Chapter 27
Two barristers had stood before him down on the courtroom floor. The accused was a principle of law over which the two men had berated each other for hours. Occasionally he interrupted the legal crossfire to establish a point of law; otherwise he allowed them free rein.
At eleven o’clock Justice Horgan adjourned and as he entered his chambers he removed his coat and pulled the letter from a pocket in his trousers. It had been delivered to him before the morning session and the ornate electric type of Margaret’s machine indicated to him that Milan Krulis had finished his task.
He slowly carved the ivory letter-opener through the rich paper fold of the envelope and studied the carefully phrased script. He smiled generously as he returned the letter to his trousers pocket.
‘Nicely done, Milan.’ he whispered as he prepared for the afternoon session at court.
*
Two barristers smiled at each other as the judge entered court. They bowed and the judge bowed and everyone sat. They had dined well and the claret of comfort took the edge off the debate. The judge rested his head upon his right hand and gazed down into his court.
*
The memo was dated 15 February and had been stamped by the warden. Hans Dorfman walked from prison as jauntily as he had walked in. He was met at the bus stop by the black LTD and taken to an address at The Cross.
‘You’re off to adventure, Hans.’ Milan said without looking up from the folder on his desk.
‘You want me to grab a bit of rhino horn for your cock, Mil?’
‘We fudged with your sheet and the visa was uncomplicated, Hans.’ Milan spoke to the folder. ‘Their justice is hard. They have a particular dislike for foreign criminals.’
For a slight moment Hans felt an odd sensation of resentment, perceiving perhaps that Milan’s condescension was verging on contempt. But then his naive nature assumed control and he began to caricature the image of himself in the window as the easy-going sidekick taking the fall for his pals.
‘This is my fate!’ he sighed as he watched his window image staring back at himself, ‘for the cost of a slug I get to feel all those beautiful exotic titties!’.
‘There’s more irony to this adventure than you realise, Hans.’ said Milan. ‘It is no pyrrhic victory that sends you to your fate.’
‘What are you gabbin’ on about, Mil?’ Hans ignored his image and stared at the man opposite. It was difficult; the image was there as a stark reflection in the tinted window, irrespective of how he tried to block it with Milan’s head.
‘Here!’ Milan pushed the folder across his desk. ‘Look at this, Hans. Turn to page five. I know it by heart: detective sergeant Roy Fitzgibbon was recently notified by Assistant Commissioner Craven of promotion to Inspector Third Class. Transfer Immediate, Rural Division, Gunnedah.’
‘You did that for me?’ said Hans in his Sal Mineo role.
Milan studied his employee for a while then ignored him. The view out the window opposite the desk had become as personal as a pocket photograph. It wasn’t much of a day; too hazy and humid and people were disgruntled with the heat.
The office had the crispness of early spring and Dorfman was in the summer fabric of his release clothes. He stood and began exercising on the Persian carpet. He worked quietly in the manner of the prison and soon his clothes were sticking to his skin.
‘Every night since I got busted, Mil.’ Hans said as a matter-of-fact. ‘Two hundred straight off. Used to think I was screwin’ the fuckin’ Queen.’
‘What did happen to you inside, Hans?’
Hans saw that Milan’s face was serious, and perhaps the little bloke did care a bit. ‘I’m okay I s’pose, Mil. They look after you when you’re in. They gotta, y’know! You ever been inside a zoo? All the animals are looked after. Fed enough to keep you shittin’. Even get rid of your shit for you! All into a great fuckin’ drain. It clogs and you smell what you’ve eaten. You complain about it and the next night your arse is broken and you drip with their rotten sperm!’
Milan showed not the slightest expression of sympathy. His eyes were as anaesthetised as his emotions. Hans peered into them and felt out of place. He said, ‘I’m okay, Mil. Just wanted you to know you’re in my debt!’
Milan continued to gaze through the window at the world beyond. He was manipulating the future but the present had not properly been managed to his satisfaction. Little bits needed to be tucked away, out of sight, for his future plans to be realised. ‘The Tseridis matter has been closed with your acquittal, Hans. Check page fourteen.’
‘I’m off the hook?’
‘Only as far as I am, Hans. Don’t you forget it.’ Milan was weary and he looked it. ‘Page twenty-nine, Hans. You will notice that Club 69 and Mario’s are now registered and licensed to Milan Krulis. With immediate effect.’
‘After Tyrone Power, Mil, you’re my favourite hero.’ sighed Hans for the benefit of the handsome fellow in the window.
‘Try page thirty-one, Hans.’ Milan said with a touch of asperity. He suddenly glimpsed behind him and saw the smiling image of Hans Dorfman insulting and insolent. ‘If you can take your eyes off yourself!’
‘The bodies of a Maori and two black-haired men were found in a capsized boat off Botany Bay.’ Hans read jerkily. He looked up. ‘Any more?’
‘Forget the page!’ Milan said with overt irritation. ‘You aren’t interested in a large woman in working clothes electrocuting herself with hair dryer, are you?’
