Abacus

you?”
    “Good thanks , Detective,” replied Irish in his thick accent.
    “Listen , Irish, I need to meet you now.”
    “Oh , well, actually I have to…”
    Randall cut him off before he cou ld conjure up an excuse. “Irish, do I have to remind you of your debt to me?”
    There was a momenta ry silence. “No, no, of course not.”
    “Thirty minutes, Chinese joint, Petersham, don’t be l ate,” he said firmly before hanging up.
    Randall walked along the hall and entered the toilet bock off the hallway. Thumping his locker with the underside of his fist, the door sprung open. He pulled out a pair of jeans and polo shirt, which he quickly changed into.
    After battling his way through the afternoon traffic, he pulled up outside the rundown Chinese restaurant at Bourke Street, Surry Hills. Sitting quietly in the car, he watched people walking past, periodically glancing up at the rearview mirror to look for anything out of the ordinary behind him.
    Council workers seated in a ute, both smoking, unshaven , look a little sus. No, no wait. There’s a barricaded manhole opposite, there on a smoko break, they’re okay. Young couple at the bus stop, kissing, he is squeezing her ass. If they are undercover they are really getting into their role. Arab-looking guy smoking outside a shop, looking up and down the street. He’s a crook, no wonder he looks sus. Met by another shady bloke with his hands in his pockets. They enter the shop together, probably a drug deal. They’re up to no good, but not my problem right now.
    Once comfortable with his surroundings, he left the car and crossed the road. Pushing through the restaurant door, he was instantly hit by the smell of burnt cooking oil. There were two separate rooms to the restaurant, which were divided by a large algae-filled fish tank. Randall pulled up a seat at a small table directly behind the fish tank, hidden from street view. He peered into the murky tank. I won’t be ordering seafood from this dodgy joint , he thought. He pushed his face up closer to the glass, and whispered, “Surely nothing lives in there.” Squinting to look for any sign of life, he was shocked when a face popped up through murky tank.
    “Boo! ”
    “Shit , Irish!” Randall shouted, reeling backwards and almost falling from his chair. Irish walked around the tank chuckling. “You know, Irish, I didn’t think it was possible, but the distortion in that tank actually made you fucking uglier.”
    “Now, now , Detective, my mother would be most upset if she heard you talking about her little lad like that.” Irish lowered himself into the chair, still giggling. They both got on quite well, but Randall needed to stamp his authority and get down to some housekeeping.
    Randall ’s voice took on a serious tone as his jaw became taut. “Listen, Irish, before we go on, let’s get something straight. You owe me a lot more than you know, and when I ring to speak with you, I expect that you will drop whatever dodgy activity you are up to and do what I bloody tell you to. I do not want to hear any of your half-baked bullshit excuses.” Randall pointed a menacing index finger. “Remember, Irish, it is smarter to be on my team than against me.”
    Irish h eld his hands up apologetically. “All right, all right, I understand, I apologise. I’m having a real rough week.”
    Randall stared him in t he eye. “Rough week, you say? It would be a lot fucking rougher in the slammer doing the few years you owe, wouldn’t it?”
    He nodded. “I understand, Detective, I won’t forget my place. I promise you.”
    With the housekeeping aside, Randall t ook on a more caring demeanour. “Anyway, Irish, how are you going?”
    “Good, g ood,” Irish replied, still looking a little gun shy.
    “Are you still living local?”
    “Yep, yep.”
    Randall scanned the restaurant, leant in closer and whispered, “I’m here to tell you we may have an assignment coming up.”
    “Really, w ell, I’m ready when you need me. How did the last one go? Did the gift kill him?”
    Randall’s face contorted as he banged his fist on the table top. He was enraged. “What are you talking about?” he grumbled angrily, while trying to keep his voice down.
    “Oh, oh sorry, n -nothing,” Irish stammered, obviously realising he had made a huge mistake by talking about the past.
    “Let’s go, ” Randall said, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him to his feet. Now up, Randall released his grip on his collar