SOMEONE BUMPED OUR TABLE. I’m sorry to say I jumped. The silver-haired army officer I had stood in line behind was embarrassed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said in an American accent with a voice even deeper than the Fed’s. ‘I’m looking for Jerome Bradshaw.’
The copper snapped to his feet.
‘I’m Jerome Bradshaw. You must be Colonel Clark. Won’t be a minute here, Colonel, if you don’t mind waiting at another table.’
‘Not at all,’ Clark said and moved three tables distant.
Bradshaw spoke earnestly to me. ‘Make sure Schmidt is with Mooney. Where do you think the meeting should be?’
I knew where the meeting should be, a place with lots of people. But there was one complication. Oh, yair, eleven o’clock with the fisherman Louis Sebastion. Well, that did not matter as much now.
‘The artificial beach at South Bank,’ I told Bradshaw. I’ll meet there with Mooney and Schmidt at nine o’clock, in broad daylight. Do you know the place I’m talking about?’
‘We’ll find it.’
Yair, well, even if the Feds did not find the beach, hundreds of happy family members would make Mooney think twice about killing me there. Parental stiffs always tell their kiddie stiffs to look for a policeman when they’re in trouble. The kids might not look for a policeman in future if they saw Detective Sergeant Mooney shoot the shitter out of Steele Hill.
My new ally indicated he was satisfied, and I could go. I headed out, but turned to say goodbye. ‘You know, we should set aside a whole country for all you coppers, military, and spies. Maybe throw in a few hardcore Melbourne crims and the odd business leader. Of course, we would have to repopulate the place every five years or so. But that might be a good idea in itself.’
Bradshaw was not perturbed by my suggestion. ‘Thanks for your assistance, Mr Hill,’ he said calmly.
On the way out I passed by the Colonel’s table. ‘Come to pay the rent on your Pine Gap spy base?’ I asked.
Clark smiled thinly, as if he was struggling to understand my remark.
The veranda light of the Vitalis unit was shining, as June had promised it would be. I aimed to ease the EH beside the Gooroo’s car, but the way was blocked. The silver BMW suggested a wealthy guest.
Before I could turn the key to the unit, the Gooroo opened the door for me. I looked through to the lounge to see the back of a head, sporting dyed jet-black hair. I knew the bottle brunette was Cheerful Charlie, SP bookmaker.
Cheerful Charlie Evatt was indeed a happy bloke, giving the lie to the common Australian practice of casting nicknames against type. In Australia, a redhead becomes Blue, a miserable bastard Happy, a fattie Slim. But Cheerful Charlie really was cheerful.
‘How they hanging, you bastard? Long-time no see,’ said Cheerful, leaping from the couch to pump my hand and slap my shoulder.
This hail-fellow, well-met number was a little embarrassing when I only knew Charlie through the Gooroo. Cheerful continued his enthusiasm. ‘The Gooroo tells me you’re thinking of joining our team.’
I was non-committal. ‘I’m just down here on a holiday, though you never know.’
I turned to the Gooroo. ‘Has June gone to bed?’
‘Yair. You know, even after thirty years, she’s still got a thing about our business. You want a tinnie?’
I nodded and was presented with a can of beer. Cheerful was drinking scotch and ice. He excused himself to go to the toilet.
‘How much does he know?’ I asked the Gooroo.
‘Nothing. I told him nothing. He came around to discuss tomorrow’s book, that’s all. Shit, Steele, you’re getting pretty paranoid. No harm in telling Cheerful the whole bizo; it’s just I don’t tell stories out of school, that’s all.’
‘It’s cool, Gooroo. I gotta be down in Brissie tomorrow morning, but I’ll be back to sit in on the book in the arvo.’
‘What’s up?’ the Gooroo asked just as the toilet flushed.
‘I’ll ring you at eight in the morning and explain. Awlright?’
Cheerful returned to the room.
‘Look, Cheerful,’ I said, ‘I’ve gotta go. See you tomorrow afternoon, okay?’
A deadly earnest expression settled on Cheerful. That sort of earnestness makes you notice jolly short fat people when it possesses them. ‘If you are ever in the shit, Steele, I’ll look after you. No bullshit, I’ll look after you.’
Buddha, what was I supposed to say? I mumbled thanks. I caught the car keys by reflex. Cheerful had thrown them.
‘I mean it. You gotta go to Brisbane? Take the BMW. I’ll knock off this half bottle of scotch and grab a cab home.’
I was tempted to accept the keys to the Beamer, but it was too much like the condemned man’s last ride. And conspicuous, to boot.
I put the keys back into Cheerful’s hand. ‘Get pissed; catch a cab. Be a good citizen. I’m used to the EH. See you tomorrow, Gooroo. Bye, Charlie.’
He shrugged. ‘At least take one of my mobiles. You never know when you might need to contact me or the Gooroo in a hurry.’ Cheerful threw me the flash phone, which cost heaps in 1991. Catching the leather case, I slipped it into the left pocket of my pants, but refused the offer of a battery charger.
‘You know how it is, Cheerful. If your time’s run out, you can’t do much about it. Thanks for the dog and bone.’
I walked towards the door, but stopped and turned around when I heard Charlie call my name.
‘Steele, she would have killed him anyway,’ Cheerful said. ‘I’m a bookie, I hear what is going on.’
‘And what is going on?’
‘That model sheila, Crystal, she would have killed Georgio anyway.’
I looked at the Gooroo, who was supposed to have said nothing to his boss. He looked more surprised than I was.
I turned back to Cheerful with a questioning look.
‘I’m telling you, Crystal would have killed him anyway.’
I did not like how he said it. It sounded as if the word was out on the streets that I’d killed Georgio. They were making excuses for my murderous nature already.
‘I’m telling you. She would have done it,’ Cheerful insisted. ‘You see, Georgio gave Crystal Speares AIDS.’