JOURNAL OF A COFFIN DODGER CHAPTER K

CHAPTER K

A glowing cigarette marked the stealthy movements of two figures as they emerged from the shadows of a spreading Moreton Bay Fig Tree.

The dark-clothed figures, with cloth caps pulled low over their faces, moved through a full moon's gentle light towards a derelict building. Their shadows slithered along the tire tracks which scarred the ground leading to the ash-smeared ruins.

The glowing cigarette fell to the ground as the figures drew closer to the blackened shells of two vehicles, while a third figure stood still in the shadow of a munted brick wall.

The third figure began writing in a notebook as harsh voices slashed the silence of the brisk night air.

'Two weeks since the fire, Bill, and any talk of what caused it?'

'I've heard nothin' since I've been away or since I returned to Sydney.'

A rusty wheel hub screeched as it scraped against a jumbled heap of blackened bricks. A rusty vehicle shell swayed in the moonlight.

Bill's voice snarled.

'Look at me bloody hand from touching that wreck. Covered in soot. A joy to drive that Riley Pathfinder. I'll kill the cunts who did this to it and the Holden. But I'll torture the bastards first for what they did to Mick.'

'What are you getting at, Bill? That Mick would still be with us if someone hadn't deliberately torched the building?'

'For bloody certain.'

'You know how I know? Well, I'll tell ya. But keep it to yourself. OK!'

A hacking cough interrupted the conversation.

Bill continued as the coughing ended.

'The bitch we were with, a good fuck, a real good fuck, was acting strange that night. When Mick started nodding off, I wondered if she had done something to our drinks. I wasn't feeling the best myself.'

'But when smoke swirled into the room we was in, I had no bloody doubts. That bitch moved out of that room, steady as a rock. But I was as unsteady as a dunny in a gale as I followed the slut out.'

'I was right behind her, about to grab her round her lying bitch's throat and choke the friggin' life out of her when I tripped and sprained me fuckin' ankle.'

'Flames and shit were falling like confetti at a wedding as I crawled out of that flaming mess. Jesus Christ! It was a near-fucking thing.'

'Poor bloody Mick, though.'

'I wanted to attend his funeral, but sticky-beaks stopped me from going.'

'You see, I didn't want to give those nosey parkers opportunities to ask me questions about stuff they have no right to know about. However, from what I've been told, Mick's buried out at Rookwood. I'll go over there sometime and visit his grave.'

'Yer, you're right, Bill. From what I saw at the funeral service, some of the asylum's chief busybodies went to that service. People, women mainly, who didn't know Mick. It was a wise move to stay away.'

'And you're spot on about Mick's death. It was a hell of a shame. He was a top bloke. But thank Christ! You got out.'

A sneeze paused the conversation.

'But you didn't hang around for the cops, eh?'

A chuckle drifted across the site.

'Not on your fucking life. They're only in the job for what they can get out of it. Like a pay-off. So, nah! I didn't stay around to talk to them because I don't trust the bastards.'

'So, what do ya reckon? The bitch had help?'

'I'd bet my life on it. Typical slut. Beddable, but no brains. Couldn't have done something like that without assistance.'

'Have to be a woman, though. You know where you are with blokes. They're upfront about what's happening. Women are sly and devious. Real snakes in the grass.'

'Any ideas who?'

'I've got some. My sister, Clare, shares a house up on the North Coast with one of the nurses from the asylum. I’ve asked Clare to dig around; I’ll chew over what she finds out and take it from there. The nurse is a good lookin' sort. Keeps her legs shut, though. A real ice maiden.'

'You're lucky, Bill, that you've found a woman you can trust. The ones I've met, their trust goes only so far as the last of my money.'

'Oh! Yer! Clare and I trust each other. We are close, real bloody close, have been since we were kids.'

A match flared, and a cigarette glowed as the figures slunk through the site. They stopped at the far end as moonlight cast a long, mournful shadow along the interior of a cold, green enamel bathtub.

'What a fucking awful way to go, eh? Poor bloody Mick. Trapped beneath a bloody, upturned bathtub. One day soon, I'll fix those bitches.'

Cigarette smoke spiralled towards the heavens, where a shooting star's flickering demise darted across a cloudless star-spangled sky.

'Come on. I've seen enough. Let's piss off.'

The glowing cigarette moved along the edge of the site as the third figure ceased writing.

Wayne returned the notebook to the pocket of his coat and leant against the ruined brick wall. His knees wobbled like a bowl of jelly as the two dark-clothed figures disappeared into the shadows of the Moreton Bay Fig Tree.

'Thank Christ! Mate! You found a place to hide,' I said to Wayne as I handed the typewritten transcription to Anne. She took the transcription and began reading as she sat in a lounge chair.

'Yer, I've never met Bill, but he sounds like a dangerous bastard. Not the sort of person you want to meet on a dark night,' Wayne replied as he looked at me while sitting on the sofa.

'Yer! Not the sort of person you want to tangle with.'

 I said as I sat in a lounge chair at the other end of the sofa from where Anne was sitting. Who stood up while holding the transcription and walked to the end of the farmhouse's front veranda.

As I had read Clare's journals and had noticed Mike in action at the asylum where I worked, I had no hesitation in confirming Rebekah's statement. An opinion given strength as I continued reading Clare's journal.

A couple of pages after that comment, Clare had glued to the pages of her journal a newspaper report of the coroner's inquest into Mike's death and the fire. The fire that I had lit in the derelict asylum building that Mike and Bill used as a brothel.

The coroner ruled that Mike's death was 'death by misadventure.'

The coroner noted testimony from the asylum administration that the building was a 'known haunt of squatters'.

'In all likelihood therefore,' the coroner wrote, Mike had entered the building 'with a view to moving the squatters on.'

He may have had assistance in this matter with the 'services of another staff member,' but that person was currently unknown.

Though the source of ignition was not located, 'in all likelihood, a candle or a similar source of illumination used by the squatters caused the blaze.'

The coroner, after noting Mike's 'sterling service as an asylum nurse' and offering commiserations to Mike's family, then closed the inquest.