CHAPTER THREE
I had arranged to have a drink that evening with a friend at the Grease Monkey Bar in Woolloomooloo, just down the hill from the city centre. The place was basically a huge room designed to resemble a 1930s garage, with vintage cars, pulley blocks and ceiling rope hoists.
When I walked in, a couple of hundred office workers who couldn't change a car tyre to save their lives were milling about in its industrial chic interior. They were buzzing with end-of-week excitement, booze and drugs. The music made my spine rattle.
My friend, Adrian Calhoun, sat at the bar, eyeing a leggy woman in a short skirt lining up a shot at a pool table. His handsome features and broad shoulders often made people wonder if he was a television personality. I had known him since we were both, at the age of 12, assigned to the same class at Scots College, an exclusive private school. Even then, he was marked out for success. Teachers loved him and classmates admired him. He could have easily ignored me because I was a scholarship boy from a modest background. But he was always friendly, maybe because I was a bit different.
We stayed good friends at Sydney University, where I studied law, and he studied economics and almost made the Olympics eights rowing team. Then he joined a merchant bank called Baldwin & Perry and rose to become, at the age of 33, a senior vice-president. He sometimes talked about pursuing a career in federal politics, but fretted about the drop in income.
When I left university, my sole ambition was to not become a cubicle-dwelling solicitor at a big corporate law firm. Instead, I worked for the Director of Public Prosecutions and fell in love with the drama of criminal trials. The only drawback was that, as a solicitor, I was a spectator in court. I got tired of watching barristers claim everyone's attention and spout nonsense. Surely, I could do better. So, after five years working for the DPP, I joined the Bar.
After university, Adrian and I shared an apartment for a while and I saw, close up, that he worked hard and partied even harder. I think he found booze, drugs and chasing women an escape from the heavy burden of expectations resting on his shoulders. In any event, after trying to match his wild lifestyle for a while, I decided that, for the sake of my health and career, I should find other digs, which I did.
We still saw each other quite often, but I sensed we were drifting apart. The past held us together, not the present or future.
He saw me and waved. "Hello, mate. Have you met Mick?"
I suddenly noticed a thin guy in a denim jacket, with stringy hair and a haunted face, sitting next to him. A number of my clients looked like him. All were drug dealers.
I didn't bother extending my hand. "No, how are you?"
A slit-eyed stare. "I'm fine." He turned to Adrian. "OK, mate, I'll see you around."
"Don't be a stranger."
Mick disappearing into the bobbing crowd.
I nodded towards his retreating figure. "Does he work at your firm?"
The jackhammer music forced Adrian to lean close and yell. "Hah, hah. We have a business relationship. He sells a product from Bolivia that I enjoy. Want some?"
I was desperate to take the edge off my day and, several years ago, would have accepted his offer. But I had weaned myself off coke once and didn't want to do it again. I'd have to stick to booze. "Thanks, but I'll pass."
A shrug. "Up to you. How was your week?"
Adrian was amused that I belonged to an antiquated profession which did not allow me to incorporate or employ other lawyers. He once told me: "You can only make big money if other people do the work for you." He did not understand that money was not my god, and I loved the cut and thrust of trial work. Indeed, I only disliked my job when I lost a trial I should have won.
I said: "Not good. Had a three-day trial in the District Court. Client was convicted of possessing a trafficable quantity of cocaine, funnily enough."
My sarcasm did not register because he, like most wealthy people, thought himself immune to criminal sanctions.
He said: "Sentenced yet?"
"No."
"How long will he get?"
"Probably seven or eight years, but he'll only serve five or six if he behaves himself."
A smile. "Good. The judge should throw the book at him."
I rolled my eyes. "You don't approve of drug dealers?"
A grin. "Of course not. They always charge too much."
I didn't want to talk anymore about the trial. "Anyway, how was your week?"
A toothy smile. "Great. We're advising a client who launched a takeover bid for a company called Nutraglide. The client has already gobbled up 60% of the shares, so everyone, including yours truly, will get a huge bonus."
"Congratulations. Wish I could charge a success fee."
"Well, you chose to become a barrister." Adrian noticed someone across the room. "Ah, there's Colin. I arranged to meet him here. Hope you don't mind."
I turned and saw the stocky figure of Colin Douglas bowling towards us, smiling broadly. Colin was one of our classmates at Scots College, though always much closer to Adrian than me. He was a relationship manager at a stockbroking firm, which meant, I think, that he offered clients the "golden opportunity" to invest in shares the firm wanted to dump. I always thought him very pleasant and very untrustworthy.
Colin said: "Evening guys."
Adrian leaned forward, expectantly. "How'd it go?"
Colin gave him a big thumbs-up. "Fine, fine. I'll settle with you later."
"Excellent," Adrian said as they high-fived.
I said: "What went fine?"
Colin grinned. "If we told you, we'd have to kill you. But let's celebrate. What are you boys drinking?"
We both demanded beers and Colin bought three schooners from the barman.
I'd been itching for a beer and almost drained the glass in one gulp. Soon, I bought another, which slipped down just as fast. I passed into a benign and relaxed world where there were no clients, no dodgy cops and nobody went to gaol. Goran Milic got sucked down a chute in the back of my head.
While I inhaled beers - God, they tasted good - Adrian and Colin chatted about the share market, rugby and horse racing. Adrian had recently become very interested in the gee-gees. Sometimes, I contributed to the discussion, but was more interested in downing beers. I had not been seriously drunk for a long time. However, the bar started to pitch and roll, and the world slipped into soft-focus.
At some point, my companions disappeared into the toilets and came back with glazed expressions. A little later, Adrian's girlfriend, Rowena, turned up and I chatted amiably with her about something or other. Then the evening disappeared into a fog. The last thing I realised was that I would not get to my bed unless my bed came to me.