Blood Is a Stranger (12 page)

‘Yup, I'm a “Yank”,' he said.

Burra had retreated to the door.

‘Which part?' the barman asked.

‘New York.'

‘Never heard of it,' the redhead said, sipping his beer. ‘Is it near Carnarvon?'

This brought grunts of appreciation from other drinkers.

Burra came over to Cardinal and suggested that they
leave. ‘That's Mad Mick Malone,' he said quietly to Cardinal, ‘a mean bastard. Don't rile him.'

‘Mick asked you a question,' the barman said.

‘Have you heard of Paris?' Cardinal said goodnaturedly. ‘I lived there for a couple of years.'

‘You mean Paris, New South Wales?' Malone said.

Cardinal laughed. ‘I did see a film about that Paris.' It was all about these cars that ate the townspeople.' He looked straight at Malone. ‘Get a good feed in here, wouldn't they?'

Malone snorted. Cardinal took the opportunity to repeat his drinks order. The barman scowled.

‘I'll get your order when the Abo leaves,' he snarled.

‘Let's go,' Burra said.

‘I'm buying,' Cardinal said, tapping himself on the chest.

‘I don't serve boongs and foreigners, Yank,' the barman said.

Cardinal put some money on the counter.

‘You're not welcome,' the barman said, pointing at Burra. ‘You're bloody trouble!'

Cardinal's manner changed.

‘You'll serve me,' he said aggressively, ‘or I'll get the police. They'll be here with the convoy soon.'

The barman hesitated. He glanced at Malone. Then he selected Cardinal's order from a refrigerator and banged the drinks on the counter. Cardinal collected the tins and bottles and picked up his change.

‘Like your lipstick,' Malone said, pointing to Cardinal's protective cream.

‘It's the hot sun,' Cardinal said, resuming his act of equanimity. ‘I don't like getting a lobster face.' He paused to look at Malone. ‘And I really hate rednecks.'

The bar fell silent.

‘See you guys,' Cardinal said with a half salute. He strolled out behind Burra who shouted at his family to get in the back of the ute. Two blacks who had been annoying
Elaine retreated as Burra jumped into the driver's seat. Cardinal climbed into the passenger seat.

‘There you go, tiger!' he said to Gabby, handing drinks through to the family. Burra began to reverse the ute. Malone and two other heavies lumbered from the bar. The big man hurled his can of beer. It hit the canvas flap and fell to the ground spilling its frothing contents. Burra backed into the road. Two other cans were hurled. They crashed into a side of the caravan. Burra changed gear and drove off. He kept an eye on the rear-vision mirror.

Burra spoke to his wife for a minute or two in their own language. He asked about the blacks who had been pestering her, and she explained that they were harmless drunks. Burra tried to make up time by driving faster. The caravan began to pull.

‘Go slower!' Elaine said.

‘Don't backseat drive me!' Burra snapped.

Elaine looked at the bouncing caravan. ‘There's something wrong!'

Burra put his foot down defiantly. The caravan jerked violently, and he had trouble controlling the ute. He brought the vehicles to a halt. Cardinal jumped out to help Burra check both vehicles. Burra examined the pinion and chains linking the two vehicles. Cardinal lay on his back to get a closer look. He slid his hand over the pinion screw. ‘Found the problem,' he said, pointing to a plastic pinion that was worn through.

‘I used a normal screw,' Burra said.

‘Another mile or so,' Cardinal said, shaking his head, ‘we would have had an accident. Who the hell would do that?'

‘If we had crashed,' Burra replied, ‘we would never have made it to Cahill's Crossing before the convoy. That would have suited Richardson. He wouldn't care that much if there was a bloody confrontation between the convoy and my people.'

‘They must have done it at the pub,' Cardinal said.

Burra rummaged in the back of his ute and emerged with a spare pinion screw. Cardinal helped him fit it.

‘While you were inside with me,' he said, ‘two blacks distracted my family round the side of the pub. That gave some of Richardson's boys the time to make the switch.'

‘Some of his men were there?'

Burra nodded. ‘At least two at the bar. Mad Mick Malone is on his payroll.'

They climbed into the ute. Burra opened the glove box in front of Cardinal. There was a carton of bullets. Burra pointed under the seat. Cardinal leaned forward and could see a rifle.

‘It's there,' Burra said, ‘as a last resort.'

Rhonda was excited as she was escorted into the main conference room of the Jakarta Palace, President Utun's working residence. The ceiling was embossed and painted with a history of the country's kings and rulers. The emphasis was placed on the God King of the fourteenth century, from whom Utun claimed to have been reincarnated.

The president strutted in flanked by guards and his omnipresent mystic, Dalan. Utun wore dark glasses and a brown general's uniform. The embroidered epaulettes had five gold stars, and the front of his jacket featured sixteen different kinds of military insignia and medals, which he had given himself for his heroism during the republic's revolutionary years in the 1940s. He was sixty-five, and short and stocky, typical of his region. He had thick black eyebrows, a flat nose with wide nostrils, and a broad, mobile mouth.

Utun's face broke into a grin, and he embraced Rhonda like an old friend. He had given press conferences while in opposition, and Rhonda, then a foreign correspondent, had attended them.

‘You look beautiful,' Utun said, holding her hands, and studying her gold harem pants, ‘just beautiful.' He fondled
the ropes and tassles of her tunic belt before ushering her to a seat at a sixteenth-century carved wooden table from central Java.

‘And those earrings!' he said. They were also gold, and they glinted when her head moved. It was Utun's favourite colour.

Four servants brought in breakfast on ornamental silver trays. Utun had had a penchant for bagels, cream cheese and salmon ever since having had them on a trip to New York.

‘Ask the sort of questions you would with a camera here,' he said as he noticed Rhonda's tape recorder, ‘then we can discuss what I would like or not like said.'

Coffee was poured, and after munching on a bagel for a moment, Rhonda began with an innocuous query about when Utun was planning a trip to Australia.

‘Next year,' he replied, ‘especially if all the girls are like you.'

Rhonda flinched and forced a smile. Sexist pig, she thought, I'll fix you.

‘Mr President, why have you closed down all except one newspaper?'

‘They broke the laws of censorship.' His English was uncolloquial and mellifluous.

‘What laws? Didn't you do it just because they criticised you?'

Utun excused himself and spoke in Indonesian to Dalan, who played with his shoulder-length hair as he gave him advice.

‘You are aware of our national security problems,' Utun said finally. ‘We cannot let the media or papers encourage subversion.'

A half hour later, when breakfast was over, Dalan left.

‘We have heard stories of opposition parties being persecuted,' Rhonda said when she and Utun were alone. ‘Have you instigated any measures to curtail the opposition's democratic rights?'

This wiped the leer off Utun's face. He denied it, rambling on about democratic tolerance and his fairness to the opposition. He stood up. Rhonda thought she had gone too far. But his grin returned.

‘We can continue this later,' he said. ‘I want to show you the Palace.' Rhonda gathered her tape recorder and briefcase and followed him into a corridor highlighted by a gold fresco. Utun reached for her arm.

‘You blend in so well here,' he said, squeezing her wrist.

When Utun led her into the living quarters where servants scurried in and out of high-walled rooms, she felt apprehensive.

‘Where is Madame Utun?' Rhonda asked.

‘In Bali.'

Rhonda glanced back along the corridor. Two Palace guards were following. Utun stopped outside gilt-inlaid double doors.

‘We have just finished re-decorating the master bedroom,' he said. ‘I would love to see what you think of it.'

Rhonda hesitated as Utun let go her arm and pushed the doors open. She couldn't believe that he would try anything. After all, she thought, I could destroy his reputation.

The bedroom was vast. Its walls were covered in green and gold silk. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling above a canopied king bed draped in lace.

‘Well?' Utun said.

‘I think all Australians would love the colour combination,' she said. She had not moved into the room. The two guards were close behind her.

Utun beckoned her in.

‘I would like to finish the interview,' she said.

The guards took her by each arm and pushed her into the room. Her briefcase fell on the floor. Utun picked it up.

‘We can continue just as well in here,' he said.

The guards retreated, pulling the doors behind them. Rhonda heard a click as they were locked in. Utun came
close.

‘I want you,' he mumbled.

Rhonda went to speak, but her mouth went dry, and she stopped in mid-sentence, scared that she might provoke him further.

Utun lunged at the ropes of her tunic, and she struggled with him, making it fall open, exposing her breasts. Utun pinned her against a wall and ran a hand over the crutch of her pants. He was snorting with excitement. He grabbed at her hair, and the clips holding it in place were wrenched away. She slapped him hard across the face. He sucked in his breath.

Rhonda ran to the door and tried to get out.

Utun called for the guards. The two men burst in. They dragged Rhonda to the bed and held her down. Utun shed his jacket, tie and shirt. The guards tightened their grip on Rhonda as Utun fell over her, his trousers unzipped. He ordered the guards out and began to rub himself all over her. He was having trouble getting an erection.

‘You must fight me!' he said shrilly. ‘Resist me!'

‘I really don't see the point,' Rhonda mumbled.

Utun punched her on the shoulder. She struggled with him. He hit her again. She slapped him. He rolled on to his back, holding his face. He grabbed her round the neck. Rhonda tried to knee him in the groin but caught his stomach. She broke free and slipped off the bed. Utun sat up. He looked ready to stalk her, but fell back on the pillows, his chest heaving.

‘Guards!' Utun screamed, ‘Guards!'

They charged in again. Rhonda was pulling on her pants. They hesitated.

Utun was blubbering. He waved his hands and squeaked, ‘Let her go'.

Cahill's Crossing on the East
Alligator River was a serene place where bottle-green water chuckled over a concrete causeway in harmony with weeping willows. But when Burra and Cardinal arrived at one, it resembled a battleground. About two hundred Aborigines armed with clubs, spears, sticks, rocks and rifles were grouped on the reserve behind a barricade of logs. Burra signalled for the barrier to be removed. A cheer went up as the ute and caravan were driven across the causeway and into a clearing under the willows. Cardinal began to wonder what he had let himself in for as he was introduced to members of the Bididgee tribe, including Burra's rival, Tom Beena. Beena did not like Cardinal's presence and took Burra aside to tell him.

‘No whites should be involved,' he said, just as they were all distracted by a disturbance at the Crossing. A red roadtrain had rolled onto the causeway and had stopped
hard against the log barrier.

‘Mad Mick Malone!' Burra said, as Cardinal came over to him. Several Aborigines were waving the truckie back, but his vehicle's front grill was shoving at the logs. They budged a few centimetres. Burra strode to the causeway.

‘Drivers like him live by the boast that they always get their load to a destination,' Burra said to Cardinal. ‘They go through everything, come rain, hail or shine, literally.'

They watched as Malone climbed from the cabin to hoist and roll a log in Burra's direction. It thudded to the concrete a few metres from him. Cardinal took a step forward, but Beena caught him by the forearm.

‘Stay out of this,' he said. ‘It's none of your business.'

‘It's my business, all right,' Cardinal said. ‘I provoked that ape at the pub.'

Cardinal shrugged Beena off and strode to the ute where Elaine had shepherded her children.

Malone retreated to his juggernaut's cabin. He revved the engine.

Burra leapt on the logs. ‘Back up, mate,' he yelled, as a group of Aborigines joined him.

Malone opened the door of the cabin. ‘Look, you buggers,' he bellowed, ‘I'm not part of the convoy. I'm deliverin' grog for the mine!'