The Centre Cannot Hold

Here’s a much belated addition to that first chapter I put up here some weeks back – I’ll try to keep them coming a little more frequently.

Chapter Two

The business of giving a statement was always a lengthy one in Rag’s experience, especially when the cops had nothing to go on.

When they had you, they knew it and you knew it, and the whole statement thing was pretty much a formality. When you were clearly an innocent witness, it was usually even simpler – not to mention that the cop taking your words down would be a lot nicer to you about it. But when they didn’t know what to do next, they just tried to keep you talking, hoping you’d say something – anything – that would give them something to work with.

Continue reading The Brunswick Street Irregulars – Chapter Two

McEwan sighed and looked across the desk to his partner. Drysdale was leaning back his chair, his feet up on the desk and a lazy smile on his face. The smile only got wider as the silence lengthened. Finally, McEwan gave in.
“Fine, so there was nothing useful in any of those phone calls,” he grudgingly admitted.
“Just like?” Drysdale prompted.
“Just like you predicted.” Drysdale sat up straight, still smiling.
“Damn right. But at least now we know that.”
“What do you want to do next?”
“Well, we’ve got the uniforms to canvass the street – maybe someone saw or heard something.”
“You don’t think so?”
“People work all kinds of crazy shifts these days. We might get lucky, but the ones most likely to be up at that time are students pulling allnighters…”
“…and they’re unlikely to be reliable or cooperative witnesses,” McEwan finished the thought.
“About the size of it.”
“So, that leaves us with either taking another run at our two witnesses – and I really don’t think either of them is the shooter – or waiting.”
“We should put off taking that second run until we get the results of the canvasses back. It might give us more to work with. Other than that, we fall back on our existing case. Rag and his lady definitely have some connection to the Irregulars, and if our body was one of them, they’ll want to mark the occasion somehow,” said Drysdale.
“So, we’ll see what tomorrow brings, then?”

***

Peta was trying to solve a puzzle without enough pieces. The Brunswick Street Irregulars would definitely be out tonight, but where would they be? The cops were bound to know that too, and they’d be looking high and low for them.

She decided to compromise. There was a twenty-four hour convenience store on the corner of Johnson and Brunswick. It would provide a reasonable place to wait and watch from without drawing too much suspicion, although she might have to flirt with the guy behind the counter a little more than was really advisable. But needs must.

It had been a long and frustrating night for Peta. The convenience store was brightly lit, and there was nowhere to sit – and staying there had meant spending hours fending off pass after pass from the guy at the counter. But it was out of the way. She’d spotted a few police cars patrolling, and once even saw one of the detectives who took her statement – she hoped he hadn’t seen her too.

But overall, the night was a bust. No sign of any of the Irregulars all night long. Stumbling home, an hour after dawn, it didn’t even occur to Peta to look at the walls of Smith Street’s Fitzroy side.

*    *    *

Despite his tiredness, Rag found it difficult to sleep that night. Partly it was just the uncomfortable couch he was lying on – at 6’4″, Rag could choose between dangling his feet, his head or both of the ends – but mostly it was recent events.

Tommy’s death – Tommy’s murder, he corrected himself – was bad enough on its own, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a harbinger of worse to come. The police had been sniffing around the Irregulars for months now, but now there seemed like a chance they might actually get somewhere. They hadn’t asked him anything about the Irregulars, but Rag was sure that they suspected. Tommy had still smelled of paint, and there’d been no hiding the fact that they knew him.

Even more troubling than the police – who to Rag were an annoyance about on the level of the weather; you allowed for them then did whatever you were going to do in the first place – was the murderer. Because there was little chance that it wasn’t someone in the Irregulars. Who else would Tommy have been with at such a time? Hell, who else would have been awake? Tommy had stumbled into something he shouldn’t have, and now he was keeping secrets in the only absolutely reliable fashion. And whatever it was, he’d wanted Rag and Sally to know about it.

So they’d better bloody find out, thought Rag.

Trish looked at Sally incredulously.
‘Why the Hell would I know?” she asked.
“Tommy was your housemate. I was hoping he might have said before he went out that night.”
“He probably would have, only I left before he did – that was the night we did the new train station.”
“The Broady line one?”
“You know any other line’s got a new station?”
“Fair point. Bugger.”
“Look Sally, you know I loved Tommy like he was my brother. If I knew anything at all that might help, I’d tell you.”
“What was he working on?”
“Could have been any of a half dozen things. It wasn’t that stencil piece the cops are staking out, he was smarter than that,” said Trish.
“Rag has this theory that Tommy was coming to our place to tell us something important, and whoever shot him wanted to stop him.”
“Rag has this theory?”
“Yeah, okay, I think he’s probably right,” said Sally. “It all makes sense. Rag thinks he was running when they shot him. His knees were freshly skinned.”
“Well, I’d be running too, if I knew someone was trying to shoot me.”
“I wouldn’t. I’d go for cover.”
“So you think that Tommy didn’t know he was being chased?”
“And if that’s the case, it must have been something important for him to be running.”
“I wish I knew more, Sal.”
“I didn’t really think you would, to be honest. You’re all pretty independent over there. I’m just being thorough, is all.”
“Less independent now,” said Trish sadly.
“How do you mean?”
“Oh, just missing him mostly. Me and David both. Plus, there’s that other problem.”
“Other problem?”
“Our, uh, financial independence has also been compromised. We need a new housemate, or we won’t be able to afford the place.”
“And I guess neither of you feels much like interviewing strangers right now.”
“Not at all.”

“I’m just saying, Rag. We could do a lot more than we do. Last night proved that.”
Rag sighed. He liked Eric Nelson – he was smart and funny, but dear christ, the man could be wearing at times. Rag was still exhausted after the marathon effort of the night before.
“Like what, Eric?”
“Civil disobedience.”
“Aren’t we doing that already?”
“Yeah, we are, but not in an organised way. We’re doing spontaneous artistic projects, and that’s it.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Not a thing. It’s an important political statement in its own right. But we could be making other statements besides that.”
“I like that one,” said Rag. “And besides, plenty of the stuff various people do has political comment in it. David’s stuff, Marla’s, some of the others.”
“But that’s what I mean. It’s scattershot. What if we had a unified political agenda?”
“Eric, if you think you can herd these cats better than Sally or I can, you’re welcome to try. We’re first amongst equals, nothing more.”
“Sally just proved that we can do more.”
“Granted. But I think you’re underestimating the degree to which people’s emotions played into that.”
“What if I’m not?” asked Eric.
“Okay,” said Rag. “Assume for a moment that the Irregulars can be marshaled to a cause like you want to. What would you do with them?”
“Like I said, civil disobedience. But more targeted, aimed at specific goals.”
“Give me an example.”
“Those damned ticketing machines on the train stations. We could wipe them out in a single night.”
“You think?”
“I’m sure of it,” said Eric. Rag thought it over for a minute.
“Listen, bring it up at the meeting. I’m in favour of it, but I’m not coming out with it for you – you have to make the case yourself.”
“That’s all I wanted, Rag. Just a chance, see what we can do.”
“Good luck. I think you’re gonna need it.”

It was with some difficulty that Sally managed to not smile while she was leaving the police station. Rag picked up on it, but no one else seemed to notice – and even he seemed to have no idea what she was smiling about.

As soon as they were far enough away, however, she told him.
“I got something,” she said.
“From the cops?”
“Yup.” Rag waited a minute, and they took another few steps before his impatience got the better of him.
“Well?”
“The cops think it was an inside job.”
“An inside job?”
“They didn’t come right out and accuse me of being an Irregular, but it’s obvious they think that me, you and Tommy all are.”
“We figured that they’d get that much.”
“Yeah, but they’re working on a theory that we aren’t. They think whoever killed Tommy was also an Irregular.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Maybe. The group’s bigger than it used to be, and we don’t know everyone anymore. We’re trusting people because people we really trust do,” Sally pointed out.
“And you think they might be wrong?” She shrugged.
“No one’s perfect, and not everyone has your codes of ethics regarding lies, love.”
“I suppose not. I…”
“…don’t really like to think like that,” she said. “I know you don’t; neither do I.”
“But you think we might have to, anyway.”
“Assuming the cops are right – and those guys aren’t dumb. They probably know the mindset of professional criminals better than we do.”
“This going to suck,” said Rag.
“Big time,” agreed Sally.
“Also, if those cops are going to stay on us – and it looks like they are – we need to be a little more careful.”
“Was thinking the same. You have a plan?”
“Not yet,” said Rag. “But I will.”