, Tony.’
‘I donna know.’ His face shifted to a look of optimism. ‘It might be all right once they get the fumigators in.’
William rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled slowly and dramatically. ‘Big ship like that? Could take weeks. And then there’s the matter of raising the money to pay the fine? Could take months. If you sign on now they’re going to want you to sleep onboard, even though the ship is moored in the Derwent River. And they’ll insist you eat on board, too.’
‘What am I going to do? This other singer is really, really good. And I told you, the show bosses always favour the real Aussies.’
‘They shouldn’t be discriminating against you like that. I’m a lawyer. I can help you.’
‘Is there really a law against it?’
‘Let’s talk about it, shall we?’ He placed a hand on the crooner’s shoulder to turn him away from the recruiting centre.
‘How far is your office?’
William pointed. ‘I’m working at that pub just over there today. Can you give me a hand with these things?’ Without waiting for an answer he picked up the cage and passed it over.
‘Are those rabbits?’ Doppio said, as he took hold of the handle with his right hand.
’Now you know why they wrinkle their noses. Rabbits have an acute sense of smell. They can sniff out cockroaches a mile off.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Doppio as they headed towards The Customs House Hotel. He only stopped to look at the watch on his hairy wrist. ‘Bit early for the drinking, isn’t it?’
‘Nonsense! You can buy me a few beers while we talk business. That’ll be much cheaper than my normal fee.’
* * *
When William returned to the shed at 5pm sharp, his breath smelt of the peppermint he had popped in his mouth hoping to disguise the stink of beer.
‘You’re back,’ said the captain, when he approached the desk with a big smile. Captain Rose looked like a man who had a bad taste in his mouth.
‘Well, have I got the job or not?’ he slurred.
Captain Rose pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘The ship’s owners will be very annoyed if you’re no good. You’ve got a tough act to follow.’
‘Trust me. I could make the whole ship disappear if I wanted to.’
‘That’s one of the things I’m afraid of.’ The captain smiled weakly.
‘I take it no-one else applied for the position?’
Captain Rose shook his head. ‘The other three jobs we filled quickly. They’ve already joined the ship.’ He stared aimlessly like a man who had lost all hope. ‘I don’t really understand it. The departing crooner assured me he would line up a quality replacement entertainer, but no-one turned up.’ He exhaled long and hard and loudly. ‘So I guess you’re it.’ Then he stiffened. ‘Have you been drinking?’
William locked eyes. ‘You don’t like me, do you?’
‘What gives you that idea?’ The captain twisted in his chair, like he was uncomfortable. ‘Just lay off the booze, make the passengers laugh night after night and we’ll get on fine.’
William looked over to the back window, through which he could see The Bounty XIIIin the distance.
Captain Rose started scribbling something down on a piece of paper with the cruise company’s letterhead. ‘The transfer boat will be here in about 20 minutes.’ When he had finished scribbling, he handed over the piece of paper. ‘These are the directions to your quarters. I trust you have no objections to having a single cabin with an ocean view?’
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JOHN MARTIN 