Free Dead Dog in the Still of the Night by Archimede Fusillo Page A

brother left, Primo allowed himself a deep breath and stared into the mirror.
    ‘You don’t live here anymore, Ad,’ he said into his reflection. ‘The rules have changed. You’re like a visitor passing through.’

‘I didn’t think your brother would’ve bought that crap about my old man.’ Tone didn’t try to disguise his annoyance, irritably tapping his fingers on the hearse’s steering wheel. ‘I thought Ad was a smart guy.’
    Primo scowled out at the Fitzroy street they were parked in. ‘My brother’s a smart guy in deep trouble,’ he replied. ‘And smart people in deep trouble think stupid things. Do stupid things, Tone.’
    ‘He won’t dud you, Prims?’ Tone asked. ‘What if he pikes on the deal? What if we get the Fiat repaired and Ad doesn’t cough up the grand?’
    ‘He won’t dud me, not when he thinks your old man is involved,’ Primo reassured him.
    ‘Yeah, well, you see, that sort of bugs me a bit too,’ Tone admitted, passing Primo a cigarette. ‘Your brother thinking that somehow my old man has these connections with …’ He shrugged.
    ‘Bad people?’ Primo finished for him. ‘Tone, even you have to admit your old man never played down the rumours.’
    Tone squirmed, uncomfortable with the open whispers about why his father had succeeded so well in a business so many others had failed at. Or why, of the three pizza shops within a few blocks of each other, only ‘Bits and Pizzas’ had survived.
    ‘It’s my mum’s casalinga cooking that keeps the clients coming back,’ Tone muttered. ‘She’s better than any of those celebrity chef wannabes, and ten times cheaper.’
    ‘Yeah, maybe. But even when we were kids, your old man used to scare us into doing odd jobs we didn’t want to do by suggesting there might be hell to pay if we didn’t.’ Primo smiled at Tone.
    ‘He works like a slave, Prims. He’s built that business up from nothing. Him and Mum both, you know,’ Tone said forcefully.
    Primo raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you going to help me here or not?’
    Tone shook his head and ambled out of the hearse, asking over his shoulder, ‘So how will this Crystal bird know why there’s a dead dog on her doorstep, Prims? Could be she sees it as just some sick prank.’
    ‘Bit of a coincidence don’t you think, Tone? This Crystal chick is in deep with some guy who keeps calling her to say she needs to pretend like he never existed, keeps pleading with her not to wreck his entire life, and then there’s a dead dog on her doorstep,’ he said slowly. ‘You reckon she’s not going to put two and two together and come up with, “I’d better back off here”?’
    Tone ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the hearse. ‘You need to be sure she knows what’s what. She needs to know that it means only dogs dob, yeah?’
    ‘So, what? I rock up to her door, knock, and do a PowerPoint presentation?’ Primo tossed his smouldering cigarette aside and exhaled loudly. ‘I don’t think so, Tone. And hey, I need the money right now.’
    Tone forced a grin, slapped his thighs and shook his head again. ‘Your brother’s half right, Prims,’ he said finally. ‘But not about my old man. My cousin, Alfie, now he knows people, Prims. Alfie could probably get someone to drop off the surprise. Someone that would make you piss your pants if they turned up at your door unexpectedly. Someone not connected to Ad, or you, Prims.’
    ‘No,’ Primo said firmly. ‘No. We don’t need others getting involved. We just drop the dog off and hope she makes the link.’
    ‘And what if this Crystal chick goes to the cops? What then, Prims?’
    The afternoon had cooled quickly since Tone had replied to his text to collect him, and Primo stared out at the closing sky and sighed deeply. A chill went down his spine and he shook it off.
    ‘What is she going to tell the cops? “There’s a dead dog on my doorstep, and I know it’s the guy I slept with from the office who put it