Saving Billie Read Online Free PDF

hard times.
    The Red Unicorn hotel used to be a bit of a bloodhouse like many of the pubs in Balmain. Again like many, it gentrified along with the area itself, so that it had a bistro and sold boutique beers. TAB facility and a bank of pokies, but not too many. There were signs advertising live music two nights a week and a trivia competition. All the hallmarks of the trendy twenty-first century pub. The smokefree rule was its newest pitch at the high disposable income crowd. Didn’t worry me: I’d given up the rollies long ago. The last cigarette I’d lit in a moment of stress after years of abstinence tasted like old dog blanket and I knew I was cured. Bob, another quitter, had been a ferocious smoker and was still a keen drinker. The Unicorn was an obvious choice for a meeting.
    Bob was at the bar when I arrived. I hadn’t laid eyes on him since he’d gone corporate and seeing him in a suit was a shock. I was in my usual late spring to early summer uniform of drill slacks, cotton shirt and beat-up linen jacket. Bob was working on a schooner and had a middy sitting beside it. He looked at his watch as I approached.
    â€˜Dead on time. Knew you would be so I ordered you a beer.’
    I toasted him with it. ‘Thanks.’ I touched the lapel of his jacket. ‘Nice suit. Doing well, Bob?’
    â€˜I have to say I am. No overheads, car in the package, health insurance . . .’
    â€˜I could do with that.’
    â€˜But not with the rest of it, eh, Cliff?’
    â€˜A dinosaur?’
    â€˜Not quite, but an endangered species, that’s for sure. This former colleague is . . . ?’
    I looked around before answering. The nearest drinker was three or four stools away and the barman was well out of hearing. Old habit—names spoken aloud in public can attract attention. ‘Was Eddie Flannery.’
    â€˜Poor Eddie. Went down a long flight of stone steps. Possible suicide but probably pissed.’
    â€˜I heard he was murdered.’
    â€˜Did you now? That wasn’t the coroner’s opinion. Accidental death.’
    â€˜I missed all this. When did it happen?’
    â€˜A few months ago.’
    â€˜Precisely when?’
    Bob, who’d put on weight since I’d last seen him, stroked the beginnings of a jowl and took a long pull on his schooner. ‘Eight weeks, give or take a day or two. That’s the inquest. The death was about six weeks earlier. Can’t be more exact than that. I went to the funeral. It was pissing down.’
    I finished the middy and signalled to the barman. ‘That’s as it should be. It must’ve been when I was in Queensland.’
    â€˜None of it made much of a splash.’
    â€˜Was Billie Marchant there?’
    â€˜Sure was. Very fetching in black in a Barbara Stanwyck sort of way, if you get me. What’s this about, Cliff?’
    I told him as much as I felt entitled to. He didn’t know about Eddie’s association with Clement and when that name came up he seemed to run dry of information, even though he had a fair amount of alcohol inside him. So did I, and I was facing a walk home to Glebe.
    â€˜Why do I get the feeling you’re closing up on me, Bob?’
    Bob suddenly looked as if he’d like a cigarette. Instead, he started to shred his coaster. The fingers that used to be nicotine-stained with bitten-down nails were manicured but nervous. ‘Clement’s a client of the firm I’m with.’
    â€˜Then you should be a mine of information about him.’
    He shook his head. ‘Not a chance.’
    â€˜Bad guy is he?’
    â€˜You won’t get another word out of me. In fact, I’m going. Sorry, Cliff.’
    He was halfway off his stool. I grabbed his arm. Felt the quality of the material of his jacket. ‘You’ve been helpful. I’ll tell anyone who asks.’
    â€˜Fuck, no. I wasn’t here.’
    He pulled free and left quickly. Hadn’t