I told her that I’d recommended Scott Galvani and filled her in a bit on his history. He’d been driving taxis when I met him and he helped me out of a nasty spot. He went on to get himself a law degree, the TAFE private enquiry agent’s certificate and to run a fairly successful one-man agency for a few years. I knew that he was smart, funny and ambitious. I thought that a year as O.C.’s number three man would amuse him and the dough would be welcome-he’d married a few years back and had recently fathered twin daughters.

‘How old is he?’ Glen asked.

‘About thirty,’ I said. I told her about Oscar Cartwright’s facelift and how youth seemed to be almost a theme of the casino. I explained that I’d had trouble understanding some of the computerised systems. Scott would eat all that up.

‘Sounds right for him,’ Glen said. ‘They’ll probably play it straight for the first year or so. Your mate should be able to take the money and walk. Might even make some useful contacts.’

‘So why wouldn’t it be right for me?’

‘You answered that yourself. You’re too old to change. Don’t look at me like that. I love you the way you are. I don’t want you to change and I don’t particularly want to go to Turkey. Sorry. Let’s have coffee.’

I laughed. There’s something about Glen’s tough, forthright manner that amuses me. And I always know where I am with her-in good odour or bad, and why. I can’t say that about the other women I’ve been seriously involved with. It made for a good, uninhibited relationship with plenty of laughs and serious efforts on both sides to make it work. We had our coffee and walked back to her place. The storm that looked to be building had subsided after a little cleansing rain. It was a nice night. We went to bed and made love twice before falling asleep, something that doesn’t happen all that often and is very heartening when it does. Different positions, too.