Peter Corris - Comeback

‘Yeah. You play?’

‘No.’

‘It gets to some blokes. Doesn’t seem to happen to the women, but. Happens when blokes can’t play as well as they think they should. We all feel like that really, but some people just can’t cope with it.’

I nodded. ‘I believe he was seeing a therapist to help with that.’

He laughed. ‘I wouldn’t call him a therapist. Calls himself an anger management consultant. I put Bobby on to him.’

‘I’d like to talk to him. Can you give me his name?’

‘Do better than that.’ He rummaged under the counter and came up with a box of business cards. He flicked through and selected one. ‘Here you go.’

The card read: Barrie Monkhurst, Anger Management Consultant. Control your anger, improve your life . It carried an address in Kogarah and a mobile phone number. I reached for my notebook and pen. Monkhurst, I thought. Chloe’s name. Not a common one. A coincidence or were connections starting?

‘You can keep the card, mate. I’ve got a few of them. Planning to see Barrie?’

‘Yes, what can you tell me about him?’

‘Well, he used to be a tour player but he wasn’t quite good enough. Had a few pro jobs around the place but they never seemed to work out.’

‘Why not?’

He laughed. ‘Anger, why else? Barrie tells me he did a course in anger management that helped him and so now he helps others. Charges ’em pretty steep, but I reckoned Bobby could afford it.’

‘Did it help Bobby?’

He shrugged. ‘His handicap didn’t come down.’

That’s the trouble with golfers-they only have one way of measuring things. ‘I meant did it help him with his temper?’

‘Dunno. Didn’t hear any complaints about him and our members are right down on that sort of stuff. One thrown club can bring on a suspension.’

My lawyer Viv Garner was a keen golfer who played to a low handicap in club competition until heart trouble reduced him to playing socially and using a cart, all of which he resented. I knew he kept up a keen interest in the sport. I rang him and asked if he’d ever heard of Barrie Monkhurst.

‘Heard of him? I acted for him.’

‘What was the charge?’

‘Insurance fraud leading to assault. He was a pro at a golf club. He’d cooked the books to claim insurance money. When the assessor picked the dodge up Monkhurst bashed him. Put him in hospital.’

‘What happened?’

‘I got him a good barrister and he went to work. No one likes insurance companies and he got some juice out of that. He argued Monkhurst had anger management issues and was receiving counselling for it. A sympathetic magistrate let him off with a fairly hefty restitution order and a suspended sentence. He lost the job, of course, and they took that into consideration. But I’d be surprised if he ever made the restitution in full.’

‘Why?’

‘Monkhurst hired a member of my profession who’s notorious for delaying settlements and restitution payments. He strings things out until all the other parties lose interest or settle for token amounts. He’s a genius at it.’

‘I’m shocked.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘Did Monkhurst pay you?’

‘After a time. I’m a persistent bugger and I had a good collector.’

‘When was this?’

‘Ten years ago. About then. Monkhurst’s a dodgy character. I hope you’re not relying on him for anything.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Good, because I can tell you that whatever he’s doing now it won’t be on the up and up.’

From the sound of things, it was smart to play it cagey with Monkhurst. I rang him.

‘This is Barrie.’

‘Mr Monkhurst, I’ve been referred to you by the pro at Anzac Park.’

‘Steve, okay. Are you a golfer?’

‘No. I was referred to Steve by someone else.’

‘I get it. You have a problem with anger, ah, what’s your name?’

‘Cliff.’

‘Problem with anger, Cliff?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Is it to do with a sport or more generally?’

‘Bit of both really.’

‘Explain.’

‘I do my block at squash sometimes and I experience road rage.’

‘That’s serious. That can get you into real trouble.’

‘It already has.’

‘I’m sure I can help you. I charge a hundred and twenty dollars for the initial consultation and there’s a sliding scale of fees after that depending on how we attack the problem. You’ll notice I say attack. That’s an aggressive word. Does it surprise you that I use an aggressive word like that?’

‘Um, well, yeah, a bit.’

‘Don’t let it worry you. Anger has to be beaten.’

‘Right. The fees don’t bother me.’

‘What I like to hear. You know there’s no Medicare rebate or anything like that?’

‘I’m not worried. If I don’t do something about this, my life’s going down the toilet.’

‘Can’t let that happen, Cliff. When can you come and see me?’

‘What’s wrong with now?’

He laughed. ‘That eager? All right, say in ninety minutes. I suppose Steve gave you my card so you know where I am.’

‘Yeah, Kogarah. Ninety minutes is fine. Cash?’

‘You bet. I’ll be very angry if you haven’t got it. That’s a joke, Cliff.’

I laughed politely.

All I knew about Kogarah was that Clive James used to live there and run his billy cart down a hill. My business had never taken me there before and the closest I’d been was to Brighton-le-Sands to the east. Monkhurst’s street ran parallel to the railway line and the house was closer to the tracks than I’d have wanted. Train noise in the middle distance is okay but you don’t want it drowning out the television. The house was a cream-brick semi, neither shabby nor well looked after; the gate hinges needed oiling and the weeds were winning a battle against the grass.

I’d rehearsed my story. The only way to deal with a con man is to con him. I used the door knocker, hitting harder than I needed to. I heard footsteps inside and the door was opened by a man wearing a tracksuit and carrying a can of beer in his left hand.

He said, ‘Cliff?’

I said, ‘Right. Barrie?’

‘That’s me, come on in and have a beer. I hope you drink beer.’

We shook hands. He had big, golfer’s hands, very strong.

‘I drink some beers,’ I said. ‘Not all.’

‘I’ve got Toohey’s Old.’

‘That’ll do.’

I followed him down a narrow passage past a couple of rooms, through an eat-in kitchen and out to a built-in sunroom at the back. Sea grass matting, cane furniture. The yard beyond it was completely concreted with a Hill’s hoist sitting in the middle. Monkhurst had taken a can of beer from the fridge as we went through the kitchen, and now he threw it to me in a hard, underarm toss. I caught it, just. It jarred my hand and I glared at him.

‘You’ve got the look all right. Sit down, let’s have a chinwag.’

He was about fifty, middle-size, not fat but getting there with flesh under his chin and soft bulk to his upper body. I sat, opened the can, took a swig and pulled out my wallet. I put a hundred and twenty dollars of Ray Frost’s money on the table beside my chair.

He touched his eyebrows. ‘You’ve done some boxing.’

I nodded. ‘Amateur.’

He drank some beer. ‘Ex-cop?’

‘No. .’

‘Ex-something.’

‘Army.’

‘You don’t say much.’

‘I thought I was here to listen.’

‘Right. Listen and learn. I used to be like you. Thought I was a hard case with the world against me.’

‘Maybe it was.’

He shook his head. ‘No, I was wrong. The world doesn’t give a fuck, one way or the other. Understand that and you’ve made a start.’