Drive By

by Michael Duffy

Bec looked around the room, her heartbeat up just a little. There was a problem with the photograph. She’d logged it herself, when Harris had given it to them in the third week of the investigation. Two nights later she’d found herself in Darlinghurst after dinner with friends, went to have a look at 140 Carlow Street.

  It was a new building, five storeys, housing a variety of companies. The next day she’d called one of them and got the name of the building manager, rung and asked when the building had opened for business. She had no idea why she did this. Occasionally, in her private life as well as at work, she felt something was wrong but did not know why. All she knew was these feelings had to be respected.

  After a few more calls, she’d learned the hoarding shown in Marsden’s photograph had been removed in the week ending 20 February. The building had opened for business on 2 March. Bec told Knight the dating of the photograph was a problem, and he said he’d deal with it. A few weeks later it was still part of the exhibit records and she reminded him. He seemed relaxed. The next week he’d thrown her off the task force.

  She hadn’t linked the two incidents before. But as an old boss liked to say: chro-nol-o-gy.

  It was 9.30 pm, so she decided not to call Knight. Continued with the brief, and saw that even with the photograph, it was still not a particularly strong case. Rafiq’s early lie about not being at the crime scene might help, but as the judge had warned the jury already, telling lies does not make you a murderer.

  If not for the phone taps, they’d have nothing. Thank God for the joint operation. Thank God for Harris. Bec recalled being a little put off by the inspector’s zeal, but everything she’d heard about him since had been positive. After Beldin, she’d actually thought of applying for a job in the Drug Squad, had discussed Harris with one of his sergeants who’d done some work at Liverpool. There’d been a rave review: the inspector was smart and dedicated and loyal to his officers; his contacts were excellent, and with him as 2IC the squad had grown and achieved a series of major successes. Every year more clandestine amphetamine laboratories were discovered and destroyed, more marijuana plants burned. The level of trust between the squad and the Federal Police was higher than ever, and a number of importations of historic size had been intercepted.

  ‘Comes on raids with us all the time,’ said the druggie. ‘Clan-labs, and when we rip up crops in summer. He’s very hands-on, the guys like that. Like the bloke in Apocalypse Now, who loves—you know—the smell of napalm in the morning.’

  ‘But without the hat.’

  ‘No. He’s got a hat.’

  Something else Bec’s old boss liked to say was that if someone seems too good to be true, usually they are. But she had learned this was not always so, and you could make as many mistakes being too cynical as not. Some people are pretty frigging brilliant, and the rest of us need to accept that and not get too twisted up by it.

  The phone rang and she picked it up, checking the time. Well after ten.

  ‘Just got in,’ said Knight. ‘Hope I didn’t wake you.’

  ‘No. I—’

  ‘Sorry to drop this in your lap. Everything okay?’

  ‘The friggin’ photo. It’s still here.’

  ‘What photo?’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘Riddles, Bec.’

  ‘One-forty Carlow Street. Marsden’s photo of Teller and Habib—’

  ‘You raised that at the time, didn’t you? Turned out he got the street wrong, that’s all. It was Crown or something, just around the corner, it was checked out after you left us.’

  ‘It says Carlow Street. In the brief.’

  ‘Must have forgotten to change it, you know what it’s like when you’re doing a big brief, no staff, new jobs. Racing around.’

  He was sounding impatient.

  ‘You’re saying Crown?’

  ‘I’ll sort it out, talk to Mabey.’

  ‘I’ve been there. It’s Carlow.’

  ‘All these new buildings look the same.’

  Maybe he thought she was an idiot; it was not a possibility she’d previously considered. ‘Look—’

  ‘I said I’d sort it out. Big-picture time, Bec. What else?’

  They moved on, spoke for fifteen minutes. It occurred to her this call was Knight’s entirely inappropriate idea of a handover. She should come out and complain, but although the words were there it was not something she could do. Maybe it was a Koori thing, or a junior one, or a female—a Bec thing, anyway. The time for speaking passed, and she felt annoyed with herself but also relieved.

  When he’d hung up, she put the matter of the photo into a mental drawer and went on with her reading. Not a complicated case but it still involved effort, getting all the pieces ordered in her mind. Her, Bec Ralston, in the Supreme Court. Don’t worry about perfection, just see the thing through. Friends she’d told, they’d been impressed. You didn’t want to fuck this up.

  The main question was whether Habib would give evidence. Bec knew that if an alibi was to be presented, the prosecution should have been told before the trial. She knew that sometimes this didn’t happen. There was the potential for surprise. No wonder Mabey had looked unhappy that afternoon, as Thomson handed the ringbinder to her. It was possible Mabey was going to need a lot of help from the OIC, and Bec was not ideal. The crisis in Adelaide must be serious to draw Knight away.

  She finished the reading and made a few notes. Despite the thinness, the case might succeed because of who the accused was. Knight had spoken about this, and he was right. Drugs changed everything, raised stakes and made men act differently, introduced a new and destructive dynamic into any life, any relationship. Big drug dealers made fortunes from buying cheap and selling dear, and the more successful they became, the greater the temptation for others who were prepared to buy for a bit more or sell for a bit less. Dealing attracted violence and psychopaths. Drugs were an industry, and also a jungle spreading across the city. Juries knew this, and sometimes used a trial to show their resentment, to fight back.

  There were some problems here with the evidence, yet the story felt righteous. Teller and Rafiq were obviously in a drug relationship, even without the Marsden photo there was plenty of evidence of that. Each had taken big risks for greed. Teller needed sellers who would not tell the Deebs what he was doing. On that criterion, Rafiq was a good bet, and maybe the Porsche had fooled Teller into thinking he was more of a player than he was. He gave Rafiq a lot of coke on credit, then something had gone wrong. Bec could see Rafiq being stupid, how something might have gone wrong. Maybe he’d boasted and attracted attention, been ripped off, maybe he’d been stoned and left the drugs at Macca’s one night by mistake. Whatever, Rafiq had fucked up, ended by owing a lot of money to Teller. He couldn’t call on his brothers for help as he’d always done before, because he’d been dealing behind their backs. Teller was a violent maniac, and young Rafiq had been terrified. He’d decided there was only one way to solve the problem. Given his background, it was a decision a jury would have no trouble accepting.

  She closed the file, holding that story in her mind. This was her big chance. If she pulled it off, saw the thing through to a conviction, it would help her into one of the squads. Forget about Carlow Street and focus. From now on, things had to be more about her.

  Mate, how Rafi came to get the Carrera was all to do with the coke. For the first year at the uni he was just like a normal kid, going each day and coming home at night for dinner, except on Friday and Saturday p’raps. The public transport was diabolical from our place to the city so Farid got me to get him a car, a little Impreza that ran smooth as silk. I took Rafi one Saturday after we went to the gym and we checked out all the ones for sale in our area. We found one owned by this Chinese guy at a good price and he agreed to give me ten per cent off for cash. Chinks know nothing about cars, but they like cash. He did not look surprised when I opened the bag Farid had given us and pulled out the notes, like on the spot.

  Farid’s got that much money, said Rafi
when we had made the buy and I’d got this Chinese guy to fill in the registration transfer form. We were back on the street, with me giving Rafi the keys and thinking Imad never gave me a car but I guess I never got the marks and went to uni. That ten per cent, Rafi said, we earned that ourselves. Actually it was me who earned it by telling the Chinese guy we would pay cash for a discount. If you don’t know how to be a bargainer by the time you have been in the car game as long as me, you are wasting your time. I was thinking Farid would be proud when I told him. But Rafi was not looking at the new car I had just bought for him, he was looking at the bag. He said, Really, bro, that fifteen hundred is our money, what do you think? I said, Get in the car and take it for a spin, enjoy yourself in a fine machine. Rafi hugged me, pulling the bag, and I held on tight, not sure if it was a game or what. He let go, said, How about I borrow it just for three days? I have this mate who wants to sell this Macintosh computer for nothing and I could resell it real quick and make some money, Farid would never know. Fifty-fifty, bro, what you say? I told him that was never going to happen. He said, Sure, bro, thank you so much for what you done, tell Oumi I will not be home for dinner. Then he got in his new car and burned some rubber as he drove away, and I was smiling as I got back in my own car. It was just Rafi, like everything was a joke.

  Having the car made Rafi a lot more independent and he started coming home late most nights. The mama was a bit sad at this, to be losing the last of her boys, but the papa told her men will be men. I was still living at home like a good boy but often over at Dani’s place, where she lived with her mother at Bankstown, watching her wash her fluffy little dog Mr Smiggles, or going out to clubs. So I had a pretty good social life but I was a working man, I don’t know how Rafi managed to do all his study and shit with the hours he was keeping. Some of the old guys at work would talk about their kids at uni, and them kids seemed to spend a lot of time studying.

  Rafi was going out late and sleeping in so much it got to where I wasn’t seeing him for a week or more sometimes, and it must have been the same for the others because one Sunday at the barbecue Farid asked me how the little brother was going at the uni. By this time it was the second half of Rafi’s first year at uni, p’raps seven months before the Teller thing. I said, Do not ask me, he is never home, you can ask him now. I cannot ask him, said Farid, because he is not here. I looked around and saw it was true, and this was very unusual for one of us children to miss the Sunday barbecue. Even Hasna and the kids still came after Imad went to Goulburn, plus Jamila and Salim and lots of friends and all their kids, there was always thirty people or p’raps forty.

  He was going over to the Ismails to pay his respects, I say. That was the family whose brother Ghassan had been knocked the other day by that mad Tim Taha. I don’t fucking care about Ghassan Ismail, says Farid. They is the ones was helping the Deebs chase us out of the Cross fucking five years ago. When we had the cafe, you remember? I do remember, the Cross was where Imad really got the family business up and running. I was going up there with some school friends a lot, and one day Imad pulled me aside and told me how he had ten runners each paying him a grand a week plus they was buying the gear off him for another grand profit. Brother, Imad was saying to me, you is doing the maths! He had these safe houses in Potts Point and Rushcutters Bay, just like a real business, but then those Deebs was getting on board with the Tongans and Islanders, and there was a fight and Deanne Soulayman was killed and Romeo Hassan lost his finger and us Habibs was forced out of the Cross. It was a major drama but a good thing in the end because of all the business Imad was finding around Roselands, like in our own backyard and no one there to fight for it. But we is always thinking about the Cross, in the family, and how one day we will be back. Because if you have the Cross even though it is a shithole you have the respect in this city.

  What about his marks? said Farid. I asked him what he meant and he said, Reem had a cousin who is at the uni and he does exams during the year, like halfway at the end of a term or something. So how is Rafi doing? I knew it was my job to keep an eye on Rafi because the papa had asked me. I said I would find out and talk to the papa about it and Farid said, Don’t talk to the old man, talk to me. For a moment I think he is joking, calling the papa the old man, but then I see he is not, and, mate, I am telling you everything is changing at that moment. Until then all us brothers is showing the papa complete respect in everything we do and say. But Farid is almost being rude the way he is saying the old man. I must think about that, but for now I say I didn’t know nothing about this exam bullshit, and I would find out. P’raps Dani would know because she knows about that sort of thing, being a skip and all.

  Just then Rafi turned up. Like, a minute ago Farid had been looking for him and he wasn’t there. Now he was there, talking to the mama over by the clothesline and he was moving his hands around and I could see this big red mark on his face where his left eye was. Farid saw it too and walked through all the people like Moses through the Red Sea and I followed him. Rafi had a cut above his eye and bruises all around it and he was telling Mama how he’d had a shock in his car, this idiot had come out through a stop sign and he’d swerved and banged his face on the wheel. But the Subaru was okay except for a dent on the front right.

  Did the guy stop? says Farid after they hugged. Rafi says, Oh yes, that is why I am late, I have been collecting the details like you have to do after an accident for the insurance. Rafi knows all about these things because I have told him when we bought the Subaru. Farid is standing with his hands on his hips like he does when he is thinking, seriously thinking about stuff and all you want to do then is wait to see what he says. It is like everything has stopped and Farid is the only one who can start it again. Where is the details? he says, and Rafi is feeling in his pockets saying, In the car, bro, I left them in the car.

  Come with me, Farid says, and takes my arm and goes with me and Rafi through the house and out past the front of the house where his Bentley and all the other cars is parked and down the road to Rafi’s Subaru. Farid’s boys is getting out of the Bentley and following us down the street at a respectful distance, keeping their eyes open for activity.

  As we is walking, Rafiq is talking all the time, trying to get Farid to think about other things, saying, I saw Anthony last night, man, he is telling me to say hello to you. This is a big boxer who is admired by all the people but Farid is just frowning and saying, So you know Mundine, do you? And Rafi says, Man, I is seeing him all the time in the clubs and stuff. I is thinking Rafiq doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut but this is not the time to be giving him lessons.

  We get to the car and look at the front right of the Subaru and the light is smashed and I can see straight away this is not caused by any accident it is too high up and the panel is hardly damaged just the light like someone smashed it with a baseball bat or something. I wonder to say anything but Farid knows everything especially things like this. He says to Rafi, Where is the guy’s details? What? says Rafi, like p’raps he is still in shock. And then Farid just loses it. He grabs Rafi like he’s not injured and throws him back against the side of the Subaru with one hand, pushing his other arm against Rafi’s throat, just like they do on TV.

  And that’s when we first hear about the snow.

  It turned out Rafi had been dealing at the uni all the time. I mean, tell you what! Came as a surprise big time to the whole family. He’d been buying from this boy he went to school with and selling to all these rich skips from the North Shore who never went to school with no one would know how to get them any of the nose thing. Turned out he was right into it, he’d become a party animal at the uni and made all these new friends and was going out to clubs and parties in the Eastern Suburbs every night. He told us all about it while Farid held him up against the side of the Subaru and even then he was kind of proud of the whole thing, like you could see in his eyes he wanted to be at one of his parties, like what was happening and his red eye weren’t really real.

  Farid
is surprised. He takes his arm off Rafi’s throat and looks at me like he is real angry. I am passing my exams and stuff, Rafi says quickly. Everything is sweet bro except for this little problem, cash flow. You know how it is. Farid gives him that look that makes you want to tell him everything, and Rafi explains how this money fell out of his bag when he was high, like he is losing it, and this guy, the one he went to school with, has these partners who are not so happy because he is a few days late. The guy he went to school with is cool though; he said he was sorry after they beat Rafi up.

  Farid turns red when he hears this and says, Why? He means why everything, why all this. Well, says Rafi, you guys did it, not John but Imad and you and—Just stop, says Farid. That stuff Baiyeh always talks about, drawing a line in the sand. Have you not been listening? Did you not hear us tell you we do not want you to get even a speeding ticket? You are to be the legitimate one in the family. You and John. Rafi says, Sure sure, but this is just a bit of snow, a bit of fun. It is not like I am becoming some heavy dealer or nothing.

  Farid grabs him by the back of the neck and pushes his face just behind the external rear-view mirror on the Subaru, his head pressing against the window and Rafi kind of squeals. This is just a bit of fun is it? says Farid. He lets go and Rafi staggers and then stands still, looks at the ground like he can’t meet our eyes. I want to be like you, he says and stops because Farid ignores him and says to me, You were supposed to be keeping an eye on this fucking idiot and look what he has done. I do not think this is right because I am at Auburn Toyota or out with Danielle or helping the papa and mama all the time, so who is there to watch Rafi when he’s at his clubs and stuff with his uni friends? Rafi is almost twenty, I say to him. He is a man.

  Farid ignores me. He tells Rafi he does not want to be like Imad because Imad is in the supermax and Farid might be following him there one day the way the cops are watching him all the time with listening devices and surveillance cameras his boys is always finding wherever he goes. And my wife, this fucking princess—he stops and takes a big breath, and tells Rafi more quietly, so the whole street can’t hear, that what the family needs is for him to study hard and get his degree and tell the family how to clean all its money. If I end up in the supermax or with a bullet in my head, says Farid, I need to know there is money there for my own family to live on, money the Crime Commission cannot take from them under proceeds of crime.