Get Rich Quick by Peter Doyle

Author:Peter Doyle
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781891241888
Publisher: Verse Chorus Press

Del went in to work at Repat on Monday morning. Max rang his mum back at the flats and told her he was all right. He got a call from Andrew mid-morning and went off to meet him. I spent the day reading the papers. There were no music or sports mags at the hideout, nor any westerns or detective stories, so I sat around smoking and reading old copies of the Tribune.

Late in the afternoon, Max rang to say they had a plan. He couldn’t talk about it over the blower, so he gave me an address in Riley Street, Surry Hills, and told me to come over straight away.

The address was a terrace house up near the new Housing Commission flats. I found three comrades there, along with Max and Andrew. The three were serious-minded chaps. They were curt, gee’d up.

First off, they had me dictate as much as I could of the talk I’d heard at the Metropole. I remembered quite a lot of it, to their surprise. They had me describe who was there. I gave a physical description of Shoebridge and then the Colonel, and the comrades nodded to each other, pleased.

Then I described the Yanks, told about recognizing the photograph of J. Edgar Hoover as the fellow I’d seen in the wings at the hotel room. One of the comrades took it all down as I spoke. Then they had me sign the statement, and one of them witnessed it and signed it as well, signing himself “Justice of the Peace,” which struck me as funny, as we were already so deeply into illegal goings-on. The comrades didn’t see it that way.

Then I rang the number Shoebridge had left, and this time got another person on the phone. I asked for Shoebridge, he said who was calling, I said don’t give me the shits, he said he’d hang up if I didn’t identify myself. I’d read that they could trace phone calls right to the phone you were ringing from, but it took time, so I figured maybe the guy was just stringing me along. I told the bloke I’d ring back in five minutes, that if Shoebridge didn’t answer I’d hang up again.

When I rang back, Shoebridge answered on the second ring.

“So, Bill, things have got rather out of hand.”

“Listen, silver-tongue, pay attention. Call the Balts off, we haven’t got the money anymore, it was stolen from us. We all lose. Bad luck. Next, go to Surry Hills post office. There’s a letter for you at the counter. It’s a copy of a statutory declaration exposing the presence of J. Edgar-fucking-Hoover in Sydney, and the covert activities of the Congress for Cultural Freedom, and the collusion of the Security Service. If I ever see you again, copies go to the Sydney Morning Herald, the Age, and the Tribune, who’d just love to run the story. If I disappear, or anything happens to my friends, same deal.”

“I thought you said you were apolitical.”

“I got politicized.

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