At his next session with Asha Sen, he says he has been using a rooming house as one of his ‘safe places’. That he sometimes lives there. Yes, he lives in two places at once. Unique among her clients, he bets. She is truly surprised and this time she cannot hide it.

It’s true: people’s jaws loosen when surprised. Even Asha Sen’s.

Also, as a second ‘safe’ person after his grandmother, he has chosen The Sheriff … He describes the man, the old swagger and tough bluster, code of the past game. How The Sheriff carries this ironic motif of criminal honour and does it well, the antihero who understands his extremes, whereas Jim Smith and Froggie are calm, real, differently safe.

Living and moving between his home and the rooming house is like therapy, he says to her, his very own EMDR of back and forth.

When Sweeney shows up next, The Sheriff tells him about the aggro visit from the two ex detectives. How Froggie saw them off. He was out and about. How the pricks were rightly pissed off after being stonewalled.

Why were they here?

Dunno, mate. It’s getten on my fucken nerves.

Looks like you were right, about cold cases.

What would I know, mate? he says, looking as if he does.

This time even Sweeney is worried. So soon after describing it as a safe place to Asha Sen. The Sheriff is beginning to take this stuff seriously too. He’s dissembling. Sweeney says he’ll add more locks to the front door. Easy for Sweeney the handyman.

Locks? It’s not something the old guy even considers.

They can’t come in, says Sweeney, unless you let them and you’re not going to. What if you’re not here? Locks will stop them opening the door and marching in before you know it. That’s when it’ll get nasty. They won’t smash in the front door. People will see them.

Yeah, mate, says The Sheriff. Our attentive bloody neighbours will see them.

He knows Sweeney has promised to do things in the past.

Sheriff, you’ve got to keep a lookout. They might be after Jim Smith and Froggie. As well as you. Anytime.

Ya reckon, he scoffs. I’d like to see em try.

You should know. I’m not up to it. Anyway, I’m not always here.

Yeah, why is it yer seem to piss off all the time?

It’s not all the time. I have a girlfriend. And a shrink.

And I’ve got my peace of mind. I gotta look after that. It’s not my job to look after everyone.

Of course it is. You’re The Sheriff.

Yeah well. I did. I was.

You were? You are.

Any sighs coming from Sweeney are mixed. Anyway, the old bloke can tough it out with those creeps.

… but, says The Sheriff, I don’t hafta.

Of course not.

This place is goin to the shithouse. They reckon it’s finished anyway, owner said so lotsa times.

Well, I’m not hanging around, says Sweeney. I have things to do.

A man about a dog?

A man about a dog.

The Sheriff is thinking about Sweeney leaving when Jim Smith walks in.

They weren’t Police, he says. Police wear caps! And they’re young. These men were old, Sheriff, they were too old to be policemen. In coats, they looked like a funeral. Religious God people.

Could be, says The Sheriff. Old, eh? Like me. Of course they were.

Jim Smith asks The Sheriff if he believes in God.

What? Ah. Nah, mate, he says. It’s bullshit. God is for stupid fuckers with loads of money. Or no money. Or like Tom the bloke in my last house.

Tom. What does that mean?

To excuse them bein so bloody greedy even though God is meant to be against greed, eh. Except those evangelicals, maken money is proof God loves ya! So then there’s the people with nothing, they go looken for God because they’ve got nothing. Makes ya laugh, doesn’t it. The rich blokes I worked with didn’t believe in God. Unless they were Italians. Catholics. They’re all into crime, but, and lawyers. Plus a lot of extortion and a bit of murder. And their mums, they love their mums.

Silence.

The Sheriff should know the Little Man can’t argue this stuff. And is looking overwhelmed by all this conviction and complication.

I don’t believe in him, says Jim Smith. But …

Yeah, like I said, it’s all bullshit.

… I talk to him.

What? You’re a funny bugger. Ya talk to him?

I’m not being funny.

Long pause. The Sheriff is a bit slow to catch on.

He looks across at Jim Smith. Sorry, mate. Tell me what ya mean about talken to him.

Jim Smith smiles like he has won the prize. He isn’t out there, Jim Smith points down the corridor towards the street. Or in the sky. He’s just a voice I hear, he’s not normal. I hear him outside sort of hard like a tree and he’s like a river, not a whole river. Like the water in the river. Like the wind.

Like or is?

What? I don’t know. He might be both. But different, see? Hard and soft.

The Sheriff is winding his head around like something blowing down the street. Is that … good?

Yes! Are you a good man, Sheriff?

This time his head comes loose. Where do the questions come from? What can he say? All the years he has spent keeping trouble at a distance. Cops and crims, black-and-white people and crooked people. No, he is not a good man, so it’s a matter of how bad a man he is. Or was.

Jim Smith sees this agitation in him and wishes he hadn’t asked. Done it again, let the words arrive as the sounds they make not the little voice of them in his head. He can hear that voice now. Certainly not The Sheriff’s because The Sheriff isn’t saying anything.

Sorry, Sheriff. I’m stupid. I am stupid and it really annoys me.

A tired man or a man with tired eyes looks back at him and shakes his head. No, you’re not stupid, Jim Smith, mate. You’re a good guy and a smart little fella, thought so the first time I saw ya. When ya said hippies were sad people! Ha. Poor old bloody Sweeney, eh? But … me, bad? Yeah, mate, fucken oath. I’ve hurt people I shouldna. They had it coming, most of em, but still. Yeah, I’ve been a real bad man.

But you’re not now.

The Sheriff almost feels his eyes watering. Not almost. Has to wait for a few deep breaths in those lungs as tired as the rest of him.

Thanks, Little Fella. I’m not now.

You changed.

Yeah, I changed. But things catch up with ya. Me, I mean. You, look, if you ever feel yourself sayen stupid, in ya head, I mean, push it away, mate. It’s really come from other people and lotsa those people are shits. I’ve met stupid people, my fucken oath I have, and compared to them yer might be a little fella but yer a smart little fella.