Cold Cuts

by Calder Garret

‘Yeah, Matt did. What about Karen? Did she ask you about him?’

  ‘No. She didn’t say a thing.’

  ‘It’s probably for the best. The less said the better, eh?’

  Jenny didn’t reply. For a moment, it seemed she was sleeping. Then she spoke.

  ‘I’ll be glad to get home,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ said Arbor.

  He could feel her hand running along the inside of his thigh.

  ‘But if you want to get there in one piece,’ he said, ‘you’d better not touch the driver. It might not be safe.’

  They laughed.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a piece of you tonight, Constable,’ she said.

  ‘But I thought you were cactus,’ Arbor said.

  ‘Yeah, well. Some good loving might cap me off nicely.’

  ‘Jen, what are you doing?’ he said, as she undid her seatbelt. ‘This is a paddy wagon.’

  ‘I’m just getting myself ready,’ she said.

  She lifted her legs and slipped off her knickers. In an instant, Arbor felt his own buckle snap and his pants open. Her hand slipped inside.

  ‘Jen … No,’ he said. But she laughed.

  ‘I’m just claiming what’s mine,’ she said. ‘Hey, I’ve never done it in a cop car. Have you?’

  ‘No. And I’m not about to.’

  ‘Come on, officer. Pull in here.’

  ‘We can’t, Jen. It’d mean my job for sure, if we got caught.’

  ‘But who’s to catch us? Come on, Danny. No one in their right mind comes up this road after dark. Just pretend you’ve pulled me over. What about it? I’ll even let you frisk me.’

  Jenny was sleeping soundly by the time they reached the farm. Arbor carried her indoors and put her to bed.

  He watched her sleep for a while before turning out the light and returning to the kitchen. He had a lot to mull over, so bed, for now, was not a possibility. He filled the kettle, turned it on and listened to the water hiss.

  The remains of a roast chicken beckoned from the top rack of the fridge. Arbor claimed it and, pouring his cocoa, took a seat at the table. He sipped his drink and then peeled back the clear film from the bird. Then it hit him. They hadn’t had dinner. He checked the clock. It was barely eight o’clock. Jenny had consumed three stubbies in an hour on an empty stomach. No wonder they had had such a profound effect. He had not been drinking, but he, too, could feel the effects of probably his worst day on the force so far. It would be best to gather his thoughts while he could. Tomorrow was an early start and it was important that he treated Amira well.

  Amira. It went without saying. The trip to the Supreme Court was sure to be a big deal for her. Arbor had sensed her nervousness in the deli. And he had understood it, too. He, too, felt on edge. Salim’s murder had been enough to ruin his Christmas. And, he expected, the Hogg family trial might be enough to ruin Easter.

  It was strange, Arbor decided. Just four months ago, following Salim’s murder and Amira’s disappearance, he had been all too willing to jump into an investigation. He had been quick to take on the search for Amira, and, on finding her, he had kept her safe while he ardently investigated the case. He had put his career on the line in order to protect her. So what was so different now?

  Butch Paterson’s demise, and he felt sure the man was dead, had all that was needed to get the town buzzing. The leg of a colourful local identity found discarded like a piece of trash. Who needed more? But while the likes of Gloria Bennett and the Jones kids had found it all so appealing, he could barely find an interest in the case himself. Even though he had spent most of the day literally knee and elbow deep in it.

  It was strange, Arbor decided. But why? Because he hardly knew Paterson? Maybe. In any case, this time around, he swore, he would leave it to the city Ds to do the work.

  He stood to refill his drink, leaning on the counter top while the kettle boiled. He looked around. From curtains to calendar, from biscuit tins to magnets on the fridge, the room was all-familiar to him now. And it spoke of Jenny. But he wondered. Would he be able to call it home? And, with only eight months left of his time in Chatton, was it really worth the trying? The truth was, he decided, it didn’t matter. When Jenny had suggested he move in, he had been delighted. He was dead keen on the idea. And, whatever happened, he would make it work.

  He pencilled a note in his mind to chase up Nathan and ask him for some help in moving his gear out to the farm. Not that he had much. His old bed, the sofa, the fridge … With the paddy wagon, maybe one trailer load. He was sure that Nathan, now a good mate, would be happy to help. And he would take the opportunity to quiz him about his attitude to training, matches and the Blue Tongues in general. Maybe an expression of his own growing interest in the team might spark a similar interest in Nathan.

  So he was now committed to coaching the Blue Tongues now? Yes, it seemed so.

  There had been some pressure on him, from the likes of Matt Todd, to take up playing again, even if just as an immobile target at full forward. With his size and skill, Matt reckoned, at the level of the Blue Tongues, he was sure to take a few marks and kick a bagful every match. But he quite simply didn’t want to risk it. The most basic overextension, the slightest pressure from an overaggressive opponent, and he’d be well and truly fucked. Better to sit on the sidelines, run a few drills and pass on all he could remember from the big league.

  The bird had been picked clean and his second cup was empty. He rose from the table, tipped the chicken carcass into the bin and then dropped the plate and cup into the sink. He would leave the washing up until tomorrow, he decided. He turned off the light and headed for bed.

  MONDAY

  When he woke, it was dark and cold and his cock, as hard as a pestle, was lodged deep between the cheeks of Jenny’s arse.

  ‘That doesn’t belong there,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ said Arbor. ‘But … I didn’t mean to … I was only cuddling you … in my sleep.’

  ‘Yeah, sure you were,’ she said. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just after four.’

  ‘Shit. Christ, what happened last night? I can’t remember shit.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Arbor. ‘You don’t remember jumping me in the paddy wagon?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ she said.

  ‘You did.’

  Jenny laughed.

  ‘Fuck me drunk,’ she said. ‘I really must have been pissed.’

  She laughed again, then rolled over and kissed him lightly on the lips.

  ‘But I did notice,’ she said. ‘I got up for a drink about an hour ago. You left me a sink full of dirty dishes.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ said Arbor. ‘I’ll clean them up before I go.’

  ‘And when will that be?’

  ‘About five, I reckon. We’ve got to make the city in plenty of time.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ said Jenny. ‘We’ve got time then.’

  ‘Time for what?’

  He felt her hand on him.

  ‘So, last night,’ she said. ‘This root. Was I good?’

  ‘Yeah, not bad,’ he said.

  ‘That’s good to know,’ she said. ‘I’d hate for me to get on the wrong side of the law.’

  She pushed him onto his back and climbed on board.

  ‘So, tell me, officer,’ she said. ‘Is that a gun in your pocket? Or are you just pleased to see me?’

  It was the oldest line in the book, but he didn’t mind.

  As she had promised, Amira was waiting for him outside her house. Although the sun had not yet risen, she was standing on the front lawn, reaching for leaves from the lowest branches of a large gum. She seemed without a care, thought Arbor, for someone who had been through so much. She offered a wide smile as she climbed into the paddy wagon and, by the time they had reached the town limits, had set the tone for their conversation on the way to the city.

  ‘So when are you moving in, Danny?’ she asked. ‘Have you made your mind up yet?’

 
‘Sometime soon,’ said Arbor. ‘I’ve just got to find the time. To move my gear.’

  ‘Do you have much?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Arbor. ‘I was thinking about it last night. One trip’s worth, maybe two.’

  ‘I keep looking at the stuff in our place,’ said Amira. ‘Dad’s stuff. I really don’t know what to do with it.’

  ‘I guess you have to decide what you’re keeping,’ said Arbor. ‘I mean, are you selling up? Do you even know if you’re staying yet?’

  ‘I’m still thinking about it,’ said Amira. ‘I think I want to, and I do like the house. I mean, I own it now and I have lived there for over half my life, but … there are memories, you know? Not just from what the Hoggs did, but of Dad as well. In every room. Part of me wants to stay and the other part just wants to sell everything and clear off. Then, to top it all off, there’s Hashim.’

  ‘Hashim?’

  ‘My cousin. In Pakistan. He’s the one I’m supposed to … Dad arranged my marriage to him yonks ago. I’ve spoken to him. And to my Uncle Ali. I’m under a bit of pressure to follow through with the arrangement. It’ll tie up all the family holdings in a neat bow, if you know what I mean. But to tell you the truth, I’m just not sure anymore. I’m not that keen on moving overseas. I mean, why should I? I’m Australian, aren’t I? And, if I’ve listened right, I think Hashim wants to finish his university studies in England before maybe moving to America. I’m not sure the marriage is something either of us wants.’

  ‘Then who does?’

  ‘Uncle Ali. He’s the one. He’s dead keen.’

  ‘He can’t make you, Amira,’ said Arbor. ‘Just remember that. Things might be different in Pakistan, but here we get to choose for ourselves.’

  ‘Will you tell him that for me?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I reckon maybe June. I’ve heard on the family grapevine that if I haven’t let them know by then, he’ll be bringing Hashim out for a face-to-face.’

  ‘What, you haven’t seen him before? Hashim?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘God,’ said Arbor. ‘He might be nine feet tall. Or have hair on the palms of his hands.’

  ‘Don’t, Danny,’ said Amira, with a laugh. ‘I’m sure he’s not. They wouldn’t do that to me. And besides, Pakistani men are very nice looking.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Arbor. ‘To Pakistani women.’

  He felt her hit his upper arm. Hard. He massaged the muscle.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ he said.

  ‘You deserved it,’ she said. ‘Now hurry up and drive.’

  The drive from Chatton to the city was roughly three hundred kilometres. Given slow passage through towns such as Ashby, the need to negotiate the odd winding road and the increased traffic as they reached the hills and the coast, Arbor figured three hours. Three and a half at the most. Barring obstacles, they would make it with time to spare.

  He felt a little guilty. This was his first trip back to the city since his posting to Chatton and he wouldn’t be visiting his parents. He wouldn’t even tell them he’d been and gone. It would be far better to let them think that he was, all the time, hard at work in Chatton, under the heavy thumb of the demanding Sergeant O’Reilly. Not that O’Reilly was really that hard to work with. After nearly six months, Arbor was starting to understand the old man’s ways.

  For much of the journey, Arbor let Amira chat away. For some of it, they listened to music. At times, Amira enjoyed listening to the police radio. At others, they enjoyed the silence. In any case, there was little sense of boredom. They appreciated the changing scenery, the sight of livestock, buildings, and seeding machines lying dormant, ready for work, shining in the warm light cast by the rising sun.

  As they reached the foothills, and the sun became lost in the trees behind them, the temperature dropped again. But Arbor felt a sense of relief. Only ten or fifteen minutes more, he knew, and they would be at the top of the escarpment. The city of Perth, and perhaps the Indian Ocean, would be laid out before them.

  ‘Do you get to the city much, Amira?’ he said.

  ‘No, hardly ever,’ said Amira. ‘Not nearly as much as I’d like. One day, though, I’ll have my own car.’

  ‘I’d offer to give you lessons,’ said Arbor. ‘But I’m not sure I’m allowed to. Especially if I end up taking you for your test.’

  ‘Yeah, that’d be a laugh,’ said Amira.

  ‘What about Jacinta Wallis’s dad?’ said Arbor. ‘He seems like an all right sort of a bloke. You should ask him.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe I will,’ said Amira, thinking. ‘Maybe I will.’

  Through Swan, Bassendean and down Guildford Road, Arbor followed the same railway line he had lost nearly two hours before. Just in time, he cursed, for the morning traffic and breakfast radio. But he stuck to the railway line as best he could until, with a few detours and shortcuts, they had reached the Terrace. The nineteenth-century facade of the Supreme Court came into view.

  ‘And here we are,’ he said.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ said Amira. ‘It’ll be good to get out and stretch my legs.’

  ‘Although I’m not sure there’s parking,’ said Arbor. ‘I’ll drop you out front and see what I can find.’

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ said Amira. ‘I need the walk.’

  They found parking beside the City of Perth offices next door. Arbor grumbled that he had to pay. But his mood improved when he heard the news to come. Mary Bird, the Crown Prosecutor, was waiting for them on the steps of the courthouse.

  ‘What’s the story?’ Arbor asked.

  ‘It’s the cousins,’ said Mary. ‘They’ve done deals. They’ve pleaded guilty to accessory charges, and turned Queen’s Evidence. They’ve thrown Henry and Harry under the bus. Those two have had no option but to change their pleas.’

  ‘So does that mean …?’ said Amira.

  Her eyes filled with expectation.

  ‘Yes, it does, Amira,’ said Bird. ‘It’s all over. Before it even began, more or less. There’s still the sentencing, of course, but you can relax. They’ll all be locked away for some time to come.’

  ‘That is such a relief,’ said Amira.

  She nearly hugged Arbor, but chose instead to wrap her arms around Mary Bird. The woman laughed.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ said Bird. ‘Driving all this way for nothing?’

  ‘No way,’ said Amira. ‘I would have been happy to drive all day for that news.’

  ‘Excuse me a minute,’ she said as she reached into her bag for her phone and took a few steps away, seeking some privacy. Someone to call.

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ said Arbor, offering Bird his hand.

  ‘You’re very welcome,’ said the prosecutor. ‘We’ll be in touch. As I said, there’s still the sentencing.’

  Arbor watched as she climbed the courthouse steps. Nice pins, he thought. He stretched. They’d find a nice cafe, he decided, and have some breakfast before considering the drive back home.

  ‘So it’s all over?’ said Amira.

  ‘Yeah, it looks like it,’ said Arbor. ‘You’re as safe as houses now.’

  He hoped.

  They had a better run on the way back to Chatton. Morning rush hour in the city had been and gone and by the time they reached the country roads, there was barely another car in sight. Arbor gave himself permission to put the foot down a little and, although it was strictly against the law, he said nothing when Amira extended her hand out the window and allowed it to cut through the breeze.

  It was just after noon when they drove onto Palm Street. Arbor dropped Amira outside the newsagent’s.

  ‘Why don’t you ring Jenny?’ he said. ‘I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear the news.’

  ‘Been there, done that,’ said Amira.

  She unlocked the front door.

  ‘Thanks, again, Danny,’ she said. ‘For everything.’

  ‘No worries,’ said Arbor.

  He took a sharp turn and headed the wagon back towards th
e station.

  O’Reilly was at a cabinet, doing what appeared to be some actual work.

  ‘Hey, Sarge,’ said Arbor

  ‘Shit. You’re early enough. Was there a continuance?’

  ‘You could say that. The cousins. Jim and Phil. They turned Queen’s Evidence. Hogg and his son changed their pleas as soon as they heard.’

  ‘That’s good news, I guess … Listen, Major Crime are on their way.’

  ‘Uh-huh. And I can bet, too,’ said Arbor. ‘Now that the trial’s all settled, it’ll be Burke and Cole, again, won’t it?’

  ‘Yeah. Up there for thinking, lad,’ said O’Reilly. ‘I should have realised. Burke and Cole. I’m surprised you didn’t see them at the court. Listen, if it is them, I don’t think it’s a good idea you getting under their feet and under their skin the moment they arrive. You’d best stay away from the station. And from Butch’s shop. Is there anything you’ve got worth doing?’

  ‘I didn’t get much traffic duty done yesterday. After I picked up Nobby and then went to the deli … Well, things just got out of hand after that.’

  ‘Yeah, okay. Why don’t you clear off and catch a few hoons? Grab yourself some takeaway lunch before you go … And stay away as long as you can. We’ll give them a chance to make a mess of things themselves before you waddle in in your size twelves.’

  ‘Fourteens.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Fourteens. I wear size fourteens.’

  ‘Christ … Go on. Rack off.’

  Arbor stepped out of the station onto Palm Street and stretched. He had parked the paddy wagon only a few paces away, but, for the moment, he decided on a walk. His arse and back were still sore from six hours of driving. And besides, O’Reilly, he knew, would not venture from the station, which meant that the street, and the day if he liked, was now his to explore.

  He crossed the side street to the Chatton Hotel, running his fingers along its glossy new billboards. He smiled. The shit had really hit the fan, he thought, in the months since the murder of Salim Rashid. The pub, like the town of Chatton in general, had been through some big changes. Rusty Piper, the long-serving publican, was gone, hounded out of town in disgrace. And the hotel was now under shiny new management, a young couple fresh from the city. It was so far, so good, thought Arbor. At least they had managed to put an end to a few of Piper’s many excesses. The back bar, for example, that throwback to nineteen-sixties segregation, was gone. Of course, its closure had met with objections in some quarters, but the city pair had been quick to support the demands of their indigenous patrons. Like it or not, Chatton was being dragged kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century.