Wont help you, Hardy, the bat man said. He was medium-sized, compact, a dangerous middleweight.
I glanced up the street. No help from that direction. The trees in the gardens of the big houses blocked any view of this spot.
I swung the pipe. I can put a dint in that toy of yours though, and in your fucking skull if you get close enough.
Tough talk.
Lets try it.
His jaws were moving rhythmically as he chewed gum. I dont think so.
He raised the bat and I reacted, tightening my grip on the pipe, but it was only a feint. He flicked the bat from one hand to another. I knew enough about this sort of thing not to watch, to look for something else, but I was too slow. I was aware of a sweeping movement to my left, a throw. I tried to duck but something heavy and hard caught me above the left ear and I went down in a heap. I kept my grip on the pipe though and when a leg came into my field of very blurred vision, I swung at it and felt a satisfying crunch.
You cunt!
A boot crashed into my elbow and the pipe was gone. The bat landed close to where the thrown object had and I felt sick in the head and stomach and legs. I could feel blood dripping down the side of my face.
Easy, a voice said.
I was face-down and going under and couldnt turn to look, but the kick to the ribs didnt seem to be in response to the command. Neither did the next kick on the other side or the next thump to the head. I had a sudden, irrational fear for my expensive dental work, but I neednt have worried. The next pain I felt was in my scalp. A hand was gripping my hair and lifting my head up. I smelt Juicy Fruit.
A taste, Hardy. Just a taste. Give it up!
I scarcely felt the next blow that blotted out all light and sound and feeling.
13
Sweat running into the corners of my eyes and stinging woke me up. I blinked and the stinging got worse, then receded. I was sitting in the passenger seat of my car outside my house. It was 8.33 on the car clock and dark. My head throbbed and I was soaked with sweat the way my diabetic mother sometimes got when she took too much insulin or didnt eat. I could remember her dress being wringing wet as we helped her out of a chair and my father took her into the bathroom. She smelt of gin or sherry or both and shed murmur about how sorry she was. I was sorry myself, but I was sober. The sweating was a reaction to what I was pretty sure was concussion.
My throat felt as dry and rough as a sheet of bark and I wanted water badly enough to make me consider moving. I turned my head slightly and the pain shifted around a bit but didnt get worse. I put my hands on the dashboard and my ribs on both sides screamed but no bones grated. I became aware that the steering lock was on and that my car keys were in my lap. I moved my feet and felt something on the floor. Slowly I reached down for it and the keys fell. I picked them up and scrabbled for whatever it was Id felt. My fingers touched the taped grip of the pipe and I lifted it. That was easy to do in the confined space because it had been bent into a rough circle. Nice touch.
Getting out of the car wasnt too hard. Standing up was harder but do-able. The first step felt like it does when youve been in bed for days with the flunot quite real, the ground spongy underfoot. I pushed off from the car and let the door swing closed. The sound it made bounced around inside my skull like a stone in a hubcap. I rested at the gate for a bit, then used the low brick fence to grope my way up the path to the front door. Drunk again, anyone watching might have said, but that would have been very unfair. I couldnt remember the last time booze had made me feel this bad. I made it inside, turning on lights and shutting my eyes against them, and back to the kitchen where I drank three big glasses of water, one after another.
I could feel dried blood in my hair and on my neck and I went into the bathroom to inspect the damage. The face I saw in the mirror was pale except where blood had dried in a smear all down the. left side. My left ear had felt odd the whole time and now I could see why. A gauze pad had been taped to it. I lifted the edges of the tape and tried to move the pad but it was glued on with blood which started to ooze out. Better left alone. I washed the blood from my face and used a soapy cloth to scrub it gently from my hair, being very gentle with the tender area above the ear. The effort made me dizzy and I sat down on the edge of the bath. I ran the water, stripped off my sweaty clothes and eased myself in. I had bruises up the ribs and a swelling on one elbow.
As the warm water soothed me I reflected on the experience. Ive had a few bashings in my time but this was the strangest. What kind of a strongarm man says Easy when hes hardly started and does running repairs after the damage? And drives you home? Considering the baseball bat and the blow Id landed with the pipe, Id clearly got off very lightly. The badly bruised ribs made getting out of the bath difficult. I resolved one thingI was going to carry the. 38 from now on. Fuck the tribunal.
After a bad night I creaked my way around to Ian Sangsters surgery and got him before he opened shop. Ian is an old friend and one of those doctors who smokes and drinks, eats old-fashioned Aussie tucker, stays up late and doesnt exercise. Hes showing the wear and tear now, but his view is that anything is better than Alzheimers and that his lifestyle is the sure preventative. When I arrived he was butting out probably his fifth cigarette and sipping his fourth cup of strong coffee.
Jesus Christ, he said. Its the St Johns Ambulance practice dummy.
Hah, hah. Take a look at me will you, Ian? And tell me Im going to live.
He lit another cigarette. Were none of us going to live, Cliff. I thought Id taught you that. What happened?
I shrugged and immediately wished I hadnt. Most things hurt. Baseball bat, boot, things like that.
He smelt bad but his touch was soft and soothing. He helped me off with my shirt and from somewhere produced a spirit-soaked cloth and sponged away the dressing on the ear. That needs a stitch or two, he said, but baseball bat and boot… Id say he wasnt trying.
They, Ian, they!
Oh, of course. Six was it, seven?
I winced as he swabbed the wound and started stitching. Threes usually enough. Was this time. I might have busted an ankle with a bit of lead pipe.
Hold still! Does doing that make you feel any better?
My oath it does.
They that live by the sword… Thats a bad knock above the ear, but luckily youve got a skull like a rock. It should go into a museum. Ill see to it if you like.
Fuck you. I can see and hear all right. Dyou reckon I had a concussion?
He disposed of his surgical gear and picked up the cigarette. After a deep drag he examined my eyes. In your case, hard to tell. Your brains banged against the cranial vault so often they mightve fused. Mild, Id say, at worst. Take a deep breath.
I sucked in wind and gasped at the sudden shaft of pain. Mmm, cracked probably, he said. Be a good idea to bind them up since I dont suppose youre planning to spend the next week taking it easy?
I have to work for a living. I cant just send in Medicare forms and lie back perving on nurses.
He ran about twenty metres of bandage around my trunk and taped it into place. There you go, Cliff. A few pain-killers which Ill prescribe and youre ready to commit more violence on your fellow citizens. Tell you one thing, though.
Whats that?
Youll have a bit of trouble fucking in the missionary position.
When I got home there was a message from Max Savages offsider to ring a.s.a.p.
Penny Draper.
Ms Draper, this is Cliff Hardy.
Oh, yes, Mr Hardy. Ill put Max on.
Cliff, Max. No point in all that polite stuff, Id just have to give the phone to Penny. Ive found Andrea Neville. I
