ThornyDevils Read Online Free PDF

was he knew a constable who did traffic.
    ‘Good,’ Bob replied. ‘What about at Parliament House?’
    ‘I know someone in the thick of it.’ He once knew a girl who worked in the parliamentary canteen. Should he tell Bob the truth? The offerwas simply too good to pass on and, besides, he was only stretching the facts a little. He knew he’d find the sources. He’d have to.
    ‘You’ll need one of these,’ Bob reached into a drawer and retrieved a box. He handed it to Peter.
    ‘What’s this?’
    ‘A scanner,’ Bob replied, shaking his head. ‘You can listen into the police channels.’
    ‘I’ve never used one.’ Peter took the scanner out of the box, examined it briefly then returned it to its container.
    ‘It’s essential if you want to know what the coppers are up to. You’ll be able to be one of the first on the scene. Keep it with you at all times.’
    ‘I’ll put it on my utility belt,’ Peter joked.
    Bob ignored the comment. ‘I’m putting a lot of faith in you and this project, Peter, so don’t you let me down.’
    ‘I won’t. You have my word on that.’ Peter finished off the whiskey and pushed the glass away. Enough .
    ‘I have one big request, though,’ Bob added as Peter stood to leave.
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘Two words. Stafford Ellison. You have to get rid of those mangy, stinking suits. You can’t wear them if you’re going to write a column. You have status now. Put it on the newspaper’s account.’
    ‘That’s the second time I’ve heard that today,’ he replied sadly. ‘And I thought I looked good in this.’
    ‘A derro might, but not a professional journalist. I want you in a new suit, as soon as you come back from up north. You can start the column then.’
    ‘Shit, I almost forgot!’ Peter darted forward in the chair. ‘When was that again?’
    ‘It’s tomorrow,’ Bob shook his head. ‘You’ve done yourself more damage than I thought. How could you forget you’re giving evidence in the Hillard trial? And you’ll be writing a story about it. Not under your name. It’ll be The Pulse’s first outing. All right?’
    ‘Why the hell do I have to go up there again? I wish I’d never got involved.’ He hung his head in his hands. ‘I hate it up there. Frigging Brownsville! Can you at least put me up in a hotel near the sea?’
    ‘It’s all arranged. Consider it like a holiday. You’ll be able to catch up with old friends, eat off the land, lynch people, the usual thing. Or maybe, this time, they’ll lynch you,’ Bob laughed. Peter could still hear him laughing when he returned to his desk and the dreaded deadline.

3
    Peter was feeling pretty chipper by the time he entered the welcoming doors of the Tote at five-thirty. The smoky interior, the smell of stale beer, the rumbling conversations of the patrons and the muffled rock music were a loving hug to him. He pulled out a stool at his favourite end of the bar and perched himself on it. The story was written; he had a new, better paying, infinitely more challenging job. He was a pig in shit. But what about the downside? Sources had to be worked on. With a bigger expense account he could get better leads. He would have to get used to seeing dead bodies again. The last one was in Clarkes Flat. Peter shuddered as the image of her lying dead on the bed became stronger, only to be jolted back into reality by Irmgard appearing out of the smoky mist like a Valkyrie.
    ‘How are you? I was starting to miss you,’ she remarked from the other side of the bar, pouring a VB from the tap and handing it to Peter. He had become so accustomed to her thick, German accent that it rarely posed a challenge for him these days.
    ‘I’ve been waiting all day to see you. You’re a vision.’ He winked and took a sip of his beer. Irmgard had come from Munich and was here on a backpacking holiday of Australia. She had been working at the Tote as a barmaid for three weeks and had been fucking Peter for about one. Irmgard said