After a few exchanges, some of them in Maori, Tommy shut off the phone and handed it back. 'Says he'll meet you at the Campbelltown TAFE-Narellan Road. He's doing some sort of course there. Says he'll know you. This arvo, two o'clock.'
'Okay,' I said, 'start slashing.'
As I'd told Sharon Marchant, in this game you never know where you're going to be or for how long. I went home, collected the. 38 and packed a few clothes and bits and pieces. I tanked up and was on the road south-west again with plenty of time to meet Kooti, racking up the kilometres and petrol receipts against an as yet still unpaid retainer. I'd heard of Kooti over the years from various people but as far as I knew I'd never met him. Still, if he said he'd know me I guessed he would. My plan was simple-to see if I could persuade him to help me detach Billie Marchant from the Island Brotherhood. If I had to put up with some Bible-bashing to achieve that, I would.
Kooti wasn't hard to spot. At about 200 centimetres and a hundred plus kilos, he stood out like a bishop on a beach. He wore a polo shirt with the arm bands stretched to breaking point by his biceps, and baggy shorts that showed the kind of legs that had made him virtually impossible to knock down on a football field. Massive head, a metre of shoulder breadth. I parked and approached him, noting the backpack and book in his hand.
'Mr Hardy,' he said. 'Good to meet you.'
My hand got briefly swallowed up by his. 'Mr Kooti, thanks for agreeing to see me.'
'Good reasons. C'mon over here and sit down. There's a scrap of shade.'
We walked across to where a straggly tree threw some shade over a park bench. He stuffed the book into his backpack; I caught the word 'faith' in the title.
'Tommy said you'd know me, and you did. Can't see how.'
'Ah, doubting Thomas. I'm grateful for what you're doing for him. He's not a bad kid, but wasting his life like so many of them. Maybe you've helped him onto a new path. Yes, I know you. I was there in the Rockdale Arms when you hauled Ricky Clitheroe out of harm's way. I asked who you were later.'
I shrugged. 'He was a lightweight, junior welter at most. All the rest were heavies.'
'I was one of them.' He extended his arms and I could see pale scars crossing the dark skin of his forearms. 'One of the brawlers. I got badly cut up.'
'When you were working for Rudi Szabo?'
'Yes.' He looked at the cheap watch on his wrist just below the scars. 'I've got a class soon. What do you want from me? You know that I'm a servant of the Lord now. I don't do violence.'
I outlined my problem to him, stressing that Billie Marchant needed proper medical care, but not concealing the fact that I had a particular agenda quite apart from her welfare. There was no point in dissembling. Steve Kooti was an impressive piece of work-calm, intelligent, confident. He had the kind of composed inner strength I'd seen in some soldiers, some boxers, some cops and an occasional criminal. You can't bullshit them.
He heard me out. 'John Manuma is a… let us say, conflicted man. There is much good about him. He's a genuine Christian, I believe, but his power and influence can send him in wrong directions at times.'
'Do you have any influence with him?'
'No, not of the kind you require. Are you sure this woman is not receiving proper care? The power of prayer and faith are enormous.'
'Her sister says not. She also fears for the boy, her nephew, falling under the influence of this Yoli.'
'Yolande Potare. Yes, he's a different thing altogether. A criminal. I might be able to help you. Have to think about it, and take counsel with others. Where will you be this evening?'
'Wherever you want me to be.'
He looked at me and a smile played across his broad, dark face. 'I don't see you booking into the YMCA. Find a motel in Campbelltown and ring me on the mobile around six o'clock. I have to go.' He slung his backpack, smoothly uncoiled his huge body and moved away. Then he turned back. 'How's Rudi?'
'As ever.'
He nodded. 'Not the worst villain around.'
'What're you studying?' I asked.
'What do you think?'
'Religion?'
He smiled. 'Stereotypical thinking. I'm disappointed in you. Computing, Mr Hardy. Computing.'
People can change, you see it all the time. Religion is one of the great life-changing forces, I have to admit, and not always for the better-think of George Bush. Being given responsibility and some support can work, too, as in Tommy's case. If that held.
The wide open sky I'd noticed in Picton was here as well, wider even, and I felt an impulse to walk under it. The sun went behind a cloud as I wandered over to a basketball court where a pick-up game was in progress. Black and white kids, male and female on both teams. Encouraging. I never cared much for basketball because the professionals score too readily, just as in soccer they don't score enough. But at this level it was more entertaining with a lot of misses and fumbles and no hopped-up coach shouting from the sidelines. A player jumped, threw and missed and the ball came towards me at speed. I caught it and tossed it back.
A kid shouted, 'Wanna play, mister?'
I grinned and shook my head, but the invitation did me a power of good.
13
I checked in to the Three Ways Motor Inn in Campbell-town, phoned Kooti and left the message. That gave me time on my hands. I phoned Sharon Marchant's mobile and she came through as clearly as though she was next door.
'Hey,' she said, 'this is a good connection. Where are you?'
I told her and added that I might have made some progress at getting her sister away from Yoli and Co.
'That's great. Look, I'm with Sarah for a while but I'll be dropping her back home before heading out to Picton. Why don't we get together and you can tell me all about it.'
She agreed to come by the motel in a couple of hours. I inspected the mini-bar. There were three double serves of gin and plenty of tonic water. I went for a walk, located a fruit shop and bought a lemon. A gin and tonic without lemon is like a martini without an olive. I had a swim in the motel pool and was freshly shaved, showered and shampooed when Sharon turned up.
She dropped into a chair and breathed an exhausted sigh. 'Keeping up with the young is the pits. That kid's been running me ragged.'
She was wearing the clothes Lou Kramer had left her and, not flattering to start with, they were wrinkled and shapeless. Her face was aglow with parental happiness but just below that surface she was deeply tired. I put my thoughts of a close encounter aside and made her a drink.
'Thanks. Just one. Two'd put me on my ear and I've got to drive home. Got that class tomorrow. What's been going on, Cliff?'
In fact, I didn't really have much to tell her but I made the most of it, saying that I had an ally among the Liston Islanders and expected to make progress.
'If we get her out I hope you'll be standing by to talk to her.'
She sipped her drink. 'I'd need some assurances about that woman you're dealing with first. Some firm arrangements, unnegotiable, if you know what I mean.'
I said I did. We talked a bit more and she took off to Picton after saying she'd mail the clothes back to me. I knocked off one of the little gins. Thought about ringing Lou Kramer, decided against. I was thinking about dinner when Steve Kooti showed up. He refused alcohol, naturally, so we went to sit by the pool in the evening air, me with a beer and him with a can of coke, as a full yellow moon rose.
'I talked to my sister. She's a nurse in the area health service. It seems she's had a report about a seriously ill woman at that address.'
'That right?'
'Yes. And she's going to pay the place a visit tomorrow. She'll have a couple of paramedics with her who
