he didn’t have, and he’d tried to confront Loongy about the cleared out flat, but Loongy had just shrugged and said the case was declared closed. When Conan pressed the matter, Loongy had simply said,‘Why do you care, Tools? Fuck off back to Sydney and go for a ferry ride. Fuck off back to Sydney and buy real estate!’
‘Why the fuck was I sent up here if no one wants me to look into the case?’ he wondered, for the hundredth time. ‘And why did Ronny Kwai invite me to the football?’
At Gate C he was just behind a deeply sun-tanned couple, both in khaki shorts and Hawaiian shirts. They also asked to see Ronny Kwai and were asked for their names.
‘Jen Khataten and Richie Farr,’ said the young woman, who looked like she’d just stepped out of the pages of Vogue, despite her bogan chic attire.
‘Conan Tooley also,’ added Conan, to the beautifully lacquered Chinese girl with a clipboard, checking off names.
‘Come this way,’ she bowed to the three of them and they were ushered into a lift.
‘Jen and Richie?’ asked Conan, and they smiled at him.
‘Conan Tooley, but call me Tools.’
The lift moved so smoothly they were barely aware of it. Conan found himself staring at the woman and being a little jealous of the man. Conan would never get within coo-ee of such a stunner and, despite being inside a lift, left on his sunglasses to preclude an accusation of perving.
‘I hope you’re not perving, Tools,’ said Jen. Conan knew he’d blushed, but thankfully the lift had reached its destination, so further embarrassment was suspended.
They were received by yet another beautiful Chinese-looking girl in a similar outfit to her colleague downstairs and taken down a short corridor to a set of double doors which were open wide. Above the door was a golden plaque inscribed with “Private Suite A2 – Mr Ronald Kwai”.
Ronny Kwai himself could be heard laughing within and Conan felt his mood lifting. He had decided not to worry too much about the case, seeing as no one else was worried about it. He was just going to enjoy himself, and maybe flirt a little with Jen Khataten if he could get drunk enough to lose his inhibitions.
Conan was just behind the other two as they entered the large room and felt a different kind of jealousy as he made out the magnificence of the place. The room (or suite of rooms) was like a large city apartment, with a seated balcony overlooking the stadium, right on the halfway line. It was on the top level and like something Caesar might have owned if still swanning about in the twenty-first century.
‘How does a journalist afford this?’ wondered Conan as he stared about at the hors d’oeuvres, the sushi and cold seafood in trays of ice, the well-stocked bar and the army of white-jacketed wait-staff. In the centre of the room was a large, round dining table set for thirteen with white table cloths and gleaming silver. Even the light was expensive. There was some quality of the light that seemed to sparkle and glow with money and Conan knew he would never again rub so closely against the lives of the rich. Another reason to get stuck in and make a total cunt of himself.
Ronny, wearing a Peril shirt with KWAI 13 on the back, shook his hand and smiled but didn’t say much, his eyes raking the room for more important people to talk to. Conan happily allowed himself to be passed over and attacked the bar.
He downed a double shot of single malt to get the ball rolling, then headed for the balcony with a cold Coopers Red. Jen and Richie were admiring the view and also drinking Coopers so, suitably reinforced, Conan joined them.
‘Do you come here often?’ he asked, and grinned at his own clumsy question.
‘We don’t go anywhere often,’ said Jen. ‘We spend so much time in the middle of nowhere it’s a relief to meet other humans.’
‘Not least as she spends most of her time trying to talk to aliens,’ added Richie.
‘Aliens?’
‘Have you heard of the Giant Array?’ she asked.
‘No. Oh … yes. The telescopes down south?’
‘Correct.’
‘Right … you guys are astronomers?’
Yet a third kind of jealousy seeped into Conan’s soul as he regarded the two beautiful people who, not only looked somehow superhuman with their glowing good health and spectacular looks, they were also engaged in fabulous careers! It was just ridiculously unfair that some people got the looks and the brains. And the money no doubt.
‘I am,’ said Jen. ‘Richie’s the local director of the NBN. We’re only twenty ks apart which out here makes us close neighbours.’
Conan gave Richie another look and this time recognised him from certain files he’d been researching around the time of his fuck up back in Sydney. He’d been wearing a suit and tie in the official photographs.
‘But the Giant Array,’ mused Conan, trying to rise above his jealousy, ‘… didn’t I read that you guys have made some big discovery?’
Before she could answer Conan swore with surprise at the vast holographic display that flashed into life above the pitch – a slow motion replay of the last game’s highlights.
‘You’ve never been to a football match before?’ asked Richie.
‘I’ve never seen the holos so huge and live,’ admitted Conan. ‘I don’t often go to sporting events … well, never really. Obviously I’ve seen holos a million times, but not like that.’
‘What do you for a living,’ asked Jen, and Conan hesitated. In social situations, he usually gave the old vague public servant answer, but Ronny Kwai knew he was an AFP investigator so, in case it came up later, he admitted the truth.
‘AFP?’ queried Richie. ‘I’ve always wondered exactly how the police jurisdiction works up here.’
‘Well … it’s a bit confused,’ admitted Conan. ‘This is Western Australia, which is normally policed by both state and feds, depending on the nature of the offence, but because Ord City has special status under the Immigration Act … and the Ord River Zonal Citizenship Act of 2023 … us feds have additional powers. Just about everyone here is a migrant so, the way it works … most crime is covered by federal law, with a few exceptions like traffic and the like. Oh fuck!’
Conan had briefly turned and saw Ronny Kwai greeting Major Lammas, with whom was Captain Melodie Roberts, staring coldly at Conan.
‘Friends of yours?’ asked Richie.
‘They’re no friends of mine,’ muttered Jen.
Conan turned back to the stadium to collect his thoughts. The gates opened at six o’clock and very shortly the yellow tide would start to rise. Already from outside he could hear the buzz and announcements from external tannoys advising that the evening’s game against Sydney FC was a sell-out.
‘It’s always a sell-out,’ boomed Ronny, arriving in their midst, with yet another Chinese girl.
‘This is Dr Ming,’ said Ronny, introducing her. ‘She’s a scientist like you lot … well, except for you, Agent Tooley.’
‘Call me Tools,’ said Conan. ‘But what makes you think I’m not a scientist?’
‘Surely criminal investigation is an art more than a science,’ said Ronny. ‘But please excuse me.’
He hurried back inside, haranguing his wait staff in loud Cantonese and pointing at the table.
‘Hello! How are we all?’ asked Ming, all breathless, sparky enthusiasm like a C-list celebrity.
‘Have you been on TV?’ asked Conan.
‘TV?’ echoed Ming, with a dazzling smile. ‘I hope not.’
She looked oddly familiar but Conan dismissed the notion and shrugged.
‘You