Crooked by Camilla Nelson

said Gus, feeling awkward.
    Reilly heaved himself up off the sofa, and walked round a stubby glass bar piled up with decanters. He slopped out some whisky, put a green plastic coaster down on the table, and put the glass on it. He picked up a soda siphon and squirted some fizzy water into another glass. He was talking all the while, ‘My mother, God rest her soul, she never approved of drinking or cursing and wasn’t afraid of dressing the knots off us kids neither, and do you know what? I reckon she was right. I can tell you I’ve tried to knock off from swearing hundreds of times and I may as well sprout wings. But drink …’ Reilly took a steady gulp. ‘I reckon that was your mate Harry’s problem. Cigarette?’ he added, pushing a green agate box across the table.
    Gus shook his head. The drink was obviously a mistake. He wasn’t about to compound it.
    â€˜You a cigar bloke then?’ said Reilly, extracting a cigar from his outer breast pocket.
    Gus shook his head again.
    â€˜Well, good for you, copper.’ Reilly reached out and slapped Gus on the knee. ‘I never had a smoke in the whole of me life neither.’ He laughed and grinned then, after a minute, put down his glass. ‘I reckon this must be about Ducky O’Connor.’
    Surprised, Gus said, ‘I was hoping you could help us out with a couple of questions.’
    â€˜I’m always happy to help out the coppers,’ said Reilly, causing Chubb, who was standing behind him, to splutter and cough. ‘Jeez, Ernie.’ Reilly whipped his head round. ‘You swallow a blowfly or something? Here, get some of this into you –’ He shoved the half-empty tumbler of water into Chubb’s hands, then turned back to Gus. ‘I heard Ducky shot himself by accident or something.’
    â€˜There are some unexplained features.’
    â€˜You reckon it was deliberate then?’
    â€˜We’re not sure. I’m trying to find out.’
    Reilly scratched at his ankle and frowned. ‘Ducky, see, he was a highly complex and tragical sort of character. He came to see me a couple of years back, I reckon that must’ve been when it started. He’d been beating the crap out of them bennies and purple whatnots and the white stuff he gets from the chow-slushies and snorts up his nose. He wasn’t real pleasant to be around and everybody was complaining. I asked the bloke, “Have you got a problem?” He tells me, “Nah, I’m not addicted.” Of course, I don’t believe him, but I let the matter drop. And that was my mistake. Because it’s not long after that that he gets himself arrested for shoving his good time up some sheila and it turns out she was a kid. He says to me, “The coppers set me up.” Me?’ Reilly stretched a hand out in front of his face. ‘I reckoned his brains were running that far out his nose that he dunno the difference.’
    Gus offered, ‘I reckon he did his time for that at Long Bay.’
    â€˜Yeah, that’s right. Ducky, he does his prison quiet like he’s done it every other time and then he comes back to see me and I give him a monkey so the bloke can keep going. Only this time he’s twitching all over and acting peculiar. So I say to him, “Look, mate, you’ve got to take some time out and readjust to society.”’
    â€˜So what happened?’
    â€˜Well, I reckon I wouldn’t be telling you anything you dunno already. He hops down to Melbourne and murders somebody.’ Reilly shook his head. ‘Like I told you already, it was the whatnot that he snorts up his nose.’
    â€˜You never laid eyes on him since he got back?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜He wasn’t up here on the night he got shot?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜You sure?’
    â€˜Excuse me, copper. But that’s not polite. You want some civil answers then you’ve got to be polite. Show some