That Empty Feeling by Peter Corris

Author:Peter Corris
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2015-11-23T05:00:00+00:00

16

Busy day and not done yet. I didn’t know who Titch was but big, with a key and a port-wine birthmark had to be Des O’Malley. Barry had given me his direct line in the hospital and I rang it from a public phone.

‘Hardy, you bastard. You didn’t tell me Keith Mountjoy was dead.’

‘I was instructed not to upset you. Does it upset you, Barry?’

‘Yes and no. Shit, things are going to get out of hand while I’m stuck in here and they tell me I’ll have weeks of . . . what d’they call it?’

‘Convalescence.’

‘Yeah, fuck that. How are you going with finding my boy?’

Still not the time to tell him, I thought. ‘It looks as if Des had something to do with it.’

‘Des? I can’t believe it. He’s been with me for years.’

‘Et tu, Brute. I reckon he’s been a snake in the grass for years, too. Where does he live, Barry?’

‘He’s got a house across the street from me in Randwick. Number twelve. Little joint.’

‘Do you own it?’

‘No. Des came out of boxing with a bit of dough but not much. He bummed around for a while, doing odd jobs, security and that, until I took him on. I helped with the deposit on his house and I pay him enough for him to keep up with the mortgage. I can’t believe he . . .’

‘What does he do for you?’

Barry’s trust in me only went so far. ‘This and that,’ he said. ‘What’re you going to do?’

‘I’m not sure. I’m in the dark here, Barry. You know the cops’re keeping an eye on you and BBE.’

‘Have for years. I suppose you got that from your mate, Parker.’

‘No, from another source. And Sir Keith must’ve been involved in something big to finish the way he did. What is it? Can you tell me? I want to find Ronny for you but I’m stumbling around not knowing the big picture.’

I could imagine him chafing at the inactivity, confined to his hospital bed with tubes attached. Having been in that condition myself a few times I knew that nothing short of amputation can make you feel so helpless. The receiver was greasy and the phone box smelled of cigarette smoke.

‘It is big,’ Barry said at last. ‘Very big. It’s to do with petrol.’

One link forged perhaps: Mountjoy had been killed at a petrol station. ‘That could be federal,’ I said.

‘It is. I’m tired, Cliff. These drugs are rooting me. Just find Ronny and get him clear. Sky’s the limit, money-wise.’

He hung up and I got out of the foul box as quickly as I could. I couldn’t remember when I’d last eaten and I could feel my blood-sugar level was low. My totally irresponsible diabetic mother had forced me to be aware of such things. Low sugar equals slow thinking. I found a café in Oxford Street and ordered a BLT with chips. I stirred two spoonfuls of sugar into the coffee and closed my mind down while I ate and drank.

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