‘One day, someone will have to burn that bloody factory down,’ Haut said, his voice stern. ‘The police won’t take action, so I guess some vigilante will have to take the law into his own hands.’ He looked at each man in turn. ‘Someone with some real guts and authority on this godforsaken island.’ He locked eyes with each of them in turn. ‘Perhaps you should do what you came here to do, boys. Because that someone with authority might be me.’ Haut’s face was grim determination. ‘Hear that? One day, I may well burn it down.’ He paused for his words to sink in and added: ‘And not you or the cops, or even the devil, will stop me!’ He paused again. ‘It will be God’s will, his righteous anger. I will just be carrying out his wishes.’

There was a chill in the room. Cavalier edged his suitcase closer with his foot. He thought he might have to slide a left hand down under the table and pull out his gun.

Haut raised his can of beer.

‘Let’s not leave on a sour note,’ he said. ‘Your mate and mine, Barry Price, would not want that, eh? To Barry!’

Everyone raised their cans and repeated, ‘To Barry!’

The chill factor fell away again.

‘That was the best service I’ve ever heard,’ a third bikie, an overweight man in his early twenties, said, ‘and I’ve been to plenty. Guys killed on the road. Mates bumped off in gang wars on the mainland.’

‘Well,’ Haut said with a tilt of his head, ‘we all gotta go sometime. It will be my pleasure to preside at your parting too.’

The bikie took it as a compliment. Cavalier thought Haut’s comment was double-edged.

The bikies finished their beers, shook hands with Haut and Cavalier and were about to depart when Haut asked, ‘How about a small contribution?’

‘For the church?’ Renolds replied.

‘For the shattered window!’ Haut said.

The bikies scraped together six hundred dollars and handed it to Haut.

‘Now go and seduce those sheilas and have a good time,’ Haut said.

‘Can’t,’ Renolds said, ‘you have all our bloody cash!’

‘A good thing,’ Haut said with a laugh.

When the visitors had disappeared, Cavalier remarked, ‘That was a close-run thing! Must have been quite a sermon you gave at the funeral.’

‘One of my best,’ Haut said. ‘I was the only minister of the cloth in Tasmania who would do it. The gang was most grateful. I had them all crying at the end of it.’

They began clearing the table.

‘You see,’ Haut said, ‘many have done bad things, but they are still God-fearing men. They know that their business leads to short lives. They want to be sent off in style.’

‘You handled the situation with style,’ Cavalier said. ‘It was a trace menacing at the end, but it was done with aplomb. You stayed calm.’