dragged me. I felt as if I was swimming while standing upright. I don’t know how far it was to the car, probably not far, but it felt like five miles. I knew it couldn’t be because the island was only one mile across. I didn’t care, it still felt like five. Sitting in the car felt good. I was in the back with my two friends beside me-soft seat, back rest; when the car got going I buckled in the middle and vomited on the floor between my legs.
The one on my right said, ‘You animal!’ and belted me across the face. The damaged eye took some of the force of the blow and I yelled with the pain.
‘Next time swallow it,’ he said.
‘I’ll make you eat it if I get the chance,’ I said.
‘You won’t, Hardy.’
That gave me two things to ponder-they knew my name and they were going to ‘do’ something with me. I concentrated on getting my breath back and my right eye open on the short drive. I succeeded with the first but not with the second. The flesh around the eye was puffy and swollen and I felt as if I’d lost muscle control in that part of my face. The shoulder hurt too; it was dislocated or nearly so. I was in poor shape for running away or fighting or doing anything but talking. I was so worried about the eye that I couldn’t think of anything to say. Then I stopped worrying about the eye; dead is dead, one eye or two. I had to talk.
The car stopped at the jetty. We sat awhile for my companions to make sure the coast was clear. Then the boss snapped his fingers. ‘Harry,’ he said. ‘Take his boat.’
‘I’ll lose my deposit.”
‘Shut up!’”
Harry, who hadn’t spoken yet, said ‘Right.’ He got out of the car and vanished. The boss and the other man manhandled me along the jetty and down a set of steps into a boat-a speedboat with sleek lines and an enclosed cabin in front. They switched on lights, started the engines and took her expertly out into the channel. I heard a Johnson engine kick a couple of times before it started. My boat. There was no-one around to yell to. I couldn’t have made it over the side and I doubted I could swim with the damaged shoulder anyway. Talk, Hardy, I thought. Talk!
‘Tell me what’s going on,’ I said.
No reply.
Were they going to drop me in the water? I felt the fear stir inside me and looked around for the right stuff-wire, cement blocks, bed frames, but there was nothing like that.
My voice sounded as if it was coming from underwater already. ‘Who’s behind this?’ I said. ‘Darcy?’
The boss was sitting opposite me with his coat hitched up over his knees. He was a tall, thin character with a grooved, sharp-boned face. The grooves looked as if they were cutting their way through to the bones.
‘In a way,’ he said. ‘Any problems. Rolf?’
The man at the wheel lit a cigarette. ‘No,’ he said.
Not a gabby pair.
‘D’you want a cigarette, Hardy?’ the boss said.
I shook my head which hurt. ‘Bad for the health,’ I said, ‘but probably not as bad as meeting up with you guys.’
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘You’re in a bad way. Eye looks terrible.’
Then he shut up and looked out across the water. I was puzzled by them; they didn’t act like hoods but then, hoods aren’t always acting like hoods these days. The boss had a kind of hard-bitten dignity and Rolf was cool and relaxed at the wheel as if what he was doing was perfectly legitimate. Cops? I wondered and the thought gave me no comfort.
‘Where’re we going?’ I said.
‘You’re Sydney born and bred, aren’t you, Hardy? You should know. Have a look.’
I swivelled around on the hard seat painfully and tried to get my bearings. The sky was dark now, but the moon was up and there were lights dotted here and there all around. Shetland Island lay to the east and we were heading towards a dark coastline.
‘National Park,’ I said.
‘You sound relieved.’
‘I thought this might be a burial at sea without the flag and the gun salute.’
He gave a short, barking laugh. ‘You’re a romantic, Hardy. Forget about Davey Jones’ locker. Haven’t you heard of the shallow grave in Kuringai Chase?’
‘Yeah, I’ve heard of it. I wouldn’t call that method reliable.’
‘No? That’s interesting.’
‘Getting close,’ Rolf said.
We entered a bay that seemed to taper in to a stream that disappeared into darkness. Before we reached the mouth of the stream Rolf cut the motor and the boat drifted in the current.
‘Dinghy, Hardy,’ the boss said.
‘Jesus. Why don’t you just shoot me now and drop me over?’
‘Too easy. Come on.’
We stood at the stern and watched a rowboat approach us.
‘Williamson?’ The whisper came from the boat, only just audible over the plopping oars.
‘Yes. You’re taking two. Okay?’
‘ ‘kay. Here we are. Steady…’
Williamson swung his long legs over the side and lowered himself into the boat. I moved awkwardly and Rolf helped me roughly to do the same. I squatted in the boat; my shoulder was on fire and my eye throbbed and gave me stabs of pain at the smallest movement. It was hard to hold my head steady in the moving boat and I eventually used both hands to help me do it.
The boatman pulled hard against the last of a running tide and we moved steadily up the stream. It was wider in some spots than others; branches from the trees hung over the water and a couple of times Williamson told me to duck. I did so and groaned at the pain. After about ten minutes of rowing we ran ashore on a narrow, sandy beach. The boatman heaved the vessel far enough up to allow himself and Williamson to jump onto dry sand. I couldn’t jump.
‘Get your feet wet, Hardy,’ Williamson said. ‘It’s part of the treatment.’
I didn’t know what to make of that but I eased gingerly over the side and waded to land through a few inches of water.
‘What now?’ I said.
‘Short walk. You can wait here,’ he said to the boatman. ‘I can handle this.’ He produced a torch from his coat pocket and took out his gun almost as an afterthought. He was cool and confident which made everything feel very much worse. He pushed my damaged shoulder and I yelled.
‘Sorry. That way.’ He flashed the torch beam at the scrub. I could just see a break in it. My vision was good in the open eye but it’s hard to gauge distance and levels with only one eye. I stumbled a lot as I walked which hurt the eye and shoulder. My feet, sloshing about in wet shoes and socks, were cold. Once or twice Williamson jabbed me with his gun but he was a pro. He moved around from side to side and dropped back sometimes so that I never really knew where he was-not that I could have done anything about it anyway.
We came out of the scrub into a sandy hollow, like the space between two big sand dunes. The grass was thick over the area. Two men stood to one side, just out of the scrub. One held a hurricane lantern and I could see a rake and a broom on the ground beside him. I shivered and stopped. Williamson moved around and stood beside me. He extended the hand that held the torch. ‘I want you to look very carefully to where this is shining, Hardy. What do you see?’
I stared through the darkness trying to keep my restricted vision inside the area lit by the torch. The eye watered and I rubbed it. ‘Nothing,’ I said.
He moved the torch. ‘There. Can’t you see anything?’
I could. Just discernible were two long, narrow disturbances of the earth. The grass had partially grown over them but you could see the slight rise of the ground, like long lumps, the slight shadow.
‘What is it?’ I said.
I felt Williamson’s gun muzzle touch the back of my neck. It rested there lightly. It was cold and I could smell the faint tang of gun oil.
