The Fix by Nick Earls Sample Chapter

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A Vintage book

Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd

Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060www.randomhouse.com.au

First published by Vintage in 2011

Copyright © Nick Earls 2011

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National Library of Australia

Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry (pbk)

Earls, Nick, 1963–.

The fix / Nick Earls.

ISBN 978 1 86471 150 9 (pbk.)

A823.3

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Cover design by Peter Long

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Copyright © Nick Earls 2011. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmittedin any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.



1

BEN HARKIN’S FATHER dIEd when his coronary

arteries close over while he winsurfe at Club Me

Bora Bora on his honeymoon with his energetic, thir

an youngest wife. By then the worst of his crimes – all

of the white-collar variety an very much of their time

– ha long before been foun out an subsequently

prosecute with results sufficiently mixe that he coulstill fin money somewhere to spen on the business of

looking prosperous.

He hit the water ea, more than likely, an,

espite his young wife’s strong swimming stroke

an her quick progress to his boy, he was gone an

that was all there was to it. Everything ha until then

been perfect about the ay, but there he was with his

luck change in a moment, floating faceown, breath

gliing out of him for the final time, gazing ea-eye

at the coral an the clown fish an the anemones an

a worl that went on.

The ay the Courier-Mail ran four paragraphs about

his father’s eath, they also covere the announcement

that Ben was to be aware the Star of Courage.

The stories fell several pages apart an I wonere

if anyone but me woul think to link them. Kerry




2

Benson Harkin senior – corporate rogue, ea with

the last of his creitors left in his wake an never to besatisfie. Kerry Benson Harkin junior – lawyer, hero.

They share a name, but Ben was always Ben an

never Kerry. It put at least a small istance between

them, as i the fact that Ben looke more Japanese

than European.

Ben Harkin ha been out of my life for years by

then, an I ha wrongly assume that he woul never be back.

* * *

TWO MONTHS LATER, as the worst of the Brisbane

summer heat ebbe, I caught the CityCat from theback of West En into town. Two European back-

packers with sanals cut from tyres an skin the colour

of hazelnut sat on the back eck with their legs stuck out

into the sun, while I kept to a nearby arc of shae an

brace myself to be grateful to my brother.

My brother’s PR company ha one well while I

ha been out of the country, an he ha booke me infor a week or two on his coat-tails, covering a job for a

staff member who was away. From our phone call the

weeken before, that was all I knew. No, I also knew

that the person I was filling in for was skiing in Aspen.

In families, if things are not set in stone, they are set

in something close to it that most ays feels no easier

to negotiate. Families make up their mins early about

who is a big mouth an who is a keeper of secrets, who

is reliable an who is a fuck-up. About every minute




3

characteristic. An then, too often, we o things that

reinforce their worst expectations.Eight years before, when I was twenty an Brett was

yet to have staff who skie in the other hemisphere, I ha

MC’ his weing. I ha hear my father telling him I

shoul be best man, an Brett saying that I’ be shit at it

an da knew that. I waite for our father to stan up

for me, to tell him he couln’t be more wrong, to insist

that he ask me. There was a pause, an then our father’svoice sai, ‘Well, you coul at least make him MC.’

So, when the big ay came, I ha too much to

rink an, as the best man simpere his way through a

wasteful speech that enounce none of Brett’s foibles,

I sat making snie remarks to the briesmais, in the

hope that it might improve the os of some of that

ill-consiere weing sex people talk about. Whilethe best man went on about true frienship, I simulate

gagging an ecie someboy ha to achieve some

balance. I mae notes on my place car, but the ink

smuge on the way to the microphone an, with a

hunre an forty faces turne my way, I blurte out –

for the first an only time in my life – something about

the teenage crush I’ ha on the woman who happene

to be the brie.

Francesca was a moel, an spectacular as a brie in

a way that I ha been trying all ay not to mention to

people. At the poium I owne up to keeping a Bras

’n’ Things catalogue in which she ha feature hien

on my bookshelf. It was in the mile of a copy of The

Catcher in the Rye. I ha been thirteen at the time,

though I omitte to mention that, an probably mae

it soun as if the catalogue was still there. Still a visual




4

prompt for my lonely carnal acts in the very week she

was marrying my brother.‘Has everyone rea The Catcher in the Rye?’ I hear

myself saying, in case that fixe it, as the large hans of

the best man took my shoulers an turne me without a

fight away from the microphone. He was reaing emails

as I left the marquee to throw up in a nearby bin.

‘Meeting Francesca,’ the note on the place car sai

above the smuge where I ha wipe my palm across it.I ha meant to talk about Brett meeting Francesca. It was

a story in which he came out looking milly foolish.

I coul recall one catalogue picture in particular, in

which she was on a be in a black G-string an camisole,

the usky shapes of her nipples clear through the flimsy

fabric. Ha I talke about that? I hope not.

The next ay we ha a breakfast at a hotel with thenewlywes, an I slunk in late an sat next to a eaf great-

uncle for whom the speeches of the ay before ha been

as safe as a mime. My mother foun me at the buffet,

looke isapprovingly at the large pile of bacon on my

plate an sai, wryly, ‘Josh, you always wear your heart

on your sleeve, on’t you?’ She tol me she ha thought

about it, an that was the best thing she coul offer.

My father sat with his back to me in a booth at

the far en of the room. He was boring Francesca’s

bir-like mother, who picke at a small glass bowl of

low-fat yoghurt with a spoon. I was mustering up the

courage to go over there when I saw the corkboar

photo montage of the reception. There were pictures

of the speeches, the bouquet in the air, an ba ancing

by people who were respectably runk. The montage

ha starte in the mile of the boar an grown out




5

from there, a bloom of images overlapping at their

eges an corners. Except for one. All by itself, in thebottom right corner, was a picture of the MC, his hea

in a bin, chucking his guts up.

My father in’t speak to me for weeks. Brett an

Francesca never mentione it.

Months later, when he was angry with me about

something unrelate, Brett sai, ‘You realise Francesca

oesn’t ever want to be alone in a room with you?’I coul only think it ha something to o with my brief

speech about our catalogue ays. Perhaps I ha talke

about her nipples after all.

As the CityCat sli in towars the Riversie stop,

I looke up at the towering builings above – their blue

an bronze glass an concrete, an their blunt geometry

– an it felt as if I might be anywhere. I ha been calleinto builings just like them before, in British cities.

I ha worke from one in Lonon for two years until,

one ay, I in’t.

Somewhere, here in one of them, someone ha an

issue about to pop. Someone was about to nee percep-

tion management. An issue neee fixing, an I was to

be the fixer.

I hope it was ba news. I was better with ba news.

Goo news meant a new prouct or a new eal, an all

the effort went into persuaing the meia to buy into

someone showing off. With ba news, I woul walk in

to the rank smell of fear an I woul usually iscover

that the clients ha alreay fantasise about the most

ire outcomes, an all I ha to o was shore up the sky

an stop it falling as they took their pain an surprise

themselves by coming out the other sie intact. They ha




6

often hien something, or bluffe their way through

with a half-truth that was starting to unravel. Theywoul want to lie, ambitiously, an ha bought me as

armour. But, in the job’s only moral moment, I woul

tell them we woul start with the truth, an buil the fix

from there. An I woul explain in etail how their lives

woul be in the ays an weeks ahea. They woul wear

some bruises but, after it was all one, they woul fin

themselves only a few eep breaths away from feelingthat they ha integrity back within reach.

Brett was sitting at a white plastic table outsie the

coffee shop where we ha agree to meet. He was

wearing a ark suit an, when I got closer, I coul see

that it ha fine pinstripes. He was ignoring his coffee an

scrolling through a ocument on his BlackBerry. For the

first time, I notice that his sany hair was thinning ontop. He looke up as I pulle another chair away from

the table an its legs scrape on the tiles.

‘do you have a tie?’ he sai. He looke as if he ha

been about to smile, but it in’t happen.

‘Hello.’ I pause to allow him time to get reacquainte

with the wor. ‘With me right now, or at all?’

He thought about it. ‘Either.’

‘No.’ I ha ties, somewhere. In a box.

‘How oes anyone not have a tie?’

I was a barbarian who ha, out of nowhere, appeare

on the wrong sie of the battlements.

‘I ha a couple,’ I tol him. ‘They never came

back from Englan. Maybe you coul get over it.’ He

was looking at my shirt by then. ‘An before you ask

the question “do you have an iron?” let me just say,

“don’t.” I alreay have a mother for that shit, an if we




7

neee a warrobe session for this meeting you shoul

have tol me.’This whole conversation shoul have been, in a

wor, nicer. He shoul have starte with hello, instea

of behaving like a housemaster noting a uniform

iniscretion.

He looke past me, at Kangaroo Point an the final

ownwar sweep of the grey girers of the Story Brige.

He seeme for a moment to be focusing on the brigehar enough to count iniviual rivets.

‘Let me just check one thing,’ he sai. ‘You are able

to fit this in, aren’t you? Your iary is clear until next

Monay?’

‘Pretty much clear.’

‘An if I han’t calle about this job, how woul

it be?’Pretty much clear. ‘Flexible,’ I sai instea. ‘That’s

one of the perks. That’s the beauty of my present

arrangements.’ It came out souning as contrive as

it was. ‘I have some out-of-town commitments for a

couple of ays from late next Monay, but I’m fine till

then.’ I ae it so belately that it probably seeme

mae up. ‘That’s for an article.’

‘Okay,’ he sai. He gave his coffee a perfunctory

stir, an took a mouthful of it. ‘I’ve rea the blog you

o. That’s going well. An Mum sai you’ ha a few

pieces in magazines.’

He ha flecks of latte froth on his gingernut-coloure

moustache. He licke at it, sensing the froth was there

but missing it. He’ ha the moustache for close to

twenty years, an grew it in the first place to hie the

jagge scar on his upper lip from the time he went over




8

his bike hanlebars as a ki. Of course, the scar itself

couln’t grow anything, so the rest of it ha to be extrabushy to make up for it. It was a mo the Marlboro Man

woul have been prou of, ha he not ie of prouct-

relate cancer when working for the one inustry the

Western worl coul no longer spin. In an attempte

concession to the times, Brett’s Marlboro Man mo was

now paire with a flavour-saver below his lower lip. It

misse the mark, an he looke like a ginger cavalier.‘So, tell me about the job,’ I sai. He ha work for

me an I neee it.

He picke up a slim salmon-coloure zip-up

ocument satchel that ha been leaning against the leg

of his chair.

‘Have you seen these before?’ he sai. ‘It’s mae

from an ol vinyl billboar skin.’He showe me the tiny picture of the billboar that

was stuck on there. The satchel ha been cut from a

salmon-coloure exclamation mark. Brett ha greene up

while I ha been out of the country, an the satchel was

another green creential. I still wasn’t sure if the conver-

sion was sincere or just the right look for the firm.

‘Here’s the job,’ he sai, pulling a printout of a

scanne newspaper article from the satchel an setting

it on the table in front of me. ‘It’s helping a law firm

through this, the highlighte bits, the meal. Getting it

some tasteful attention, making it a plus.’

He sai something more, but I ha stoppe listening.

He was showing me the article I ha rea two months

before, about Ben Harkin an the meal.

Ben Harkin, his two paragraphs covere in yellow

highlighter pen, was the job.




9

The wors ha been crunche a little by the scanning,

but I knew them anyway. Brett’s tone change. Hewas asking me a question. He wante to know what

I thought.

‘di you know his father ie?’ I sai. ‘It was in the

paper the same ay.’

‘So you’re alreay onto this? di I talk about this

before? The etails of the job?’ He leane across to

check the page. ‘I in’t know his father ha ie.’‘We have a past. Ben Harkin an I.’ It was the

simplest way to put it, even if it soune more ramatic

than I wante it to. ‘An I rea a lot of papers. I’m

forever scouting for blog material.’ I neee to focus.

I neee to put a ifferent thought in my hea. The

thought of Ben Harkin as a siege hero, as my new job.

The picture was of one of the other awar recipi-ents, a pilot who ha climbe onto the fuselage to save

a skyiver caught on the way out. Both the pilot an

the skyiver were leaning against the opene oor of

a small plane, one of them holing a parachute as a

prop. They were laughing. Their story was the first

six paragraphs. Ben’s Star of Courage, for jumping a

gunman in a siege, was paragraphs seven an eight.

‘So why i the pilot get most of the article for the

Bravery Meal when it says that Ben’s Star of Courage

is actually a bigger eal? Is it just that two people an a

plane make a better picture?’

‘Goo question,’ he sai. ‘I on’t know. What kin

of past o you have?’

‘We know each other.’ Knew each other.

‘Oh. Well, that’s a bonus.’ He rotate the sheet of

paper on the table so that we coul both rea it easily.




10

‘Yeah, the Star of Courage is the higher category.

Maybe their last PR people weren’t on the ball. We’veonly ha Ranall Hoo Beckett as a client for a month

or so. The meal presentation’s next Monay. What o

you think you can o in a week?’

‘A week? depens if you want quality or quantity.

depens on the story, an what he’s like at telling

it. A week is fine, though, particularly if he’s okay

talent. It counts as news on Monay, an news isn’tbig on lea times. As you know.’ My han was on

Ben’s two yellow paragraphs, both mentions of his

name covere. It was easier to think that way. ‘Even

beyon the news angle, Monay’s the ay we’ve got

to hang it on. We’ll lan it on the news an spin it out

of there.’ It was jargon I ha picke up somewhere.

I ha once thought it soune goo, but maybe itin’t. Maybe it soune false. ‘We shoul be fine,

unless there are bigger heroes aroun that we on’t

know about.’

‘We shoul get you a coffee,’ he sai, struck by the

thought for the first time an glancing aroun half-

heartely for staff. ‘Except we’re going to have to hea

off soon. You coul get it takeaway.’ He reache into

his pocket for some coins.

‘I’m okay. Thanks.’

He opene the ocument satchel again, an pulle

out another sheet of paper. ‘There’s some backgroun,’

he sai. ‘Some more on the story. They sent through

this article from when it happene. Late September the

year before last.’

‘Are you planning to give it all to me one page at

a time?’




11

‘I in’t want to overwhelm your Gen Y concen-

tration span.’ It was a longstaning joke making acomeback.

We were a clear half-generation apart in age, an it

mostly felt like one of those halves that roune up. We

han’t ha enough common groun to work the way

brothers were suppose to, but on our better ays we

ha still connecte in some ways – the music he brought

home, mainly, an movies. An I ha of course spentmy teenage years in a relationship with a photo of the

woman he later met an marrie.

‘Somewhere out there is a emographer I want to

slap over all that Gen Y stuff,’ I tol him, ‘but I’m too

istractable to fin out who.’

He laughe. ‘I’ give you more, but that’s all I’ve

got. Just those articles. I’m sure the firm’ll have more.’The oler article ha more etails of the siege,

though it han’t really been a siege, not in the way it

was conceive or carrie out. Perhaps the wor siege

ha come along early in the coverage, an stuck. The

gunman was an aggrieve or trouble client. He ha

taken Ben an the managing partner, Frank Ainsworth,

hostage an blocke the exits. Ben ha save the ay

but, in the struggle, the man ha been fatally shot by his

own weapon. I got the impression it han’t laste long

enough to become a siege.

‘So, Ben Harkin’s a frien of yours?’ Brett was saying.

I in’t look up. There was a photo of Ben being le

to an ambulance, an an oler man – Frank Ainsworth –

on a stretcher with a banage wrappe aroun his hea.

‘Well, I’ happily never see him again, but on’t let that

bother you.’




12

Brett picke at his nails. It was a habit that ha always

irritate me.‘But you’re okay with this?’ he sai, as nonchalantly

as he coul manage. ‘I’ve tol them it’ll be you oing the

job. I’ve pitche you base on what you i in the UK.’

‘I’m okay with it.’ I straightene the two sheets of

paper out in front of me, one on top of the other. ‘I’m

a professional. Watch me. I can be the most professional

guy you’ve ever seen without a tie.’‘Remember that job you i with the contaminate

water in the UK? That went really well. You’ll be great

with this. An it’s easy. In an out in a week or so.’

‘I i practically nothing on that. The contaminate

water job.’ I ha alreay sai I was okay. I in’t nee

to be persuae. ‘I was really junior then.’

‘Maybe, but it was a tough sell. This is goo news.The water story shows you know how to fin the angles

to play. It’s a goo example.’ It wasn’t any kin of

example, but I was going to take the work, even if Ben

Harkin was to be right at the centre of it. ‘An there was

more, right? Privatisations? A toll roa through some

piece of unspoile wilerness?’

‘It wasn’t exactly unspoile wilerness. It was the

Milans. But, yeah, I ran interference on that kin of

stuff. Spun it till its eyes poppe, if I ha to. A goo-

news story like this looks like a gift in comparison. I’m

your man, Brett. So stop pitching. At least stop pitching

me to me. Or to you.’

‘Just talking things through. You’ll be great.’ He looke

at his watch, then straightene it on his wrist. ‘Mum sai

you picke up the camp stove from her a week ago.’

‘Yeah. My oven kin of conke out.’




13

So this was where it all came together – my oven, the

visit to my parents, the out-of-the-blue call from Brettoffering work. Not so out of the blue, as it turne out.

Aspen now soune too obvious, a cliché. I wonere if

the job was complete charity. I took a long slow breath,

an I sucke it up.

I was tucke uner the overhang of a mortgage, I ha

money coming in but only in fits an starts, an Ranall

Hoo Beckett was to be my oven job. The camp stovewas a very temporary solution. It ha to be. It was no

more sophisticate than a Bunsen burner.

‘I want to make the right choice with the new oven,’

I tol him. ‘I on’t want to rush it. It might be smarter

to o the rest of the kitchen at the same time. Renovate

the lot.’ I ha no plans for that, but it soune like an

ault thing to say. ‘The camp stove’ll be fine in themeantime.’

‘Sure,’ he sai. ‘An there’s always salas. Most of us

on’t eat enough salas.’

The job was charity. I was sure of it then.

He checke that I in’t want the takeaway coffee,

took the last mouthful of his latte an le me out of the

coffee shop in the irection of the nearby office towers,

an Ranall Hoo Beckett.

As we waite for the traffic lights to change, I

realise that the news photo ha been taken from exactly

the spot where we were staning. I coul see where the

ambulance ha parke. I coul see the jacarana trees

that ha frame Ben’s exit from the builing.

‘does he know it’s me?’ It was the builing iag-

onally across the intersection. He was up there now,

somewhere, high up behin the gol glass, waiting.




14

‘Who? Ben Harkin?’ Brett glance at me just as

the green walk sign came on. The woman to his rightbumpe his elbow as she steppe out onto the roa.

‘Yeah. I guess so. I’m sure he oes. I sent them that

CV you emaile. They sai he’ be gla to know it was

someone with the right experience.’

Like most respectable CVs, the facts – the ates an

places – were true enough, but I rea better than I was.

Since my job was spin, though, there woul have beena kin of negligence involve, surely, if I han’t applie

just a little steay torque to my own story.

We crosse the street an the granite forecourt, an

cool air roe out of the open glass oors ahea of us as

we approache the builing. In the foyer, the granite

floor was polishe an people in ark suits – men an

women – crisscrosse between the lift wells an theoors. It looke almost choreographe, like the opening

ceremony of a lawyers’ Olympics. In two places, a pair

of camel-coloure leather sofas ha been arrange as if

for conversation, in an L-shape with a potte rubber

tree where they met. The Ls were mirror images of each

other, an the rubber trees nearly ientical. The sofas

were empty.

Mi-foyer, Brett stoppe. ‘Ben wasn’t the one with

Eloise, was he?’

‘Yeah. He was the one with Eloise.’ It was the one

question I ha wante him not to ask. ‘This has always

been, an remains, a small town.’ A small town, an I ha

come back to it, come back an stuck myself to my past

like a moth to a pantry moth trap. Eloise was in my hea,

vivily. I trie to force the image of her to pixelate, to

erase. I ha worke my way clear of all that, almost clear.




15

Brett was looking at me, measuring up what this

might o. I coul tell he was expecting flight – gutlesslittle-brotherly flight – an alreay planning for its

consequences.

‘That was then an this is now,’ I sai. I realise I

coul live with the camp stove, pretty much inefinitely.

It wasn’t the point after all. ‘I’m not walking away in the

foyer of the builing on the way to the meeting. You’ve

pitche me. They’re expecting me. An you know I cano this job.’

‘Okay.’ He ha something big-brotherly that he

wante to tell me, some toxic platitue or perhaps an

upate on the benefits of sala, but he hel it back. It’s

a rare moment when a family member works out in

time that every single thing they want to say woul be

wrong. ‘I think it’s on thirty-seven. Reception.’Half of the lifts, I notice, went only to twenty,

while the others service the upper floors. We steppe

into one as the oors were closing.

‘As goo-news stories go,’ I sai to Brett, ‘this one

shoul be easier to work with than most. At least it’s got

a goo story. A real story.’

‘Yeah, right,’ he sai, too positively. It was as if

he ha hel his breath since he’ mentione Eloise,

an now he coul let it out. ‘Yeah. An I on’t think

they’ve one much with it yet at all.’

At thirty-seven, the lift oors opene to a curve

white marble reception esk an, behin it, a broa

painting of the city at night. It was an aerial view, with

the vigour of the brushwork on show an picking up

all the colour an mess of the lights without being

gauy. On the front of the esk, fixe by steel ros to




16

the marble, the names Ranall, Hoo an Beckett ha

somehow been worke into a wave of bluish glass. Iwante a tie. I shoul have looke harer for one, back

at the flat. I shoul have thought it through.

‘They’re expecting you on thirty-eight,’ the recep-

tionist sai when Brett signe us in. ‘Let me sort that out

for you.’ She took a pass on a lanyar from her rawer

an le us back to the lift. When the oors opene, she

steppe in, wave the pass in front of a sensor an pushethe button for the next floor. ‘For Mister Ainsworth’s

office, you turn left out of the lift, then keep going to

the en. I’ll let him know you’re on your way.’

She was leaving the lift as she spoke, but she kept

her han on the oors to stop them closing on us as we

got in.

‘Security,’ Brett sai as soon as it was just the two of us. ‘I think that’s since the incient. I hear they’ ha

a security revamp.’

‘But wasn’t it a client? Wouln’t he have got in

anyway?’ I was trying to work it out, not trying to pick

a fight.

‘I just hear,’ he sai. He cleare his throat, an

watche the thirty-seven change to a thirty-eight on the

liqui crystal isplay. ‘I think if a client turne up on

thirty-seven with a gun an looking kin of crazy, it’

be a hint that you wouln’t take them to thirty-eight.’

‘Goo point. Here’s hoping I’ll o all my work on

thirty-eight then.’

The lift oors opene to a corrior of glass-fronte

offices. We steppe out onto a ark blue carpet with a

recurring green motif, an just enough give to unerline

its quality.




17

Frank Ainsworth stoo as we arrive at the open

oor to his corner office.‘Brett, come in,’ he sai, his voice a little louer than

it neee to be. ‘An you must be Joshua.’

Through the winows behin him, the office blocks

parae own Charlotte Street, the afternoon sun flaring

from their glass faces. I coul only see the miles of

most builings an the tops of some, an couln’t tell

between them. One or two of them might even havebeen built while I was away. I recognise the street less

than I expecte to. Maybe it wasn’t Charlotte Street, but

one of the other queen streets instea.

Of the two walls without winows, one ha a ot

painting that at a guess woul have cost ten gran,

an the other ha shelves full of the kin of books

that make a classic lawyer backrop in TV interviews.I ha never seen them close up, an wonere if

they were legislation, or textbooks, or something you

bought by the metre – a kin of office ressing from

the age of encyclopaeias.

Frank came aroun his esk to meet me with a

bone-crushing hanshake, a wave of manly sanal-

woo aftershave straight out of the eighties an his pale

blue eyes working me over, summing me up, alreay

checking whether or not I was up to the job. He was

not someone to be sucke in by a well-massage CV.

He wore a crisp white shirt an a club tie an coul

have been any other har-ege, no-nonsense man in

business, ha it not been for the pink scar on his tanne

bal scalp, zigzagging back from his forehea.

‘don’t worry,’ he sai, tapping the scar with his left

inex finger. ‘I’ve hear it all before. Harry Potter at




18

fifty.’ He gave a bark of a laugh an then quickly sai,

‘Sit own, sit own,’ motioning towars the two seatson the opposite sie of the esk to his. ‘I’m only forty-

eight anyway. Just a bit weather-beaten.’ He took his

own seat, straightene his tie in a way that looke like

a habit an sai, ‘You’re going to be an asset to us over

the next week, Joshua.’

He looke well over fifty, with his sun-leathere

skin. He ha eep frown lines etche into his forehea.The backs of his hans were mottle, an the veins an

tenons stoo out as his fingers tappe on his esk. But

he looke as if the years ha toughene him, not worn

him out.

There was a family photo in a simple silver frame

on the esk. It was black-an-white, a formal portrait,

Frank with a smile as comfortable as an ill-fitting suit, hiswife, two ark-haire teenage aughters.

‘It was reaful in the ays afterwars,’ he sai.

‘Particularly for Ben.’ He looke across to Brett, an

then back to me. ‘We offere him counselling, but he

sai no. He ha time off. When his meal was announce

a couple of months ago – it was in the papers, we might

have sent that one to you, I think – he couln’t o the

interviews. We ha to say he was in Japan on business.’

‘But there’s no escape at the investiture, an you

want him to be reay.’ Alreay I ha the answer about

the skyiver story in the paper.

‘That’s right,’ he sai. ‘More than that. We want it

to be the positive experience, an the recognition, that

he eserves. Part of the healing process.’ He seeme to

choose the wors carefully. They ha the soun of a

prepare statement.




19

The phone on his esk rang, an the noise seeme to

surprise him. He grabbe the hanset.‘di I tell you I wante to be interrupte?’ There

was no hello, no start to a conversation. ‘No. No, I

in’t think so.’ On the other en of the line, a woman

hurrie to explain herself. ‘Later. We can eal with that

later. Let’s have no more calls unless there’s a fire, or

someboy wants to shoot me. Right?’ He trie to smile

but it was the smile of the photo or one quite like it. Itwas for Brett an me, not the caller.

He put the phone own.

‘do people often want to shoot you?’

Brett gave me a look when I sai it. Frank laughe,

but not convincingly. ‘Just the one so far.’ He wante to

keep things light, or make it seem as though the conversa-

tion was light by nature. He wante his outburst erase.‘I’m hoping it stays that way. Anyway, it’s Ben who’s

the story now, an we’ve persuae him he nees some

backup, someone like you to manage the meia sie of it

an get him reay. Take that stress off him, at least.’

‘That’s Josh’s thing,’ Brett sai quickly. ‘This is going

to work out well.’

He was trying to fix my crass comment.

‘Okay, here’s how it looks to me.’ It was time to

emonstrate my thing. Time to sell Frank to himself,

an file the incient away. ‘This is a firm people can

rely on. It’s epenable, it’s efficient an it will eliver.

It oesn’t cut corners. It has substance.’ It was a message

everyone like hearing about themselves, particularly

the people who ha spent money on carpets an art. ‘It

oesn’t make a lot of noise. It’s a firm you can trust.’

I watche him on ‘trust’, but I saw nothing. ‘What Ben




20

i fits with that. This is a firm where the lawyers woul

throw themselves at a gunman to save a life, an seekno glory for it afterwars. He’s a genuine hero, but a

reluctant one, an I think that’s a goo place to start.’

‘That’s us,’ Frank sai. He was picturing how it

woul look in the papers. ‘It’s Ben, an it’s the firm.

That’s it.’

‘So tell me who you want to reach with this. There’ll

be quite a bit of meia interest on the ay, when it’snews, but the best way to secure something more, so

that it isn’t just a news item, woul be for me to get to

work contacting the right people this week. Selecting a

few that’ be a goo fit an locking them in, while at

the same time working with Ben an you an anyone

else to get a hanle on the best way of telling the story.’

Frank was noing while I was speaking. He ha hispen in his han, as if he might make notes. ‘Maybe you

coul also tell me about meia coverage you’ve been

getting for other things – anyone who’s taken an interest

in the firm an might be up for a follow-up, or anyone

who oesn’t like you.’

‘I can’t imagine why anyone wouln’t like us.’ Frank

smile again, as if the three of us were in on a joke.

‘We’re all about helping the little guy. But I suppose

there’s always someone who oesn’t like you. Someone

who remembers one time when you ha to knock a

few heas together.’ He sai it as if all reasonable people

were in the business of knocking heas. ‘Not the meia,

though – they on’t take much of a look at us. We buy

some a space in the papers for the crash-an-bash an

family bits of the firm, but that’s about it. My work’s

particularly with SMEs – small-to-meium business




21

enterprises. Some of them are big enough to make the

papers. We want to reach them, I suppose.’ He stoppe,to give it some thought. ‘When regular people – by

which I particularly mean cashe-up regular people with

six to fifty staff – have legal nees, we want to be one of

the names they think of.’

‘Goo.’ Regular people. By Frank’s efinition I

knew only one, an he was sitting next to me with

a ba mo an a salmon-coloure satchel. ‘If you’rethinking of linking any kin of a spen to this, my

avice is on’t. This nees to run own purely eitorial

channels, or you’ll unermine it, an unermine Ben. If

you routinely o run as in any of the publications we

get him into, or raio stations we get him on, I think

you shoul pull them for a few ays. By all means, bring

them in after that, once we’ve put the firm’s name outthere, but it’s too ugly to look like you’re commercial-

ising something like this. People won’t like it.’

‘Right,’ he sai. ‘Excellent.’ This time he reache

for a pa an mae a note. ‘I on’t know if anyone’s

thinking that way, but I’ll stop them if they are.’ He

rew a box aroun the note, which I couln’t rea.

‘Maybe it’s time to rop in on Ben.’

His face mae it seem as if it might have been a

question, but he was alreay staning. Brett looke my

way. I thought he was about to speak, but instea he

noe an then checke his watch. I ha imagine

Ben Harkin over the years, on an off, an now I was

about to see him again.

Frank le us along a corrior that passe glass-fronte

offices on one sie, an a storeroom an a bay of work

stations on the other. A woman sat typing in the first




22

cubicle, her gaze fixe on the screen, a line of Simpsons

figurines along the top of her computer an a dilbertmug half-full of tea or coffee besie her. Pinne up

on her ivier was a sheet of A4 paper with a message

that rea, ‘Workplaces are to be kept neat an tiy, an

without personal aornments. Please feel free to express

yourself on your frige at home.’ It looke like it ha

come from an email, but it ha been bumpe up to

eighteen point an covere with glitter an a chain of coloure paperclips.

Next to her, I coul see the back of another woman

who was on the phone an saying, ‘I just wante to

check that the courier ha got there . . .’

Frank ha stoppe at the thir office own the

corrior an was tapping on the glass.

Ben Harkin stoo in his tailore suit as we walke in,an he met me with a steay hanshake. It was the first

time we’ ever shaken hans. His black hair ha a sheen

to it an his shirt cuffs ha gol cufflinks, not buttons.

He looke like a Vogue magazine-shoot version of a

lawyer, but he also looke at ease there, not like a moel

brought in to pose. He looke to me like a lawyer other

lawyers might envy.

‘Josh,’ he sai. ‘Joshua Lang. Riing in like the

cavalry. You’ve one a lot these past few years, from

what I’ve hear. Over in Lonon. Though you i

cross over to the ark sie . . .’ He was smiling, as if

we were back right away at a place where he coul

make a joke about my ol ambitions. He knew I’ gone

overseas hoping to write features, to work in investiga-

tive journalism an break stories people neee to know

about. ‘Lucky for us,’ he sai. ‘Lucky for me.’




23

He seeme to have forgotten that we ha stoppe

being friens, an for a moment ha me oubting myown memory of it. I was smiling back. I coul feel

it, the smile opening up on my face. He ha me missing

the better times we’ ha. I couln’t speak, an I was

sure my smile ha fixe itself into a stupi grin.

‘Ben, we’ve ha a bit of a chat,’ Frank sai, his hans

on the back of a chair. ‘But I thought we’ hol off on

the etail until we came in to you.’ He turne to Brett,an then looke past Brett to inclue me. ‘I think we

just want people to know that we’re prou to have

someone of Ben’s calibre at this firm.’

It came out stiffly, like a istant father trying to

manage a hug. Ben looke own at his esk, an move

his pen. It was Mont Blanc, or something similar.

‘You’re going to have to stop feeling awkwar aboutthat,’ I tol him. ‘There’ll be prie everywhere on

Monay.’ He put on a shuer, for effect. He wante to

be sure there was no pretence of willingness. ‘I’m going

to have to get to know your version of what happene

insie out.’

‘Ben, we’ve got to o justice to the story this time,’

Frank sai. ‘You’ve got to get your ue.’ He looke at

Ben long enough to make sure that the message was

getting through, an then he turne to me. ‘It’s har to

imagine what it was like. I really in’t think I’ get out

of it alive.’

‘Rob Mueller was a very isturbe man,’ Ben sai.

More wors that felt rehearse, or at least spoken before,

perhaps worke out when the siege was fresh an Ben

was mae to tell an retell his story to police, workmates,

whoever he came across.




24

‘There was no reasoning with him,’ Frank sai.

‘He was elue. Hearing voices. He sai he was ona mission from Go. He was going to shoot me an

anyone who stoo in his way.’

I neee it from Ben, so I turne back to him. ‘An

you . . .’

‘Ben jumpe him.’ It was Frank again. ‘He’ alreay

hit me in the hea. There was bloo everywhere. He

was about to shoot me.’‘Okay.’ I kept my eyes on Ben. ‘Well, I’m going to

have to hear it from you too. We can’t o all the inter-

views with Frank’s han up the back of your shirt. The

meia aren’t much into ventriloquism.’ It was suppose to

be a joke, but it came out souning har. ‘You an I are

going to have to talk it through. The siege an anything

else that might come up. Your father, for example. He’sprobably going to come up if we o any profile pieces.

I was really sorry to rea about him.’

Ben noe, but his face tol me nothing. ‘It’s okay.

You know we weren’t close.’

‘Yeah. I was sorry to hear it, though. It can’t be

easy for you. An I think we’ve got to expect that it

might come up. Not so much in the news stuff, but if

there are any feature articles or any longer TV pieces,

like Australian Story.’ There was something ugly about

getting own to business, when this bit of business was

his father’s eath. ‘We can’t have it in the back of your

min any time someone’s interviewing you. You’ll feel

better if we have a plan.’ Some of his hair ha fallen

across his forehea, making him look even more like

a moel. ‘The best way to eal with any ifficult issue

is to be reay to tell the truth. Be up-front about your




25

version of the truth. Own it first. So, we’re open about

your father. I think we have to be. An most of the timehe won’t be mentione. This is a hero story, a tragic

event that will be remembere for one person’s courage.

I haven’t been calle in to fix a problem. This isn’t a

question of spin.’

‘Exactly,’ Frank sai, hearing something that soune

right to him. ‘It’s not a question of spin. It’s about

heroism. An you’re here to get Ben through it.’‘An look at it from the meia’s point of view.

They nee stories, an this is a goo one. So you nee

to be able to tell it. This is a story that says that in a

trouble worl there are goo guys out there, an goo

oes not go unrecognise. These people are picking

up ba-news stories from the wires all the time, an

they want something positive. An plenty of the goo-news stories they get pitche to them are crap, people

flogging gagets that the worl just oesn’t nee –

internet-enable friges, multi-articulating tooth-

brushes, four-blae razors. They’ll want this, your story.

So we nee to work out how to let some light in on the

instant when a city lawyer ecie to be a hero. That’s

the key to it. An I can help you get there.’

In one way, it ha been easier with the toll roa in

the Milans, the organic grocers, the bottle water.

There was no siege victim to push into the glare then.

I wasn’t sure if this was for Ben at all or just goo pub-

licity, the firm’s unspecial name going out there, hitche

to an act of bravery. It felt as if I ha left Brisbane as

Anakin an come back as darth, rebuilt into something

infinitely cynical an talking amorally about heroes in

my breathy metallic voice.




26

Ben blinke a couple of times, an then smile.

‘I think we have five-blae razors now.’I almost tol him I was gla we ha that covere, but

then ecie not to take the bait.

‘So can you tell me what happene?’ I neee to

know that I coul get him to the point. ‘Your version

of it?’

‘It’s just like Frank sai. The guy lost it. Hit Frank

in the hea with the gun. Was going to shoot him.What else coul I o, really?’ He left it there, the

roughest of pencil sketches of what ha gone on. He

shrugge. That was it. He looke own at his phone.

He reache out an touche the igital time isplay

with his fingertip. ‘I’m actually expecting a call from

Osaka any minute.’

‘Okay, but there’s got to be more.’ The self-assureVogue lawyer who ha shaken my han ha backe

away, without a story to tell. ‘We nee to fin a more

etaile version of it that you’re comfortable putting out

there.’

‘I know.’ He waite for the phone to ring, but

it in’t. ‘Your vowels have change, Josh. There’s

something English about them.’

‘Knock, knock,’ a voice sai in the oorway. It

soune upbeat, out of step with the moo.

‘Max,’ Frank sai. ‘This is Brett an Joshua Lang.

Max Visser. Max is the partner Ben reports to. Josh will

be working with Ben, an the rest of us, aroun the

public sie of Ben’s meal presentation.’

‘Josh Lang,’ Max Visser sai with unnecessary

emphasis, reaching his han out for me to shake. He

was forty-ish, sany-haire. He was like a better-looking




27

version of Brett, minus the lip thatch. He steppe past

Brett on his way into the room an left him staningthere like a before photo. ‘Tell me, you are the Josh

Lang I rea in the Brisbane Times? Of course you are. I

know it from the photo.’ His accent was South African.

He pumpe my han as if I might spout water. ‘That

blog on photocopiers was hilarious. That one with the

repair guy. Totally hilarious.’

Ben’s phone rang. ‘That’ll be Osaka,’ he sai.‘We’ll talk tomorrow,’ I tol him, an he noe

without looking my way.

His han was alreay reaching for the phone, but he

checke his move an sai, ‘Actually, Wenesay. I’m

in Cairns for the ay tomorrow.’ An he took the Osaka

call without letting me say a thing more.

‘Sorry about that,’ Frank sai once we were in thecorrior. ‘I aske Ben to put some time asie toay,

but sometimes the clients aren’t too accommoating.

Tomorrow too, from the soun of it.’ He was looking

back through the glass at Ben, who was talking, noing,

scrolling through a ocument on screen. ‘Things come

up. But you’ll want some time to familiarise yourself

with the file anyway, an then you can hit the groun

running with Ben first thing Wenesay. I’ll make amn

sure that works, on’t worry.’ He sai it in a way that

left me in no oubt. ‘I’ll leave you in Max’s capable

hans an he can let you know what’s what.’

‘Come with me,’ Max sai. ‘I’ve got something to

show you.’

As he le me further own the corrior, I coul

hear Frank’s voice receing in the other irection. He

was taking Brett back to his office, or to the lift. ‘We’re




28

practically carbon-neutral now,’ he sai. ‘That coul be

a story, once this is one.’I hear the wor ‘satchel’ from Brett, an then Max

sai, ‘In here, in here.’ He ushere me into a room with

a large copier/printer an shelves of toner an paper.

In its own quiet way, it looke like a carbon crime in

progress. Perhaps, in some wil place, Ranall Hoo

Beckett pai for a forest to grow with this room’s name

on it.‘Take a look at that,’ he sai. He was pointing to my

photocopier blog, which ha been zoome, printe an

stuck on the wall above the open copier li. ‘di you

really follow the repairman aroun?’

‘Yeah, I i. It was one of my first blogs. I han’t

worke out then how much you coul cover without

stepping away from Google.’Max was reaing it, an not really listening to me.

‘Hilarious.’ He pointe to a part he ha gone over with

a highlighter pen. I knew which bit it woul be.

december was the worst time of year for office

photocopiers an, prospecting for blog topics, I attache

myself for a morning to the surliest repair guy in the

business. As the city geare up for Christmas, he came

upon the tinselle offices as some kin of anti-Santa, an

Ebeneezer Scrooge turne up a century or so later as

a malcontent mechanic, curse by the frivolity of the

season. So why was december the worst month of his

year? There are two crucial pieces of copier info every

responsible office shoul circulate in the weeks before

the Christmas party: the maximum weight the glass can

bear is fifty-five kilos an the temperature of the light is

170 egrees. He mae it plain that scorche boy parts




29

were not his problem, an he rove a vanful of replace-

ment glass aroun every december.A few hours of his grouchiness an I ha myself a

blog, an a place on the wall in this winowless room

at Ranall Hoo Beckett. At the bottom of the printout

there was a note in blue pen that rea, ‘RHB accepts no

responsibility for buttock or other trauma ue to misuse

of this copier, whether the owner of sai buttocks (or

other boy parts) weighs above or below 55kg. MV’.‘What I think is great,’ he sai, ‘is that, even now,

when everyone coul o it, it’s not the same to take a

photo of your arse an email it.’ My blog seeme to

mean we were alreay mi-conversation, an the topic

was arse imaging. ‘Technology may have move on,

but there’s still something special about pale butt cheeks

presse onto hot glass. What is that?’People woul warm to Max. The meia, auiences.

He woul be goo interview talent, if I coul keep the

li on. Frank was focuse an he coul tell his story, but

not in a way that woul make people like him. There

was a harness to Frank, mae harer by the scar.

‘Your office,’ Max sai, when no more great buttock

thoughts woul come. ‘I shoul show you your office.’

It was two oors own the corrior, on the internal

sie. Its three off-white walls ha empty hooks for art to

hang on, an boxes were pile high in one corner. There

was a esk with a computer, an a whiteboar with a

half-finishe game of noughts an crosses smeare across

it, but no sign of marker pens.

‘We figure you’ nee to be close to Ben an the

rest of the unit while you’re getting this sorte out. I’m

own at the en.’ He looke aroun the office, as if he




wante it to be better. ‘We thought you might nee a

whiteboar.’ Through the glass wall, something in thecorrior istracte him. ‘Selina, Selina.’

Selina stoppe in the oorway. She was maybe late

thirties, with borello cleavage that wasn’t easy to look

away from, an pewter knick-knacks on chains aroun

her neck. She was the owner of the dilbert mug an

the Simpsons toys, an she was giving Max a wary look,

probably not for the first time.‘Selina’s our amin person,’ Max was saying. ‘She

keeps us all on track. We’ be a shambles without her.

Well, I woul be. It is him, Selina. I was right. The Josh

Lang, the one who oes the blogs.’

‘Great,’ she sai, as though it wasn’t. ‘Max was

hoping. Well, I’m please to meet you anyway. An

I hope your personal life improves.’‘So o I,’ Max sai. ‘Hilarious.’

* * *

HILARIOUS. UNLESS IT’S YOUR own life. In

which case, not so hilarious. The version of me in theblogs wasn’t quite my life, though it i make its way

in there, remixe for comic effect. The guy in the blogs

took the pratfalls I mostly manage to avoi, but that

was the job.

I tol my mother she shouln’t rea them an, if she

i, she shouln’t believe them. ‘But it’s in the paper,’

she sai, as if there ha to be an eitor checking that

I ha truly eaten a stock cube thinking it was fuge,

or been roppe by a girlfrien in a particular way.

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The Fix by Nick Earls Sample Chapter