Comeback

by Lindsay Tanner

  He walked a little faster than usual as he laboured up the Princes Street hill towards Lygon Street. There was no sign of life around the entrance to the association office, but the door was open, and it looked like there was at least one light on inside.

  It was clear there was no working bee underway — Mary had been right — so where was Emily? And why was the office open, but not fully lit?

  As he was about to call out Emily’s name, he heard a shout.

  ‘Get off me!’ It was Emily.

  Jack’s heart-rate accelerated.

  ‘Emily! Where are you …?’ The main office area was in darkness, so it took a few moments for his sight to adjust. The noise and light seemed to be coming from Dempsey’s office.

  Blundering past loose chairs and banging his right thigh hard on a table edge on the way, Jack rushed over to help her.

  Emily lay spread-eagled across the small couch at the end of the office, one shoe off, her purple top scrunched up so her midriff was exposed, and her bright yellow tights bunched just above her knees, well below the hem-line of her short red skirt. Dempsey was lying across her in an awkward position, the weight of his body pinning her to the couch, with his hands gripping Emily’s forearms. She was wriggling furiously under him, but unable to shake his hold on her.

  ‘Jack! Get him off … Help me!’ she screamed. Dempsey relaxed his grip and turned towards Jack, who leapt on him with a ferocity that belied his advancing years and decaying body.

  Dempsey let go of Emily as the force of Jack’s assault dragged him onto the floor. Jack winced as his shoulder hit the hard surface, and then, with Dempsey half on top of him, he had to struggle to disentangle himself. Jack threw a feeble punch at Dempsey’s head with his left hand, but missed. Dempsey grabbed Jack by the hair. Jack screeched with pain, then groped for Dempsey’s face — he’d seen enough eye-gouging in football to know what to do.

  Dempsey let go of his hair and thrashed around, trying to avoid Jack’s gouging. That gave him his chance: with a huge effort, he wriggled free from underneath Dempsey’s body, rolled him over against the couch, half-stood up, and then dropped his knees into his chest. Another football manoeuvre put to good use.

  Jack ground the heel of his right hand into Dempsey’s face, forcing his head against the floor. Both men were now gasping for breath. Emily was still on the couch beside them, sobbing and heaving.

  Having asserted control, Jack grabbed Dempsey’s collar and raised his right fist at full stretch. Dempsey cowered beneath him, defeated.

  As he braced himself, Emily yelled at him through her crying: ‘No, Jack! No more! Please get me away from here …’ She sobbed and spluttered, but her message was clear.

  Giving Dempsey’s head a token shove against the floor, Jack climbed off him and stood up. He was shaking and gasping for breath. The sudden exertion didn’t agree with his hay fever and smoking. His legs were rubbery, but he managed to step away from Dempsey, who made no attempt to get up.

  Jack moved around and helped Emily get up off the couch. She adjusted her clothes as she stood up.

  ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  They crept out of the darkened office into the eerie glow of early moonlight.

  This time, there was no polite goodbye at the door of her flat. Her hand shook uncontrollably as she reached into her jacket pocket and extracted her front-door key. She handed it to Jack, and he opened the door.

  He sat down next to her in the kitchen and took her hand in his. He didn’t know if this was the right thing to do, given the ordeal she’d just been through, but she didn’t object.

  Jack waited for her breathing to return to normal. They sat there for several minutes without saying anything. Finally, he judged that she had recovered enough to handle a cup of tea.

  Emily nodded in response to his offer, and smiled tearfully at Jack in acknowledgment of his protective efforts. Once her cup of tea was sitting on the table, she began to talk. She had to use both hands to hold the cup, but still spilled some of the tea because her hands were shaking.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up. So how did all that happen?’

  ‘I think he told me the wrong night to get me there by … myself’, she stuttered in reply, still close to tears. ‘He tried it on, I said no, he started to heavy me, pushed me onto the couch …’ She started sobbing, and Jack put his arm around her, making sure he did so only very lightly.

  Jack wasn’t used to this sort of thing, but he did his best to comfort her. As she began to recover some poise, his mind moved to more practical questions.

  ‘Do you want me to call the cops? This is serious stuff — he might try again. Or do it to someone else.’

  ‘No, no! Can’t call the cops!’

  Sexual-assault victims often refused to involve the police, for understandable reasons, but Jack was surprised she was so adamant.

  ‘Maybe I could get someone to give him a touch-up, bit of a warning, at least …’

  ‘No, no. Please, Jack’, she said.

  Jack was confused. ‘Has he got something over you, or something?’

  Emily didn’t respond, but the look on her face said it all. Before Jack could ask further, she burst into tears again.

  He stayed silent, realising he was now out of his depth. She would tell him if she wanted to.

  After a few more minutes of snuffling, Emily opened up.

  ‘Will you promise not to tell anyone? No one?’ Jack nodded, and took hold of her hand with both of his.

  ‘My stepfather sends me money. I haven’t told Centrelink, or the Ministry of Housing. Michael worked it out, or maybe he just suspects. I think he knows my stepfather’s secretary, might even be his cousin or something. He keeps hinting at dobbing me in. I’ll lose my flat, my pension, maybe get charged …’ She stifled another sob and looked up at Jack, the allure of her large brown eyes and snub nose still apparent beneath the tears and flushed face.

  ‘Didn’t know you had a stepfather. Is he rich, or something? How come he sends you money?’

  ‘He’s boss of a company. Fairly big one. It’s conscience money. He was only with Mum for about seven or eight years, when I was a teenager mostly. He did it to me for a couple of years, Mum caught him, threw him out. When I got chronic fatigue, I think he got worried he’d caused it, or that I would go to the cops or sue him, or something. So he put me on the payroll, sent me money every month. Not heaps, but enough to affect my Disability Support Pension. Been doing it for years. He’s made lots of money, so it’s probably just another small thing in his accounts he’s forgotten about. Makes a big difference to me, though.’

  Jack felt like he’d just spent ten minutes on the Big Dipper without a seat-belt. As all the confronting elements of Emily’s revelations swirled around in his mind, he came back to the immediate problem: Dempsey.

  ‘You can’t just let Dempsey take over your life. We’ve got to do something. Sure, maybe cops aren’t a good idea …’

  ‘He’s tied up with that developer guy somehow. I spotted them at the back of a café. Michael denied it when I asked him about it. He’s been acting strange about the whole thing. Normally he’s all gung ho, to the barricades, all that stuff. Now he’s Mister Moderation, all for doing a deal. It doesn’t add up.’

  ‘We’ve got to get him off your back …’

  ‘And my front.’ Emily smiled weakly at her own joke. At least she can laugh about it a bit, Jack thought.

  ‘Sounds like he might have some secrets of his own to worry about. I reckon we should put the squeeze on, just quietly. Don’t forget, he’s now got a problem: he assaulted you, and he got sprung. There’s a witness. Me.’

  Emily slumped forward. Jack could see that exhaustion was setting in.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jack. My illness is taking over. I have to lie down.’ She looked quite grey now, worn out by the ordeal. Jack h
elped her out of her chair and towards the bedroom, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Have a good rest. Call me when you’ve got some strength back, and we’ll sort something out. I’ll understand if it isn’t for a few days.’

  ‘Thanks, Jack, you’re a star.’ Emily’s voice was weakening as she spoke, but Jack didn’t mind. Such praise had been all too rare in his life. It was something to savour.

  7.

  Wrung out by his exertions, Jack went to ground for a couple of days. He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased by his new intimacy with Emily or freaked out by the situation she was in. He sensed it was time to back off a bit.

  The past sexual abuse by her stepfather troubled him. He knew he was supposed to be sympathetic, but deep down he sensed that this explained why Emily was single. If she was interested in him, it meant there was something wrong with her. Maybe that was it?

  There was something inside him, though, that wouldn’t allow him to let go. He’d surprised himself a while ago when confronting danger on behalf of Farhia and her sons. Just for a while, the real Jack van Duyn was not just an ageing loser. Walking away from Emily now would suggest that this was who he really was, after all — a cynical, gutless no-hoper no one admired or respected. Dempsey still had a hold over her, and maybe there were others in the background who had a hold over him. He had to stick up for her. And for himself.

  There’s something funny about that redevelopment stuff, Jack said to himself as he lay back on his old couch and stared at an empty TV screen. Sounds like someone’s pulling Dempsey’s strings.

  To neutralise Dempsey, he had to find out what was really going on. Jack had limited experience of petty blackmailers, but it was enough. He knew Dempsey would keep coming back.

  But what if he comes after me? As a witness to his attack on Emily, Jack was a threat to him. And that made him a target.

  This thought gave Jack the excuse he needed. He couldn’t walk away; he had to do something. He would be acting in self-defence as much as helping Emily. Whichever way he looked at it, he had to see the whole thing through to its conclusion.

  He tried not to think about Emily’s revelations about her stepfather. He knew he was in no position to be choosy, but there was something about the whole thing that made him have second thoughts about Emily. It was all very unsettling.

  His thoughts turned to his unappealing former workmate, Phil. Had he really borrowed $100 from him? Jack had no memory of anything like this, and Phil’s brain appeared so addled he could well have imagined it — or at least mistaken Jack for someone else.

  The story about borrowing the money to help his sick sister was obviously untrue, but had he used that as an excuse? Having lived on his wits for most of his life, Jack had lost count of the crazy scams he’d pulled in order to stay afloat. Had this been one of them?

  He relegated Phil to the back of his mind. Even if he did owe him money, there was no reason why he had to do anything about it in a hurry.

  The following day was his day off, and his most pressing task was to track down his supplier of Teludene, and get hold of more supplies. His mate Harry’s younger brother, George, worked night shift, so he ought to be able to track him down during the afternoon. George would be at the casino, if past experience was any guide.

  Jack had stayed in touch with Harry over the years, as he was a cabbie, too. It was an enormous stroke of luck that his brother had access to illicit supplies of Teludene, as Jack’s problem with hay fever had got a great deal worse in recent years. It had something to do with hormonal changes and ageing, or so the GP at the health centre had told him. Jack suspected the explanation was more likely to be chemical — like the local council spraying the trees with poison. Whatever it was, it meant many weeks of torture in the latter part of the year.

  Teludene was a new drug, and seriously expensive. Jack was able to get it at less than half-price from George, but he wasn’t always reliable. Jack knew that George would have charged him more, as he was putting his job at risk by stealing small amounts of the drug, but his brother had assured George that Jack was simply unable to pay any more. And George needed the money: his gambling habit wasn’t cheap either.

  Once he had sorted out his drug supplies, Jack resolved to front Dempsey in his own backyard. He didn’t have anything specific in mind, but he thought it was a good idea to send a message that he was coming after him. The fact that he didn’t have much of a plan of attack didn’t bother Jack. He figured the first step was to immerse himself in his enemy’s environment, and take it from there.

  He tracked George down to a pub in Richmond late in the afternoon. Jack cursed the inconvenience — multiple tram rides and a short session with George would make it impossible for him to get home in time for dinner. He consoled himself with the thought that it might have been worse: Could have been Frankston, I suppose.

  Luckily for Jack, the pub was the kind that served $10 chicken parmigianas rather than $30 quinoa salads. He found George staring at a poker machine, intense concentration and frustration written all over his face as he tried again for a jackpot.

  ‘Hi, mate, how’s it going.’

  ‘No good today, mate. They rig the machines in joints like this.’

  So why are you here? Jack muttered to himself.

  ‘Beer?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’

  Jack returned a few minutes later with a couple of pots. George’s expression hadn’t altered. Still no payout, Jack assumed.

  He handed over a small wad of notes to George with his beer.

  ‘Here you go, mate.’

  ‘Thanks. Stuff’s down there.’ George gestured at a crumpled bag lying on the floor next to his feet. Jack leaned down and fished around inside the bag until he found two familiar oblong packets.

  ‘Thanks, mate, you’re a lifesaver.’

  ‘No worries.’ George was obviously not in the mood for small talk.

  ‘Leave you to it. Got to grab a bite and then head off.’

  George didn’t reply. Jack suspected the money he’d just given him would be devoured by the pokies over the next hour or two. But that was George’s problem, not his.

  The kitchen had just begun serving, so he ordered a parmigiana and sat down with his beer, well away from the pokies area. Jack had nothing against pokies, but he found it all a bit depressing. Money was hard to come by: he couldn’t understand why you would throw it into a machine on the off-chance it might give you some back. Betting on horses was different: there was skill involved.

  A skinny waitress with a thick Irish accent brought his meal across, and he polished it off in little more than five minutes. Casting a sympathetic eye over the sad array of battered men and haggard women hunched over their machines, he downed the last inch or so of his beer and left. He didn’t bother to say goodbye to George.

  Jack lit a cigarette as he arrived at the tram stop at Bridge Road. He was getting sick of riding on trams, and the fact he now had to make two separate trips to get home irritated him. Peak hour was receding, so there was a fair chance a bit of waiting at tram-stops would be involved.

  As the tram trundled along Lygon Street, he wondered again where he was going with all this. The obvious answer — putting himself in the middle of whatever Emily was involved in — wasn’t entirely convincing. That might mean taking on Dempsey, and who could know where that might lead? He’d already shown himself capable of rape and blackmail.

  After an hour or so watching trash TV, Jack set about attacking his ant problem, liberally sprinkling the Ant-Rid he’d bought earlier in the day through his cupboards and shelves. For good measure, he splashed some around in the bedroom and bathroom. Who knew what stray scraps of food lay scattered around in obscure corners of the flat?

  Finally his phone rang, and he scrambled across the couch to grab it before it switched to voicemail.

  ‘J
ack? What are you doing? I need to talk with you.’

  His heart sank. It was Ajit, and the tone in his voice wasn’t promising.

  ‘Yeah, no worries, mate. What’s up?’

  ‘I want to ask for you to make some different agreement. I am not happy …’ Ajit paused, as if summoning up the courage to confront him. ‘You are always late, you bring the cab to the wrong place, you do not clean it properly, and I think I am becoming supervisor at the call centre.’

  Ajit took a deep breath, as if exhausted by the effort required to confront Jack with these unpleasant realities.

  ‘Er, yeah, mate, let’s have a chat about it tomorrow when I drop the cab off.’

  ‘That would be very good. I am sure we will work something out.’

  Shit. Jack mulled over this unfortunate development with growing anxiety. What was Ajit on about? First it sounded like he wanted out, then maybe he just wanted to change their deal, perhaps do fewer hours. He sounded pretty angry. It didn’t make any sense.

  Ajit had a point about Jack’s erratic changeover habits: he had probably stretched the friendship a bit. He didn’t cop the cleaning stuff, though. Ajit was in no position to complain.

  The prospect of having to find another partner filled Jack with dread. There were a lot of dickheads out there. One way or another, he had to hang onto Ajit. Whatever it takes, he muttered.

  Just as he’d recovered from this unpleasant shock, his phone rang again.

  ‘Jack?’

  ‘Yeah, who is it?’

  ‘A friend. We had a little chat the other day. You know, the accident.’

  Every nerve in Jack’s body was tingling. This was a friend he could do without.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Little bird tells me you’re going to be a witness if Worksafe goes to court. Been shooting your mouth off. A word of advice, Jack. You get too involved in this, you might end up wishing you were the bloke who fell off the ladder.’

  Click.

  Jack looked at his now-silent phone, confused and frightened. What were these people on about? His hands shaking, he tapped out a text to Franklin: ‘Just got heavied again. Nastier, said I’d end up worse than bloke on ladder. Jack.’