Truth by Peter Temple

Author:Peter Temple [Temple, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery, Thriller
ISBN: 9780312572907
Publisher: Picador
Published: 2008-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

ARCHITECTS HAD worked over the old bloodhouse, knocked out walls, exposed bricks, it was now all black wood and smoked glass, a wall of wine bottles. In the big open room, a dozen people were drinking and eating. A flat screen behind the bar was showing news.

Dance was in a corner, needing a hair trim, dark pinstriped suit, no tie, dipping bread into olive oil. A waiter finished pouring red wine into two glasses.

Villani sat.

‘Like this, you and this place,’ he said, showed the crossed fingers. ‘Mine?’

‘I’m not drinking two at a time. Nice little Heathcote shiraz. Nice suit too.’

Villani sipped, he rolled the wine. ‘Definitely wine. When did you move on from Crownies?’

‘Stella, mate, that’s what you drink when you drink beer,’ said Dance. ‘Only you morgue blokes still drink Crown.’

Dance looked around the room, long face of a Crusader, God’s soldier, handsome, growing old, tired, loved the Lord, loved himself, and loved a lot more besides.

‘You know, I wake up,’ he said. ‘Three, four in the morning, it’s like it’s wired in me. Utterly knackered, lie there, think about the old days.’

‘Everybody’s talking about the old days,’ said Villani. ‘What did I miss?’

‘What I miss, it was simple. Us against filth with guns. Outlaws. Taking stuff that wasn’t theirs. Terrorising innocent citizens. You shake the cunts, it’s a public service. Ends justify means, nobody cared. Pest exterminators. You got some respect.’

Two young women came in, sleek, laptop bags. They sat nearby and feigned exhaustion, closed their eyes, rolled their heads, moved their shoulders.

‘Now,’ said Dance, ‘I’m supposed to do something about crime networks. The fucking Rotary Club is a crime network, blokes doing deals, they make stuff, they sell it to middlemen, it gets retailed. It’s called commerce. Exchange of goods between willing sellers and willing buyers.’

‘You learn this at the gym?’ said Villani. ‘Not going to uni parttime, are we?’

‘I’m growing up,’ said Dance. He offered the bread fingers. ‘You dip it in the oil.’

‘Really? That’s so weird.’

‘Fucked up big time last night, you lot.’

‘We’re pretty happy about it.’

‘Pity you didn’t call in the sons to take them out. Been like World War Three.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? Well SOG on SOG, that’s cage-fighting with guns.’

‘Where’d you hear SOG?’ said Villani.

‘The ether, mate.’

‘Ah, the ether. Know them?’

‘Not on our books. Tied them to Metallic?’

‘Just the vehicle,’ said Villani. ‘Got two guns out of the wreck, no match.’

‘Now that’s truly unfortunate. You want the ballistics.’

A waiter slid by, plumpish, thirties, oiled hair, he knew the women, he said, ‘Chill time, guys. Let me guess? Morettis for openers, duck clubs, no capers. And we drink the Oyster Bay.’

‘Fold,’ said the short-haired one, sallow, deslanted eyes. ‘Why are we so predictable, Lucy?’

Lucy was finger-combing her hair. ‘I’m over duck, PJ. Make it the crab cakes.’ She turned her head and looked at them, appraising.

‘Anyway, this little talk,’ said Dance. ‘Lovett.’

‘What am I supposed to do?’ said Villani. ‘I’ve got no clout.’

‘Well, we need to consider,’ said Dance. He looked around the room, drank wine, turned the cold blue eyes on Villani.

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