The Outing, page 25
Three beers were lifted in agreement and emitted a pleasant to the ear ting-t-ting as they clinked together.
“Bring on the revolution,” Robert laughed.
“Don't laugh,” Tim said. “It is one. Or the start of one. Hopefully.”
“Well,” said Robert, “since we’re talking about big changes, and I never thought I'd say it, but hand me the flag, I'm stepping out.”
“Are you?” Simon's eyebrows emphasized the question.
Robert started naming the list of people who now knew his secret.
“Yeah, mate, well done,” said Simon. “But a rabid throng of homo-hating, bible-bashing, card-carrying National supporters ready to tear you to pieces. Are you ready for that?”
“When you put it like that,” Robert's face dropped. When he lifted it, he was smiling, “Why not? Maybe I should shimmy up Queen Street in a tiara and tights, hand in hand with Harry and Tank. We could have our own mini Mardi-Gras on the way to the Courthouse.”
“Or maybe it's the beer talking,” said Tim, waving his empty in the air and going to the fridge. “May I? You don't strike me as the sequins and sparkle type. But you're right. You need to be visible. You need to stand up. But I think a straight looking gay man with all the credentials of mainstream social values is going to be a more powerful image. They won't be able to hold you up to ridicule.”
“Are you really coming out?” Simon asked.
Robert grinned. It was lopsided, “I'm going to have to. I sort of hinted before, but I'm planning to spring it on them in court. A why would I go all gay panicked if I'm gay? Why would I kill Johnny? We were, well- I kept it quiet because of Harry, and he knows. So…”
They tink-t-tinked again and drank.
Chapter 51
Beer-induced bravado had turned into doubt and anxiety in next morning’s sunshine.
Robert opened the kitchen window, flicked on the kettle, slathered butter and smeared Vegemite on his toast, and started to feel better.
He put down a half-eaten piece and reached across for the message pad near the phone, putting a line down the middle and a plus and minus sign at the top of his columns.
He started with Kowalski. Everyone had a separate page and a list of reasons to support him or not. It was different with the coppers. His anger and revulsion sprouted. Can I do this? As the question arrived so did an image of Johnny, wandering through a garden, dabbing weeds with a poison wand. Robert watched the weeds shrivel, and the seeds they'd been choking pushed through the soil, fresh and green.
The gardening image was totally unexpected. He frowned, wondering where it came from. Suddenly he could smell fresh cut grass, and his mind sourced a lawn mower and wheelbarrow and from somewhere the garden shed from his childhood backyard appeared. It was hardly a shed. A rickety line-up of timbers with a roof and a door that would bang in the wind if you forgot to push the bolt across.
He let go of the image and wrote his own name at the top of the next blank page and before he had time to formulate any words, the door on the derelict garden shed was swinging open and he peeped inside it.
With his eyes closed, he could see himself as a child, a little Robert in there alone, huddled under a grubby blanket, clutching it fiercely around him, his eyes squinting as the sun pushed its way through the holes in the corrugated iron roof.
An overwhelming softness swelled in Robert’s heart and he saw himself go into the shed and sit next to the child. He pulled him close and held him, rocking him gently. He realised they were both sobbing.
When they stopped, he held little Robert's hand and then Johnny was there on the other side and took little Robert's other hand. They sat together. He could feel little Robert's fears slowly evaporating as the last tears dried on their cheeks.
Robert's real tears found a path through his morning stubble, and fell onto his t-shirt. He didn't want to brush them aside. Finally he opened his eyes and looked at the clock on the stove. Time to get to work… back to work.
***
“You know,” Kowalski's voice was loud in his ear, “the hardest part of my job has been playing dumb enough that everyone thinks I'm some stupid Kraut. And you don't have to explain. I knew it wasn't you. Call it intuition if you want.”
“Remember,” said Robert, “I asked you whether you'd talk to a kind of friend of mine, a journalist?” Robert held his breath in the silence.
“I didn't mean to leave you hanging,” said Kowalski. “I was nodding. It’s a bit of a habit. Maybe it's time I met him. Where are you? I'll come to you.”
He called Simon and left a message. Robert. Meeting police contact, 2pm at mine.
*
His next call was his dad.
“How's Mum?”
“You didn't ring to talk about Mum, did you?”
“No. Is she OK though?”
“She will be,” Barry said. “What's up?”
“I met Mike Ahern at your place a while ago. We had an interesting chat about hen houses and foxes and, it's a bit cryptic but he said there wasn't much hope that things would improve, till we found a vegetarian fox.”
“And?”
“Well,” Robert continued, “I think I have one. Almost certainly, and Simon, remember-”
“I haven't succumbed to dementia yet. Go on.”
“He's working on something. Did he tell you about that, after I left?” Robert stopped. “Doesn't matter, he is. And he's going to need some help. Information. Not necessarily anything that would cause you or Mike any problems, but… Do you think he'd be open to a call, from me? Mike? I don't want to scare him off.”
“Why don't I talk to him first. I'll say I'd been talking to you about the poultry thing. See what his reaction is.”
*
After calling Tank and arranging to meet somewhere they wouldn't inadvertently run into any collections, Robert grabbed his wallet and headed towards Tuppy's.
He bought some custard and jam filled donuts, and got home in time to boil a kettle and display his thoughtfulness on a plain white dinner plate.
“Pretend paczki,” Kowalski smiled when he saw them. “The Polish favourite. Is this how you intend to bribe me?”
Robert held his smile.
“It's not possible. It's been tried. It's how I got moved out of Licensing and sent on my downward career trajectory.”
“I read about them,” Robert pointed towards the paczki with his head. “These ones have either custard or jam inside. I wanted to get on your good side, or at least impress you. Coffee?”
“Thanks. Black.”
“Sit down,” Robert headed into the kitchen. “So, how is it you have all this information? Is it from then? When you were in Licensing. I didn't know.”
“How would you?” Kowalski countered, and as Robert's head appeared in the doorway, “What's happening? Really. I mean, the journalist.”
“You're not the only one who wants to change the world my friend. Hang on. I'll be back in a minute.”
“My uncle has a solution for that,” said Kowalski when the coffee sloshed over the sides of the cups in Robert's hands. And without waiting for a what, “Don't fill the cups up so much.”
Robert laughed with him.
When he'd finished a broad strokes outlining of what Simon and Tim were working on, and that they were keen to get an insider viewpoint and hopefully something solid to back it up with, and it could all be done anonymously, Kowalski had finished one donut and was trying to distance himself from another.
Robert pushed the plate towards him, “Don't hold back.”
Kowalski sighed and reached over, “All this bribery and corruption eh? Little did they know they could have had me with something soft, sugarcoated and stuffed with custard. Go on. I can tell there's more.”
Robert went on to explain his own dilemma, followed by the pros and cons he'd considered from Kowalski's position, “What do you think?”
“I've been thinking,” Kowalski rubbed the excess sugar off his fingers, it fell in miniscule white flakes onto the empty plate, his candid blue eyes on Robert, “about what's going to happen, if I don't, if we don't do anything?”
“So you'll do an anonymous interview? Fantastic.”
“No-”
“But I thought-”
“You have to let a man finish his sentence. I meant no, I don't want it to be anonymous. The stuff I've got. I've been sitting on it. And I've got a few friends who've been feeding it to me. Special Branch too. If I don't reveal who I am, I might as well disappear myself now. They'll know who it is, and they'll do what they have to, to shut me up. Being highly public and highly visible is probably the only way I'll keep myself alive.”
“I hadn't thought of that.”
“You don't know the half of it, but I'm sure your Simon and Tim are getting a good idea. I knew it would go nowhere until the right people came along. How's this going to work?”
“I told Simon I was meeting you at two so you could make your getaway if you weren't interested in talking to him. I expect he'll be buzzing to get in soon.” Robert's shoulders relaxed, “I know this is weird, and a bit late to ask, but, I don't even know your name.”
“Walter. Wally,” said Kowalski. “Wolly Kah-wolly-skey. I had a great time at school. My uncle used to say not to take it personally,” he faded off into his own thoughts.
“You talk about your uncle a lot. I remember at the station.”
“I've got two. We're a pretty close family, stick together. The migrant experience,” Kowalski smiled. He turned his head at the sound of the buzzer, “That'll be him. Pity there's no paczki left.”
“You're not smiling,” Robert said when Simon arrived.
“Yeah, well, there's a reason for that. And I didn't want to tell you on the phone. I'm not gonna beat around the bush. Norm discharged himself. I went to Gillies House, where you’d set up a place for him, but he never showed. If you ask me, he's not likely to.”
***
Tank and Blue exchanged looks throughout Robert's list reveal.
“It's all so intense,” Tank fretted.
“Not really,” said Blue. “But I think your policeman’s right. The more visible we all are the better. At the right time though.”
“So Lovey,” said Tank, “how are you feeling? This whole thing. It's pretty fucked up.”
“One of the hardest parts was my wife. For a while she really thought it possible.”
“Is she OK with it now?” Tank asked.
“Sort of. Not really.”
Blue was shaking his head, “You're gonna have to wear it a bit longer.”
“It's OK,” said Robert. “I feel better knowing we're going to have a go. But they're deadset arseholes and they make my skin crawl,” he shuddered. “Especially Nichols.”
“I'd like to, I dunno,” Tank's lip curled. “He'd've been the kid who tortured baby kittens for fun. Now he's moved up. Now it's people. What do you do with that? Cunt.”
“What's the go with interviews and stuff?” Blue steered them back.
“I'll give Simon your number and he'll sort things with you. But if you want to know anything in the meantime. Give me a call. Here,” he passed them his card with his work number crossed out on the front and handwritten on the back.
“Go on, you've got things to do, Lovey.” Tank leaned forward and gave him a hug. “It'll get easier,” his voice soft. “Let's do this for Johnny. He deserved better. We all do.”
Freed from Tank's slender embrace, Robert stood and rubbed his eyes.
Blue stood too, “Come here.”
Being held was comforting. He felt supported, in something strong he could trust. And the swift unexpected release of emotion calmed him for the second time today. He wasn't in this alone. Johnny had friends. He had friends. He sniffed. And smiled.
***
Robert waited at one of Tuppy's outside tables staring intermittently at the dried lacework milk bubbles and powdered chocolate, congealing on the sides of the used coffee cups.
“Thanks for meeting me,” he said when Mike arrived.
The waiter sailed past.
“Oi,” Mike called and the waiter turned, struggling with a tray full of used crockery. “Cappuccino?” Mike looked at Robert, and turned back to the waiter, “Two thanks.”
Robert sent a silent apology to the waiter, and Mike shifted the dirty cups on their table further to the side, shaking his head, “Your dad coming?”
“No. I thought if you wanted to up and leave no-one would have to know you'd seen me. But to be clear, I'm here on behalf of friends, reporters. They thought it would be better to start with, if you weren't associated in any traceable way. And I'm happy to help them. I'm not working at the moment, so I've got plenty of time.”
“Nasty business you've gotten yourself into.”
Robert raised an eyebrow.
Over coffee he told Mike that all they really wanted was an impression of the support Joh had or didn't have inside the party room, and who might call for or back an inquiry, “A proper one,” said Robert. “Not one whose teeth had been extracted before they could bite.”
Mike stared at his imaginary horizon then turned back, “Names or just numbers? And what about the Opposition?”
“No-one has to own up unless they want to. My dad of course. He hinted there might be others. But it's also about the timing. They, my friends, want to know when to air the dirty linen. When Joh’s likely to be out of town. Way out of town.”
“So he can't shut it down, or play around with the terms of reference,” the corners of Mike's mouth had finally lifted. “He's riding pretty high right now, reckons he'll be the next Prime Minister of Australia. Arrogant bastard.”
“Seriously? He's going to give up running Queensland and take over the country? Is this common knowledge?”
Mike grinned, “Not yet. Bush telegraph. His rich developer mates have been filling his head with crap.”
“But could it happen?”
Mike's smile was one sided, “The rest of the country aren't idiots.”
“And Queenslanders are?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Mike said. “He's a master manipulator. Been wheeling and dealing and wheedling and twisting things for nearly twenty years. He might call his press conferences feeding the chooks, but he's been feeding us all bullshit and convinced us it’s delicious. That we love it.”
“True,” said Robert waiting.
“So I'll be seeing who's in cahoots and who's just pretending to be?”
“Subtlety and insider knowledge. It'll be important,” said Robert. “Although Dad's not so subtly pushing an agenda for some other friends of mine.”
“Civil liberties,” Mike's head tilted. “Yes I know. Brave. I'll be in touch.” He handed a card to Robert, “Say it's Mr Carson. That way I'll know who's calling.”
Robert took out his wallet and extracted his own card, “On the back,” he said when Mike looked puzzled.
“Oh. Right. Yeah. How about I get these then?”
Robert put an overly generous tip on the table before leaving. It was reactionary. The 'my treat' ending had left Robert shrinking instead of expanding. And despite the feel good of playing investigative journalist and detective his thoughts turned to his promise to look after Lauren and the kids.
Guiltily he decided he'd have to be more frugal and to walk into the Gabba and visit the Commonwealth Employment Service. Surely there was something he could do. After that he'd bite another bullet and call Pete too.
Chapter 52
The two people ahead of him in the CES queue were quickly shepherded into waiting cubicles. Feeling slightly out of his comfort zone, he contemplated what he should tell the consultant about his state of affairs. Did you have to say you'd been arrested, or your employment might be cut short when you went to jail or got your old job back.
Do what you tell clients. Answer the questions. No extraneous information.
“So, you studied law?”
“Yes, but I'm not studying at the moment.”
She jotted a note and ticked a box, “And your last job?”
“I was working in a law office, but they let me go.”
“Interests?”
“Commercial and financial, mainly. Corporate. A little bit of family law. Not much criminal. But I’m interested in social and environmental issues.”
“I meant types of jobs,” the eyebrows twitched. “At the least, transformable hobbies.”
“Oh,” What happened to your plan, idiot. “I'm not really that sporty. Drama. But I haven't acted in ages. Pretty much since univ-ahem-ah, excuse me, since I started work.”
“Done any bar work?”
He looked blank.
“Pubs, or restaurants, waiting tables?”
“Oh, of course.” He touched his forehead, and looked down at his damp fingertips, “Honestly? I'm a bit clumsy.”
“Do you have your own transport?”
“I do. Can I ask you a question?” he waited for confirmation. “Is it possible to get something really close by. I live in Kangaroo Point. I might have to sell the car if, um, if I don't get work pretty quickly.”
As he answered the questions and there were no more frowns and eyebrow wiggling, Robert decided it was kind of nice to have someone sorting his life out for him, even if it was only on the surface.
“There's not a lot happening, but here,” she handed him a card with her name on it, and his client ID number. “Bring this back in with you. If I'm not here someone else can look up my notes. And,” she handed him some forms, “fill these in and bring them back tomorrow afternoon. If we haven't got anything for you, at least you'll be in the system for unemployment benefits.”
“Shouldn't I do them now?”
“If you'd come in earlier,” she smiled. “But I don't get paid as much as a lawyer, so I don't do unpaid overtime.”
