‘Pulling your leg, Rocco. Ladies of the night don’t interest me. I’m in. Always happy for a bit of fun.’ Maybe a night with the boys would help him forget.
About four miles from the centre of town, the group of seven squatted down under the drooping branches of a coral gum. The ring was drawn with a stick. Then a bottle of rum was passed around in the firelight. They drew straws for the first spinner. It was Paddy. It didn’t bother him that he wasn’t going to be able to bet at the start. They would all get their turn eventually.
‘Who’s got the kip and coins?’ he asked, looking around the group—he realised out of all the men there, he knew only Rocco. Two he knew by sight, but the rest were strangers. Apprehension trickled through him—he hoped they were all as trustworthy as Rocco. Why hadn’t he checked before they’d left town? Probably because he was too busy trying to forget the woman.
The crazy idea of giving her a name popped into his head. He couldn’t keep thinking about her as ‘the woman’. She was somebody’s daughter. Maybe someone’s sister, wife or mother. She would have a family somewhere. Everyone did.
Rocco passed over the piece of wood and Paddy took it, glad of the distraction. He inspected it; it was about seven inches long, worn smooth at one end and with impressions for the pennies to sit in at the other.
‘Looks like you’ve used this a bit, Rocco,’ he said with a grin, indicating the smooth handle.
‘Who me? I’m a law-abiding citizen,’ he answered, returning the grin.
Everyone knew that two-up was illegal—gambling was illegal—but it didn’t stop them. For some, the need to have a wager burned in their bellies like the fever to find gold. Paddy remembered one man he’d shared a campsite with who’d been like that. He recognised his own addiction and tried to sabotage his gambling urges by putting his savings into a box that couldn’t be opened unless it was cut open by a blacksmith. This worked well until he ran out of the allowance he’d given himself for betting. Then he’d run around like a man possessed, trying to convince someone to open it for him.
‘Mate,’ Paddy said, turning to one of the other men, ‘you be my ringy and boxer.’ He polished the two coins and placed them in the tray.
Another of the men looked up from the swig he was taking and frowned. ‘They can’t be the same person,’ he said.
The boxer was supposed to oversee the game and wasn’t allowed to participate. He had to be neutral, while the ringy looked after the coins in between throws to avoid interference.
‘No rule that says that,’ Rocco answered.
‘It goes without saying.’
‘Come on, we’re all men of honour here,’ Rocco said, spreading out his hands. ‘It’s a game to celebrate my farewell. I don’t wanna get bogged down in rules. Let’s just play.’
The men glanced around at one another and Paddy decided to take the lead. ‘Place your bets, gentlemen, and may your night be lucky.’
The men threw their money into the hat and watched in silence. Paddy tossed the coins high, firelight glinting onto copper-coloured pennies. In silence, everyone followed their path, watching them twirl in slow motion. They started their downward spiral, still spinning, and landed on the soft earth with a gentle ‘thwack’.
‘Odds!’ yelled Paddy and loud chatter and groans broke out between all the men. One man threw up his hands in excitement and grabbed the hat full of coins.
‘Next bets,’ Paddy called again after the ringy had collected the pennies and given them back to him.
It went on like this until the rum bottle was empty and the men were falling asleep at the edge of the ring.
‘I’m out,’ slurred Rocco.
‘Me too,’ said Paddy, sitting down and pulling another smaller bottle out of his pocket. He offered it around to the men, but only he and Rocco took sips. The others faded away to their swags.
Paddy leaned against the trunk of the tree and looked up into the night sky. A shooting star streaked across the diamond-studded blackness. He remembered his mother saying he should make a wish when he saw a shooting star.
What to wish for, he thought. His mind was muddy from all the rum. He could wish for fortune when he got to Victoria, for a long reef of gold that would make him rich. He could wish for the comfort of a woman, one who loved him and was prepared to live with him on the goldfields. Or he could wish to find the family of the woman he had buried today.
Paddy didn’t need to think too hard. Before the shooting star disappeared, he wished to find the family of the dead woman.
Chapter 16
When Dave pulled up at the airport, he spotted an Ansett plane on the ground and people climbing the stairs to board. Inside the airport building people were milling around; some had coffees in their hand and others beers. Dave wondered if they’d just come off night shift and were having their ‘nightly’ beer, even though it was only nine in the morning.
‘G’day, I’m Detective Dave Burrows,’ he said to the man behind the Avis counter, offering his hand.
The elderly man immediately stood up and grasped his hand. ‘George Robertson. Thanks for coming.’
‘No problems. What’s happened?’ Dave asked, getting out his notebook.
George pushed over the paperwork and Dave looked down. He saw the handwritten name: Glen Bartlett, a driver’s licence number, address and phone number. A heavy, scrawly signature was at the bottom of the page. It appeared Mr Bartlett hadn’t wanted to take out extra insurance and he was happy with the terms and conditions. He’d hired a white four-wheel drive wagon and the numberplate was listed.
Damn! Dave had hoped it might be the red vehicle Dee had told them about.
‘Do you know what flight he got off?’ Dave
