Our first interview was with the TenTen CEO, Sam Bradley, a belligerent bully, famous for his temper, foul language and prodigious drinking ability.
His flight from Bangkok was late, and he was still taking it out on his driver as they rolled up to the deserted TenTen offices. He looked at me as if I had crawled out from under his shoe.
And things went downhill from there.
Bradley was sweaty, breathing heavily as he paced the room. “Why couldn’t that arsehole behave himself for two more weeks? Two more weeks! Oh, no. He has to get himself fucking shot!
“Jimbo’s dead. D.E.A.D. and I need answers from you. I can’t tell you anything because I don’t know what happened because no-one knows what happened because either you fucking cops can’t make up your fucking minds or you’re playing fucking games. All I’ve been told is that someone shot him and an investigation is under way which is going to take for fucking ever because the whole fucking world wants to shoot him. Fuck! I wish I’d shot him. I should have shot him years ago.
“Give me time to get everyone in here and you can talk to anyone you like. Come back tomorrow at 3.30pm. Now, piss off and let me get on with what I have to do.”
Happily, Bradley. Happily.
Ears ringing, we escaped from Bradley’s office and reported to Goulburn Street for another update which was mercifully short. Were we the only detectives who work on Saturday, or were we just the stupid ones who couldn’t come up with an excuse?
“So what are you doing tonight, Maddie? Anything interesting?”
I leant back and closed my eyes – fantasy is so much more interesting than reality. What I would like to do is spend the night with a chocolate cake and you and a bottle of champagne and you and a pair of handcuffs. And you. But what did I say? “Big Saturday night dinner date, Jack,” I lied. “What about you?”
“Well, I’m going to get in a wave and then meet up at The Royal for a couple of beers. A few of my mates are in town, so we’ll just hang and see what happens.”
“Mmm. Sounds good to me,” I hinted.
And reeled him in. “Well, you should check it out after your dinner. We’ll probably be in the front bar again.”
Gotcha. Now, I had something to live for. “Yeah, I might see you. If not, why don’t you give me a lift tomorrow morning?” Mustn’t sound too keen. Too desperate. I checked my phone. Ten messages, two from my snitch, Basil. Bugger.
And wasn’t it better if I’m not free on a Saturday night? Let him think that I’ve got someone? I can play hard to get. I know I can. Even if it meant spending Saturday night by myself.
Chicken Pad Thai with extra satay sauce went well with the last cold beer from my depressingly empty refrigerator. I checked my phone messages and crawled into my empty bed after setting the alarm half an hour earlier than usual.