Jack Irish: Bad Debts Page #5

he got a job, got off the drugs.

We were living a good life,

you know?

He was a good Dad.

Do you know what

these two blokes wanted?

No.

About a month ago

this woman called out of the blue

and she told Danny

her husband had just died.

Left actual proof he was

fitted up for the hit-and-run.

What... what kind of proof?

I don't know.

I don't know who she was,

what she was talking about.

Danny just wanted

to put it behind him.

But it kept gnawing away at him.

So he arranged to meet her and...

And he didn't meet her?

Well, we're here.

MAN:
I could have been running

a nice little earning motel

in Lismore now.

Turned it down, didn't I?

All so I could stay number eight

on the Commissioner's

top-ten sh*t list.

Too many known associates,

they reckon.

I mean, f*** that.

Used to be called part of the job.

The new Police Minister's

an ex-cop, isn't he?

He'll take care of you.

Mate, Garth Bruce

is a turd with selective amnesia.

He gets voted in

and then immediately wants

to get rid of the old culture.

Mate... I'm very proud

of the old culture.

Wouldn't have a Quick-Eze on you,

would ya?

Not on me, no.

Remind me again of the old culture.

The old culture.

You know, dinosaurs like me.

A time when it didn't count

if you took an extra

ten bucks for the drinks,

or, you know,

you loaded up some cockroach

just to keep em off the streets.

Wonderful days.

Nowadays, it's just

all these f***in' mad dogs out there

with chemical warfare

going off in their heads,

stuff up their noses fighting

against the stuff in their arms.

(Belches) Ooh, sh*t.

And we can't do a bloody thing.

Have you read much

about the Pritikin diet?

Hmm?

Go f*** yourself.

This mate of yours that got himself

dead in the Trafalgar car park.

He was a client.

Hope you got paid in advance.

Baker, the cop who put four in him,

reckons your bloke

just appears from behind a car,

high as a kite,

points a.38 at him and his partner.

McKillop's wife reckons

he's been clean for years.

Mrs Goebbels reckons

her husband was in advertising.

Sh*t's sh*t, mate.

He left me a message

the night he got shot.

He said someone was

flashing their lights at him.

He thought it was probably me.

There's no chance

that this Baker planted that gun

and the smack on him, is there?

Baker's an officer

of 26 years' service.

If he was going to knock your boy,

he would have done it somewhere

just a little less public,

now, wouldn't he?

Don't mess with it, mate.

It's done.

Alright?

He was scum.

Righto, well, I'll be in touch.

I'll buy you a drink.

Drink?

You mean drinks, don't you, Jack?

You're still dealing with

the old culture here, mate.

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