Black Tide by Peter Temple

second horse. The pace was good and the leader picked it up in the turn. In the straight, about six hundred out, the second horse went up to the leader and they came towards us stride for stride. Mickey moved Vision Splendid out a bit further, well away from the horse to his left.
    At the four hundred, the second horse’s rider went for it, got a head in front, half a length, drew clear.
    ‘Time, Mick,’ Harry said.
    Mickey appeared to hear the instruction, touched Vision with the whip, not a hit, just a wake-up call.
    The response was immediate.
    The big grey lengthened stride, put its head down, flattened, had pulled back the nearest horse within twenty metres, hunted down the leader in another thirty. Kicked past it, one length, two lengths, three, four, five, six, full of running.
    Mickey straightened up, looked back at the horses behind him, began to rein in Vision.
    At the post, he was still three lengths ahead.
    ‘Game old bugger,’ said Harry thoughtfully.
    Cam came up behind us, leaned on the fence next to Harry. ‘Not short of kick,’ he said, expressionless.
    ‘Today,’ said Harry. ‘Today.’
    13
    67

    I ate at Donelli’s in Smith Street, Collingwood, whenever possible because I could write on the bill: To be deducted from legal costs owing to the undersigned. Then I signed and wrote in capitals, JOHN IRISH, BARRISTER & SOLICITOR.
    The great man himself, Patrick Donelly, an Italian trapped in the body, the corpulent body, of an Irishman, brought the menus. His eyes lit up when he saw my guest.
    ‘Good evenin to you, Mr Greer,’ he said. ‘Twice in a week, Irish. That outrageous bill of yours will be meltin away like the snows of Friuli in the springtime.’
    ‘Oh, the snow’s still thick and crisp and even in this frosty corner of Friuli, Donelly.
    Spring is some time away. What’s the special?’
    ‘In your fortunate position, Irish, I’d be havin the risotto moulds with tomato and red pepper sauce, followed by the lamb shanks, simmerin away since the early afternoon.’
    ‘So be it. Two glasses of the Albrissi, please. And a compatible red of your choosing, maestro.’
    When Patrick had swept off, Andrew Greer eased his long body down in the chair, said,
    ‘Offhand, how much older would you expect Tony Ulasewicz to get?’
    ‘Actuarial tables may not be a good guide here.’
    ‘No. What makes the prick think it’s better to owe Brendan a hundred and sixty grand than the Armits?’
    ‘Armits weren’t planning to kill him. Not soon, anyway.’
    ‘I can follow that reasoning. How’s Linda?’
    I didn’t say anything.
    ‘That bad?’ The long face didn’t convey any sympathy.
    A small explosion of happy sounds. Donelly had come out of the kitchen to greet a mixed group of six. He said things in Irish-Italian and put his big pink hands on some of them. The anointed shivered with delight, touched his arms, huge starched white linen sausages.
    ‘Rosa says Linda’s been seen to be kissed on the ear by Rod Pringle,’ I said.
    The glasses of white arrived. Drew took a tentative sip, screwed up his eyes, nodded approvingly. ‘Surprised Donelly doesn’t try to poison you,’ he said. ‘The ear. That’s bad.
    The mouth is better than the ear. Your aunt can kiss you on the mouth.’
    68

    ‘Also she hasn’t been back in six weeks. Urgent weekend work.’
    ‘You could go up.’
    ‘Urgent out-of-town work.’
    Drew had another sip, sighed. ‘Well, if I was a sheila, I’d cover your hand with mine and pull that sympathetic face.’
    ‘Fuck off.’
    Drew looked thoughtful. ‘Bren O’Grady owes you,’ he said. ‘Bet he doesn’t even watch Rod Pringle. Wouldn’t mind if there was no Rod Pringle. See my drift?’
    I drank half my glass. ‘This is marvellously helpful, Andrew. You could advertise this advice service in the Law Institute Journal.’
    ‘Just trying to cheer you up. I remember how you picked me up when Helen fucked off.
    Two handicap and a twelve-inch dick, I think you