White was dabbing at his damp pants with a dirty handkerchief. Good team, Hardy.

Fuck you, I said. I ought to tear that bloody contract up.

You wont.

He was right. The small confrontation with the Maori made me realise how much I was relying on old tricks like armlocks and new ones like staying sober. If I wasnt quite over the hill I was certainly nearing the top, and a six-figure score would help me to face the summit with much greater equanimity. White didnt know where Leo Grogan lived, but he knew where hed be at 10 a.m. the following dayin the bar of the Cleveland Hotel in Chippendale. White himself lived in a room in a boarding house in Rose Street and I agreed to give him a lift home. We walked to where I park the Falcon in Upper Forbes Street and White sneered as I undid the club lock.

Youre in the fucking Dark Ages, Hardy. I used to have a Commodore with one of the first automatic locking systems. He held up an imaginary remote control. Press a button. Beep, beep, and youre sweet.

I put the lock on the floor at his feet, started the motor and didnt say anything. He reached down, a bit unsteadily, picked up the device and examined it.

Piece of shit. I knew blokes who could knock the lock out of that in two seconds flat. He dropped the lock on the floor and got out his tobacco.

Not in the car, I said. Youre talking about policemen, I suppose?

Yeah, of course.

I know people who can take out any car alarm system ever made and start the motor from the pavement.

That shut him up. He slumped down in his seat and I could sense the good feeling the beer had given him already ebbing away. The question was, did he come up passive or aggressive? We drove down William Street. Daylight saving had just ended and a bit after seven oclock the light was fading and the girls were beginning to emerge. White gazed out at them, and I glanced at him to gauge his response.