‘Just your shirt,’ May Jacobs said. ‘And I can put that in the wash.’
‘What happened?’ Horrie said. ‘Did you run into someone?’
‘Someone ran into me,’ I said. ‘He made his point with a crowbar, the point being not to push too hard on this enquiry of yours.’
‘Told you,’ May Jacobs said.
She was six or seven inches taller than him, making her a tall woman for her generation. She looked as if she’d been broadly built when younger and more active. Now she’d fined down somewhat, but she would still have outweighed Horrie by twenty pounds. Horrie Jacobs looked at his wife. ‘You didn’t say anything about this sort of trouble. This backs up what I think. Doesn’t it, Cliff?’
I was lying on a padded cane lounge in a large sitting room that seemed to have three glass walls. There was a towel under my head and the ache was easing. I sat up slowly and carefully. They’d taken off my shoes and the thick carpet under my feet felt good. Pleasant sensations were returning, always a good sign. I could think of another sensation that’d be welcome.
Peter Corris
CH14 — Aftershock
‘Leave him alone, Horrie, I’m telling you,’ May Jacobs said. I could detect the slight foreign sound in her voice for the first time. ‘Poor man’s had a terrible knock. Would you like a cup of tea, Mr Hardy?’
It was about the last thing I wanted and it must have shown in my face. Horrie chuckled.
‘He needs something stronger than that, love. Hang on.’
He went quickly out of the room and I felt I had to apologise. I’d seen ex-boozers seize a chance to start again before, any chance. ‘Tea’d be fine, Mrs Jacobs,’ I said. ‘I don’t want…’
‘Hush. He knows what he’s doing. Are you well enough to talk? We’re going to have to thrash this out.’
Horrie came back before I could answer. He had a big brandy in a wine glass and he gave it to me. ‘That’ll see you right. Good stuff that, they tell me. Ralph brought it back from some trip or other.’
I touched my face and could feel where blood had crusted on some cuts. I sipped the brandy and then had a solid slug. Good stuff? It was Grade A Cognac and it seemed to run through every blood vessel to soothe all the parts that hurt. May went off to make tea for Horrie and herself and I looked around the room while I worked on the brandy. Big, cane furniture, carpet, huge windows. There was a large bookcase filled with a variety of books stacked in as if they were there to be read and looked at instead of displayed. There were cushions and magazines lying around. A couple of broad-leafed plants sprouted from earthernware pots. The fireplace was big and, to judge from the slight smoke stains on the wall and roof above it, got plenty of use in the winter. It was a nice, plain room. Horrie Jacobs watched me survey his domain.
‘Doesn’t look like a millionaire’s place, does it? Ralph’s always at me to do it up but I dunno, it suits May and me.’
‘I think it’s fine. Which way’s the water?’
He pointed to a window that was filled with points of light I took to be stars. Thataway. View’ll knock your eyes out in the morning. Oh, sorry, that’s not the best thing to say.’ He leaned forward and examined my battered head. ‘Didn’t miss your eye by that much. I’d better ring the police.’
‘No, I’ve already seen the police and got some co-operation. I don’t want to muddy the waters with them.’ I waved the glass at him thinking that he might take the hint and give me a refill but he didn’t move. ‘I’m OK. I was careless. I think you’re right-there is something behind Oscar Bach’s death, but…’
May came back into the room carrying a tray with two mugs of tea, a plate of biscuits and a bottle of Panadol tablets on it. She put the tray on the floor and pulled up one of the heavy cane chairs with a quick, strong heave. Her broad face was framed by a floating wreath of white hair. Her dark eyes, slightly slanted and deep, fixed me. ‘Look up,’ she said, ‘look down, left, right. How old are you? Where are you right now?’
I did all these things, told her how old I was and finished with, ‘At 7 Bombala Road, Dudley’
‘Street,’ Horrie said.
I was still extending the glass in his direction. ‘Near enough. D’you think I could have a little more brandy?’
‘That’d be all right,’ May said. Horrie left the room and she spoke urgently. ‘I didn’t like that Oscar. There was something… wrong about him. Horrie couldn’t see it. I’m Polish. I’ve seen a lot of things you wouldn’t believe and heard about a lot more. If he got killed by someone I wouldn’t be surprised, but I can’t see what it’s got to do with my Horrie. He’s not young and not as strong as he looks. I don’t want him to be upset, you understand me?’
I was getting confused: Horrie was coming at me from one direction; May from another and Ralph, maybe Ralph, from yet another. A family affair. The worst kind. Perhaps Suzie and her sisters’d want to put their oars in, too. Horrie gave me another, smaller, brandy and I sipped it while they drank their tea and the stars twinkled outside the window.
I heard Horrie say, ‘He was a good mate, love. He didn’t mind that I wouldn’t go to the pub. He never asked for a penny off me.’
May said, ‘I know, but Polish women have feelings about these things…’
‘Think of the fish we caught. How he cleaned them for you.’
‘Fish are free from the ocean.’
‘It takes skill to catch them. A good fisherman’s a good bloke, I always say.’
May gave me a despairing look. They’d had this talk a hundred times before. I was intensely interested in her instinct and feelings. I had another woman working for me, I seemed to remember. What was her name? Helen? No, Glenys… I drank the brandy which suddenly smelled and tasted of sex, of sweat, massage oil and the other good things.
‘Get the glass and move the cushions, Horrie,’ May said. ‘He’s dropping off. I’ll get a blanket.’
I said, ‘I’m at a motel…’
I felt something soft cover me and I heard May’s voice. ‘Not tonight you’re not, Mr Tough Guy.’
8
Sometime during the night one of the Jacobses must have looked in on me. There was a glass of water on a low table near the couch. I swilled it down my parched throat and lay back wondering how I’d ever got up at dawn to surf, or to go on jungle patrols or drive from Sydney to Kempsey… Well, that hadn’t been so long ago. The room was dim but I could tell there was a very bright day out behind the heavy drapes. I’d lost one sock during the night and one of my feet was cold. I swung my feet clear of the blanket and tested the strength in my legs by just putting them on the carpet and pressing down a little. Not bad. Might even be able to stand up if I had another glass of water.
It was 6.30 and the house was quiet. It isn’t too polite to go prowling through people’s homes that early, but what does the bladder know about manners? I went as quietly and directly as I could to the toilet-that is, I made a couple of wrong turnings and found an en suite bathroom off one of the bedrooms. It was a big house, fairly new and furnished in a plain style that harked back to an earlier period. I examined myself in the mirror and didn’t much like what I saw-stubble, scabs forming on half a dozen facial cuts. The iridologist who used to work in my building once looked at me professionally, clucked her tongue and shook her head. I don’t think she would’ve liked the look of my eyes this morning. When I came out of the toilet I could hear noises that suggested coffee and fruit juice, maybe even aspirin.
Horrie Jacobs, wearing navy blue pyjamas and a white silk dressing gown, was making tea in the kitchen. In my crumpled pants and one sock he made me feel like a tramp.
Nothing wrong with his hearing. He swung around before my bare foot squeaked on the lino tiles. ‘Cliff, I was going to see if you wanted anything. How’re you feeling?’
It wasn’t a comfortable situation. I was supposed to be the tough, capable professional and here was this old guy, and a client at that, nurse-maiding me. It made me surly. I sat down at the kitchen table. ‘I’m OK, Horrie. Any chance of some coffee?’
He nodded and included a cup of instant in his preparations. He didn’t speak. He put the coffee and a carton
