onto his backside, supported by his arms.
‘An O’Leary?’
‘Yeah,’ Slugger whispered painfully. ‘If I hadn’t been knocked out that night, it would have been all different. All different.’ He slumped forward as his voice trailed away.
‘The fight that nearly killed you?’
Slugger nodded. ‘When I woke up everything was different,’ he continued. ‘My brain wasn’t what it was and I couldn’t fight anymore. Then the money ran out. The house went, the car, the friends. The missus left. That didn’t worry me at all. It was not having any bloody money.’ He wiped his eyes.
‘What about Ivy?’
‘Ivy stuck by me all the way.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Pat didn’t catch on that the boy wasn’t his. In fact he got me a job at the docks. I became his trusty sidekick, you might say. Funny that, when I’d been sleeping with his missus.’
‘She gave up thinking about leaving Pat O’Leary?’
‘Ivy’s a good woman,’ he bristled. ‘She would never leave Pat. Not with kids and a growing business.’
‘I don’t understand. You loved each other.’
‘I told her to stick with Pat. What could I give her? Only barely function when I’m loaded up on bloody pills.’ He began to sob. Peter placed an arm around him. This is one of the saddest stories I’ve ever heard , he thought. In the top ten. And I’ve heard it all.
‘You gave her up?’
Slugger pulled out a long, white handkerchief and blew his nose vigorously.
‘What about the boy?’ Peter continued.
‘Tommy’s an O’Leary now,’ Slugger continued. ‘He’s the eldest. Turned out to be a real go-getter, you know. Head of the family. It would have been different if he’d stayed with me. No future there.’
‘Does he know you’re his father?’
‘No. I’m Uncle Slugger,’ he replied through gritted teeth, ‘and he is never to know. Get it?’
Peter stiffened as he watched Slugger clench and unclench his fists.
‘Between you and me,’ Peter nodded.
‘I’m telling you as a mate. Off the record.’
‘I know. I know. He wasn’t the one that got…’
‘No, that was Mickey.’ Slugger paused. ‘Poor bloody kid. He’s the youngest. What a horrible way to go. Tommy’s the red haired boy. ’
‘So why did Pat and Mickey get knocked over, Slugger? You’ll remain anonymous,’ Peter questioned. ‘You hang around them. You must know something.’
With that statement, Slugger leapt up and headed towards the front entrance. Peter followed suit, only more slowly, at a safe distance, until the entry door.
‘How should I know?’ Slugger tossed over his shoulder as he opened the door. ‘I’ve got a scrambled brain remember?’
‘I’ll see you at the Tote sometime,’ Peter replied, as the door swung open. Next to the lift stood Ivy, now dressed in a fresh nightgown.
‘Take care, Jack. Could be a chilly wind,’ Slugger said as he and Ivy got into the lift and the door, with sign still affixed, closed after them.
Peter eased the Stag away from the kerb and headed back around the corner into Johnston Street, his sleep-deprived mind racing with every scenario he could conjure up at twelve-thirty at night. So close to home, it was hardly worth starting the engine. Pat O’Leary returns from his suck–fuck paradise in Thailand, only to be gunned down by Ivy O’Leary, Thomas O’Leary, an unknown other party, or even Slugger. Take your pick. It’s become an Agatha Christie novel without the poison or the butler. Peter wondered if Slugger could operate a gun in his state of mind and with his shaky hands. In his state of mind? What were Slugger’s parting words? Could be a chilly wind. And was that a wink just before the lift door closed? Peter was sure Slugger had winked as he said it. Wink ? Peter stopped the car and threw it into neutral. What was Slugger trying to say? Suddenly a chill came over Peter, as if he had been lowered slowly into a pool of freezing water.
12
St Kilda Road Police Station. Next
‘An O’Leary?’
‘Yeah,’ Slugger whispered painfully. ‘If I hadn’t been knocked out that night, it would have been all different. All different.’ He slumped forward as his voice trailed away.
‘The fight that nearly killed you?’
Slugger nodded. ‘When I woke up everything was different,’ he continued. ‘My brain wasn’t what it was and I couldn’t fight anymore. Then the money ran out. The house went, the car, the friends. The missus left. That didn’t worry me at all. It was not having any bloody money.’ He wiped his eyes.
‘What about Ivy?’
‘Ivy stuck by me all the way.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Pat didn’t catch on that the boy wasn’t his. In fact he got me a job at the docks. I became his trusty sidekick, you might say. Funny that, when I’d been sleeping with his missus.’
‘She gave up thinking about leaving Pat O’Leary?’
‘Ivy’s a good woman,’ he bristled. ‘She would never leave Pat. Not with kids and a growing business.’
‘I don’t understand. You loved each other.’
‘I told her to stick with Pat. What could I give her? Only barely function when I’m loaded up on bloody pills.’ He began to sob. Peter placed an arm around him. This is one of the saddest stories I’ve ever heard , he thought. In the top ten. And I’ve heard it all.
‘You gave her up?’
Slugger pulled out a long, white handkerchief and blew his nose vigorously.
‘What about the boy?’ Peter continued.
‘Tommy’s an O’Leary now,’ Slugger continued. ‘He’s the eldest. Turned out to be a real go-getter, you know. Head of the family. It would have been different if he’d stayed with me. No future there.’
‘Does he know you’re his father?’
‘No. I’m Uncle Slugger,’ he replied through gritted teeth, ‘and he is never to know. Get it?’
Peter stiffened as he watched Slugger clench and unclench his fists.
‘Between you and me,’ Peter nodded.
‘I’m telling you as a mate. Off the record.’
‘I know. I know. He wasn’t the one that got…’
‘No, that was Mickey.’ Slugger paused. ‘Poor bloody kid. He’s the youngest. What a horrible way to go. Tommy’s the red haired boy. ’
‘So why did Pat and Mickey get knocked over, Slugger? You’ll remain anonymous,’ Peter questioned. ‘You hang around them. You must know something.’
With that statement, Slugger leapt up and headed towards the front entrance. Peter followed suit, only more slowly, at a safe distance, until the entry door.
‘How should I know?’ Slugger tossed over his shoulder as he opened the door. ‘I’ve got a scrambled brain remember?’
‘I’ll see you at the Tote sometime,’ Peter replied, as the door swung open. Next to the lift stood Ivy, now dressed in a fresh nightgown.
‘Take care, Jack. Could be a chilly wind,’ Slugger said as he and Ivy got into the lift and the door, with sign still affixed, closed after them.
Peter eased the Stag away from the kerb and headed back around the corner into Johnston Street, his sleep-deprived mind racing with every scenario he could conjure up at twelve-thirty at night. So close to home, it was hardly worth starting the engine. Pat O’Leary returns from his suck–fuck paradise in Thailand, only to be gunned down by Ivy O’Leary, Thomas O’Leary, an unknown other party, or even Slugger. Take your pick. It’s become an Agatha Christie novel without the poison or the butler. Peter wondered if Slugger could operate a gun in his state of mind and with his shaky hands. In his state of mind? What were Slugger’s parting words? Could be a chilly wind. And was that a wink just before the lift door closed? Peter was sure Slugger had winked as he said it. Wink ? Peter stopped the car and threw it into neutral. What was Slugger trying to say? Suddenly a chill came over Peter, as if he had been lowered slowly into a pool of freezing water.
12
St Kilda Road Police Station. Next
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