I drove back to Glebe with the slip of paper on which I’d written the midnight contact number in my jacket pocket. I kept feeling the paper as I drove, wishing it was something more substantial, wishing that I was causing things to happen instead of being Grey’s representative in Mountain’s game. I got home with a couple of minutes to spare. I dialled and got a recorded message as I expected. It told me to speak after the blip. Blip. ‘This is Hardy, Grey. I think I’m onto something but the relevant meeting is tomorrow night. Don’t hurt the girl or I swear I’ll come after you and break your back. I assume you’ll be in touch.’ I hung up feeling ridiculous at making threats into machines at the stroke of midnight. I waited. At five minutes into the new day the phone rang and the same voice as before spoke quickly: ‘Delighted to hear that you’re making progress. The girl is fine, although we’ve had some trouble in restraining Peroni. Don’t made empty threats. Hardy; it creates a bad impression.
