Blood Sunset

12



I DIDN’T WASTE ANY TIME buying my nephew’s present, pulling together a shirt, tie and cufflinks in less than ten minutes. There was a pair of jeans I would’ve liked for myself but they’d have to wait until next month. It was no use getting them until the heatwave ended anyhow.
Back home, the apartment was relatively cool. Prince wanted out, so I let him go but I knew it’d only be a few minutes. I reckoned cats must be allergic to discomfort or extreme temperatures. After pouring a glass of water, I checked the answering machine but there were no messages. Next I sent Ella a text saying my parents were safe. Seeing my father at the party tonight was preying on my mind but I tried not to think about it, deciding instead to do something I hadn’t done in a long time.
In the kitchen I laid out four slices of rye bread, spread avocado on each, then added shredded chicken, sundried tomato and spinach leaves. Prince came in while I was arranging the sandwiches on a plate. He leapt up to the bench but I read the move and caught him mid-flight.
‘Not yours, mate. At least another five hours for you,’ I said, carrying him to the scratch pole in the lounge and patting him for a while. Picking up the sandwiches and some orange juice, I headed over to Edgar’s apartment. The door was around the walkway even though his place was directly next to mine. He normally had lawn bowls on Saturdays but given the heat I figured he’d be home. I knocked and heard the familiar sound of his dog barking.
‘Who’s there?’ Edgar called through the door.
‘Police! We have a search warrant. Open up, Burnsey!’
The door cracked open an inch and an eye peered out. ‘Bloody coppers, can’t trust you lot. Show me the warrant.’
I held up the plate of sandwiches. ‘Will this do?’
Edgar opened the door and his silky terrier rushed out and began sniffing my ankle. ‘Get him, Tank. Chew his leg off!’
‘You had lunch yet, old fella?’
‘Old, my bloody arse.’
I handed him the plate. ‘Chicken and avocado, mate. Got the cricket on in there?’
‘You bet. Sri Lanka are four for one-fifty. Taking them to the bloody cleaners. Come in and have a seat.’
I followed him through the entranceway into the lounge. The apartment was much the same setup as mine though the furniture was about as old as Ed. And it had that musty smell typical of many elderly people’s homes. It reminded me of my dad’s house and again I felt guilt and shame gnaw at me for having avoided my parents lately.
‘What kind of bread is this?’ Edgar asked, studying the sandwiches.
‘Rye. I know it’s probably not what you normally have but it’s very good for you. And it’s very similar to –’
‘I know what white bread is. This is brown. Sometimes you don’t make any sense at all, you know that?’
‘That’s because I like confusing you. Got a glass?’
‘Juice again? When are we gonna have a beer together?’
‘You can’t drink beer, Ed. Your doctor told you –’
‘I don’t give a shit what the bloody quack says. I’ve drunk beer all me life, never done me any harm.’
‘I know, but your liver . . .’
Edgar took the orange juice with a disgusted look and poured out two glasses, shuffling around the kitchen bench. As usual, he’d shaved and ironed his slacks and polo shirt. He’d also polished his leather loafers recently. Despite having nowhere to go, he still dressed himself with pride. It was a dignity and self-respect that seemed unique to men who had served in the defence force.
‘Come sit,’ he said, gesturing to the lounge. ‘Look like a shag on a rock standing there.’
Setting the plate on the coffee table, I eased into a sofa. The old TV was on but the sound was muted, ABC radio coverage playing instead. Tank sat in front of us, looking at the sandwiches.
‘Cheers,’ I said, raising my orange juice to Ed’s.
Ed nodded approvingly after taking a bite of his sandwich. ‘This is bloody good, Rubens. Must be the fancy bread. Did that young Ella teach you how to make this?’
‘No, I taught her.’
He laughed. ‘Well, good to have you over.’
‘Good to be here,’ I said.
I noticed there was a news update on and I asked if he could turn the sound up. On the screen a reporter scurried across a street as a convoy of fire trucks roared past. Burning embers blew through the air as the reporter scrambled into a waiting SUV, the cameraman obviously labouring to keep up. Once the SUV got going, the camera refocused and the reporter relayed his update.
‘Fire authorities are saying Victoria is officially suffering the worst bushfire crisis since the infamous 1983 Ash Wednesday disaster. More than twelve people have died, as many as thirty have been taken to hospital for treatment, and almost fifty homes have been wiped out overnight.’
The screen cut to footage of the fires from a helicopter. The Alpine ranges looked like a row of erupting volcanos, giant plumes of smoke wafting into the air.
‘More than half a million hectares of national forest have been destroyed,’ the reporter went on. ‘Three of the major fires have joined together, and firefighters are still battling the inferno. In a further blow for already exhausted firefighters, local water supplies are down to less than twenty per cent.’
A map of the state appeared, with red fireballs indicating the affected areas. They began north of Melbourne and headed all the way around down to the south-eastern coastline. It looked as though the fires were surrounding the city and moving in. I remembered Ella’s comment about the apocalypse. She hadn’t been far off.
‘In a positive break for police, a man in his twenties has been arrested and charged with three counts of arson and aggravated vandalism,’ said the reporter. ‘It’s believed the man may be responsible for up to seven separate outbreaks across the Alpine region. He’s expected to face an out-of-sessions hearing tomorrow, where more charges may follow.’
The reporter signed off and Edgar muted the volume.
‘Filthy little rodent,’ he snarled. ‘You know what they should do to him?’
‘What’s that, Ed?’
‘Slice off his old fella, sizzle it up in a frying pan and make him eat the bastard. That’d bloody learn him.’
‘Sounds like you wanna be the chef.’
‘My oath I’d do it. Be my pleasure. In fact, you know what I’d bloody well do?’ He leant forward on his chair, waving a finger. ‘I’d sew up his arsehole and just keep feeding him until he burst. How d’ya reckon he’d cop that?’
I smiled at the image.
‘I’m serious, Rubens. That’s what’s wrong with this bloody generation. They haven’t been smacked on the arse hard enough. None of my lot ever ran amok like the kids do these days. We did what we were told and we respected our parents.’
I wondered whether Edgar was referring to kids like Dallas Boyd, and whether parents like Vincent Rowe deserved respect.
‘I hope he goes to prison for a long time,’ he continued. ‘But I doubt it. He’ll just get a bloody slap on the wrist. Courts are so piss-weak these days. Don’t get me started on that! One of my RSL mates got beaten up and robbed last year. Your lot caught the mongrel and guess what happened?’
I shrugged, trying to recall any assault on an elderly victim in St Kilda before my return to duty.
‘Suspended sentence.’
Now I remembered. It was an ATM job. The victim had been knocked to the ground by an offender who tried to snatch his money as it dispensed from the machine, not realising that the victim had just been checking his account. During the struggle the victim cracked a hip bone. He’d spent two weeks in hospital and would probably never walk again without severe pain. For us it had been an easy one. A detective had viewed the CCTV footage from the bank and identified the crook as a local shithead. He was charged and bailed, but in the end the court decided jail time wasn’t necessary. No wonder so many elderly people were angry and bitter. No wonder men like Edgar opted to stay home most of the time.
‘Howard told me you lot did a sterling job, looked after him nice and proper,’ said Edgar, his walking stick gripped tight, like a flagpole.
I figured Howard was the victim.
‘We need people like you, Rubens. With all this drug stuff, we can’t even go to the bank without some mongrel knocking us over the head.’ He thrust the stick towards the television and Tank scrambled to the side. ‘And now they’re burning the place down, killing people and wrecking their houses. I don’t even want to go out on my balcony any more the air’s so bad.’
His lower jaw trembled and I saw the fear and loneliness that was the beginning of the end for many elderly people. I’d seen it before in victims of burglaries and assaults. A loss of hope. When the negatives overtook the positives. If it kept up, pretty soon Edgar would stop ironing his shirts and polishing his shoes. He might even give up altogether.
‘You know, statistically older citizens have a less than two per cent chance of ever being the victim of an assault,’ I said, trying to reassure him. ‘And most burglars don’t want to break into a house when someone’s home. You’re at home most of the time so it’s very unlikely anything will ever happen to you.’
‘I don’t care about any of that rubbish. I saw what that mongrel did to Howard.’ Edgar used his walking stick to brace himself as he stood. I went to help him but he waved me away. ‘I’m fine. I just want to show you something.’
He hobbled over to a buffet by the balcony window and handed me a silver frame with a black and white photo of two men in uniform, rifles braced across their chests.
‘That’s me and Howie in England,’ he explained, his hand shaking as he pointed to the man on the left. ‘We served in the infantry together. Six years in total.’
I studied the picture, once again reminded of my father’s home where similar photos lined the mantelpiece. A different war perhaps, different people and a different generation, but the faces were the same: young and keen, with a hint of fear behind the bravado.
‘Howie took a piece of shrapnel in the shoulder,’ Edgar continued. ‘He could’ve gone home, but he stayed on. Got himself fixed up and served out the rest of his tour in the rations regiment, keeping us all fed. He was a real patriot. He loved this country.’
He took the picture back and replaced it. I wasn’t sure why he’d used past tense, whether Howard was dead or if he’d simply given up loving Australia.
‘He would’ve died for this country,’ Edgar said. ‘And this is how we repay him. It’s a f*ckin’ disgrace.’
I winced, not at Edgar’s swearing, but at the feeling of betrayal and loss that so many of the older generation felt. I knew what he was saying. His cynicism wasn’t dissimilar to that of many police after years in the job. Too much emphasis was placed on supporting the villains, not enough on the victims.
‘You’re right, Ed. It is a disgrace,’ I said, putting a hand on his elbow and helping him back to the lounge. This time he didn’t resist.
‘I like having you next door,’ he said, handing his dog the last of his sandwich then staring at the floor as he spoke. ‘It makes me feel safe. But you know what? As much as I enjoy your company, it’d make me feel much safer if you weren’t here.’
I sipped my juice uneasily. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Go to work, Rubens,’ he said, his eyes welling. ‘Get out there and stop these mongrel dogs. I served this country for more than twenty years. Now it’s your turn. There may not be any bombs or trenches, but we’re at war all right.’
I didn’t know what to say.
‘You do a good enough job,’ he went on, ‘then maybe when you’re my age you’ll still feel proud enough to call this country your own. Maybe there’ll still be a place for you.’
‘But Ed, I am working. I’m just on a day –’
My phone started ringing and I cursed the interruption. I wanted to tell Ed I was back on the job, that it was simply a rest day. I wanted him to understand, but he turned away and I knew it wouldn’t matter what I said. I snatched up my phone and checked the caller ID. It was Cassie.
‘You’re not home, are you?’ she said after I answered.
‘Nope.’
‘I just called your house, since you said you were going home. No answer. Where have you been?’
I looked at Edgar and made a face like I was annoyed.
‘Ah, out and about. What, has Eckles got you working a GPS on me?’
‘Just tell me where you are.’
‘Academy. Primary school liaison course.’
‘Okay, smart arse. I just hope you didn’t do what I think you did.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘The hommies are in the office with Freckles.’
I stood up and moved into Edgar’s kitchen, trying to compute what Cassie had just said. Maybe Dr Wong had phoned the Homicide Squad after we’d left the morgue and they’d sent in a response crew. Cassie was silent and I knew there was more.
‘What else?’ I said.
‘Ah, ESD’s in there as well. They’re all talking to Mark Finetti.’
‘Finetti? What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve heard your name being mentioned a bit. Just get back here.’