There was a blue serge into the bar.  She barely acknowledged the blond in the corner, but it was clear that that they were old acquaintances.  And he certainly was not the top dog.

Rouge sat next to me at the bar and looking straight at Merv ordered a lime and soda. The soda came from Russia and I was pretty certain that it was an effective form of antifreeze.

“Surprised to see you here before dark, Foodge” she said.  I offered her a Lucky Strike and she took it and waited for Merv (he of the no-smoking in the pub ‘It’s the Law’ rule enforcer) to light the cigarette.  When Rouge was in the pub, the law was what Rouge said the law was.

“I was thirsty”.

“The drive over from Alexandria must have parched you, then”.  “If you say so, Inspector”.

“Listen Foodge, I don’t have time to piss around with you.  I’m looking for O’Hoo”.

“How would I know where O’Hoo is ?”  I was unconvincing and I was about to pay handsomely for that.

The blonde joined his boss at the bar.  ” I saw you drinking with O’Hoo at the Leichhardt Wanderer’s prawn night, last night” he added helpfully.

“Yeah, and so was everyone else”.

“Perhaps you can explain why your Zephyr was parked outside of Short Chang’s this morning, Foodge”.

“I had a big night.  I don’t exactly remember where it ended”.  I hate telling the coppers anything but that last line was plainly the truth.  Let’s see Mr Blonde roll that one over.

“I think we need to take a little refresher visit to Shorty’s to see whether it jogs your memory, Foodge”.  My arse was smarting and any minute Rouge was going to add two and two and come up with the observation that she had a smarting arse on her hands.  She already had me trapped in the gully off a Shorty delivery.

She stood up.  He stood up and I thought that there was some expectation on me doing likewise.

The JW chaser had done its job and steadied me a bit – which was useful and a good start to help me not look so much like the shit I was slowly sinking into.

The blonde opened the back door of the Falcon.  I thanked him for his sterling service and got in.  Rouge sat beside me and made herself comfortable.  The blonde shut Rouge’s door and took the driver’s seat.  He was in control of Rouge’s pride and joy and he drove like James Packer’s valet. With respect for a machine and an owner, both of which scared the crap out of him. “Short Chang’s thanks, Jail”.

It was a leisurely run.  Rouge said nothing until the Falcon pulled up opposite a vaguely familiar tenement.  She looked at me and asked if I was feeling more co-operative.  I said that I was always prepared to co-operate with the police, but there was nothing on my script just then. But I was thinking that the Zephyr knew the place well and had been keeping a parking space free for the Inspector only  a few hours earlier.

The tenement was a low rent affair.  A few toothless derros and clapped out former junkies – if any junky can ever be “former” were gathered in the front yard.  Sitting on milk crates.  That was as close as they’d ever come to decent nutrition.  One had a no-name brand guitar with five strings and a tuning problem.  He took pity on us all and stopped strumming.  The blonde spoke.

“Shorty Chang”.  Not the slightest flicker from any of them.  We climbed the first flight of stairs, and then then second.  Nobody had locked the doors.  There was nothing to steal.  We went up another floor and the third and last  room, at the back of the building, had a lock.  Rouge looked at the the blonde like she half expected that she’d be telling Jail when to breathe next.  He turned the knob and then gave it the benefit of his shoulder and busted it open.  The door.  Not his shoulder.

There was a wet patch on the floor and it looked like a trail heading into the bathroom.  There was an empty aspirin bottle and the basin tap was dripping something the colour of single malt whiskey.

Against the wall was an empty bed.