Crooked by Camilla Nelson Page B

to have handled it better. What else do you want?’
    Reilly crumpled unexpectedly onto the sofa. It was as if all of the fight had suddenly gone out of him. ‘I dunno,’ he said, gazing into vacant space.

    Reilly sat alone in the gloom for maybe an hour after McPherson walked out, the light of a green aluminium lamp spilling over his face and the furniture around him, though the walls and corners of the room were in darkness. He was motionless and absorbed, but not calm.
    Reilly had known things were going badly for him since before the election when, one by one, the weekly disbursements of banknotes began to return with their envelopes unopened. He wasn’t the sort of bloke who was easily frightened, but it was a terrifying thing when your money wouldn’t flow. He hadn’t heard a word from Charlie in almost a month, and was starting to think the bloke would never come through for him. Just a few days ago, in a last, desperate attempt to stave off the court order that would shut down the club, he had arranged to see his old mate Jack Mannix, Minister for Justice in the former Renshaw Government. Reilly pictured himself standing on the corner outside the Rex Hotel, watching a tawny-coloured moth trapped in the frosted light of a street lamp.
    He walked down the mouth of the alley and saw the car. ‘Jack?’ he said, knocking on the window.
    Mannix opened the door and Reilly clambered in. Mannix was red-faced above his tight-fitting blue pinstripe. ‘Dick, mate. What can I do for you?’
    â€˜They’re closing me down.’
    â€˜I’m sorry to hear that, but there’s probably nothing I can do.’
    â€˜Is this how you’re treating me after all these years? I thought you had judges sewn up in your pocket.’
    Mannix looked genuinely hurt. ‘I had it and I lost it, Dick. Not just me, but the whole bloody lot of us. I dunno how it happened. One day you’re up there, on top of this town. Some bloke is driving you around in this great shiny car and other blokes are chasing you down the street, wringing your hand. Next day, nobody’s taking your calls anymore.’
    Reilly wasn’t prepared to let things go lightly. ‘There’s still the small matter about those Mandarin Club shares. If the press got hold of that –’
    â€˜Are you going to go the mongrel at me now?’ Mannix pulled out a yellow silk handkerchief and mopped the sweat offhis forehead. ‘I wish I could help you, Dick. Honest, I do. But I’ve got no more power to fix this than you do.’
    Outside the car small drops of rain started falling. Mannix leaned forward and turned on the wipers. Reilly stared out through the clear space they carved in the breath-misted window.
    Mannix took in the space beyond the headlights with a sweep of his hand. ‘Look at this city. You wouldn’t bed a dog in it. This ratbag bloke Askin wins himself another election and there’s not a workingman for a hundred miles round that will get a fair shake after he’s through. We’re all of us up against it together.’ He sighed. ‘But I reckon you’ve got more juice left in you than what you let on.’
    â€˜You and me both,’ Reilly muttered quietly. Mannix brightened almost immediately, and Reilly felt suddenly sheepish. ‘Sorry, Jack, I didn’t mean to go crook on you.’
    â€˜It’s all right, mate. I can understand the sort of pressure you’re under. I mean, remember that hokey wall chart we kept nailed to the wall of the Chief Secretary’s office, showing all the gambling franchises we let out for fifty a week?’
    â€˜Nothing but daylight robbery that was.’
    â€˜It was a licence to print money and all in a good cause. I swear there wasn’t a Labor man came into Parliament with the seat hanging out of his trousers who didn’t leave it with the air conditioning still there.’
    Reilly laughed,