‘Tell me what you’re on about first. Then I’ll think about it.’
I made myself another cup of coffee, got him another beer and told him, without mentioning names or sums of money. When I finished he rolled the bottle in his hands as an aid to thought and decision-making.
‘That was a pretty neat move you made on me in the pub.’
I shrugged. ‘I always think one foot off the ground leaves you vulnerable.’
‘If the other guy’s quick enough. I was a bit pissed, a bit slow.’
I nodded. It was probably true. He was circling; I played along. ‘How d’you come to know Jimmy anyway? Are you related?’
He laughed. ‘You think I’m an Abo? I’m Maltese, mate. I played in the band for a while, wasn’t good enough when they got on to the bigger gigs and recording and that. No hard feelings. I do a bit of work for them now and then. I’m good at the electrics. Okay, well Jimmy had this manager who ripped him off every which way. The guy’s a crook, but he’s still trying to get a share now that they’re getting bigger. I reckon when you said you were a private detective Jimmy thought you were on his case. That’s why he gave Chicka and me the sign.’
I took two fifties from my wallet and handed them over. ‘That again if you tell me how to reach him. But you contact him first and tell him I’m not any sort of threat.’
‘If you’ve lied to me, I’ll fuckin’…’
I gave him the money. ‘I’m sure you would, but it’s not like that and you know it.’
‘He hangs out in Newtown, him, a couple of the guys, and Jimmy’s wife.’
He gave me the address and I tossed across my mobile phone. ‘Give him a ring.’
He shook his head. ‘Too early, man, they wouldn’t have got back till late and probably had a bit of a blast, you know. Good gig, sold some records.’
Claude gave me the phone number off the top of his head and said he’d ring at around midday. He advised me to call mid-afternoon when they’d be ‘mellow’.
They say that terminally ill people can get a surge from good news. I rang the hospital and left a message for Kev that I was making progress.
I took my time on the drive back to Sydney and it was almost midday when I reached Newtown. I had a quick drink in the Marlborough and then threaded my way through the narrow streets to the address Claude had given me. It was a two-storey terrace on a corner, two blocks from King Street and a block away from the Memorial Park. Biggish place, room for quite a few people. There looked to be a small courtyard out the back with a vine of some sort growing wild. The narrow front porch was mostly taken up by the wheelie bin and the two recycling bins, but there was space for a couple of pot plants that looked as though they got a certain amount of tending. No broken-down sofas, Jack Daniels bottles, defunct TV sets. Rock groups had cleaned up their act.
I parked fifty metres away and used the mobile. I got an answering machine telling me the names of the residents and asking me to leave a message. My response was interrupted.
‘This is James O’Day. Claude phoned me about you. Where are you?’
‘Outside.’
‘Stay there. I’ll come out and we can go for a walk.’
I met him in the middle of the street. Newtown people walk on the street because the footpaths are narrow and often blocked by overhangs from front gardens and the trees planted in the gentrification era. He still looked like a middleweight-medium tall, sloping shoulders, narrow waist. He wore jeans and a flannie, denim jacket with a sheepskin collar. He held out a hand, not to shake, a gesture of apology.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘You should be. You cost my client two hundred bucks.’
He smiled as we walked down the street towards the park. ‘That what you paid Claude? Good for him. You said you saw me fight. Was that just a line?’
We reached the park and began walking down a path beside a wall covered in graffiti, some of it not too talentless. ‘No, I saw you a couple of times when you won. I didn’t see the one you lost.’
He took his hands from the pockets of his jacket and touched the scar tissue. ‘I got cut. Best thing that ever happened to me.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Made me quit before my brains got mushed. You’ve done a bit yourself, eh?’
‘Amateur only, before headguards came in. I did enjoy the show and I did buy the record. Bought the first one, too, when I was trying to get a line on you.’
‘Wow, that could put fifty cents or more in my pocket. Okay, now we’re here let’s get to it. Claude said you’re looking for someone in my family. He was a bit vague, the way you were, I suppose.’
This was evidently a familiar walk to him and he was setting a cracking pace. He swerved off onto another path and I had to trot to catch him.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve mapped out this kilometre track and I do five or six circuits when I’ve got the time.’
‘Terrific. I do something the same around Jubilee Park in Glebe, but right now I’d rather talk than trot.’
‘Fair enough.’
We cut across the grass where some kids were kicking a soccer ball around, past a group that looked to be in some kind of therapy session, to a bench in the sun. Just to appear professional, I took out my notebook and leafed through it.
‘About ten years ago, you paid a corner store bill for a woman named Marie O’Day in Leichhardt. The shopkeeper said you looked like a fighter. I got onto an old-timer at Trueman’s who knew you’d gone into what he called the music business. Tracking you down wasn’t that hard after that but then…’
He smiled again, the smile he’d given to the photographers in his fighting days and on the stage in his new incarnation. ‘We ran into a spot of bother. Okay, I’m impressed with your investigative skills. Did you find out that after boxing I went to TAFE to get an education and worked on my piano playing until I was game to perform in public?’
‘No.’
‘You just thought I segued from middleweight champ to rock star?’
I was getting sick of this. ‘Look, Jimmy,’ I said, ‘I don’t give a fuck about your brilliant career. I’ve got a client who needs to make contact with Marie O’Day and any kids she might have-to her and their advantage.’
He wasn’t used to being talked to like that and his first reaction was antagonistic. He swivelled on the bench and his handsome face took on the sort of look boxers wear when they touch hands before the fight. I didn’t react-not what he expected. He struggled for control.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I deal with too many arseholes.’
‘And too many people who’re scared of you.’
‘I suppose. You’ve got it right. Marie’s my cousin. She was leaving Leichhardt and she was short of money so I paid her bill. Wasn’t much.’
‘You ever heard of Kev Roseberry?’
‘Might’ve, not sure.’
‘He’s the bloke Marie took up with and had the child by. He trained some bloke you fought and that’s how they met.’
‘I don’t remember him. When I was fighting all I thought about was fighting. Full stop.’
‘Marie didn’t tell you who the father of the child was, and you didn’t ask?’
He shook his head. He’d relaxed by now and was half turned away, watching the people in the park. His voice was full of irony, sarcasm, anger. ‘You know what Abo women are like, fuck anyone.’
‘That’s a bloody stupid thing to say and you know it.’
He sagged against the backrest and all the aggression was gone. ‘They call me an Uncle Tom, you know, some of the people, because I don’t make a thing about being Aboriginal.’
‘That’s understandable, sounds as if you’ve got a problem with all that. I’m sure you’re not alone, but I’m not your psychiatrist. Roseberry’s dying of cancer. He’s got some money to leave and he wants to know about Marie and about her kid, Siobhan, if there’s any grandchildren and if they need help. No, make that if Marie’d accept it. She told Kev years back that she didn’t want to know him.’
‘How did he treat her?’
‘With neglect.’
