seem to convey anything, but she looked satisfied.
‘You’re responding well. Do you feel up to answering a few questions from Mr Barnes?’
‘If he’ll answer a few from me.’
She didn’t like that much but she let it pass and went off to be bossy somewhere else. Mr Barnes drew up a chair, checked his watch, clicked a pen and held it over his clipboard.
‘I have to decide whether or not to report the assault you obviously suffered to the police.’
‘You won’t believe an accident?’
‘Certainly not. But Dr Sangster has prevailed upon me to talk to you first.’
It transpired that they’d gone through my wallet when they collected me and found the card that tells anyone finding me in distress to contact Dr Ian Sangster. Ian had come himself and okayed a surgeon to do the wiring and strapping. He’d advised them not to contact the police without talking to me first. Ian can be very persuasive when he tries.
‘We saw your investigator’s licence,’ Barnes said. ‘And assumed this has something to do with your profession.’
‘Something,’ I said. ‘I would prefer you don’t tell the police. I need to pursue this in my own way.’
‘Very well. Not for a while, I’m afraid. You’ve been quite badly hurt.’
‘I’m grateful for the attention I’ve had. I guess they found my health insurance card, too?’
Barnes scribbled a few words and smiled.
‘You’re fully covered. I’ll hand you back to Matron.’
‘I’d prefer the Asian nurse.’
‘That was hours ago. She’s gone off duty.’
‘Can you tell me where my car is?’
‘It’s in the hospital grounds, locked up and safe. Do you want something from it?’
I doubted that they’d let me have the beer and I hoped I wouldn’t need the cosh or the gun. ‘No, I just wondered. Will you charge me for parking?’
‘You really shouldn’t talk so much, Mr Hardy. It can’t be easy. I just have a few things here for you to sign.’
I signed and he went away. The Matron came back and asked me if I was in pain. I was and told her so.
‘I’m not surprised. You have a wire connecting the hinge of your jaw to the bone. You should by rights be wearing a neck brace, but Dr Sangster said you would refuse.’
‘He was right.’
‘Pills in an hour,’ she said.
‘I’d like something to read then, to take my mind off the agony.’
A nurse came in with the day’s paper and a couple of magazines. There was nothing new: unemployment wouldn’t go down, Australian tennis players still weren’t making it past the semifinals and the cure for cancer was just around the corner. The magazines were full of gossipy stories about models, rock singers and film stars I’d never heard of. The pills arrived with some churned-up muck they told me would be good for me. I felt like a steak and chips and said so. The nurse laughed. I took the pills, swallowed as much of the muck as I could and went back to sleep.
The next day I phoned Wesley and he visited and told me I was an idiot for getting so close to such a dangerous man. I concurred. Mandy was on the improve from a pinched nerve and a consequent panic attack. We agreed to take the matter further when I’d recovered. He smuggled in a flask of Scotch which I drank with water, incurring the wrath of the Matron when a nurse found the bottle.
I phoned Clive, the taxi driver, and told him where I was. He said he’d watch the house and collect the mail, again. He visited a few hours later, saying he’d had a fare in the area but I suspected he was just showing how much he liked me. The Matron and I were now enemies after my infringement. She wore a cross around her neck. I didn’t notice this until she asked me if I’d like to see the chaplain.
‘Not only do I not want to see him,’ I said, ‘if he puts a foot inside this door I’ll sue the hospital for violating my religious faith.’
Despite herself, she was intrigued. ‘And what faith is that?’
‘Absolutely none,’ I said.
Ian Sangster turned up very early the next morning, reeking of tobacco and the three cups of strong black coffee he uses to start his motor. He inspected his colleague’s handiwork and nodded with satisfaction.
‘Not bad,’ he said, ‘for a young feller. Thank you, Clifford, for giving a tyro a chance to improve on his skills.’
‘Fuck you. When can I get all this junk off my face and live a normal life?’
‘When did you ever lead a normal life? You’d die of boredom after a week of it. You were really pretty lucky, especially with the vertebrae. Oh, I’d say, you could take solids in a couple of weeks. Tough guy like you won’t worry about a few cracked ribs, eh? You can walk about a bit this arvo if you feel up to it. I’ll prescribe some steroids to help with the mending process.’
‘What?’
He explained that steroids had a legitimate role in helping tissue and bones to heal, especially after surgery, as long as the doses were correct and the medication properly produced. I asked him what he thought about athletes using black-market steroids.
‘Fine, if you don’t mind your balls shrinking and your hair falling out. Don’t worry, mate, this stuff won’t compromise your manhood.’
‘What about women using them?’
He shook his head, felt for a cigarette and remembered where he was. ‘More delicate hormonal balance. Women do actually produce some testosterone, but stick in some more, especially the sort of adulterated crap you’re talking about, and you’re just asking for trouble.’
Ian had brought in a couple of novels but my ribs were so sore and my neck so stiff that I found it hard to get into a reading position. So I lay there and thought. Not to a lot of purpose. As usual, more questions than answers. It must have been Bindi who drove me to the hospital. Why? And one thing was for sure; Stan Morris’ very accomplished smoko brawler Albie wasn’t on steroids. What did that mean?
The Asian nurse whose name I’d found out was Rose put her head around the door. ‘Are you up to another visitor, Mr Hardy?’
‘Male or female?’
‘Very male.’
‘Show him in.’
The door closed then opened and a big body filled the space. I blinked in surprise as he strode towards the bed, dreadlocks swinging. Bindi.
20
Reacting slowly, I fumbled for the buzzer. He was too quick for me and his big hand closed on it before I could find it. I was scared. He was large and powerful and disposed to violence and I was incapacitated.
He moved the buzzer away and released it. ‘I guess you don’t recognise me, Mr Hardy.’
I tried to get some volume in my voice but it still came out thin and strained. ‘Your name’s Bindi and you worked me over a couple of nights ago. What the hell are you doing here? Come to finish the job?’
He shook his head slowly and the dreadlocks danced. When he spoke there was no trace, of the gruff Aboriginal tone. ‘I’m Clinton Scott.’
My jaw would have dropped if it hadn’t been wired up. I stared at him. He was clean-shaven now, unlike the other night when he’d had thick stubble. His breath was clean and he’d washed. I tried to imagine him without the flattened nose, chipped teeth, a couple missing, and battered mouth. There was a scar running down the side of his face and he carried an extra twenty kilos. I could almost do it. The fat distorted his features and the belly widened and shortened him. It was difficult to see him as the whip-like young man in the football jumper, but still…
