“Delarosa?” he asked.
Trying to control his butterflies, he managed a stuttered reply. “Ye… yes, sir.”
“Commissioner Rowland.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This call wouldn’t normally come from me, but I wanted to be the one to make it.”
“Sir?”
“This business of kickin’ in with McLoughlin. You reckon you can handle it?”
“Yes, sir,” came the positive and stern reply.
“You sure? It’s not gonna be a cakewalk,” the Commissioner warned.
“Are you saying I’ve got the job sir?”
“Depends.”
“Sir?”
“On how you answer this next question.”
Tony Delarosa took a deep breath trying to control his brain, his feelings and his emotions. “Sir?”
“You’re on a job with McLoughlin and he tells you to do something that is totally wrong. Totally illegal. Totally against all the rules. Totally against everything you’ve ever believed in. Totally against procedure. Would you do it? Remember, this bloke is your boss. He’s given you an order. If you don’t carry it out, he’ll probably sack you. If he doesn’t, I would. Now do you do it or do you tell him to fuck off?”
“Big call, sir!”
“Do you do it or do you tell him to go to hell?” The Commissioner repeated.
Tony’s hackles began to rise. Shit! This is the bloody Commissioner and he’s hanging this sort of crap on me. I don’t believe what I’m hearing.
His gut was doing cartwheels so he took another deep breath. “I’d tell him to go to hell, sir.”
The Commissioner paused, then said, “The job’s yours.”
“So I got it right?”
“You got it right. Sorry to do that to you lad, but I needed to know where your head is at. I don’t need any fucking heroes. Now tell me. What do you know about McLoughlin?”
Tony Delarosa was still trying to put himself back to together after such a rapid baptism of fire. “Er…I guess the same as everybody else, sir. Good cop. Clever brain. Very loyal. I think his reputation as an operator is probably unsurpassed…”
“Is that it?”
“Sir, I haven’t met him.”
“I’ll fix that. I’ll get the both of you in here as soon as I can get him to Melbourne. He’s based in Mildura. You happy to move there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll pick up with this bloke in about six weeks. Meantime you better clean your desk out and get your arse up to Mildura and find a place to live. When we get off here, ring my PA and she’ll organise a plane ride and taxis for you. Now as you’ve probably gathered I’ve taken a special interest in this appointment.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s because this bloke is pretty damn special to me. You know about Bourke?”
“Yes. His partner. Got shot on the job. Funeral wasn’t long ago.”
“OK. What you’ve got to remember is to be yourself. Don’t try and be another Dave Bourke. McLoughlin is a stubborn prick. He’s also a hard-arse from the old school. Talks now and again about a flashy piece of arse but I notice he’s still single so he can’t be too serious. Hasn’t got a lot of time for shirt lifters either. Just thought I’d tell you that. But by Jesus when it comes down to it he’s the best bloody copper I’ve ever seen. Now he’s not gonna like you when he first meets you. But don’t feel bad about that. I could assign Clint Eastwood to him and he probably wouldn’t like him either. You’ll have to deal with his smart mouth and his bullshit, but give him time. Do your job and learn from him. You will certainly learn from him. But at the same time, don’t take any shit, OK?”
“Yes, sir.”
“One more thing. That question I asked you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I asked that same question to the final ten applicants who wanted the job as my press secretary. Only one of ‘em got it right. He’s the one who got the job. Give your mobile phone number to my PA. My office will be back in touch when I can I get you two together…and good luck.”
Chapter 3
Tanja Polowski disliked her name intensely. Why can’t I be a Mary or a Pauline or a Lorraine and why can’t I be a Smith or a Brown or a Jones like everybody else?
But that was how it was and she knew she’d be stuck with Tanja Polowski until she at least became of age. And that was her dream. To turn eighteen and get as far away as she could from her family and the town in which she lived. The town was in far western New South Wales and she hated it. Shops and offices on each side of the main street. A pub at each end. A couple of service stations, a police and fire station, local park, golf club, football club, a community hospital and an area school.
The local council was a major employer, particularly of men from other countries. It was also accepted as a part of the norm, that if you were a New Australian you worked on the roads with the local council. It mattered little that some of the men employed were highly skilled tradesmen in their European homelands. Such was the case of Tanja’s father.
Back in Poland Angelko Polowski was a fully qualified fitter and turner. When seeking to pursue that activity in the town, the employment office gave him directions to the local council and told him to get on ‘the business end’ of a pick and shovel. And Tanja was to learn at an early age the meaning of prejudice. Like many of the families from European countries she saw first hand that purely by having the name Polowski meant you were a New Australian. It also meant no social status and the only jobs on offer were the ones the locals weren’t interested in. Certainly to have aspirations of joining the golf club, becoming a member of the local council or chairing a local school meeting were nothing but foolhardy.
From those early learnings Tanja decided she would become ‘Paula Harris’ as soon as she could, but far, far away. Her mother, Tessa, also Polish and like other wives and mothers, worked as a cleaner at the hospital. A short, bitter, round faced and stocky woman with blonde curly hair, she had a gruff nature and seldom smiled. Enormously strong for a person of her size, Tessa and Angelko had six children, a year apart from one another. Her first five were boys. Tanja, a ‘mistake’, was the daughter she desperately tried to avoid having.
“Angelko, he want four boys. Then he got five. I tell him to stay away from me. But he no stay away from me. He like a dog. At me, at me, at me,” Tessa was heard telling a co-worker on one of the very rare occasions she spoke to anyone about anything. “Then I get pregnant number six. How we live? How we live I say to him? Get me abortion, we no afford this. But he just cuss, tell me no abortion, get drunk and do to me again. I say No! He force me. Bastard! Even when pregnant, he still come at me like a dog…even when I was eight months. He make me work till eight months.”
When Tanja was born it might have been a blessing in disguise if the child had been stillborn, such was the rejection of her mother. It had taken doctors and nurses three days to convince her to at least put the child to her breast. But there was no bond and never would be. The child was totally resented. Tanja’s early years in the Polowski household