The Bat(34)

Birgitta placed a large margarita in front of Otto.

‘A few years back, Eddy Mabo, a bloke from the Torres Strait Islands, challenged the Establishment by disputing the Terra Nullius principle and asserting that the land at that time had been illegally taken from the Aboriginals. In 1992 the High Court accepted his view and stated that Australia had belonged to the Aboriginal people. The court ruling determined that where Indigenous inhabitants had lived or occupied an area before the whites came and still did today, they could demand these areas back. Naturally, that created a terrible hoo-ha with loads of whites screaming blue murder because they were afraid they would lose their land.’

‘And what’s the situation now?’

Otto took a deep swig from the salt-rimmed cocktail glass, pulled a face as if he had been served vinegar and wiped his mouth carefully with a slighted expression.

‘Well, the ruling’s there. And the Native Title laws exist. But they’re interpreted in a way that doesn’t seem to be too despotic. It’s not the case that some poor farmer suddenly finds his property is being confiscated. So the worst panic has gradually passed.’

Here I am sitting in a bar, Harry thought, listening to a transvestite lecturing on Australian politics. He felt at home, a bit like Harrison Ford in the bar scene in Star Wars.

The news was interrupted by a commercial break with smiling Australians in flannel shirts and leather hats. They were advertising a brand of beer whose greatest quality was that apparently it was ‘proudly Australian’.

‘Well, here’s to Terra Nullius,’ Harry said.

‘Cheers, Handsome. Oh, I almost forgot. Our new performance will be at St George’s Theatre on Bondi Beach. I urge you and Andrew to come and see it. Bring a friend if you like. OK with me if you save all your applause for my numbers.’

Harry bowed his head and thanked Otto for the three tickets he was holding with his little finger outstretched.





18


A Pimp


CROSSING GREEN PARK on his way from the Albury to King’s Cross, Harry involuntarily looked for the grey Aboriginal man, but this evening there were just a couple of white drunks sitting on the bench in the pale light from the park lamps. The clouds from earlier in the day had drifted away and the sky was high and starry. In the road he passed two men who were clearly having an argument – they stood on opposite sides of the pavement shouting at each other, so Harry had to walk through the middle. ‘You didn’t say you were going to stay out all night!’ screeched one in a reedy, tear-filled voice.

Outside a Vietnamese restaurant a waiter stood leaning against the door frame smoking. He looked as if he’d had a long day already. The queue of cars and people slowly oozed along Darlinghurst Road in King’s Cross.

On the corner of Bayswater Road Andrew stood chewing a bratwurst.

‘There you are,’ he said. ‘On the dot. Germanic to the core.’

‘Germany’s—’

‘Germans are Teutons. You come from a northern Germanic tribe. You even look it. You’re not denying your own tribe, are you?’

Harry was tempted to reply with the same question, but refrained.

Andrew was in bubbly mood. ‘Let’s kick off with someone I know,’ he said.

They agreed to start the search for the proverbial needle as close to the middle of the haystack as they could get – among the prostitutes in Darlinghurst Road. They were not hard to find. Harry already recognised a few of them.

‘Mongabi, my man, how’s business?’ Andrew stopped and warmly greeted a dark-skinned man wearing a tight suit and bulky jewellery. A gold tooth glistened when he opened his mouth.

‘Tuka, you raging stallion! Can’t complain, you know.’

He looks like a pimp, if anyone does, Harry thought.

‘Harry, say hello to Teddy Mongabi, the baddest pimp in Sydney. He’s been doing this for twenty years and still stands with his girls on the street. Aren’t you getting a bit long in the tooth for this now, Teddy?’

Teddy threw up his arms and grinned. ‘I like it down here, Tuka. This is where it’s happening, you know. If you sit in an office it isn’t long before you lose your perspective and control. And control is everything in this game, you know. Control of the girls and control of the punters. People are like dogs, you know. A dog you don’t have under control is an unhappy dog. And unhappy dogs bite, you know.’

‘If you say so, Teddy. Listen, I’d like to have a word with one of your girls. We’re on the lookout for a bad boy. He could have been up to some of his tricks here, too.’

‘Fine, who’d you like to talk to?’

‘Is Sandra here?’