Free Truth by Peter Temple

view. Who should we liaise with?’
    ‘Inspector Kiely.’
    Searle coughed.
    ‘Steve, mate,’ he said, ‘Singleton had it in for me, buggered why. But can we move on? I mean, we’ve both got jobs to do, right?’
    ‘I’ve got a police job, yes,’ said Villani.
    ‘Well, managing your profile can’t hurt, can it?’
    ‘I have no idea what that means,’ said Villani. ‘Nor do I wish to. Call-waiting. Homicide business, murders, that kind of thing. I’ll get back to you.’
    ‘Appreciate that,’ said Searle. ‘Cathy Wynn is your point of contact.’
    Villani thought about his profile being managed. The phone rang.
    ‘Mr Dance, boss,’ said the switch.
    ‘Okay. Dancer?’
    ‘Comrade,’ said Dance. ‘Bloody Colby’s arsier every time I see him. You’d think I dreamt up bloody Crucible myself. Anyway, just had a word from Simon Chong, our boy genius, he’s run some program the nerds invented.’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘It picks names out of the stuff we pull in. The soup. Our friend Ivan is mentioned. That’s last week, six days ago.’
    ‘Mentioned how?’
    ‘One budgie says Ivan’s got something to sell. He coughs. That means precursor. He says he’ll get back but we don’t have that. He didn’t talk on the same line again.’
    The other phone rang. Tracy Holmes, the senior analyst.
    ‘Oakleigh,’ she said. ‘The name is Metallic.’
    ‘Another stroke of genius. Thank you.’
    ‘How many people you talking to there?’ said Dance.
    ‘No more than I have to,’ said Villani. ‘As the bullfighter said, these boys are robbers. What’s with selling cough medicine?’
    ‘The bullfighter is such a turkey, mate. It’s not like it was. When we were young. Younger. No division of labour any more. Drugs, whores, robbers, it’s all one fucking moshpit.’
    Villani thought, a few seconds, he said, ‘So this is likely some drug shit gone bad?’
    ‘I would say so.’
    ‘Do anything?’
    ‘Mate, this shit we hear all the time. It’s like air-traffic control for the whole world here. We passed it on to our drug comrades, whatever they’re called now. Could be Illegal Substances Enjoyment Group.’
    ‘Who’s talking?’
    ‘The first one we don’t know,’ said Dance. ‘The second one is Mick Archer, he’s a former Hellhound, been tight with Gabby Simon, club scumbag, that may be why he knows who Ivan is. I mentioned him and the Lord Carnarvon business. But Mick’s also close to many other dangerous arseholes. Only mildly of interest to us.’
    ‘Didn’t know there was such a thing as a former Hellhound. Thought it was Hellhound or dead.’
    ‘Mick walked and lived. There may be an explanation.’
    ‘He’d do this if the Ribbos fucked him over?’
    ‘Capable of anything. But Mick wasn’t there. Nor his offsider. In Malaysia for sure.’
    ‘How’d you get this?’
    ‘The ether.’
    ‘Well thanks, ether. What the fuck do I do with it?’
    ‘We pass on intelligence.’
    ‘The phone book.’
    ‘Hurtful,’ said Dance. ‘You don’t want to join the Colby gang. Like joining the Kellys. They are few. We are many.’
    ‘Meaning?’
    Silence.
    ‘Steve, wake up. Collo’s the last of the big land animals.’
    ‘Brood on that. So much to brood on. You can buy me a drink when you’ve got a moment off television.’
    ‘And fuck you too,’ said Dancer. ‘Our genius has sent you the audio.’

 
    GAVAN KIELY in the door, putty slab of face.
    ‘Welcome,’ said Villani. ‘Chance to do a haka over there?’
    ‘Two things,’ said Kiely, rat teeth showing. ‘I’ve had Cathy Wynn from media. They’re keen for forward planning on Metallic.’
    Villani said, ‘Tell her we’re still planning backwards. We’ll let them know how it works out.’
    Kiely found a focus above Villani’s head. ‘Also, I think I should be playing a more upfront role,’ he said. ‘As the number two.’
    ‘Never a good number, two. Upfront how?’
    ‘Well, representing the squad.’
    ‘You want to be the