Peter Corris - O'Fear

‘A fine place,’ O’Fear said.

‘Where I grew up.’ I pointed to a kid on a surfboard, bobbing out beyond the breakers.

‘That’s me, thirty years ago, when I wasn’t delivering papers or cutting the grass or sneaking a smoke behind the dunny.’

‘I knew Barnes Todd longer than that,’ O’Fear said. ‘You knew we met in Korea?’

I nodded.

‘We stayed in touch, more or less. Two wild men, you know what I mean? Well, we’d have a few jars and a natter. Barnes got me out of several little bits of trouble from time to time, and I’d return the favour.’

‘How?’

‘There’s a deal of sabotage in truckin’. I cracked a few skulls when it got tried on.’

‘Did Barnes do any sabotaging of his own?’

‘By way of reprisal, yes.’

‘Shit.’ I watched the surfer get up gracefully as the wave took him. He powered along with it, sweeping across its face and turning sharply to get the force behind him for the run to the beach. ‘He could’ve had a hundred enemies.’

‘He could. But there was one in particular.’

I swivelled in my seat and looked at O’Fear. It was warm in the car and sweat was trickling from his hairline towards his eyebrows. Suddenly he was nervous. I looked around us; no other cars parked nearby and a clear view in all directions. ‘There’s no one around,’ I said. ‘You can talk.’

‘I was remembering the night,’ he said softly. ‘I have to admit I was scared, although devil a thing really happened.’

The dramatic tone irritated me. ‘If this is blarney, O’Fear, I’ll…’

‘This is straight goods! He had me driving around to all manner of places. I didn’t know where I was half the time. The whole of the bloody city we were covering.’

‘What was the purpose?’

‘I’m buggered if I know. He’d have me wait near the car while he sneaked off somewhere. He was taking photographs, that I know for sure. Had this bloody great camera around his neck.’

‘What sorts of places?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Don’t go coy on me.’

‘Be buggered. I was taking a drop or two at the time. From me flask. Well, it was all so bloody boring. I can drive like Stirling Moss no matter how pissed I get. I can drive all right, but I couldn’t always swear to where I am.’

‘You’re a disgrace. Go on.’

‘Well, he’d hop back into the car and give me a grin, and it’d be off to the next place. But one night it was different.’

‘When was this?’

He moved slightly, easing the wounded side. ‘I’m talking about the last time I saw him. Let’s see, that was about two weeks before he died, or a bit less. I’m not certain. I don’t keep a bloody diary, you know.’

‘When did you go inside?’

‘A couple of days after the night I’m talking about. I was bashed, of course, and I’ve had a lot on me mind. You’ll have to understand if I’m a. bit muzzy on the details.’

I took out my notebook. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll pull you up if you get too vague. Go on.’

‘This place I’m talking about. It was big, I know that, because he had me drive around the area a few times. Around the streets. I only caught a glimpse of the place itself. Look, I’ll admit I’m confused. I don’t where the bloody hell it was.’

It was rare for O’Fear to admit that he didn’t know something. A sign of truth? ‘Get on with it,’ I said.

‘Barnes was being extra cautious. He was dressed like a burglar, soft-soled shoes an’ all. And he had a gun as well as his camera. I didn’t like it. I tried to persuade him to take me along, but he laughed at me. Would you believe it? He had a thermos of coffee with him. Told me to drink it and sober up.’

‘Did you?’

‘I drank it, but I spiked it from the flask.’

‘You must have some idea of where you were?’

‘Oh, sure. Between the bloody Blue Mountains and the sea.’ Either the calming effect of the alcohol was wearing off or the memory he was about to dredge up was difficult for him. He looked at me testily. ‘D’you want to hear this or not?’

I nodded.

Sweat was standing out on his forehead. I got some tissues from the glovebox and he dabbed at his face. ‘Thanks. Barnes was away longer than usual. M’ nerves were on edge what with one thing and another. He came running back-first time I’d seen that. He had this bundle with him.’

‘What sort of bundle?’

‘One of those big plastic garbage bags. He shoved it in the back seat and told me to get moving as quick as I could. I did it, too.’

‘Hang on. This bundle-heavy or light?’

‘Pretty heavy. He had to lift it, like.’

‘Did it make a noise?’

He strained to remember, failed and became angry. ‘What is this? The bloody secret sound?’

‘All right. Then what happened?’

‘I drove off but I was pissed. After a bit Barnes drove. I went to sleep in the car and woke up when we got back to his place in Botany. He paid me, called a taxi and I went home.’

‘You don’t know what happened to the bag?’

He shook his head. ‘I let him down. I swore I never would again, but I never got another chance.’ He looked at me; sweat had plastered the red hair to his scalp and his collar was a rag. Anyone else in that condition might look defeated, but O’Fear looked ready to start a fight. ‘I’d like to help now, and that’s not the booze or anything else talking.’

‘I don’t quite understand why this rocked you so much, O’Fear. I mean, it sounds a bit toey, and you were pissed, but…’

‘I’ll tell you. It wasn’t any of that rattled me. I’ve done more than my share of scary things at night. It was this-Barnes Todd was scared that night. Did you ever see him scared?’

I found it hard to even imagine. ‘No.’

‘Nor me. I saw him in Korea, remember. Bloody millions of Chinks around all tryin’ to kill us, and it was like a day at the races to him. It was him being afraid that scared me.’

I had been making notes, preparing to haul O’Fear back from fantasy or evasion, but his account was coherent enough. ‘How many places did you go to that night?’

‘Two or three.’

‘What was the usual number?’

‘It varied. Sometimes only a few, sometimes a hell of a lot.’

‘Did Barnes have a list or a chart of some kind?’

He considered the question and I was convinced that he was making a genuine effort at recall. Eventually he shook his head and then tapped his temple. ‘No. He had it all inside.’

I looked at my notes and wondered what to make of O’Fear’s story. Nothing came.

‘He must’ve had some name for what you were doing. What did he call this midnight rambling?’

‘Reconnaissance.’

The surfer I had watched before was back out in the deep water again. The wave rose and he was up, balanced and forceful; crouched, driving the board, he resembled a powerful machine, perfectly designed for the job it was doing. ‘What sort of car did you drive on these reccies?’ I asked.

‘A Ford Laser. Barnes had a small fleet of them at Botany.’

‘Mulholland, you black bastard.’ O’Fear and Bob Mulholland shaped up and exchanged mock punches. O’Fear’s left jab was just a sketch, and he kept his damaged side protected.

‘You didn’t tell me you knew this lunatic, Cliff,’ Mulholland said.

‘I was trying to forget it. I’ve just bailed him out of gaol.’

‘That’s right! Tell the world me life story.’

‘Calm down, O’Fear.’ Mulholland prodded O’Fear’s belly. ‘Prison’s done you good.’

‘Prison never did anyone any good,’ O’Fear growled. ‘You remember when I was drivin’ for Barnes?’

Mulholland nodded. ‘I remember the dings you put in the cars.’ He stopped when he saw me looking at Anna Carboni’s empty chair with the dead screen in front of it. ‘Oh, Cliff, I left a message on your machine. Anna’s been sick for a couple of days. You’ll have to wait for that work.’