Prohibited Zone (17 page)

Kara arrived with our drinks. Teresa had joined her, wearing a long-sleeved black top, a black skirt with a large belt buckle, black fishnets, pointy black shoes, essence of anaemia and silver lipstick. Her hair was brushed back into a large, shapeless mass, with only her severe fringe brushed forward. Around her neck she wore a spiked leather dog collar. She tongued the stud above her upper lip.

‘Hi, Tess,' I said. ‘You're looking good.' She withdrew her tongue, incinerated me with a glare and a sneer and manoeuvred Kara away.

‘So you've met our pet goth,' Baz said.

‘Yes, I've had the pleasure. Who's the solemn guy in the corner?'

Baz looked over at a thin, darkish man, no older than thirty, who was standing a little apart from the group and observing it without expression. He held a glass of clear liquid.

‘What's he drinking, straight vodka?'

Baz laughed. ‘Nah, straight water. That's the doc, Ray Khoury. He's a straight kind of bloke. Until a few weeks ago he was on the staff at Woomera.'

‘He doesn't seem to fit in here.'

‘As I said, it's a bizarre mix of people.'

We watched as Ray was joined by another man, equally serious, with a broad, almost Asian face, black hair and a trimmed black moustache. The two men started chatting quietly.

Baz turned back to me. ‘So what's happening?' he asked. ‘I assume Kara has the Afghan girl everyone is looking for.'

‘Who's everyone?' I asked.

‘My employer, for one. They told us that if we know anything about the breakout we'd better tell them or
we're
out. Maybe they think there was some inside help for the escape. The cops have been talking to us, too. I spent this morning at the centre being interviewed. They were particularly interested in Saira, for some reason, and her boyfriend, Amir. There's a lot of heat on this, mate.'

‘I'm starting to realise,' I said. ‘So what do you know about Amir?'

‘Not much. I didn't have much to do with him at the centre, but he had a reputation. There are always rumours in a place like that, most of them started by the guards or the spooks, and you never know what is true and what is complete bullshit. But the story was that he was a Mujahideen fighter in the eighties and nineties, fighting the Soviets first and then the Taliban. That's not so surprising; heaps of Afghans fought against the Soviets and the Taliban, although I guess not too many of them have made it here.'

‘But he's not a terrorist?'

‘Who knows? From what I've seen of him I reckon he might be prone to the odd bit of violence, but whether he's plotting the downfall of Western civilisation I'm not sure.'

‘He seems to have spooked a few people, including the spooks.'

‘Yes, having a known associate of Osama bin Laden wandering the countryside unhindered is not good for a politician's blood pressure, or his popularity. Imagine if he does bomb some place, the media will be in pig heaven. “Who's responsible for that?” “Why wasn't he arrested when he was in detention?” “How did he escape?”'

‘And also, “Who helped him escape?”' I said.

‘Exactly.' He took a sip of his whisky, eyeballing me over the top of the glass. ‘You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, you dark horse?'

‘Nah, not me.'

‘Anyway, he's one guy I wouldn't mind seeing back behind the razor wire.'

‘I wouldn't mind seeing Peter Janeway behind the razor wire, too,' I said.

Baz raised his eyebrows again. ‘Oh? What's Janeway been up to?'

I gave him a quick run-down of the afternoon's events. ‘What's up with him?'

Baz chuckled. ‘Nothing much. Just a psycho. You come across people like that sometimes. You know, pathological. Has a bit of a liking for ice, too, methamphetamine, which doesn't help. Ice has a few nasty side effects, like delusions, aggression and a quaint tendency to commit irrational acts of violence. Steer clear of him if you can, mate.'

‘I'm trying, but the bastard is out of control.'

Someone touched my arm. It was the man with the soul patch. He handed me a beer, although I was only halfway through my first.

‘Here's me being nice,' he said. ‘Scotty.'

‘G'day, Scotty,' I said. ‘Steve West.' I raised the full glass. ‘Thanks for this.'

‘Scotty is the team stud,' said Baz. ‘Want any data on the talent here, he's the one to talk to.'

Scotty grinned. Baz apparently didn't need any data because he moved off, winking at me as he did.

‘If you ever want an easy screw,' confided Scotty, ‘join a protest. The women are turned on by the danger or something, and they like a guy with morals. I've sampled just about every pussy in this room.' He looked around, surveying his supposed conquests, and pointed to the woman in the hessian dress, who was now making friends with Baz. ‘That's Suze. Surprisingly good root.' He laughed. ‘Look, you can see she's got a hard-on for Rice. Mind you, Rice does alright with most women.' I downed my first beer to make room for the second and put it on a nearby poseur, hoping Scotty would drift off. But he was still there when I turned back.

‘Not like the doc there,' he said. The doc, Ray, was still in earnest discussion. ‘Probably a virgin, unless you count wanking. Hasn't got a clue what to do with women. Christ knows how he became a doctor.' He nodded towards a tall, adamant woman with black hair. She was having what looked like a heated debate with Phil, waving her long arms around and displaying plenty of teeth and even more gum.

‘That's Christy. What do you reckon she'd be like in the cot?' asked Scotty.

I shrugged. ‘Hard to say.'

‘Well, take it from me, mate, she's sensational,' he said. He looked at me to see how impressed I was and then spotted another of his conquests. ‘But you're right, it's hard to tell, just from looking at 'em. See the blonde over there? That's Megan. Pretty face, nice figure, but completely hopeless in the sack. And the goth over there?' He pointed with his shoulder to Theresa, who was talking to a short, tubby woman with severely short hair, scowl firmly in place. I nodded.

‘Screwed
her
the other day. That was an out-of-body experience, I can tell you. I kept worrying I'd get snagged on the piercings. I could hardly stop her talking after it. The only time I ever saw her happy.' He refocused on me. ‘So you're helping Kara out, eh?'

‘Just a taxi service, mate.'

‘We're all wondering what she's up to. Always got a plan, Kara.' He looked as if he expected me to fill him in on the latest one.

I shrugged. ‘Beats me.'

He waited to see if I was going to be more forthcoming. Then he looked at his glass, now empty. I supposed he was hoping I'd fill it for him.

‘Anyway,' he said, ‘I'm just about done with this gig. Time to move on.'

‘Good idea. Piss off.' He looked at me sharply, finally realising that I wasn't impressed with him, and shrugged. He would get over it; his type always did. He opened a mobile phone as he strolled in the direction of the bar, with just one filthy glance in my direction.

I drifted towards Kara, who had joined Ray and his Asian-looking friend. She introduced Ray, who offered me a sweaty but firm hand without looking me in the eye. His skin was the colour of late afternoon, a sort of mellow gold, and he had a Middle Eastern nose. He had acne scars on his cheeks and his eyebrows weren't quite symmetrical, giving him a conflicted look that I doubted would inspire confidence in his patients. Then she introduced his friend.

‘This is Sadiq,' she said. ‘He was at Woomera for ten months. Now he's out on a temporary visa. He doesn't speak much English.'

‘Nice to meet you,' I said. He took my proffered hand, a little reluctantly, perhaps.

‘Nice to mee' you,' he said back.

‘Between Ray and Sadiq, they've seen it all,' said Kara. ‘Ray was a doctor at Woomera for six months.' She lowered her voice. ‘He's going to be a witness in our trial by media.'

‘So what was it like working out there?' I asked him. He looked at my shoulder while he collected his thoughts.

He shrugged. ‘It was not nice.'

‘Kara seems to think the conditions are inhumane.'

‘She is right.' Finally he looked me in the eye. In contrast to his face, his voice was calm and well-measured; maybe he was a good doctor after all. His accent was a mix of Australian and Middle Eastern and he spoke with a formality that suggested he had learnt English as a young adult. ‘What you see is people disintegrating, losing their hope and their life energy. Do not forget, they have fled highly traumatic situations – most have lost some of their family, including children, many have suffered violent oppression. Sadiq here lost his wife and son.' He said something to Sadiq in another language – I wasn't even sure what language Afghans spoke – and Sadiq nodded, his face a mask.

‘They have undertaken highly dangerous voyages to get here, often starving, often mistreated,' said Ray. ‘Then they are shut up in very unpleasant conditions. Mostly these people are decent family people. But all they can do is wait, and they do not even know what they are waiting for. Then they start seeing their own children eating faeces and sewing their lips together. People stop talking, washing, eating, caring. They start to give up on life. Other detainees see life drain out of their friends, and that in turn affects them. The death of hope makes people do crazy things.'

‘Such as?'

He lit a cigarette and talked through the smoke.

‘Well, I lost count of the number of slashed wrists I had to deal with. It was not quite daily, but close to it. One man attempted to kill himself by swallowing toilet cleaner. Another amputated his own foot with a dinner knife for no reason we could ever find out. A woman I know sewed up her own vagina after she was raped. There is no shortage of horror stories.'

‘Even worse, for me,' said Kara, ‘is the abuse of power by the guards. They shouldn't have
any
power. These people are not criminals. But that's the way they're treated.'

Ray nodded, perhaps in agreement, it was hard to tell.

‘And you quit?' I said to him. He was standing at a slight angle so that he could blow smoke to the side.

‘Yes, I quit.'

Behind Ray, the man with the ponytail – Phil – had been in discussion with Scotty and was now looking in our direction.

‘Hey, Doc, we have a medical question,' he called, something like a smirk on his face.

Ray made no immediate move.

‘C'mon, Doc, can you help us out?'

Ray shrugged sadly and looked at Kara and me. ‘Excuse me,' he said. ‘I cannot wait to hear their medical question.'

‘Talk to you later, Ray.' Kara smiled at him. ‘He's such a nice guy,' she said as he trudged over to Phil and Scotty. Sadiq stayed standing with us and Kara said a few words to him in what sounded like the same guttural language Ray had used to speak to him before.

‘What language is that?' I asked.

‘Dari,' she said. ‘I've been learning, but I'm a long way off fluent.'

‘So what will happen to Sadiq?'

‘I'm hoping he'll be able to stay. He can't go back, that's for sure.'

Sadiq was staring at me with black, expressionless eyes. He was a young man, no older than twenty-five, but he had already learnt how to hide his soul. His eyes were like the steel doors of a vault.

‘I wish there were more guys like Ray in the system.'

‘Probably, like him, they've all left the system.'

‘It seems like that sometimes. But I think it's more likely that the system has changed a lot of good guys into yes-men and drones.'

I gestured around the room. ‘Your friends seem a mixed bag.' Her eyes followed my hand and she smiled.

‘They are. An assortment of misfits. Basically good people, but most are usually stoned. A lot of lost sheep. Hearts of gold and brains of putty. Can we sit down? My feet are fucking killing me.' So were mine, but that wasn't her problem.

She said a few more words to Sadiq, who nodded forlornly, and pushed me to an alcove furnished with lounge chairs and a low table. It was empty because of its proximity to the piano, which was still being mistreated by the woman in the white blouse.

‘What's your background, Kara?' I asked after we were seated. ‘I'm guessing law degree. You'd make a good advocate.'

‘That's what my mother used to say.'

‘Is she dead?'

‘No, she just doesn't say it anymore.' Her gaze drifted off and whatever it was she was thinking seemed to dissipate, like a smoke signal blown by the wind.

‘She's a lawyer, too. Quite well-known in Sydney,' she said, refocusing. ‘She wanted me to follow in her footsteps and, you're right, I did do a law degree. But I hated it and haven't ever practised. We had some fierce fights, Mum and I. She told me to start acting responsibly, I told her to stop serving a corrupt fucking system.' She was playing with her near-empty glass, holding it in both hands and rocking it. The liquid – vodka and tonic, I think – swished from side to side. Her hands were small and fine, the glass almost too big for them. ‘She loves to argue,' said Kara. ‘So do I. She's a fiery bitch, so am I. We stopped fighting when Dad died, but only because we agreed not to talk about things we argued about. So we hardly talk at all these days. She still doesn't like what I do.'

The pianist finished her set with a flourish, leaving us with a ringing in the ears to remember her by. I had been slumping towards Kara to hear her better, and now I straightened up.

‘She doesn't think you should be organising prison riots?'

‘No, she doesn't. Absolutely not.' She hooked some hair behind an ear and looked at me. I held her eyes for a few seconds, trying to read them, but I might as well have been trying to read Dari.