‘What was the last payday?’ said Villani.
‘Third at Benalla, that’d be…a while. Still, got a run or two left in him.’
‘Encourage them to have a race for ten-year-olds,’ said Villani. ‘No more than four non-metropolitan wins. A level playing field.’
They went into the stable, a long building, doors open at both ends, cracked and pitted concrete floor, twelve bays. It smelled of manure and urine and straw. Two heads looked at them from adjacent boxes on the left.
They stopped at the first one, a big animal, colour of rust. ‘This’s Sunny,’ said Bob. ‘Red Sundown, six-year-old. Bought him off Billy Clarke at Trenneries, three hundred bucks, he’s got this leg. Only had the six runs but he’s out of St Marcus.’
‘If he can’t actually run, he might as well be out of St Peter,’ said Villani.
‘I’ll fix him,’ said his father. ‘The lawang.’
‘The what?’
‘Oil. From a tree in Indonesia. Costs a fucking bomb.’ He fed the horse something out of his cupped hand.
‘What happened to magnets? Last time it was miracles from magnets.’
‘Lawang’s better than magnets.’ Bob moved to the next horse. ‘My baby. Tripoli Girl.’
The coal-dark animal was skittish, jerked its head, white-eyed them, backed off, toed the floor. Bob showed his palm, closed his hand, opened it, took it away, turned his back on the horse.
‘Cairo Night out of Hathaway,’ he said. ‘Cairo won two, maiden by ten lengths. He bled and then he came back and run terrible, they gave up on him after a year or so. Just produced the four fruits.’
‘All duds?’
‘Bad luck early, badly handled, that’s the way I read it.’
‘How much?’
‘Cheap. Cheap. Dollar Dazzler.’
Tripoli Girl was nudging Bob with its silken head, moving it from side to side. He turned, kept back from the horse, extended an empty hand. The horse nosed it, looked at him. He offered the other hand, opened it slowly, Tripoli nuzzled into it, found something.
They went back to the house, shoes disturbing the dry mown grass. Bob fetched two beers, a VB and a Crown. He gave Villani the Crown. It cost more than the VB.
‘Said he’d be here around three-thirty,’ said Bob.
They sat on the shady side of the house. After a while, Villani said, ‘Why’s Gordon scared of me?’
Bob wiped a beer tidemark from his upper lip. ‘Well, you know. People.’
‘What?’
Bob frowned at the landscape. ‘You’ve got a manner.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Boss manner.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since a kid. Just got more so.’
Villani could not believe that he had always had a boss manner. ‘No one’s said that.’
‘Be like telling a bloke he’s got red hair.’
‘Where would I get a boss manner from?’ said Villani.
‘Don’t look at me.’
They sat drinking, Bob looking at his watch every few minutes. They heard the car, Bob was up, gone. Villani sipped beer and looked at the hills, row upon wavy row, greying now, darker in the foreground. He put the bottle on the table and got up.
Luke got out of a black Audi, embraced his father, kissed his cheek. A woman got out, tall, dark hair pulled back. Luke saw Villani.
‘Steve. Been a while, mate.’ He had a tan, he’d lost weight, white shirt worn outside his pants.
Villani stepped off the verandah. They shook hands.
‘This’s Charis, works with me,’ Luke said. ‘Charis, this’s my dad, best bloke on the planet, my brother Steve, he’s another matter entirely.’
‘Hi.’ Charis smiled, uneasy, offered a hand.
She was young, a teenager.
‘You didn’t say Steve was coming,’ Luke said to his father.
‘Didn’t know. Beer time.’
They sat on the verandah. Bob brought beers, glasses. Luke and the woman drank Crown from the bottle. Luke was a race-caller, all he ever wanted to be. He did all the talking, asked questions, didn’t hear the answers, gave answers himself. The woman giggled at everything he said.
‘Charis does T-WIN weather,’ he said. ‘Just a start, she’s going to be big-time.’
Charis smiled, showed all front teeth, a for-the-camera smile.
‘Oh, Luke,’ she said.
‘How’s Kathy?’ said Villani. ‘The kids.’ There were two. He couldn’t remember their names.
‘Great, good.’ Luke didn’t meet Villani’s eyes. ‘Yours?’
‘Same, yeah.’
A cough. Gordon McArthur, the neighbour’s son, approaching thirty, a fat twelve-year-old face, checked shirt beneath clean overalls.
‘Gordie, my man.’ Luke went to him, tapped his cheeks, hard, both hands. ‘How you doing, big fella?’
‘Good, Lukie, good.’ Gordie’s eyes were lit.
‘Charis, meet Gordie. Seen Charis do the weather, Gordie?’
‘Seen her,’ said Gordie. He didn’t quite look at Charis and she didn’t quite look at him.
Villani’s mobile went. He stepped away, to the far end of the verandah.
‘Tried you a few times, boss,’ said Dove.
‘Comes and goes,’ said Villani. ‘What?’
‘Two things. One, got an HSV doing 130 on the Hume about 9.40 on the night of sixteen December. Driver is a Loran Alibani, address in Marrickville, Sydney, vehicle registered to him.’
‘That’s good. What shows?’
‘We’re waiting. Second thing, Prosilio now says it’s got no vision at all from the lifts and the parking, the basement, from Thursday 4.23pm to 8.55am Friday. Recording malfunction.’
‘This is shit. Happened before?’
‘That’s not clear,’ said Dove. ‘The company runs the electronic security for the building. Stilicho. They offer cutting edge, you expect bugs. It’s the first time they ran the full casino system and it sort of blew other bits. The CEO is blaming the techs, they’re not happy.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Weber. He talked to people.’
Villani was looking at the mountain. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘That’s an old-fashioned thing to do.’
‘He’s from the country,’ said Dove. ‘Manton says Prosilio management’s not responsible for Stilicho’s technical failures. He says talk to Hugh Hendry, he’s the Stilicho boss.’
‘Is that Max Hendry’s son?’
‘Don’t know, boss.’
‘Find out. And the other stuff?’
‘Running the names. Unless someone pops up for killing women, even one, it’ll be a while.’
‘Takes as long as it takes,’ said Villani. ‘Do it right and sleep tight.’
Oh God, another Singo saying. He killed the call before Dove could say something clever, walked back down the verandah.
‘Got the meat, the Crownies,’ Bob Villani said to Luke.
‘Can’t, Dad,’ said Luke. ‘The talent dropped out, some weak-dog excuse. I can’t say no, it’s in the contract. Really pisses me off, been looking forward to talking ponies.’
Luke rose and they all stood. Luke put an arm around his father’s shoulders, walked him along. It struck Villani that he now looked completely unlike Bob. At the car, the girl inside, Luke took out a wallet, thumbed fifties.
‘Thursday,’ he said. ‘Benalla. Stand in the Day in the third. The little thing’s rough as a brush.’
He tucked the notes into Bob’s shirt pocket.
‘Four hundred,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you a bell about ten if it’s on, you and Gordie pop over to Stanny. Probably a hundred each way, the rest, we’ll box a few. Thirty per cent commission, how’s that?’
‘Reasonable,’ said Bob. ‘Stand in the Day. Good name.’
‘Just my dough, Dad, okay?’ said Luke. ‘No insurance here, could run stone motherless.’
He turned to Villani. ‘Want to be in this?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Oh yeah, forgot you’d given it away.’ He offered a high-five to Villani. Villani didn’t take it, he was not a high-five man.
‘Catch you, mate, right?’ said Luke. ‘Soon. Ring you.’
‘Good.’