Blood Sunset Part 16

'Dad,' I said.

He turned around quickly, startled. 'Hey, Ruboy. Good to see ya.'

'Good to see you too,' I said, smiling at the nickname he'd used my whole life. We shook hands and I pulled him into a hug. He was leaner than he'd been at Christmas, and his grey hair seemed thinner. He wasn't yet sixty-five but looked much older, almost as though he'd aged a year for every month since Mum's stroke. When he pulled away, I saw he'd been looking at a picture of Mum in her garden. It was one of my favourite shots of her, taken about ten years ago. I had the same photo in my apartment, above the television. She was a strong woman back then, able to spend a whole summer's day in the yard, digging and churning mulch and soil, only to come inside and work magic in the kitchen. G.o.d I missed her.

'So you're staying here tonight,' I said, trying to sound chipper. 'No need to drive so no worries, huh?'

'Yeah, no worries at all.'

He blew his nose into a handkerchief and I wondered if the weather was giving him hayfever too. I didn't want to think that maybe my father had been crying before I walked into the room.

'I don't know how I'm supposed to sleep with all that b.l.o.o.d.y racket out there,' he said. 'What kind of music is that anyway?'

'You'll be right, Dad. Just turn your hearing aid down. You won't hear a thing.'

'What was that?'

We both laughed at the old joke even though Dad didn't wear a hearing aid.

'Let me get you a drink,' I said. 'You want beer or wine?'

'Neither,' he said, standing in front of the dressing table mirror and straightening his tie. 'I want a scotch. Crisp and on the rocks.'

'A scotch?'

'b.l.o.o.d.y oath, and I want to drink one with my grandson. He's eighteen now, so he's allowed a man's drink. None of this lolly water they all drink these days.'

I followed him into the hall and swigged from my Corona, wondering if it const.i.tuted lolly water in my dad's eyes. Out in the garage, I found Jonathan and Chloe helping themselves to a chest filled with ice and an array of different drinks, mostly pink, green and yellow in colour. I wished Johnno a happy birthday and gave him a hug. His hair was spiked like a mohawk with bleached tips and coloured p.r.o.ngs at the back. It probably cost more to maintain a haircut like that than to run the Falcon.

'Hey fellas,' Johnno called to his mates in the garage. 'This is my uncle, the one I was telling you about.'

I turned around and held up my beer. Some of them returned the salute and I figured Jonathan had told them I was a cop. Hey fellas, watch what you say because my uncle's a detective who Hey fellas, watch what you say because my uncle's a detective who worked in the Drug Squad. worked in the Drug Squad. The way the squad had been disbanded so publicly, I wouldn't have been surprised if some of them came over and tried to score off me. The way the squad had been disbanded so publicly, I wouldn't have been surprised if some of them came over and tried to score off me.

'Come outside, Johnno,' I said. 'Your Pa wants to have a drink with you.'

'Yeah, sweet. Where is he?'

'Making you a drink. Scotch, I believe.'

'Cool,' he said, bravado mixed with a hint of uncertainty.

'Can I come too?' Chloe asked, swigging from a bottle with pink liquid in it. 'Or is this some kind of macho initiation c.r.a.p?'

I laughed. 'Sure. You want some scotch too?'

'Ah, do I look like a scotch girl?'

'I wouldn't know what a scotch girl looks like, Chloe. Although going by that lolly water you've got, I'd say you're more of a Ribena girl.'

'Ribena? This is a Bacardi Breezer, thanks very much.'

'Yeah, give me a taste of it.'

She handed it over and I took a swig. It was sweet and revolting and I handed it straight back, then put a hand on Jonathan's shoulder.

'Right then, let's go watch your little brother gag on a man's drink.'

'I won't gag,' he protested.

'We'll see.'

We joined Anthony and Dad at a table under the pergola that was set with four tumblers, a bucket of ice and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. It was my father's favourite drink but I liked the double meaning for my nephew.

I saw that Ella was helping out with the salads inside the house. I called her to see if she wanted to join us but she said she'd come out when it was all ready.

'So, to Johnno,' my father said, raising his tumbler. 'You're a man now. You can vote, drink and smoke if you want.'

'Dad!' Anthony scolded. 'He will not smoke, not as long as he lives here.'

Chloe and I smirked at each other, then I took a sip of the scotch. It was cold and it burnt my throat like dry ice. You could tell it was good by the way it settled in the gla.s.s and around the ice in the bottom, something my father had taught us as boys. Yet it was an acquired taste, and going by the grimace on Jonathan's face, I doubted it was one he would acquire tonight.

'You know, I remember when I was eighteen,' Dad said to Jonathan. 'I was getting ready for life on the farm, then my numbers came up.'

I nodded and so did Anthony. We'd heard the story a hundred times.

'I was on the first ride over there,' Dad went on. 'Stayed the full four years and made it out in one piece. A whole other country, that's what they said.'

'You talking about Vietnam?' Chloe asked.

'That's not what I call it. You don't want to know what I call it.' Dad looked again at Jonathan; the story was definitely aimed at him. 'And it was was a whole other place. A G.o.d-awful place. Hot and full of no one you could trust. You know what got us through it?' a whole other place. A G.o.d-awful place. Hot and full of no one you could trust. You know what got us through it?'

Knowing what I did now about many Vietnam vets, I could've said heroin, but instead let my nephew answer.

'Drinking?'

'Not just any drinking, son,' said Dad, holding up his gla.s.s. 'Scotch. Only the good stuff too. We used to knock it off from the Yanks. They'd have it shipped in from back home, and we'd sneak off with the bottles while they were sleeping.'

We all took a sip and I felt a sadness unravel in me as I watched the spark in my father's eyes burn out. Normally he ended this story by saying how returning home and getting married was when the real war started. There was no way he would say that now, not with his beloved wife of almost forty years stroke-afflicted and bedridden in a nursing home. I looked at Anthony and saw that he had seen it too.

'So, Johnno, wanna tell me what you got for your birthday?' I said, changing the subject.

'Didn't Dad tell ya?'

'Nope.'

'He's giving me the Land Rover.'

I was momentarily stunned. I'd noticed the P-plates on the four-wheel-drive out the front but hadn't thought anything of it. Anthony leased the car through his phys...o...b..siness and often let his kids drive it, but it wasn't more than five years old. I shouldn't have been surprised. Gabrielle had been the only child of wealthy fabric importers and the family home had been left to her in their will. For Anthony, it meant he'd entered his forties with a million-dollar-plus property to his name, completely mortgage free. No wonder they could afford to give their son a four-wheel-drive. The money was on tap.

'That's awesome, mate,' I said. 'Do me a favour though and tell me when you're planning to drive it so I know to stay off the road.'

Jonathan looked at his dad, unsure how to react.

'I'm just kidding, Johnno. That's s.h.i.t hot, mate. Congratulations!'

We all drank our tumblers and Anthony poured another round, excluding Jonathan, who wanted to go back on the lolly water.

'So what about you, Chloe?' I said. 'Enjoying your holidays?'

Suddenly a sharp pain exploded in my shin and I realised Anthony had kicked me under the table. He obviously a.s.sumed I was about to embarra.s.s everyone by taking Chloe on about the pills. I was so incensed by this that I didn't hear Chloe's answer and had to think of something else to say.

'So how long have you got left?'

'Of the holidays? I just told you that.'

'No, sorry, I mean university. How long until you finish?'

'Oh, two more years. It can't go quick enough, I tell you what.'

I smiled uneasily, unsure if she knew something was going on. 'Well, enjoy it while it lasts. You don't get holidays like that in the workforce.'

'Only in the police force, huh?' Anthony said. 'I don't know anyone who takes as much time off as you, Rubes.' He laughed at his own joke but soon realised he was out of line. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I know it wasn't a holiday.'

I brushed off the insult and lit up a cigarette. I felt like offering one to Jonathan and Chloe just to spite my brother, but didn't. When Dad said he was going to the bathroom, both kids took the opportunity to escape back into the garage with their friends, leaving just me and Anthony at the table.

'I'm sorry, Rubes. It just slipped out.'

'Mate, I wasn't going to say anything here. here. Jesus, I know it's sensitive.' Jesus, I know it's sensitive.'

Anthony lowered his head. 'I know, mate. s.h.i.t, I'm just a bit jumpy.'

'No s.h.i.t. How's everything else going, aside from that?'

'Fine that's the thing.' He drained his scotch and nodded towards the garage. 'Look at them. Christ, you'd never know. They look like normal kids.'

I looked over. Two of Johnno's mates appeared to be arm wrestling, Chloe and her girlfriends cheering them on.

'They are are normal kids, Andy.' normal kids, Andy.'

'Yeah, maybe. Have you checked out the DJ yet?'

'No. Why should I?'

'Because like I said, that's her boyfriend and he's probably the one selling her the pills. The way I see it, you just go in there, let him know who you are and what you do. Let him know you're on to him and get him to back off. Christ, it'll scare the s.h.i.t out of him. Simple.'

'Well, for a start, if he is her boyfriend, I doubt he's selling her anything. He's probably just giving it to her.'

'What, like some kind of sugar daddy?'

'I'm not saying that.'

Anthony's eyes flared wide with rage. He pointed a shaky finger, like a broken spear. 'Don't go there, Rubens. I don't want to hear about that. She's still my little girl.'

'Relax. You're getting ahead of your '

'Relax? My daughter's on drugs and you don't even give a s.h.i.t. Jesus, how can you tell me to relax? I knew I shouldn't have asked you.'

Anthony seemed aggressive, in the mood for a sc.r.a.p. He'd always been like that when he got into the grog. I sipped my scotch and let it settle in my stomach before I decided to give him some home truths.

'Listen, Andy, you're not going to like this, but you need to try and understand something that it's taken me more than ten years to figure out. Something many of my colleagues, and most of the population, still don't get and probably never will.'

He leant forward, interested.

'We're fighting an impossible battle. And it's not just the drugs. A multi-billion-dollar music and entertainment industry has sprung up in the past decade. We're talking about record sales that rival The Beatles. There are nightclubs in Europe that have become multinational corporations and are listed on the world stock exchange. They send their DJs on worldwide tours, fly them in on private jets and helicopters, like b.l.o.o.d.y movie stars. And walking hand in hand with it all are the drugs.'

Anthony stared into his gla.s.s, absorbing it all. 'So you're saying the music is a front?'

'No, I'm saying they're co-dependent. One's sp.a.w.ned the other, like the chicken and the egg. And the music is fashionable, it's everywhere. On the radio, in the clothing stores, in the movies. Mate, they even play it on the sports channels.'

'Right, I get it. The more popular the music becomes, the more popular the drugs are?'

'Right, and vice versa.'

Anthony gestured towards the garage where Johnno's and Chloe's friends were now dancing to a style of music I recognised but would never appreciate.

'You mean music just like this? What that guy's playing in there?'

I nodded, then immediately regretted it as he pushed back his chair.

'I knew it. I'm not having it in my house,' he said, storming around the table.

'Let it go,' I said, stopping him. 'You don't want to make a fool of yourself. Not here. Not tonight. Johnno would never forgive you.'

The resistance didn't last. He was unsteady on his feet and I realised he was drunk. He eased away and pointed at the garage angrily. 'It's f.u.c.kin' bulls.h.i.t, Rubens. What kind of noise is that anyway?'

'What do you want them to listen to, Andy? Cold Chisel?'

'What's wrong with that? This is just synthesised c.r.a.p.'

I stayed where I was in case he made another go for the garage.

'I agree, but what would you do if the DJ played "Khe Sanh" and they all got in a circle and sang about wanting more speed and novocaine?' and they all got in a circle and sang about wanting more speed and novocaine?'

Anthony screwed up his face, as though he'd only just realised the meaning behind the iconic lyrics.

'Suppose you'd want to hear "Run to Paradise", too,' I added.

'That's what I'm talking about. The Choirboys, cla.s.sic Aussie rock. Real music.'