The Undertow by Peter Corris Read Free Book Online

Working upwards is not the way to go but my ladder only reached so far. My father had tried to instruct me as a handyman, but I’d found passing him nails and changing between the Phillips head and the other kind of screwdriver so boring I closed off. Occasionally I regretted not having the facility.
    â€˜A workman is only as good as his tools,’ he used to say.
    He was right. I never had the right tools for that kind of work.
    With the sky darkening and the light dropping, I sawed away in the confined space at the side of the house. I was being scratched by thorny branches and sweat was running into my eyes.
    I’m going to flog this place, I thought. Get a unit at Coogee and let the body corporate handle the maintenance.
    â€˜Hey, Hardy.’
    I was standing on top of the ladder none too securely and, surprised by the voice, I almost fell. As it was I dropped the saw. Bracing myself against the wall, I looked down. Rex Wain was standing three metres below me with his hand on the ladder.
    â€˜Gidday, Wain,’ I said. ‘You bloody nearly made me fall.’
    He gave the ladder a gentle shake. ‘That’s exactly what I’m fucking going to do. Let’s see you piss me around with a broken leg.’
    â€˜What’re you talking about?’
    â€˜You fucking know.’
    He bent to pick up the saw and took his hand off the ladder. I went down two rungs quickly and jumped. He swore and swung at me with the saw but he was slow and impeded by the branches of the shrubs. I ducked under the wing and bullocked into him, forcing him back against the wall. He dropped the saw. I hit him hard about where his right kidney was and he gasped. I jerked his left arm up his back and held him there, pressing his head against the bricks.
    â€˜You’re out of shape, Rex. Had enough?’
    â€˜Fuck you.’
    â€˜Only reason I phoned you was to talk about an old case. That’s it. Nothing else. Now you can believe me and come in have a drink or you can have another go and get knocked about. Up to you.’
    He muttered something I couldn’t catch.
    â€˜What was that?’
    A couple of fat raindrops fell as a prelude to some heavy stuff coming.
    He eased his mouth away from the wall and turned his head towards me. ‘Nothing about the Logan business?’ His breath stank of booze and bad teeth.
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Okay, then. Sorry, sorry.’
    I let him go and picked up the saw. ‘Let’s go inside before it pisses down. No tricks, Rex. A scratch from this rusty blade and you’re a tetanus case, for sure.’
    â€˜No worries.’
    I shepherded him around to the front of the house and we went in and down the passage to the kitchen at the back on the ground floor. Wain was a good ten years older than me and not wearing well. His sandy hair was thin on top and his belly ballooned his shirt front out over his belt. He wore a light grey suit that could have done with a clean and was missing buttons. He rubbed the spot where I’d hit him and stroked his nose. His face had hit the wall pretty hard.
    I sat him down at the kitchen bench and gave him a solid scotch. He shook his head when I offered him ice, and tossed it down in one gulp. I poured another and one for myself. The rain came, thundering on the iron roof of the bathroom behind the kitchen—an add-on long after the house was built.
    â€˜Who’s Logan?’ I said.
    â€˜Shit, it doesn’t matter. Just a pissed-off client. I got into your game after I left the force. I thought he might have hired you to get his money back or something.’
    â€˜You don’t seem to be doing too well at it.’
    He tasted his drink this time and looked around the room. ‘You’re not exactly coining it yourself. This isn’t a single malt and this joint’s a dump. Worth a bit though, I suppose.’
    â€˜How about we have the talk I wanted to have, since you’re