SIMMONDS: What’re you getting at, Carter?

KENNY: Do they normally come to you or do you go to them?

SIMMONDS: They come to you.

KENNY: Yeah, well, I want to go to them. Then it wouldn’t matter if Fiona came home or not.

SIMMONDS: They don’t like working at home, Carter.

KENNY: Well, that’s what I want.

SIMMONDS: You’re pushing it a bit, Carter.

KENNY: Well, what’d you expect?

SIMMONDS: [after a pause] All right. I’ll fix it.

KENNY: Starting Friday.

SIMMONDS: You won’t be fit by Friday.

KENNY: You fix it for Friday. Takes more than a couple of mug cops to stop Kenny Carter raising the old bull moose.

SIMMONDS: Pretty quick recovery for a man who was screaming for a doctor a couple of minutes ago.

KENNY: You just fix it. Right?

SIMMONDS: All right. I’ll fix it.

KENNY: And I’m no bloody fool either. I’d be along to the doc in the morning to get me a full report, and if there’s the slightest hint that you’re reneging on the deal, then it goes straight off to Truth, complete with story.

SIMMONDS: [grimly] I always keep my word, Carter.

KENNY: [looking at ROSS] What’s your mate all goggle-eyed at? [Laughing with some effort] Can’t work out how I’m still alive, eh? You’d have to be a bloody tough man to stop me, fella. [To SIMMONDS] What’s your mate all goggle-eyed about?

SIMMONDS: [relaxing—the hard bargainer at the conclusion of a successful deal] It’s his first day out of college. Isn’t it, Ross? [To KENNY] Still pure at heart.

KENNY: Siddown, Ross.

ROSS, bewildered, doesn’t.

Well, if you’re not going to sit down, them make yourself useful. Grab a bloody beer from the kitchen. It’ll be as hot as buggery, but that’s your fault for lettin’ them take the fridge.

SIMMONDS: Get a beer, Ross. [Loudly] Get a beer!

KENNY: [wincing] Not so loud, you bastard. Me head’s still ringin’.

SIMMONDS: Sorry, mate.

ROSS goes out into the kitchen and returns with three cans of beer. He hands one to SIMMONDS and one to KENNY, who accepts it even though he looks anything but fit for drinking. SIMMONDS takes the top off his can and takes a long swig.

Ahh. A bit warm, but not too bad. [To KENNY] What d’you think of Ross’s potential?

KENNY: What as? A welterweight?

He laughs with some difficulty at his own joke, but cannot bring himself to drink.

SIMMONDS: Bit worried about him actually. Should be all right. Comes from good solid stock. His father’s a coffin maker.

They both laugh.

KENNY: Knocks up the stiffs?

They both laugh.

SIMMONDS: Don’t know where he gets his temper from. Should be dead calm.

KENNY: Had a bloke like him in the district reserves. Used to play ruck and forward pocket. Good player but bloody uncontrollable. Mad Dog, we called him. The vice-captain had to tag him some days in case he went off. Gentle as a lamb off the field, but bloody lethal when he went off. Three of us would leap on the bastard. ‘Cool it, Mad Dog. It’s all right.’ Had to talk to him like he was a baby. Something used to click inside his head, like your mate here.