tattoo parlour a No Smoking zone on a trial basis. He looked at the car which has replaced a 1965 model, same colour, fewer miles, less rust.
‘Looks great, Cliff,’ he said. ‘Just like you’d be with a facelift.’
‘Are you thinking of going into that business?’ I asked him. ‘It’s only a sort of sideways move.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘The first’d be the toughest. You volunteering?’
Greenway was standing by, not paying any attention. I unlocked the passenger door and opened it for him. He got in slowly and gracefully. Primo stared. ‘Who is he?’ he whispered. ‘A doctor?’
I winked at him. ‘The Pope’s grandson. Keep it under your hat.’
It was the last week in March. Daylight saving was a recent memory and the sun was still high in the late afternoon and a problem as I was driving into it. I asked Greenway to get my sunglasses out of the glove box.
‘You should have better ones than these,’ he said. ‘These are shit.’
‘I lose ‘em; leave ‘em places. Makes no sense to buy good ones. Aren’t you hot? Take your jacket off.’
I was in shirt sleeves, light cotton trousers and Chinese kung fu shoes; behind the windscreen it was like a greenhouse as we drove into the sun. I was sweating freely.
‘I don’t feel the heat or the cold. Not since the treatment.’ I glanced at him; sweat was running down the side of his face and wilting his shirt collar.
‘Tell me about this place. I thought they were under strict supervision. Aren’t there… visitors, or something? Official inspections?’
He snorted. ‘The visitors are senile hacks. They should be in there, not… the patients… us. You’ll see. The place? It’s like a concentration camp. Fences, out of bounds areas. Cells… ‘
‘Cells? Come on.’
‘You’ll see.’
‘How? If it’s a registered private hospital we can’t just walk in and make a private inspection.’
‘I know a way in. Don’t worry.’
I was worried, very worried. For the rest of the drive I watched Greenway closely. He appeared to take no interest in the surroundings, spoke briefly to give me directions, and otherwise seemed to be asleep with his eyes open. We were forced to a crawl by the road works at Tom Uglys bridge where they’re putting in another span. I followed the signs to Sutherland.
‘You know Burraneer Bay?’ Greenway said abruptly.
‘Heard of it.’
‘That’s where we’re going. Left here.’
I followed the road through Gymea into the heart of the peninsula. The houses tended to be big on large blocks with expensively maintained lawns and carefully placed trees; a few were smaller and struggling to keep up appearances. Greenway directed me past the bowling club towards the water where the houses seemed to be craning up for a good view. We stopped in a short cul-de-sac occupied by a few Spanish-style houses; one had added a mock Tudor effect for insurance. The street ended in thick bush.
‘Turn the car around,’ he said.
Five hundred dollars made him the boss for three days. I turned the car so it was facing back up the street. Greenway got out carrying his bag. For the first time I wondered what was in it.
‘Have you got a gun?’ he said.
‘No.’
‘Good. The hospital’s down here.’ He pointed to the trees. ‘We can take a look from the high ground and I know where we can get through the fence.’
‘Why?’
He looked at his watch. ‘It’s exercise time. I want to see that Guy’s all right. That’s all. We can talk about what to do next afterwards.’
He was suddenly much more decisive and alert. I was still worried; I wanted time to think about it but he plunged into the bush ahead of me and I followed him, feeling confused but protective. The trees shut out the light and made it seem later in the day than it was. I squinted ahead as Greenway forged on, pushing branches aside and crunching dried leaves underfoot. Then we were through and light flooded over a large open space ringed around by a high cyclone fence. There were buildings inside the area, concrete paths, garden beds. I saw a swimming pool and a tennis court half buried in shadow.
The blue water of Port Hacking hemmed in all the land. The sun still lit up the western edge but the advancing shadows were turning the water darker by the second.
Greenway tugged at my arm. ‘Down here.’
We scrambled along the perimeter until he located a section of fence where the metal post was standing slightly askew. He hooked his bag over one shoulder, gripped the post and heaved. It came out of the ground; the fence sagged close to the ground for five metres on either side. Greenway trampled over it. ‘Come on!’ he shouted.
He raced down the slope towards the centre of the compound. I could see light shapes moving slowly around behind a hedge. What could I do? Stand there and watch? I ran after him, more with the idea of hauling him back than going with him, but he was covering the ground like Darren Clarke.
I lost breath yelling something but I couldn’t have caught him anyway. He made it to the hedge as I was still skeetering down the slope. He opened his bag, pulled out a camera and started taking flash pictures. The sudden, flaring lights panicked the people behind the hedge. I heard screams and curses. Greenway raced along, stopping and shooting. I pounded after him. Three men came from behind the hedge; Greenway ducked back and they reached me first.
‘It’s all right,’ I gasped. ‘Don’t… ‘
Two of them came at me; I balked and made them collide. One recovered and threw a punch which I side- stepped. I pushed him back.
‘Hardy!’ Greenway’s yell was desperate, panicked. The third man was rushing him, reaching for the camera. Instinctively, I lunged forward and tripped him. Greenway dodged and headed back up the hill, feet digging in, well-balanced and surging.
‘Hey!’ I yelled. I lost balance on the uneven ground.
The man I’d pushed loomed over me; he chopped down on my neck in a perfect rabbit punch. I felt it all along my spine and down to my legs. I flopped flat, as breath and vision and everything else left me.
3
The sun was shining in my eyes and it was only a couple of metres away. I twisted my head and that hurt more than the burning sun. I tried to lift my arm to block out the light; my shoulder was stiff and painful but I got my hand across my face.
‘He’s all right,’ a voice said.
‘Who’s all right?’ I said.
‘You are.’ This was another voice. ‘Do you know where you are?’
‘Hospital grounds.’
‘You’re inside the hospital. You’ve been unconscious.’
I tried to lift the upper part of my body from what I discovered was a narrow bed. It hurt and someone tried to hold me down but I got there. Everything swum around-room, faces, my legs stretched out in front of me for all of two metres. I closed my eyes. That was better. My neck hurt probably worse than my shoulder. Nothing else hurt very much. My mouth was dry.
‘Some water, please.’
I opened my eyes when I felt the glass held to my mouth, took a sip and swallowed. Much better.
‘A possible concussion?’ one of the voices said. A shadow fell across me. ‘I’m Dr Grey. Just lie back and let me examine you.’
I did it. Why not? As awakenings from physical attacks go it was much better than most. I felt strong hands on my temples; the light shone again but this time the sun had gone back up where it belonged.
