Cold Cuts

by Calder Garret

  ‘Tell me,’ said Amira. ‘I want to know.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Arbor squinted. The bad writing and dim light make it difficult to read.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked again.

  ‘Yes,’ said Amira. ‘Go on.’

  ‘“Dear Paki Bitch”,’ Arbor began.

  He looked at Amira. She smiled.

  ‘It’s cool,’ she said. ‘I’m used to worse.’

  ‘“Dear Paki Bitch”,’ Arbor continued. ‘“If you think locking up our mates will make you safe, then you’re wrong. Watch your back, moll. We’re coming for you. Signed, The Revengers.”’

  Arbor felt the desire to laugh, but he knew that threats such as this could not be easily dismissed. Amira let out a giggle.

  ‘Part of you really wants to laugh, doesn’t it?’ said Arbor.

  ‘I know,’ said Amira. ‘I mean, the Revengers? They probably wear capes and masks and meet in their cubby house. They don’t scare me, Danny. Not really.’

  ‘No, I bet they don’t,’ said Arbor. ‘But I don’t think we should take any chances. I’ll get a couple of blokes from the co-op to board up the window for you. How’s about you stay out at Jenny’s for a few days, eh? While I look into this?’

  ‘You don’t think she’ll mind?’

  ‘Of course she won’t mind. Give her a ring now. Find out for yourself.’

  It didn’t take long. With the newsagent shopfront boarded up and Amira having collected a few things from home, she and Arbor were soon headed out the Melton road towards Jenny’s. Stay as long as you like, Jenny had said to Amira. Arbor felt just a little miffed. Amira’s presence would seriously cramp his style. But he had another, nobler plan. With both he and Amira out at the farm, there would be no one to keep an eye on either the newsagent’s or Amira’s home. Another brick, or worse still, something flammable, could be disastrous.

  ‘Tell me if I’m overstepping the line, Amira,’ he said. ‘But I was thinking. How’s about while you’re staying out here, I keep an eye on your place for you? I mean, I’m not convinced that anything will come from that note. Knowing the blokes around here, it’s probably just hot air. But we can’t be too sure, can we?’

  ‘I don’t mind, Danny,’ said Amira, ‘if you don’t. But it would mean you sleeping in my dad’s bed, if that doesn’t freak you out. I’m sure you don’t want to sleep in mine.’

  ‘No,’ said Arbor. ‘Anyway, I reckon it’ll only be for a few days. Just until the news about the Hoggs settles in. There’s more sense in a goldfish bowl than in most of the blokes around here.’

  As the wagon pulled up, Jenny came out to greet them. Arbor waited for the women to hug before embracing Jenny.

  ‘Dinner’s just about ready,’ she said.

  ‘No, I’m not staying,’ said Arbor. ‘I’ve agreed with Amira. I’m going to look after her place for a few days. Just in case. You never know. That note looked like it was written by an idiot, but it’s often idiots that do the most damage. And I need to catch up with Nathan and pick up a few things from home.’

  ‘Well, have something,’ said Jenny. ‘I don’t want to think of you going back in there on an empty stomach.’

  ‘Yeah, come on, Danny,’ said Amira. ‘I’m sure the house will be fine for another hour or so.’

  Bugger it, Arbor thought. He was easily persuaded. Especially when food was concerned. He followed the women into the house.

  The sun had just touched the horizon by the time Arbor pulled open the screen door of the Webb residence and knocked. He was on friendly enough terms, he figured, to open the main door and give a shout. But he thought against it. He was still in uniform and the thought of a police officer entering without invitation seemed too much of an intrusion. Perhaps he needn’t have worried. Mandy, drying her hands with a tea towel, greeted him with a smile.

  ‘Kaya, Danny,’ she said. ‘How goes it?’

  She noted his puzzled look.

  ‘Aloha, konichiwa, ciao. Kaya is Noongar for hello.’

  He blushed. He wondered how he’d never known that. ‘Kaya, Mandy.’

  ‘Come on in. Nathan’s out back playing with Chopps.’

  Arbor entered and closed the door behind him.

  ‘I’m not here for long,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to ask … I suppose you’ve both heard about Butch Paterson?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s awful,’ said Mandy. ‘It’s all over town.’

  ‘Did you know him?’ said Arbor.

  ‘Yeah, sort of,’ said Mandy. ‘I didn’t like him, though. Look, have you got time for a cuppa? Head out and say hello to Nathan. I’ll put the kettle on.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Nathan was on the ground wrestling with the dog. Arbor was unsure who was the most exuberant or making the most noise. He watched for a few moments until the dog broke free.

  ‘Danny,’ said Nathan, puffing. He got to his feet and brushed himself off.

  ‘He’s a big bloke,’ he continued. ‘And he doesn’t know his own strength. What’s up?’

  ‘A couple of things,’ said Arbor. ‘First off, you wouldn’t have any idea who’d want to put the wind up Amira, would you? The Hoggs pleaded out today and Amira came home to a brick through the shop window.’

  ‘Shit. No, I wouldn’t,’ said Nathan. ‘It could be any of them. The Hoggs have quite a few dickhead mates around here. What was the other thing?’

  ‘Butch Paterson,’ said Arbor. ‘I thought I’d ask you and Mandy about him. Although it looks like I won’t have much to do with the investigation this time around, I just want to keep myself in the loop. If you know what I mean. And you and Mandy are about the only locals I reckon I can trust.’

  ‘I’m not sure we can help you much,’ said Nathan. ‘Neither of us knew him that well. Still … Come inside. I can hear the kettle.’

  As they entered the house, Arbor felt a force push past him. It was Chopps, his wagging tail rattling the door like a drumstick. Arbor followed Nathan into the kitchen and joined him at the table. He watched Nathan watching his wife pour the coffees.

  ‘Mandy, you didn’t have much to do with Butch, did you?’ asked Nathan.

  ‘No. No way,’ said Mandy. ‘His meat wasn’t half as good as it was cracked up to be. His sausages weren’t bad, and I know he got his pork and lamb local, but his beef … A few of us always reckoned it was worth the trip to Ashby. The butcher over there is top notch.’

  ‘I see,’ said Arbor.

  Mandy slid a cup and some sliced Swiss roll towards him.

  ‘Thanks, Mandy,’ he continued.

  ‘No worries,’ she said. ‘You can share the roll with Nathan, if you like. But watch him. Sure as hell, he’ll give it to the dog.’

  They laughed. Nathan took a slice and fed it under the table. His hand came up empty.

  ‘So what do you know, Nathan? I’ve heard he coached the Chatton Nippers.’

  ‘Yeah, for years, I reckon,’ said Nathan.

  ‘You?’

  ‘No, not me. I was too old when we moved up from Albany. But … By the way, I hear you’re thinking about coaching the Blue Tongues.’

  ‘Yeah, it looks like it,’ said Arbor. ‘And I hear you don’t like training.’

  ‘Ah, I just can’t be bothered most of the time,’ said Nathan. ‘Honestly. I reckon it’s a waste of time. I mean, I go for a run two or three times a week. Keep myself in decent enough shape. And if there’s a big game coming up, I might go to training. Put in a bit extra.’

  ‘Well, that’s all going to change,’ said Arbor.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, now that I’m in charge, I want you at every training session. And at every game.’

  ‘You what? Steady on.’

  ‘And not only that, I want you setting an example for the rest of them. From what I’ve heard, you’re about the best player the Blue Tongues have got. You should be a leader for the team, not an also ran. Have you got me?’

  ‘Yeah, whatever, Sergeant Sch
ultz.’

  ‘So I’ll see you there? Tomorrow night?’

  ‘Yeah, all right. I suppose you will.’

  The scratchy gravel crunched under his feet as he took the dozen or so steps across Royal Street to the place he called home. It was home, he figured, but it was also a dated, weather-beaten dump, like every other home on Royal Street. This was a part of town that most of the locals liked to avoid.

  He entered the house. There was no need for a key. He had long since given up locking it. There was nothing worth stealing, he told himself. And besides, he figured it considerably unlikely that someone would burgle a cop.

  Every time he looked at it he wondered why he had brought it with him. At the bottom of the wardrobe, now covered in dust, his footy bag lay, chock full of memories. Memories that hurt. Memories that made him almost too scared to look. It was a painful reminder that the chance of ever playing again was zilch. But he forced himself. He unzipped it and checked its contents. Boots, socks, shorts, guernsey … It was all there. Everything he had taken away from his last game with the West Coast Eagles.

  But a cold thought hit him. Would any of this shit still fit? It had been more than two years since he had worn his gear in anger. During rehab, for the first year following his injury, despite all the inactivity, he had managed to keep the weight gain to a minimum. But during the time since, especially the time in Chatton and the time with Jenny, he had let things slide. He now wore a ten-kilo ring of excess Arbor around his waist. Nevertheless, he decided to try the gear on. At least, he thought, it might help him make a good first impression on the younger Blue Tongues. He slipped off his uniform and pulled the bag wide.

  He could barely pull the shorts beyond his hips. He could feel the waistband cutting deep into his flesh. They would not last two minutes in a run, he figured. And the guernsey proved even more of a struggle. With some difficulty, he managed to get it over his chest, but he could move it no further. For a moment, he stood there, unable to either don or remove the garment. Finally, he gave a hefty tug. He heard a rip and the guernsey came free. He cursed, threw it back into his bag and then sat on the bed.

  An old tracksuit lay on the floor beside him. He picked up the top and gave it a sniff. That would be fine, he decided. Many of the players would smell far worse. It had some give in it and it would hide a multitude of sins. He tipped the contents of the bag onto the floor, threw in the tracksuit and a pair of runners, and zipped it up.

  It was just as well, he thought. Turning up in all his Eagles crap, especially as he was so out of shape, might not have been such a good idea. He didn’t want the Blue Tongues thinking he was showing off or big-noting himself. Nor did he need to hear any more stories about how he was just what they needed as their power forward. No way. He was there to help, but there was no way on God’s green he was going to do any playing or training himself.

  He donned his police gear again and then sat on the bed studying the room. Small, stark and untidy, it was swamped with just the faintest whiff of unwashed laundry. Apart from his sofa, his fridge and a kitchen full of utensils, the room’s contents constituted just about everything he had in Chatton. Bed, chest of drawers, telly and a few clothes. There was not much to it, he decided. And, it occurred to him, when he moved to Jenny’s, most of it would remain stored away, rotting or rusting in one of the sheds. Only his clothes, his uniforms and civvies, would see the light of day. Some of which, he remembered, he needed to collect for his stay at Amira’s. Taking a little more care this time, he packed another bag.

  He began by inspecting the yard and the few large bushes that grew in front of the house. All this foliage wasn’t the wisest option, he thought. Under any circumstances, the bushes would surely hide any goings on from the neighbours across the street. But there wasn’t much he could do. He was certainly not going to take up gardening. So, after giving the area a closer inspection, he examined the house. Small but impressive, he thought. And unlike his own place, and Nathan’s, it was brick, one of the nicer places in town. He unlocked the front door and entered.

  For some reason, he had in mind the smells of the subcontinent – coriander, ginger, cinnamon and the like. He knew Amira was a good cook, he had tasted her cooking, and he had expected the traces to be evident. But they were not. Instead, all he sensed was the strong scent of a commonly available household deodorant, maybe Glen 20 or Ambi Pur.

  Similarly, when it came to decor, he had expected something else. Something Pakistani in style. Whatever that was. But as it was, the furnishings in every room he visited had probably been purchased in a Perth department store. Sure, there were a few signs of the Rashids’ Pakistani heritage, but no more than he could have expected. Certainly no more than the Aussie sporting memorabilia he knew he would find in his old man’s man cave. As an afterthought, Arbor scolded himself. As much as anything, he had been guilty of an, albeit minor, case of stereotyping.

  His difficulty lay in choosing a place to sleep. Amira’s room was easily spotted. Out of a strange sort of politeness, he closed the door. Salim’s room, with a double bed, seemed, on the one hand, inviting, yet on another … It had all the feelings of a tomb. Arbor closed the door on this one, too. That left the third bedroom, which, he quickly discovered, was in use as a study. There was no other option, he decided. And it probably made sense. If there was trouble during the night, it was better he was dressed. He grabbed a blanket from the linen closet, settled into the most comfortable of the armchairs and turned on the television.

  TUESDAY

  His first stop was Jack and Jill’s. Although he had had a good feed at Jenny’s the night before, it had been a rough night. He needed sustenance. And coffee. Lots of it. He sat at the small, and only, table in the corner. He would eat and drink there, he decided, rather than risk taking it all back to the station and having his meal interrupted by the detectives. Neither the toasted sandwich nor either of his two cups of coffee touched the sides.

  ‘Thanks, Jill,’ he said with a wave. Jill Lemon waved back.

  He tossed his garbage into the bin and opened the door.

  ‘Not you guys, again,’ he said. ‘You’re like a bad smell.’

  ‘What’s this, Danny?’ said Drew. ‘Did someone bake you a cake?’

  Sure enough, a small cake box sat on the bonnet of the paddy wagon.

  ‘When is your birthday, Danny?’ said Jason.

  ‘In a couple of days,’ said Arbor. ‘Maybe it’s from one of the co-op ladies, eh?’

  ‘Maybe you’ve got a secret admirer,’ laughed Shane.

  ‘Yeah, maybe I have,’ said Arbor.

  He lifted the lid.

  Not again.

  ‘What is it, Danny?’ said Shane. ‘Let us see.’

  ‘No way,’ said Arbor. ‘I’m saving it.’

  He lifted the box and, climbing into the paddy wagon, placed it on the passenger seat. Only now, he noticed, there was a stain soaking through the cardboard at the bottom of the box. It wasn’t red, but he knew for sure. It wasn’t icing either.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  Sergeant Anna Burke glared at the thing in front of her.

  ‘What the fuck is that, Constable?’ she continued. ‘Are you bringing me presents now?’

  ‘Yeah, of sorts,’ smiled Arbor. ‘Have a look.’

  Burke placed her fingers on the edge of the lid and lifted.

  ‘Jesus,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought,’ said Arbor.

  ‘What is it?’ said O’Reilly, leaning back in his chair.

  ‘Come and see, Sarge,’ said Arbor.

  Reluctantly, the sergeant stood and shuffled over. Before them lay a hand, cleaved sharply at the wrist. Its colour on the colour spectrum lay somewhere between green and black.

  ‘Is this some sort of a joke, Constable?’ said Burke. ‘Are you trying to wind us up?’

  ‘No, Sergeant,’ Arbor replied. ‘No way.’

  ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘On the bon
net of the wagon,’ said Arbor. ‘It was sitting there when I came out from my breakfast.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Burke. ‘Why didn’t you leave it there? Didn’t you think we’d want to check it for prints?’

  ‘But it was starting to rain,’ said Arbor. ‘And there was a bit of a crowd gathering again. I couldn’t just leave it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Arbor,’ said O’Reilly. ‘You did the right thing. You preserved the evidence.’

  ‘The right thing.’

  Burke swore under her breath.

  ‘But it doesn’t bloody help us much, does it?’ she said. ‘Come on, Cole. Put the whole lot in a bag and let’s take it to the doctor. We’ll see what he can make of it.’

  Cole grabbed a large evidence bag and slid the box inside. The two detectives headed for the door, leaving, Arbor noticed, his desk strewn with piles of paper and manila files, biscuit crumbs and coffee cups.

  ‘Just be thankful,’ said O’Reilly.

  ‘Why’s that, Sarge?’ said Arbor.

  ‘Watching the doctor with the leg the other day was enough for me,’ said the sergeant. ‘All that prodding and pushing. All that scraping. You can be thankful that she took that other bod instead of you.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess so.’

  ‘So what are you doing with yourself?’

  ‘I thought I might hit the road again, Sarge,’ said Arbor. ‘I reckon I’m just about in the right mood to put the shits up some of these young blokes.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ said O’Reilly. ‘You’re learning, son. Go on, then. If those two twits can’t find you, they can’t very well put you to work, can they?’

  Arbor didn’t need telling twice. In a second, he was out the door and in the wagon, heading east, towards Whitney and, he hoped, towards some well-earned peace and quiet.

  The stretch of road that led towards Whitney was even quieter than the road to Ashby. Arbor knew he was unlikely to be drawn into action. That wasn’t the plan. The day, he hoped, would be taken up with serious some rest and recuperation. He sought out a secluded spot under the cover of some large trees, pushed back his seat and close his eyes. He had just done so when his phone rang. It was Jenny.