Comeback

by Lindsay Tanner

  ‘You okay, mate? Want a hand?’ a rough voice spoke to him from somewhere above.

  ‘Er … yeah. Ow … shit!’

  Kind hands helped Jack to his feet, and he swayed back against the side of the building. His heart was racing, and his vision was blurry. A few deep breaths didn’t help much. Marko had disappeared.

  ‘Want me to get an ambulance? You alright …?’

  ‘No, I’ll be okay.’ Jack grimaced with pain, then added: ‘Thanks — appreciate it.’

  It was time to get away from this madness. But how? He was still hemmed in: the crowd was blocking the exit from the laneway into Drummond Street, and he was in no condition to fight his way through it. And who could tell where Dempsey and his nasty mate might be lurking? He scanned the crowd and thought he caught a glimpse of Dempsey’s unusual hair.

  Ignoring the pain in his back, he turned his head and looked back down the laneway. About a dozen or so people were milling around along the length of the lane — perhaps, like him, taking refuge from the melee in Drummond Street — but it was reasonably clear towards the far end. Even though it came to a dead end at a sheer wall that looked like the back of a block of flats, it offered an opportunity to get out of the way.

  Jack groped his way along the wall, stumbling and almost buckling at a couple of points as he struggled to cope with sudden rushes of pain. At the end of the laneway, he came across a small gate built into the high wall.

  There was no padlock on it, so he was able to pull the bolt back and open the gate. He slipped through the gate and closed it behind him. Dempsey and his friend were probably gone, but it still felt better to be out of the mayhem around the Auspart office.

  Now he was in a small courtyard at the rear of a multi-storey commercial building of some kind. Aside from a few rubbish bins and a small decorative metal table, it was empty. There was a high wall at the back of the courtyard. The door at the rear of the building was locked.

  Jack pushed the largest rubbish bin over against the rear wall, then positioned the table beside it. He gripped a protruding edge high up on the wall, put one foot on the table, and tried to climb up onto the bin. The table promptly collapsed beneath him, clattering and crashing into several pieces as Jack fell to the ground, his left shoulder taking most of the impact.

  Cursing profusely, he tried to lever his body onto the top of the bin by bracing one arm against the wall and placing the other on top of the bin. After a few seconds of agonising wobbling on his chest, he wriggled his way onto the bin. Bit by bit, he worked his way into an upright position, gritting his teeth with each blast of pain shooting through his body.

  The top of the rear wall was now around chest height. He looked over it to see what was next door. Hallelujah! It was the backyard of one of the small cottages in Palmerston Street. It looked like it had a narrow side path running between the house and the fence, so he might even be able to escape without going into the house.

  All he had to do now was get himself over the wall.

  There was nothing beneath him, just a drop of about two metres. A few metres along, there was a pile of old boxes and other rubbish, but it didn’t look very stable. And he would need to crawl along the top of the wall before dropping over if he was to make use of it.

  Tensing his body, Jack summoned up one last, huge effort, and wriggled onto the top of the wall, which was only about the width of his hand. Gripping bits of the wall on either side, he wormed his way along it, swaying and almost falling a couple of times. Images of tight-rope walkers crossing Niagara Falls flashed through his mind as he struggled desperately to maintain his balance.

  He made it to the end of the pile of boxes, and allowed his legs to slide over the wall so he could drop onto the pile. It gave way under him, and he crumpled and tumbled onto the concrete. He felt like staying there: he was almost spent.

  Drawing on his last reserves of energy, Jack stood up and staggered along the narrow path down the side of the house. He took a quick look around as he got to the front. There were a few stragglers on the edge of the demo wandering aimlessly around in Palmerston Street, but none of them paid him any attention. He walked up the hill and sat down on a street bench. The nightmare was over, at least for now.

  Who was the thug with Dempsey? He looked like one of the guys who’d followed him home from the laundromat, but he wasn’t sure.

  His hands shaking, Jack pulled out his phone and called Emily. She answered straightaway.

  ‘Emily? You okay? It’s Jack, sorry, got roughed up …’

  ‘I’m fine, Jack. Sorry, got separated. I wasn’t feeling too great. What about you, are you alright?’

  ‘I just got thumped by a heavy with Dempsey. Marko saved me — you know, the big mad Slav bloke. Buggered if I know what’s going on. Seems to be a lot of people who don’t like me out there …’

  ‘Jesus, Jack, you okay?’ The concern in her voice made him feel a bit better.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll be alright. Probably have some pretty good bruises, though. Still got all my teeth, that’s the main thing. Where are you now?’

  ‘Back at the flat.’

  ‘Okay if I come over? I’m just in Lygon Street. Can’t stay long — have to pick up the cab and do a shift soon.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll make some tea.’

  A cup of tea seemed to be Emily’s response to every stressful situation. Coffee to perk you up, tea to calm you down, Jack thought as he hobbled past the church towards Emily’s block.

  The open space that separated the church and school from the high-rise looked like the aftermath of a battle. Small groups of people milled around aimlessly, with some sitting on the ground. A crinkled old man was playing an ancient squeeze-box, and a seemingly mentally disturbed man was clapping his hands in time with the music. A skinny youth wandered around trying to interest stragglers in a copy of Green Left Weekly. And there was rubbish everywhere — posters, coffee cups, leaflets, ice-cream wrappers, and even, to Jack’s amusement, a used condom. Someone had had a good time while the demo was happening. A lone seagull picked its way through the rubbish.

  He could see that the crowd was dispersing: the throng across Palmerston Street was melting away quickly. A hard core of demonstrators was still grappling with the police outside the Auspart office, but Jack was too far away to get a clear picture of what was happening. He wasn’t interested now, anyway.

  Just past the playground, he caught sight of Marko berating a young anarchist about half his size. Jack walked across to thank him. Perhaps grateful for the chance to escape, the pallid, black-clad man slipped away.

  ‘Thanks for getting those arseholes off me, mate …’

  ‘You should stay away. Bad men. I know what they do.’ Marko tapped the side of his head for emphasis.

  ‘So what’s the story? That guy Dempsey, you know?’

  ‘Working for developers. Crooks.’

  ‘Shit. So he’s a spy or something?’

  ‘That’s true. I know him from before.’

  ‘Anyway, thanks for getting those bastards off me. Could’ve been a lot worse. How come you get into all this stuff anyway?’

  ‘I am from Yugoslavia, a poor country. The government makes homes for poor people. Nice homes, with little garden … Here it is a rich country, they do not want to. They try to take away our homes, make apartments for rich people.’

  ‘Well, yeah, we’ve all got to live somewhere. Better head off, check if Emily’s okay … So what do you mean you know him from before?’

  ‘He nearly killed my sister.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Broken heater in flat. He says he will get fixed, does nothing. She was very sick, bad breathing. Poison gas, I found her, she was nearly dead. Took to hospital, then she was okay. Maybe three months ago. Wintertime.’

  Sounds like carbon monoxide, Jack thought.

  ‘So how
come you don’t want new flats built?’

  ‘I don’t trust them. We move away, build new flats, then don’t come back. Okay for me, but my sister must be near hospital.’

  Shit, Jack thought. These joints might be dumps, but a lot of people seem to want to live in them.

  ‘Makes sense. Well, thanks again, Marko. Better get moving.’

  11.

  My back’s not really that bad, Jack told himself grimly as he staggered into the reception area at the bottom of the block. Nothing a bit of surgery and a few weeks of traction won’t fix.

  He turned away from the enclosed security office to walk across to the lifts. Sensing movement behind him, he turned around, only to be met with a torrent of liquid in his face. Momentarily blinded, Jack staggered against a concrete column and raised his hands to his face. Thankfully, it seemed like it was only water.

  ‘Pay up, Jack! Give me my money, you fucking arsehole!’

  Oh Jesus, not again! This is getting out of control.

  Phil glared at him from behind the column, his bleary eyes and blotched, unshaven face lit up with triumph. He had an empty plastic container in one hand, and a security guard hanging off his other arm.

  ‘Any more of this shit, and you’re dead, mate’, Jack said. He looked over at the guard, who seemed unsure what to do.

  ‘Chuck him out, mate. Doesn’t live here — he’ll stink the joint out.’

  As the guard edged Phil towards the entrance, he called out over his shoulder: ‘I’ll get what’s mine, Jack! I’ll get it … you’ll pay up …’

  ‘For God’s sake, give it a break’.

  Phil might be harmless and pathetic, but Jack didn’t appreciate the harassment. Thanking his lucky stars that the lifts were still working, he crept along the corridor and knocked on Emily’s door.

  ‘Oh Jack! You poor thing!’.

  ‘Just as long as it’s not a broken jaw or a fractured skull. Those bastards meant business. Sorry, better clean up a bit.’

  ‘Come and sit down. You probably should have a Radox bath or something. Maybe you should go to Casualty, get X-rayed …’

  ‘Don’t think so. I’ll be okay — just got a bit of a headache, few aches and pains …’

  He stood at the kitchen sink and threw cold water over his face and shirt, grabbing a handful of tissues from a box on the bench to dry himself.

  ‘Here, got the tea ready for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Emily, you’re a life-saver’, Jack said. He wheezed as he eased himself into a chair.

  ‘So what happened?’

  Jack outlined the details of the assault. Much of it was a blur.

  ‘Wish we knew what’s going on,’ Emily said. ‘I can understand why Michael’s got it in for you, but it’s a bit extreme getting thugs to beat you up. And how would he know how to find you in all that madness?’

  ‘Probably knew the shit was going to happen. Might have organised it.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Emily didn’t sound convinced.

  ‘So how’s the illness treating you?’

  ‘Comes and goes. Fair bit of pain when it’s bad. Hey, Bruno’s asked me to be a backing singer for his band. Not sure I can do it …’

  ‘You’re kidding! Reckon he’d be after a backing screecher, wouldn’t he? No offence, but you don’t look like you’d fit in.’

  ‘Maybe not. They’re not bad, though, just a bit obsessed with all that Punk-Goth-bad-boy stuff. Bands like them don’t usually have backing singers, so I think they might be changing their style. Not sure I can do it anyway: I’m not usually in great shape at night-time. It was a bit silly getting involved in the Tenants Association …’

  ‘You weren’t to know all this stuff would blow up. But how good’s your singing?’

  ‘I used to do a fair bit of backing singing years ago, for people like Joe Camilleri …’

  ‘Maybe once all this stuff with the tenants and Dempsey is all over …’

  ‘Maybe.’

  They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Jack’s mind was wandering all over the place. He had upset some very nasty people, but he couldn’t work out why. There had to be more in it than just Dempsey.

  ‘Better get moving. I managed to get Ajit to do a different shift today. Got to make sure I’m not late, or he’ll crack it.’

  He stood up slowly, bracing himself on the table to reduce the pressure on his back. Emily walked around to offer assistance.

  ‘Look after yourself, Jack.’

  ‘No worries. Might drop by late tomorrow and see how you’re going.’

  ‘That’d be great.’

  He strolled along the corridor to the lifts, trying to ignore his battered body, and stopped to light a cigarette.

  His phone told him he had a message from Ajit. It looked like he was going to be a bit late, which suited Jack. Must have picked up a good one, he thought, as he hobbled down towards the Lygon Street tram. He needed to stop by at the flat, change his shirt, and grab some Teludene, and he had a basketball game that night, too. At least he’d have the cab and wouldn’t have to cadge a lift from one of the parents. Jack was completely wrung out, but he didn’t have much choice. With his finances on the brink of collapse, he had to keep driving.

  He waited around for almost half an hour before Ajit finally appeared. A couple of cigarettes provided some relief as Jack waited. By the time Ajit arrived, the effects of Jack’s latest ordeal had receded.

  ‘Sorry, Jack, sorry. I have a very long journey to Springvale, and there are many roadworks … I am sorry …’ Ajit was contrite when he finally arrived, no doubt conscious of the fact he had criticised Jack’s habit of arriving late for changeovers.

  ‘Fine, mate — I’ll live.’

  He got into the cab, did a sharp U-turn, and headed south along Lygon Street. Ranks were mostly a waste of time on weekends, but it was worth trawling along the south end of Lygon Street this time on a Saturday. Always likely to be a few tourists checking out the Italian restaurants and ice-cream joints, he figured.

  Jack’s basketball game was at a leisure centre in Essendon in the early evening, so he had a bit of time to chase a few more passengers. Then he could head home for a bite and some Teludene.

  As it turned out, he only managed one more good fare, but at least it was worth over $30. As he headed back home, he thought about giving himself the night off. He couldn’t really afford to, but he was feeling very tired and battered, and cheering on his kids at basketball was only going to take more out of him.

  Just getting out of the cab was painful. Now he knew what being belted repeatedly with a baseball bat felt like. Jack groped around for support from the car door and body frame as he eased himself upright. Christ, that hurts.

  He felt every step as he went up the stairs. The landing light was broken again, so he didn’t notice anything unusual until he stepped up to the door and felt something soft and lumpy under his foot.

  He stepped back and pulled out his phone, directing the light in front of his feet.

  ‘Jesus!’ It was a dead bird. A cold shiver ran through his body.

  He pushed the bird aside, unlocked the door, and turned on the hallway light.

  It was a bird alright — a magpie. And it was definitely dead. Was it another message about the accident and Worksafe? Unless the bird had been knocking on his door to ask for a bowl of birdseed and dropped dead of a heart attack, it looked like it.

  Jesus. Suppose I’d better get rid of it, or it’ll stink the place out.

  He picked up the magpie by one of its wings, walked around to the carpark at the back of the flats, and hurled it over the back fence. There was a scrubby local park on the other side, so it didn’t matter. Birds probably dropped dead there all the time.

  Jack was feeling very agitated by the time he got back to the flat. What was next? A horse’s head in
his bed? This was getting out of hand. And Franklin wouldn’t be much help: he’d just tell him to stay cool again.

  Jack checked the bowl of leftover curry in the fridge to make sure nothing was growing on it. How old was it? Four days? Maybe five? It looked okay. He ladled it into a small pot, threw in some water, and turned on the gas. It wouldn’t exactly be a gourmet meal, but who cared?

  As the pot started to heat up, Jack said hello to the tribe of ants still running around on the kitchen bench. After his failed attempts to get rid of them, he was on the verge of giving up. He had too many other things to worry about for the moment. They hadn’t started to stink, so they weren’t doing any obvious harm to anyone.

  He grabbed a Teludene tablet and swallowed it, grateful for some relief from his aching, swollen sinuses and watery eyes.

  Jack chomped his way through the recycled curry with one eye on the TV news, hoping to see something about the demonstration. It wasn’t in the first four or five items, so he assumed it had already become old news.

  He had a basketball commitment to honour. The stadium in Essendon was new, and when he got there, the glittering metal, bright lights, and raucous noise overwhelmed him. Basketball joints were always noisy, but this one was something else.

  Jack’s head buzzed with the noise of shouting players, barracking supporters, and whistling referees. The whole place seemed designed to amplify noise. His headache was getting worse by the minute.

  ‘G’day, Robyn, Greg. How’s it going?’ he asked the two parents standing at the side of the very last court.

  ‘Good, Jack. What are our chances tonight?’ Robyn said.

  ‘Not sure. Don’t know if Ben’ll be here. Hard to win without him.’

  ‘Hey, what’s up? You look exhausted.’

  ‘Yeah, I am, a bit. I was at that demo at the estate today, got caught up in … you know.’ Jack rolled his eyes, as if he lacked the energy to explain any further.

  ‘I hear there’s some bad people connected to Auspart. Not too choosy about how they do business.’

  ‘Yeah, that’d be right. How’s Charlie’s knee? Did you get him to a physio?’