Kal

by Judy Nunn

  The solicitor spoke quickly and Giovanni himself was having trouble making sense of what he was saying. Not because of the language barrier, simply because the man was not talking sense. Harry could not have sold the mine. It was impossible. They were partners. Harry could not sell the Clover without all three signatures.

  ‘And you’ll see here, it says-’ The solicitor was pointing to the contract.

  ‘We cannot read.’ Giovanni had had to make the admission a number of times in his life and each time he had felt a sense of shame. Now he didn’t. Now anger was starting to burn inside him. A bad anger. The sort of anger he didn’t like to feel. ‘You tell me what it says.’

  Of course, the solicitor reminded himself, Mr Brearley had told him the Italians couldn’t read. ‘They are very simple men,’ he had said. ‘I have a feeling they believe they signed a contract of sale but I was quite explicit. I told them the papers they signed were partnership papers only. And, of course,’ he’d added, ‘you must point out that the remuneration they have received upon the sale of the Clover is well in advance of what they are legally entitled to. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble.’

  ‘Very well, Mr Gianni,’ the solicitor replied patiently. ‘It says that the sole owner of the Clover Mine, Mr Harry Brearley, undersigned,’ he pointed to Harry’s signature, ‘appoints Rico Gianni and Giovanni Gianni,’ he pointed once again to the brothers’ signatures, ‘as his working partners. The agreement being that as long as Mr Brearley retains ownership of the mine, all net profits will be divided equally between each of the three working partners. Should Mr Brearley sell the mine, however, the Messrs Gianni shall each be entitled to the equivalent in cash of one-third of one month’s average net profit.’

  The solicitor looked up from the contract and removed his spectacles. ‘I am happy to inform you that the sum lodged in your account at the National Bank of Australasia is substantially in advance of the sum upon which you agreed. It is more in the order of one-third share each of six months’ average net profit.’ He flicked a spotless white handkerchief from his breast pocket and started to clean his spectacles. ‘I think you’ll agree,’ he smiled. ‘Mr Brearley has been more than generous.’

  ‘What does he say, Gio?’ Rico demanded belligerently. He had been watching the growing anger in his brother’s eyes. ‘Tell me. What has Harry Brearley done?’

  ‘Go,’ Giovanni ordered the solicitor. ‘Go now!’

  The solicitor held his spectacles up to the light. The right lens was clean, he started on the left. ‘Shortly,’ he said, ‘shortly. The new owner of the Clover, Mr Gaston Picot, is, I believe-’

  ‘I said go now! Or my brother will kill you.’

  The solicitor stopped the meticulous cleaning of his spectacles and stared at Giovanni.

  ‘When I tell my brother what you have said,’ Giovanni continued evenly, ‘he will not know that you are merely employed to do Harry Brearley’s bidding. He will kill you.’

  The solicitor looked nervously from Giovanni to the bull-like man beside him. Rico looked menacingly back and the solicitor hastily stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket and looped his spectacles over his ears.

  ‘Yes. Well.’ He edged nervously to the door. ‘I have no doubt Mr Brearley will contact you.’

  ‘You tell Mr Brearley it is more than his life is worth if he does,’ Giovanni warned.

  Both brothers followed the solicitor and watched as he backed away down the slope.

  ‘You tell Mr Brearley it is not only Rico Gianni he needs to fear!’ Giovanni called after him. ‘You tell him if I see him, I will kill him!’

  It was closing time. Maudie gave Alice the ‘no more drinks’ nod and did the rounds of the bar saying goodnight to the regulars. They liked the personal touch. It was a measure of one’s standing if Maudie chatted to you at closing time on a Saturday night.

  ‘How’s the new baby, Alwyn?’ Alwyn was a friend of Evan Jones, another Welshman who worked at the Midas.

  ‘She’s a little beauty, Maudie,’ Alwyn beamed, ever the proud father. He had five now. All daughters.

  ‘Good night, Tom,’ Maudie called to a man wending his way unsteadily out the door. ‘See you next week.’ Tom only ever drank on a Saturday but when he did he put away a week’s worth. He never caused any trouble though.

  ‘Night, Maudie.’

  An hour later, the bar cleaned, the staff gone and Alice retired for the night, Maudie locked the front doors and switched off the lights of the main bar. It had been a good Saturday, she thought, as she walked through the ladies’ lounge and the billiards room, turning off the lights as she went. Loud and boisterous as always on a Saturday night, but not unruly. The way it should be. Maudie didn’t like trouble.

  She locked the back door and turned on the small lamp so that Harry could see his way up the stairs when he returned home. He’d stayed later and later at Hannan’s over the past fortnight and Maudie hoped he wasn’t reverting to his bad habits. They were business meetings, he’d assured her, and explained that he had agreed to sell the Clover to Gaston Picot. ‘But what about Giovanni?’ she’d asked, concerned. ‘What about the brothers?’

  ‘All perfectly above board, my dear.’ He showed her the original papers and Maudie, with her trained eye, could see that it was very straightforward. ‘A working partnership, that’s all,’ Harry had said. ‘The brothers knew that.’ And he told her he was going to give them a very good payout. As a man of honour that was the least he could do.

  It was Harry’s business, not hers, Maudie thought as she locked the back door and turned on the lamp, but Giovanni would be disappointed and that was a shame.

  FROM THE WELL beneath the stairs, Rico watched as Maudie crossed the room. He heard her feet above his head as she climbed each step. Now she was on the landing above. He heard a door opening. Then voices. Two female voices.

  ‘Well, it was a barrel of trouble getting Jack to go to bed, of course.’

  ‘And the twins, have they been good?’

  ‘James woke and cried a little but Victoria slept the whole time.’

  The women chatted for a minute or so, then Maudie said, ‘Thank you, Betty, you can go to bed now.’

  Rico heard the nanny walk along the landing to the little room at the far end. Frustration started to build inside him. It must be nearly midnight. Surely Harry would come home soon.

  Rico was pleased with himself. He had been cunning. He had known during the discussion between Giovanni and the solicitor that Harry Brearley had somehow cheated them. There was no surprise in that, Rico had always known that he would. But with Giovanni’s warning, ‘Tell him if I see him, I will kill him’, he realised that Harry’s betrayal must have been total. Giovanni kill a man? Impossible. There was not enough hatred in him to kill.

  Rico had waited patiently while Giovanni calmed himself enough to recount the conversation. ‘There is nothing we can do, Rico,’ Giovanni had said. ‘It is all legal.’ And he started to explain, curbing his own anger so as not to inflame Rico’s.

  All the while, Rico had remained strangely calm. He had already made his plan. He had made it the moment he heard his brother’s threat. As of this night, Harry Brearley’s life was over.

  But he must be cunning, he had told himself. He must not appear too complacent or Giovanni would suspect something. He pretended rage and allowed his brother to pacify him. And when they got home the rage broke out anew. Teresa was furious and screamed her own vehemence at Harry. Rico joined in, and then watched as Giovanni signalled Teresa, warning her that they must not incite violence in him. Again Rico allowed himself to be pacified. He drank whisky, far too much of it-they all did. Even Teresa. And when they were inebriated and staggered off early to bed, he made love to Teresa. Loudly, drunkenly. That, also, was part of his plan. It would convince Giovanni that he had no thought of revenge tonight. He was too drunk. But Rico was not drunk. No amount of alcohol could make him drunk tonight.

  He had crept out of the house and arrived
at Maudie’s pub shortly before closing time. The rowdiness of the Saturday night drinkers was at its peak and no one noticed Rico peering through the windows of the main bar. Harry was nowhere to be seen, but the crowd was so dense inside it was impossible to tell whether he was there. Rico was tempted to take the place by storm but he quelled his impatience. There were too many of them, they would stop him killing Harry Brearley. He needed to get Harry alone. Just the two of them. And then he would squeeze the life out of the man.

  He stole around to the rear of the pub and slipped through the staff entrance. He could hear the voices of the men placing their wagers on the final billiards game of the evening. Again he resisted the urge to throw open the door to the billiards room. He had been clever and cunning so far, he must not spoil it now.

  He looked at the stairs. Harry would have to climb them to go to bed. Rico crept into the well beneath the stairs and settled down to wait.

  An hour and a half later, as he watched Maudie lock up on her own, Rico realised that Harry must be out somewhere else. That fancy club he went to, that would be it. Harry would be drinking fine wines and showing off to his fine friends. Probably boasting about how he had fooled the dumb Italians. Those stupid brothers, he’d be saying. Those stupid brothers who could neither read nor write. Those dumb Giannis who had thought they owned a gold mine. The blind fury which Rico had quelled was rekindled afresh. No one made a fool of Rico Gianni and lived. He stepped out from the stairwell and stared at the back door. The man had to come through that door. But the longer he stared, the greater grew his rage. The frustration of waiting was driving Rico mad.

  An hour went by. Another hour. Then the thought struck him. Perhaps, all this while, Harry had been sleeping peacefully in his bed upstairs. It was possible. Harry was lazy. It would be just like him to let his wife slave away while he slept. Slowly, step by creaking step, Rico climbed the staircase.

  Which door would he try first? He had heard the nanny retire to the room at the far end of the landing. The room at the other end would probably be another smaller bedroom. Either the barmaid’s or young Jack Brearley’s. He would try one of the middle doors.

  Quietly he turned the knob and pushed the door open. The hinges were well oiled, there was no sound. In the gloom, he could see that it was a parlour. He closed the door and proceeded to the next.

  As it swung open he could hear the hum of a ceiling fan. Yes, there was someone in this room. A four-poster bed covered with mosquito netting. A form sleeping. Perhaps two forms. It was impossible to tell in the darkness.

  Rico crept towards the bed and slowly lifted the fine netting. Behind him, a sound, a cry. He whirled about. In the far corner, more netting, another bed. He crossed to it and dragged aside the mesh. Two large cots, two babies, one of them now wide awake and starting to cry.

  ‘Leave my babies alone!’ The voice behind him was harsh. He turned. Maudie stood by the four-poster bed, her arms extended, holding a .455 Webley and Scott revolver in both hands.

  ‘Where is Harry Brearley?’ Rico didn’t care about the gun. He would take it from her. He would kill her if necessary; she was Harry Brearley’s woman, she would have been party to his treachery.

  ‘I said, leave my babies alone!’ Maudie’s voice was icy. ‘Get out! Now! Or I’ll shoot you dead, I swear I will.’

  The muzzle of the revolver was aimed directly at his head and her hands were steady.

  Rico started to walk towards her. ‘Where is Harry Brearley? I come to kill him.’

  One more step, Maudie thought, just one more step and she would have to shoot him.

  Then the two of them heard the downstairs door open. Rico moved with surprising agility. He was out on the landing in a matter of seconds and, seeing Harry in the lamplight below, he bellowed his triumph.

  Harry looked up in surprise at the beast hurtling down the stairs towards him; in the same instant, he heard Maudie yell, ‘Get out of the way, Harry!’ He dived to the floor as the gun exploded. The noise was deafening. Rico tumbled thunderously down the stairs. Harry rolled out of the way as the Italian’s unconscious body landed facedown beside him.

  ‘Good God, woman, what have you done?’ Harry sat up in a daze as Maudie ran down the stairs and inspected the body.

  ‘He’s alive,’ she said. ‘He’s been hit in the shoulder. Help me get him outside before he comes to his senses.’

  Doors opened on the landing above. A woman screamed.

  ‘Go back to bed, Betty!’ Maudie called out. ‘You too, Alice!’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Betty demanded hysterically.

  ‘I said go back to bed,’ Maudie ordered again. ‘Do as you’re told. Both of you.’

  Jack thundered out onto the landing, shocked from his sleep. ‘Dad! Maudie!’

  ‘Get Jack out of here!’ Maudie yelled and Alice bustled the boy away while Betty, the nanny, backed terrified into her room.

  ‘Now for God’s sake, Harry,’ Maudie urged, ‘help me get him outside.’ She rolled the Italian over. He was groaning, already regaining consciousness.

  ‘Jesus Christ! It’s Rico Gianni.’

  ‘Of course it’s Rico Gianni.’ She pushed the back door wide open and grasped one of Rico’s arms. ‘Get his other arm. He came to kill you.’

  Together they dragged Rico out into the yard. He was muttering in Italian and starting to sit up as Maudie urged Harry back inside. ‘Quick!’ she said, locking the door and pushing home the security bolt. ‘God knows what he’ll do. He’s a madman.’

  Several minutes later they heard Rico’s voice. Maniacal. ‘Come out, Harry Brearley!’ he bellowed. ‘Come out and die!’

  Several more minutes went by. Had he gone? Maudie wondered. Then a crash as windows shattered.

  ‘Harry!’ she hissed. ‘The doors to the main bar. The billiards room! Quick!’

  There was the sound of more breaking glass as Rico smashed the window clear and climbed inside.

  Maudie raced through the ladies’ lounge and locked the door to the main bar. In the billiards room, Harry bolted the door only just in time. From the other side, Rico smashed a chair against it. ‘Come out and die, Harry Brearley!’

  Maudie ran upstairs to tend to the twins, both of whom were now awake and crying, despite Betty’s efforts to calm them.

  She instructed Alice to stay in Jack’s room. ‘Just a customer who’s had too much to drink,’ she said reassuringly to the boy.

  ‘What about the gun?’ Jack was now wide awake and wanted to be part of the adventure.

  ‘It went off by accident,’ Maudie snapped. ‘Do as you’re told for once and stay here! Lock him up if you have to,’ she whispered to Alice. Then she went downstairs and stood watch with Harry.

  For ten minutes, Rico howled his rage. They could hear him, smashing everything he could lay his hands on. Then, suddenly, all was quiet.

  After his long night session at Hannan’s Club, Harry wasn’t thinking too clearly. He was unsure as to what action to take. But Maudie did the thinking for both of them.

  ‘We do nothing until the morning,’ she decided. ‘If he’s unconscious in the bar then let him bleed to death. If he’s hiding outside then wait until the daylight when you can see him. First thing in the morning you fetch the police, and you take the gun with you. Now go to bed, Harry,’ she said. ‘Sleep off some of that alcohol. You may need your wits about you in the morning.’

  HARRY WAS SOUND asleep when she woke him several hours later. It was seven o’clock. Cautiously, they opened one of the rear doors to the main bar. Chaos. Bottles and mirrors were smashed, chairs broken and tables overturned. But there was no sign of Rico.

  Half an hour later, Maudie watched carefully as Harry stepped out of the back door into the early morning sun. He had the gun in his hand. There was no one in sight. He fetched Black Bess from the stables and harnessed her to the trap. Then he put the gun on the seat beside him, flicked the reins and gave a wave. Maudie, satisfied, closed the back door and returned to
her babies.

  The trap rounded the rear of the hotel, Black Bess still at a walking pace, and made for Hannan Street. Harry leaned forward to flick the mare’s rump and give the familiar command, ‘Trot on, Bess’. But, as he did, a figure stepped out of the shadows and sprang onto the step on the driver’s side.

  Harry felt the trap dip, felt the extra weight of the man right beside him. His heart lurched and he reached for the gun. But a hand got there before him and his revolver was whisked from the seat to land in the dust as Black Bess walked on. Then he felt something hard dig into the back of his ribs. He froze.

  ‘You are going the wrong way, Harry,’ a voice said softly in his ear. ‘Move over.’ Harry did, and the man settled close beside him on the seat. ‘Turn the trap around.’

  Harry knew the voice. He was about to say something but the gun barrel dug harder into his ribs. ‘I said turn the trap!’

  When they had travelled several blocks away from Hannan Street and the main thoroughfare of the town, he was instructed to head north, and fifteen minutes later they were at the Clover. It was Sunday and the mine was deserted, no one within sight or sound for miles. Harry shifted nervously in his seat.

  ‘Get down,’ Giovanni ordered as he jumped from the trap and held firmly to Black Bess’s bridle.

  ‘What’s going on, Gee-Gee?’ Harry decided to bluff it out. ‘Why the melodrama? Good grief, man—’

  ‘You thought this was a gun, yes?’ Giovanni raised the short length of steel pipe which he had held to Harry’s back. ‘I do not own a gun, Harry. And my brother does not own a gun. Yet you shoot him.’

  There was no point in bluffing it out. And Harry knew it. The Italian was going to kill him, of that he was sure. ‘No, it wasn’t me, I didn’t shoot him. Maudie did.’ There was a flicker in Giovanni’s eyes and Harry suddenly saw his way out. ‘Good God, man, she was protecting herself and her babies. I wasn’t even there when he attacked her.’