Remember Ronald Ryan Page 6

  SECOND ROBBER: Dynamite, is it, Ron? Big sticks. Big bang.

  He laughs.

  THIRD ROBBER: Why don’t we just put it in the ute? Put the safe in the ute? That’d be easy enough, wouldn’t it, Ronnie? If we all get a hold of it?

  GIRL: I just want to go home. I’m hungry. I want a hamburger!

  RYAN: Right now all of you listen to me. Just pack all those white bags of sugar around the safe. Do it. Come on. Pack all them sugar bags. All of ’em. Nice and tight around the safe now!

  They pack lots of bags of white sugar around the safe.

  FIRST ROBBER: Why are we doing this?

  SECOND ROBBER: What’s the point? Just blow it up, Ron. Blow it up!

  THIRD ROBBER: What a waste of time. Let’s just blow it up and get out of here. Why fuck around with bags of sugar?

  RYAN: Stand back. Don’t you know about ballast? What I don’t know about ballast is not worth knowing about. Now give us that detonator. Stand well away.

  There is a massive explosion and white sugar is sprayed everywhere. They are covered in it. Everything is covered with sugar.

  See, the sugar acts as ballast. An old breaker told me that. He did a grocery shop once and it seemed to work alright for him. Now we will divide the spoils.

  They split the loot but it’s all black cinders. They allow the cinders to tumble through their palms. They hold up notes with big holes through them. They peer through the holes.

  GIRL: Perhaps you used a bit too much gelignite? Ronnie?

  SECOND ROBBER: This money seems okay but the lock’s gone right through it. Every note’s got a hole!

  RYAN: Might have to use a bit less next time. Righto, knock-off time. Jesus, every single note. Got a bloody hole through it. You wouldn’t read about it.

  RYAN roars with mockery. The scene concludes with the thieves staring hard at RYAN with the cinders of money running through their hands. Blackout.

  Ryan’s cell.

  RYAN: They’re picking on her. They’re picking on you, aren’t they?! Good coppers! There are a few. Lot of crooked ones. God, I wish I was home. I’d love to kick your door in. Aren’t you gonna come and see me? The girls. I could be in here for keeps the way things are developing. Got the trial coming up. What hope have I got? I know I’m in for it… feels inevitable. Dorothy, contact me. I rang you when we were in Richmond, but the phone was bugged. I just said ‘Hello’, they heard that at D24. Where are you? Where are you? Was it really that hard with me? Did you suffer, Girlie? Did you? I was a good provider, wasn’t I? We had lots of excitement, didn’t we? In our old shack in Richmond.

  15 Cotter Street. We see DOROTHY, now Ryan’s wife, happily washing dishes and yelling out to their three young daughters, Pip, Wendy and Jan. The place is a mess. Early sixties music blares out on the radio. DOROTHY wears drab clothes and has just burnt the mashed pumpkin. The telephone goes off and the door is bashed, simultaneously. Both loudly.

  DOROTHY: Girls! Breakfast is on! Hurry up, girls. Pip, Wendy, Jan, tea’s on soon; mashed pumpkin. [To the door] Just a minute. You don’t have to boot the darn thing in!

  Another loud kick at the door as she swoops on the telephone.

  Please don’t kick it in. We just replaced it. Doors cost a fortune. [On the phone] Is that you, Mother? No, I don’t know what the noise is. Ron isn’t in at the moment. He’s burning someone’s property down for the insurance. [She laughs hysterically.] I’m only joking, Mother. You know, joking.

  The door is just about kicked in.

  [To the door, her voice loud] Please, can you just wait a moment? It’s my mother on the phone. [On the phone] Mother, Ron isn’t here. No, he’s not in jail. He works for Mobil. The children are fine apart from mumps, measles, croup, chickenpox and just a touch of gastro. How’s your health? How’s Daddy? When are you coming over to see us? Why don’t you come over? Please thank Daddy for renting one of his houses to us. Don’t you miss me? I miss you. We’re doing it hard. Come over to Richmond to see how the other side lives. Alright, how the other half lives. Stop picking on me, would you? Stop riding me! Oh, the pumpkin’s all burnt now. Kids, come and lick it off the ceiling! ’Bye, Mother.

  A burly POLICEMAN kicks the door in.

  DETECTIVE: [entering, grabbing DOROTHY by the throat] Where are the hidden diamonds? Where are they? Come on. Show me. Show me, you moll! Where are the diamonds? Slut!

  DOROTHY: Ron doesn’t work in diamonds. He never touches jewellery. He speculates on property. Thousands of men’s suits with no pants to them. That sort of thing.

  DETECTIVE: Where are the diamonds?

  He shoves DOROTHY over.

  Where are they? Come on, slut!

  The DETECTIVE hurls the fridge door open and casts a couple of trays of iceblocks under the hot water tap. He holds them up to the light. He flicks through them and iceblocks go all over the floor.

  DOROTHY: [in tears] I use the ice to give my kids a cold drink. A cold drink each in summer time.

  DETECTIVE: Shut up. This is where they are always hidden because they’re safe in the ice, they think. It’s an old crim lurk. You know all about crim lurks. You’re old.

  Recorded effect of children wailing loudly.

  Where’s Ron? Where is he? My protector!

  DOROTHY: Out pulling up tree stumps. He’s gone back to tree stumping and sleeper cutting.

  DETECTIVE: Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, would it, Mrs Ryan? You’re so nice and nice, aren’t you, eh?

  DOROTHY: You can’t come in here without a warrant. Where’s your warrant?

  The DETECTIVE pulls a drawer out of the cupboard, searches it.

  DETECTIVE: How’s it feel to wear stolen clothes? Where’d this dress come from? That must’ve cost two and six. Hey!

  DOROTHY: Ron bought it for me. He bought it for me, I told you!

  DETECTIVE: He never bought anything in his life. Is your wedding ring stolen too? Put it in the bag! And all the other stolen stuff. Haven’t you got a conscience? Where were you brought up? In a brothel? In a brothel, hey!

  DETECTIVE SLATER enters through the chaos. DOROTHY embraces him.

  SLATER: What a mess! I didn’t know hurricanes came to Richmond. What’s the go here?

  DOROTHY: Oh, Mr Slater. Oh, Mr Slater. Someone decent! At last someone decent.

  SLATER: What’s the mess all about? Who did this to you, Dorothy? Dorothy, you look terrified!

  POLICEMAN: Oh, how lovey dovey. Excuse me whilst I chuck!

  The POLICEMAN mimes something.

  SLATER: Did you do this to her? You’re a disgrace to humanity and the Victorian Police Force. You’re a disgrace to everything.

  DOROTHY: Ron isn’t here, Mr Slater. He’s never here. I don’t know where he is. I’ve had it.

  SLATER: Don’t cry, girl. Come on, girl. Come along, little thing.

  He embraces her. DOROTHY weeps bitterly into his arms.

  DOROTHY: He seemed so normal. I live in a tornado.

  POLICEMAN: Is Ryan into diamonds? Is he? He’d do anything to satisfy his gambling habit, wouldn’t he? He’d stoop to murder.

  SLATER: Now you listen to me, you bag of shit. You clean up this terrible mess right now or I’ll kick you to death. Get the idea? You’ve got no right to torment and abuse this respectable young lady. Have you? Now you say sorry.

  DETECTIVE: I’m sorry, lady.

  The DETECTIVE cleans up the home. He washes up the mucky dishes and replaces the iceblock mixture and puts the trays of ice back in the fridge. Blackout.

  DOROTHY alone in bed with the outline of a baby.

  DOROTHY: I thought you were going to be a good father, a good provider. I never know where you are. I never ask any questions. You keep saying that’s the way you like it, but it’s not good enough, Ron. I love you but you are a mystery to me. You’re strange, hopeless, a punter. What warehouse are you in tonight? You may as well sleep there. I thought I was all you wanted. I thought you were giving your horse an apple last month at the races. Y
ou joked that he bit you. But you were doping him. That’s why he didn’t want it. He didn’t want poison. That’s why he bit you. It’ll fester if you don’t get it seen to. I’ll fester if I’m not seen to. Where are you? Where are you? [She rocks the baby doll in her arms.] Don’t you care about me, about Girlie. I thought we were friends…

  RYAN alone in H Division cell. He remembers his last arrest.

  RYAN: I think of you now, Detective Jack Wright. You got my letter… three days out. I told you. I was in earnest. I nearly called in on you. You and Dolly. Would’ve been peaceful, helpful to see you again. Someone who knows me. I could always trust you. We had a code. An understanding. Do you agree? I wouldn’t have let you down. And you never would have betrayed me. Remember my last job? Talk about a bungle! Not a burglar, I’m a bungler [He shouts.] I’m the greatest bungler who ever lived! The greatest fool ever!

  The final burglary job of Ryan is acted out as a dream. Russell Street Police Station. Night. DETECTIVE WRIGHT asleep at this desk. Gurgling of a river can be heard. Phone rings.

  WRIGHT: Wright here.

  The voice of MR X is heard over the phone.

  MR X: [amplified Cockney voice] I’m glad you’re right there, Wright, because I’ve got a lovely bit of news for you, right?

  WRIGHT: It’s ‘Mr X’. Is that you, Mr X?

  MR X: No, it’s Mr P. Who do you think it is? Shut up and listen. I want you to meet me at number one platform, South Yarra station. I’m in a hat.

  WRIGHT: [writing a note] I’ll write that down. What sort of hat?

  MR X: A very big hat.

  WRIGHT: Has this got to do with the National Grocery Store break-in?

  MR X: Put it this way. It has got to do with the National Grocery Store break-in.

  WRIGHT: What time?

  MR X: Oh, I think they broke in about eleven o’clock at night.

  WRIGHT: What time at platform one do you want to meet me?

  MR X: Meet me at platform one, South Yarra station. Hat.

  The telephone disconnects, trains rush by loudly as sound effects. A railway sign is lowered down into sordid platform light. Click of two sets of footsteps. Man in hat smoking, collar up, MR X. They meet.

  WRIGHT: Wright here. You’re not wrong about the hat.

  They shake hands.

  MR X: Mr X.

  WRIGHT: Well, you haven’t changed over the years. How’s Mrs X and all the little Xs? And your little puppy dog X? And cat X?

  MR X: Walk with me and shut your face. How’s your wife? Mrs Wright?

  WRIGHT: She’s alright. Can we get to the point?

  MR X: The National Grocery Store job last night was the work of Ronnie Ryan and three fellows. I’m fronting the beak next week and if you speak to the prosecutor I’ll tell you where Ryan is hiding out.

  WRIGHT: It’s cold. What did you say? Oh yeah, yeah, yeah. Where’s he staying?

  MR X: [handing over a crumpled-up envelope] Here’s an aerial view of Richmond.

  WRIGHT closely studies the flattened-out envelope, putting on his glasses to read it. They are nose-to-nose.

  WRIGHT: I recognise Swan Street. What’s that?

  MR X: Chapel Street.

  WRIGHT: Is he in Chapel Street, Ryan?

  MR X: Keep going up it to the river. The Yarra. The Yarra river.

  WRIGHT: Just tell me the address, will you?

  MR X whispers it into WRIGHT’s ear. WRIGHT nods.

  I’ll speak to the prosecutor for you.

  The footsteps fade. Foggy Yarra Bank now; sound effects of ducks and bubbling riverbank. It is very dark and slushy. WRIGHT holds a torch on the map.

  Riverbank Avenue he said. Doesn’t that run off Tivoli Road? What’s this, a possum? It’s been throttled. Poor thing. Nothing left of it. Now what? It’s so muddy here! Here’s a knife. What’s that doing? Where’s that envelope of Mr X? So many ducks. I ought to retire. They must be in season. Stop all the quacking! A man could drown here. I hate quicksand. I hate it. Where’s my light? I’m stuck in something. Get the torch onto it. Where are my feet? Where have they gone? Where have they gone to?

  A shape can be vaguely discerned above him.

  Who goes there? I’m onto you! You spectre of mystery! It is difficult to overcome that which is unknown. I wrestle thee, o mythical phenomenon! Take that! And that!

  They wrestle. WRIGHT quickly overpowers the mystery figure. Puts the torch on him. It is a small-time THIEF.

  Wright here. What’s your name, snowball?

  THIEF: I don’t know, Mr Wright. My mum emigrated before I was born. She was originally from Wales. Cardiff, I think. She had a light singing voice. Don’t hit me again. Gee, it hurts.

  WRIGHT: You’re a thief.

  THIEF: Well, you’ve got to do something with your life. I wanted to be an accountant, but it didn’t work out. I didn’t have the aptitude. I couldn’t concentrate. Do you know what I mean?

  WRIGHT: Concentrate on answering me, boy, or I’ll hang you. Do you know what I mean? Have you been involved in a job? Did you assist in a job last night? A grocery shop in Acland Street, did you?

  He shakes him.

  THIEF: I’ve never heard of Acland Street. Where is it? In St Kilda, is it? Is that where it is, detective?

  WRIGHT: Yes, it is in St Kilda. Right in the middle of it, as it turns out. Take me to Ryan. Take me to him or you’ll brush your teeth through your bottom. You are a major disappointment to me. I find you are not wonderful after all. You’re a dud act, thief of the night.

  WRIGHT shoves the THIEF offstage.

  Haven’t heard that one before. Not in Cardiff. But we’re not in Cardiff now, are we?

  Ryan’s hideout. Three CROOKS are shivering with cold under a set of stairs. DETECTIVE WRIGHT kicks the door in and points his revolver at them.

  RYAN: For Christ’s sake, shut the door, will you, it’s freezing in here. Have you no respect for hardworking felons?

  FIRST CROOK: Take us to jail, immediately. Give us some porridge. Hooray, the coppers are here! We’re in for a big bowl of Uncle Toby’s!

  ALL CROOKS: Hooray!

  SECOND CROOK: I’ve got pneumonia!

  RYAN: I’ve got piles!

  THIRD CROOK: Give us a bloody blanket? Give us a damn blanket, will you?

  RYAN: [with his hands up] We got eight thousands pounds from the grocery shop. Most of it has the lock of the safe blown through it. A perfect hole through every pound note. You wouldn’t read about it. The rest turned into cinders. I’ve got great luck. Haven’t I? God Almighty must’ve been in an ironic mood when I was born.

  The three CROOKS burst into spontaneous laughter.

  ALL CROOKS: [together] Stop going crook!

  WRIGHT: Wait on the footpath and we’ll all go to the warm jail together.

  RYAN: Can’t wait. I’ll sleep wonderfully warm with Linda.

  Blackout.

  Jailbird music: blues harp. JUSTICE JOHN STARKE wearily sits down opposite RYAN. He lights up a smoke in a gold cigarette holder, sips a glass of whiskey, salutes him. RYAN eyes STARKE as if he were an ironic ghost.

  STARKE: Have you any reason why the sentence of death should not be passed upon you?

  RYAN: Why not? It’s all been leading to this.

  STARKE reads an unravelling fourteenth-century list which unrolls over his shoes as he intones.

  STARKE: The result is that in law the case was of constructive murder by Ryan because that finding and those inferences mean that Ryan, knowing that Walker had committed the felony created by Section 35 of the Gaols Act 1958 and knowing that Hodson was attempting to arrest Walker, therefore intentionally used force, which resulted in Hodson’s death, to prevent him from making that arrest. That, coupled with the fact that Hodson was, in the above circumstances, lawfully authorised to make the arrest of Walker. We have already observed that the conviction of Walker in charging. The Jury directed that the Crown must prove that Ryan killed Hodson and that the killing amounted to murder. For these reasons we
are of the opinion the appeal cannot succeed.

  RYAN: Oh, give it a rest, will you? Hey, let me ask you something, Judge old boy. How did you feel when you sentenced me to death? Mr Starke, sir?

  STARKE: Some good soul handed me a glass of whiskey, if you must know.

  RYAN: I reckon the wrong bloke got it, if you must know.

  STARKE: How was the flight down?

  RYAN: Are you asking me or an angel? Oh, the flight down from Sydney. The coppers lied their heads off. You know what they’re like better than anybody, Judge.

  STARKE: Oh well, they’ve got to be good at something, I suppose. All the best, dear boy. See you in the next room—I mean life. Here’s your defence, Mr Philip Opas, to see you. ’Bye, Ron.

  STARKE exits.

  PHILIP OPAS, Ryan’s defence lawyer, enters. He cross-examines RYAN in regard to the flight down from Sydney, where he and Walker were arrested.

  OPAS: You flew down from Sydney in a charter aircraft, did you not?

  RYAN: Yes, sir. Mr Opas, sir.

  OPAS: The only people aboard were policemen and the accused?

  RYAN: Yes, sir.

  OPAS: Apart from the crew.

  RYAN: Apart from the crew.

  OPAS: How many police were aboard?

  RYAN: A fair few.

  OPAS: Apart from the crew.

  RYAN: Apart from the crew.

  OPAS: Were these four police from Homicide?

  RYAN: Apart from the crew, yes. I do believe there were four.

  OPAS: What type of aircraft was it?

  RYAN: Big.

  OPAS: Can you be more specific?

  RYAN: Fokker Friendship.

  OPAS: What?

  RYAN: That’s the type of aircraft it was. A Fokker Friendship.

  OPAS: That’s a two-engine aircraft, is it not?

  RYAN: Yes, sir.

  OPAS: What were the seating arrangements?

  RYAN: Two in the front and two in the back.

  OPAS: Did you engage in conversation with Detective Morrison?

  RYAN: Yes, sir.

  OPAS: What subjects did you philosophise about?

  RYAN: We talked about Vietnam, economics, social justice. Capital punishment and football.

  OPAS: You were airborne at the time?