growth-hormones look.
I put my face close to his. ‘Stanley, you’re not listening. The photographs aren’t just old photos. You’re trying to sell sacred objects. They’re worth more than your life. Much more. The people who’ll kill you don’t give a shit about life sentences. They could depart any second. You with me?’
Stan pulled back, still beaming like Mr Pickwick, Mr Pickwick turned compassionate outreach worker. ‘Jack,’ he said. The one word had an understanding and non-judgmental tone. ‘Jack, excuse me, you’re a nice bloke but you don’t understand the dynamics of change. Don’t mean to offend, you’re gettin a bit like the old farts. Livin in the past.’
He examined me benignly. ‘Not just the photos, Jack. The party don’t just want the photos. Thought you’d grasped that.’
I took a big drink of beer. ‘Tell me, Stan. Slowly.’
‘Want the freehold. Melbourne HQ of the Brisbane Lions. New name. Listen to this. The Lions’ Lair.’
‘Inspired.’ I drank more beer.
He gave me an encouraging look, the look Harry Strang had given McCurdie when the rustic trainer managed to pour his own tea.
‘My suggestion that,’ said Stan. ‘Shoulda seen the bloke’s face light up. Marketing magic. Total synergistic marketing. These kids can’t see the big picture. Takes years of interface with actual point-of-sale.’
‘Actual point-of-sale? Is that the same as pulling beer? Beer that tastes of soap.’
He ignored the question. ‘Me in charge, naturally. Pokies. Bistro. Big screen. Knock all the walls out down here. Arches. Then there’s the upstairs. Guess.’
‘Too hard. Haven’t had enough years of interface.’
‘Consider this. Two loft-style serviced apartments upstairs. How’s that for out-of-the-square thinking?’
I gave him the cross-examination stare. ‘Not so much out of the square, Stan,’ I said, ‘as out of your cotton- picking mind. Goodnight.’
I drained the glass, no heart for this discussion. Any discussion. Goodnight all. Went home.
Home felt a bit more homely when I’d cleaned out the grate and made a fire. I cheered up, put on music, Clementine Liprandi, voice like a faraway trumpet. In the freezer, four small Italian beef sausages from Smith Street’s finest butcher were huddled in an ice cave, joined like Siamese quads. Into the microwave to defrost. Sausages and mash. Potatoes in the basket, still firm of body. I peeled, quartered, immersed, went out to the car to get the case of Heathcote shiraz from the boot. Rain hung in the air, was the air, dampened the honking, humming, wailing night sounds of the city.
Glass in hand, I pressed for the messages. Rosa. Drew, missed by minutes. No Linda.
No Linda.
That’s the way it’s gonna be, liddle darlin, I said to myself, put on the television for the news. A female reporter with a startled look took us through a small hostage drama in North Balwyn. Generally, the police, endowed with a strong sense of theatre, like to shoot someone to end a hostage drama. However, the protagonist wimped out and was led away, alive, unperforated. On to a bus crash in Queensland, very few dead, allegations of sexual misconduct against two army officers, calls for the resignation of a football administrator, a hostile reception for the Prime Minister at a welfare conference.
I missed the sport while I was mashing. When I got back, ‘The 7.30 Report’ was on and Dermott O’Sullivan was interrogating the Federal Treasurer, David Maclay. The subject was Money, Power and Politics.
O’Sullivan: So Mr Maclay there’s no unhappiness in the party about the influence of people who hold no elected office?
Maclay: Absolutely not. Dermott, we’re a party of consultation and consensus. We listen to all our members and supporters. And we listen to all the voters of Australia. Always have, always will.
O’Sullivan: But some people get listened to more than others.
Maclay, shaking his head in sad disbelief: Dermott, seriously. Of course some opinions carry more weight than others! I don’t ask people in the supermarket queue how to manage interest rates. Does the ABC choose the people on its opinion programs at random from the phone book?
O’Sullivan, tilt of head, smile: And I’m sure you’re in the supermarket queue on a daily basis, Minister. But my point is that people in the party, elected people, have expressed concern that some unelected individuals seem to command huge power.
Maclay: Dermott, I’m really disappointed in you. Why don’t you just come out with it? If you want to play Follow-My-Leader, at least try to be the leader. You owe the idea that a great Australian achiever, and I’m referring to Steven Levesque, has some undue influence on government to your ill-informed commercial media colleague Ms Linda Hillier. People expect more from the ABC, Dermott.
Was there no escape from Steven Levesque? First Linda and now Dermott.
Maclay carried on: In my twenty-odd years in politics, Dermott, I’ve never heard of or felt the influence of Steven Levesque. If you know something I don’t know, please tell me.
O’Sullivan smiled, his wry smile this time: His companies are among the biggest donors to your party in all States, his former partner is the Attorney-General, the Premier of Victoria is said not to choose a tie without consulting him. And you know nothing of his influence, Mr Maclay?
Maclay: Dermott, whether you give the party five bob or fifty thousand dollars, you buy exactly the same amount of influence. Nil.
O’Sullivan: So the fact that Fincham Air last year won the coastal surveillance contracts for Northern Queensland and the Northern Territory owes nothing to Mr Levesque’s relationship with your party?
Maclay, frowning: What are you getting at, Dermott?
O’Sullivan: Fincham Air is partly owned by a company called CrossTrice Holdings. And one of CrossTrice’s directors is Lionel Carson, formerly a partner of Mr Levesque’s in TransQuik Australia.
Maclay: So?
O’Sullivan: CrossTrice also owns a quarter of Consolidated Freight Holdings, TransQuik Australia’s owner.
Maclay: You’re being irresponsible, Dermott. And silly. My understanding is that Steven Levesque no longer has any active involvement with CFH or TransQuik Australia. But even if he did, what has he to do with Fincham Air winning a government contract?
O’Sullivan assumed the look of a person holding four kings.
Are you aware, Minister, that a Brisbane newspaper will tomorrow publish a story saying that a former employee of Fincham says she saw photocopies of the other tenders for the contract before Fincham submitted its bid? And that she heard an executive of the company say, ‘Steven says increase the flight frequency and go in a million under CattonAir.’ She says she understood ‘Steven’ to refer to Steven Levesque.
Maclay’s expression was bland, the look of a person who has dealt himself four aces.
I think you’ll find, Dermott, that the newspaper will not be publishing that allegation tomorrow. I understand the person concerned now says she was misrepresented and the journalist involved has apologised to Fincham. But I don’t want to be drawn into this sort of nonsense. And, Dermott, for your own legal wellbeing, I don’t think you want to propagate defamatory material of this kind.
The ambush had failed: blanks in the magazine. O’Sullivan was unnerved by Maclay’s display of superior knowledge and the interview fizzled out.
I found Barry’s slip of paper, picked up the phone and dialled inquiries. ‘Canberra,’ I said. ‘A Dean Canetti. I don’t have a home address.’
A woman answered the phone, tired voice, young children in the background.
‘Is that the home of Dean Canetti of MarketAsia Consultants?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is Mr Canetti available?’
Silence. In the background, a girl shrieked, ‘Mum, she’s pushing me again.’
‘No,’ said the woman.
22
