‘No, you don’t get to start raging on me. You’re a drug dealer. A criminal. You have enemies in this town – powerful enemies. The bloody station sergeant for one! If Jasmine was taken by someone, for ransom or . . . something else . . .’

Murphy’s shoulders tensed up and he thought he might just start swinging anyway. Then he slumped against the car door. An aching fire ran up his side, and his nose and face truly began to pound.

He began to cry.

‘Hey, mate, it’s okay . . . Shh, it’s okay,’ said Dave.

‘What do I do, Dave?’ sobbed Murphy. ‘What the fuck do I do?’

‘You gotta ask Skinner who he sells to.’

‘He won’t tell me!’

‘Convince him.’ They pulled up outside the Murphy’s house.

Three journalists were standing on the footpath.

‘I dunno how.’

Dave sighed. He switched the engine off. ‘Look . . . your old man was always a good mate to me.’ He raised his hands. ‘I know, I know. He was a mongrel to his own sons, and he was generous with his fists with you. But . . . I’ve always seen you boys like nephews. Did you know that? Well, I think if your Dad was alive, he’d be okay with me giving you this – keep an eye on those jokers outside for a sec.’

‘What are you . . .?’ said Murphy.

Dave flipped open the glovebox and reached inside. ‘Just keep an eye on them.’ From behind a hidden flap, he pulled out a pistol. It was a 9-millimetre Glock, the same used by Tasmania Police.

‘Holy shit, Dave.’

‘Consider it a gift. Now, I’m not telling you to use it, but if you need to convince Skinner . . . well, if it’s to get Jasmine back, all bets are off, right?’ Dave chewed his lip as he handed it to him. ‘You’re not stupid enough to get caught with this, are you?’

Murphy held it between his hands. It was heavy and cold. Something stirred inside of him. ‘I’ve never shot a handgun before.’

‘Just remember to hold it in both hands and breathe evenly,’ said Dave. ‘Here’s an extra magazine, and here’s how you load it . . .’

Minutes later, Murphy headed towards his front door, the gun shoved into the back of his belt and under his shirt. The bystanders flinched when he glanced at them, and he knew he must look fearsome: his face bruised, mouth oozing blood.

He shoved the door open.

Something hissed near his feet, and he leapt back with a yell.

‘Murph! Stay back!’ called Butch from inside, his voice high-pitched.

Murphy took another backwards step. A long tiger snake, at least a metre and half in length, reared up on the doormat and barked like a dog. It had a black-scaled back and yellow tiger-stripes ran up from its belly.

‘The bastards dropped them in through the broken window,’ shouted Butch.