Nobody's Fault - Derek Haines (white hot kiss .txt) 📗

planned on being tough for a long time. And, even though it was tough work, and was full of risks, not only in the long hours of driving which claimed a number of drivers each year, but also in business risks, he was enjoying it. What little time he had away from Triple T, he spent with his family who were his pride and joy.
In January 1986, just prior to the delivery of the new Kenworth, the Pilletto’s moved into their new house. Tony had a shrewd head on his shoulders. He had asked a real estate agent in Camden to keep an eye out for him for a property to buy. He was looking for a four bedroom house with enough room, maybe an acre or so, to park his truck. He felt if he could afford to buy a property, even on a large mortgage, at least he would not be wasting his money on rent. In time the equity would build and it would secure his business and future. Late in November the agent called Tony to tell him of a property that was on the market. It was perfect. The house was only two years old and was built on two acres. It was just outside Camden, only a short drive from his company’s office. After seeing the property, he made a few enquires with a few people he knew in the area. He discovered that the couple who owned the house had separated. He also found out that the couple had considerable debts and were still working together in a local restaurant they owned so they could meet the mortgage repayments on the house until it sold. He deduced quite quickly that these would be vendors keen to sell. He met with his bank manager who by now, he knew well from dealings regarding the business, and made an application for a home loan. Within three days he had his loan approval and the knowledge of the purchase price he could afford to pay.
After taking his wife and children to see the property, and seeing the look of delight on all their faces he decided to make an offer.
The real estate agent baulked at Tony’s offer. For two reasons probably. One, he wasn’t as aware of the vendor’s circumstances as Tony, and two, his commission would be reduced. But Tony was unmoved. ‘I want you to submit my offer.’ After half an hour of trying to talk Tony up, the agent relented. He said to Tony, ‘This will be a waste of time. The owners will not accept this price. But I will submit your offer, and let you know what their counter offer is.’
It was a surprised estate agent that rang Tony that afternoon with the news that the vendors had accepted his offer. It was not a surprised Tony that answered the telephone. He knew he had the house before the agent had even rung the vendors. ‘Call by my office in the morning, there will be a deposit cheque there for you.’ was all Tony said.
The proudest day of Tony’s life came in late January 1986. After having to endure his son attending state schools for the last two years, Tony took the morning off work to see his son and his daughter attend their first day at the private Catholic school in Camden. It was his daughter’s first day at school. This was not a prestigious city school, but for Tony, St Luke’s Junior School was at least going to teach his children to be good Catholics and instil a discipline that was non existent at state schools. He sat in the passenger seat of the old mini van next to his wife as she drove him and the children, dressed in their brand new school uniforms to St Luke’s. He kissed both and wished them luck in their new school. He held his arm around his pregnant wife’s waist as they together watched with their two year old son, as their precious children disappeared from view into the school building.
Tony’s life was all and more than he had hoped for. He was a very happy and satisfied man as he arrived at his office at 10.00am. He could want for nothing more. Except not to hear the news that waited for him when he walked into Triple T’s office door.
Tom was dead. He had been killed in an accident the night before.

VI
Luck

By 1985, Steven Peter Sharp was a name well known to the Guildford police. It was also recorded in many locations on the Western Australian police force’s computers. He had twenty four appearances before the Children’s Court before he faced his first charge as an adult. He had spent three months in detention in three separate stints before he turned eighteen. One week, three weeks and two months. He had deduced that they were getting longer each time. Luckily he thought, his first appearance in a court as an adult was only for driving without a licence, speeding, careless driving and having a blood alcohol level of zero point one five. At least he hadn’t been caught for the house he had cleaned out with a couple of mates earlier in the day. The same day he had been caught for his driving offences.
‘What can they do?’ he told his mate the day before he was due to appear in court, in the tone of a statement more than a question. ‘I haven’t got a licence for ‘em to take off me.’ he chuckled. Steve had ridden his luck since he was ten. He had faith that it hadn’t run out yet. It hadn’t.
Steven had a duty solicitor appointed to defend him in court. He had had one meeting with him two weeks before and had answered all the solicitors' questions about his family, previous record as a minor and the offences he was charged with. He met his solicitor in the waiting area of the Court House, outside court number three. His solicitor had a couple of questions to ask Steven, but before he had finished, the court attendant announced Steven’s case and he entered the court room with his solicitor who was quickly jotting down Steven’s answers. Steven took his place. He knew from experience in the Children’s Court that there would be a lot of waffle that he didn’t understand to start with. He wasn’t wrong. The only difference was it took longer. He focused his attention on the legs of the court stenographer. He could see them underneath the table at which she was seated. She was a young and attractive brunette with a bobbed haircut. Her short skirt gave Steven a good view of her legs, and every now and then her legs would relax and her knees would part slightly. He smiled to himself when he caught a glance of the little white triangle of her crutch. His attention was only drawn from her legs by the sound of his name being read out in a tone that seemed to indicate his attention may be required. It was.
He was asked to stand and state his name and address. The first part of the question was easy, the second not so easy. He thought for a while then gave one of his mate’s addresses because he had stayed there two nights in the previous week. He was smart enough not to give his sister’s address that could have led to his fraudulent social security payments and false name being discovered. Following completion of this task he sat down and listened a little to what was being said. He moved his eyes back to the stenographer's crutch, but continued to listen. The topic of discussion between his solicitor and the magistrate, who was a motherly looking elderly lady, concerned Steven’s family life, or lack of it. His solicitor was doing his job well. The magistrate had what looked to Steven like a sympathetic look. He may not have been educated, but Steven did have one qualification, he could read peoples' faces. This was of great assistance to him in knowing when he had people’s confidence. When he knew they believed his lies and excuses. When the time was right to put the hard word on a girl or woman, when to know people were suspect of him. For Steven’s occupations of con man, thief, bludger, sex addict and occasional drug user and dealer this was a valuable gift to possess.
His reading of the magistrate’s face was reasonably accurate. He stood to receive her judgement.
‘Steven Peter Sharp, I find you guilty of all charges.’ she started. ‘I have taken into account your legal counsel’s submission to the court with regard to you upbringing and family history. I have also taken into account your previous record, and statements from your social worker.’ This was news to Steven, he didn’t know he had one. ‘With this being your first appearance in the Local Court, and the hope that you will appreciate the gravity of your offences, I have decided that although these charges can carry a prison sentence, I will refrain on this occasion. You will be disqualified from holding a driver’s licence for five years. I will also impose a fine of five hundred dollars and place you on a good behaviour bond for three years.’ With that the case was concluded.
As was Steven’s luck, he still had some cash from a little deal he had done in Northbridge, so he was able to pay the fine and bond. In his mind, it wasn’t a bad result all things considered. He had lost a licence he didn’t have anyway, and he could make up for the cash in a few days. To him he lost nothing.
During the same year, Steve saw his daughter twice. He had fallen out with her mother, and she was reluctant to allow Steven to spend any time with her or their daughter. She had seen what Steve had become, and she did not want her daughter exposed to his way of life. She herself was no angel, but did have some degree of responsibility. She knew Steve had none whatsoever. Fatherhood did not hold any fascination for him, so he was not offended by her rebuff. Nor was he worried about her claim for maintenance payments. He didn’t have a job, and didn’t claim the dole. Well, not in his own name anyway. The experience of the birth of his daughter did not teach Steven very much. It certainly did not give him any sense of responsibility. Responsible was not a word that came to anyone’s mind who knew Steve the Snake. Words such as selfish, self centred, self obsessed and self reliant, self contained, childish, vulgar, impulsive and above all, likeable were more likely words that most people who knew Steven would associate with him. For all his faults, he was a likeable young man with an irresistible smile, and a devil may care attitude. It was easy to like what Australians refer to as a knockabout sort of bloke character that he possessed.
Australian heroes often tend to be villains in some way or another. Ned Kelly the notorious bushranger and murderer, is probably at the top of the list of Australian heroes. When Australian men say ‘he’s a good bloke’, they are more than likely referring to a man who drinks six schooners of beer a day, bets what should have been his wife’s housekeeping money on the ponies, gives his kids a good hiding with his belt when they deserve it and always has dirty joke to tell his mates. Is it any wonder Steven was liked by a lot of people. Women liked Steven also. He had that quality that all men would die to have. He could pull women. Whether it was his smile,