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.Behind these facades, hidden in a maze of rooms, were the private clubhouses, temples and homes of the local Chinese people.The boys stopped briefly at a shopfront loaded with crates of swollen, spiky fruit.They picked out a penn’orth, peeled them down to the size of a grape and enjoyed the burst of milky liquid from each bite.‘Can’t resist ’em, mate,’ Lonnie said appreciatively.At the doorway of a cabinetmaker’s they grinned down at some young children who were crouched like small Buddhas on the front step and yammering ten to the dozen in their singsong language.They passed through the joinery with all its dark lacquered furniture, down a back hallway lined with paperlanterns and into Bookie Win’s betting shop.Like most of the locals, his family had come out to the gold diggings.More lately they’d been running an enterprising business of wholesale and supply, with gambling on the side.Bookie’s real name of Li Ha Win had been put out of use by this current trade.Lonnie tipped his cap at a group of men who were drawing cards and flourishing counters.These men, dressed in long blue smocks and wearing hats like upturned bowls over their pigtails, didn’t seem to be feeling the pinch of hard times.As they jigged their heads back in friendly greeting, they continued piling up the ante, throwing threepences, sixpences and even shillings into the centre of the table.Bookie Win bowed.‘You want make bet today, Lonnee?’‘Only information, Bookie.’ He lowered his voice.‘In private, if you don’t mind.’Bookie led them to a secluded room where the tables were shut down for the day.‘Business slow,’ he said with a shrug.As Lonnie expected, Bookie was well aware of the illegal race.‘How you find out?’ he asked.After all, it was supposed to be a secret.The fewer in, the easier to safeguard them all.‘Don’t want make trouble.’Lonnie reassured him.‘Nor do we, mate.’Bookie knew the boys well enough to take them at their word.He listened intently as Lonnie broke the rumour about the jockey on the favourite, Lightning, deliberately set to lose the race.As the bookmaker for the event, Bookie showed great concern.Depending on the amount of money wagered, he could lose heavily.There were too many signs the Melbourne slump would not turn around for a long time.Look at his betting shop, affected already.Further problems could spell the end of his business.‘Maybe we help each other,’ he suggested.Bookie told them what he knew.No jockey had yet been named to ride Lightning and money had been mysteriously staked on another horse in the race: Trident.‘Put on by Crick men.You hear anything from Golden Acre?’Lonnie shook his head.He tried to make sense of the facts so far.The Cricks were running two of their horses in the race, both Lightning and Trident.If Lightning was the favourite, why wasn’t Thomas Crick down to ride him the way he always did? He had definitely heard Pearl right when she told him Lightning was going to lose.Now here was Bookie telling him Trident was being backed to win.He bet his life the Cricks were behind this fix.‘At least we know which horse to back,’ Carlo said.‘My money’s on Trident.’‘But it isn’t right,’ said Lonnie.‘What about all those not in the know?’It seemed clear enough to Carlo.‘They lose their money.Simple as that.’‘Nah, it ain’t fair.’ Lonnie thought back to his conversation with Auntie Tilly.Fairness had nothing to do with it.As they left Chinatown, Lonnie knew he would have to do some more investigation at Golden Acres.Chances were he could pick up some clues, although he already had a good idea what the Cricks were up to.The day just kept getting busier for Lonnie.His head was throbbing, the night was quickly folding in, he’d promised to meet Pearl at the oyster bar and he still had to honour his promise to Auntie Tilly.He reached into his pocket where the watch lay waiting.Lordy, here was more unfinished business, undoubtedly the most unsettling of all.THREE EMPTY FRENCH WINE BOTTLESItem Nos.31, 32 & 33Found in cesspit.Thought to have been from one of the more upmarket brothels around Little Lon.Pearl stood shivering at the corner by the Governor Hotel.It was a grim night, the wind taking bites out of her skin and blowing hints of grubby slum houses through the laneways.She cursed Madam’s choice of dress for her; a lickety-split of such frivolous green material that would surely have floated away with the wind if not for the satin band which pinned down the folds at her waist and refused to let go.She pulled a woollen shawl around her shoulders, cursing that muck-snipe Ruby who was at this very minute working in the warmth and luxury of the Big House, her sacred white feather having well and truly been plucked, while Pearl was left stuck out here in the cold.She heard her own name being called from inside the Governor.‘Get yerself in here, Pearl.Come kick up yer heels!’ The shrieks and beer swilling made her feel sick.Only one more customer, she pledged, and then she’d slip away to meet Lonnie at the oyster bar.Served Madam right if she scarpered for a while.Mind you, she’d be getting more than a belt across the earhole if she were found out.All because Annie had turned Madam’s mood so sour.(Not to mention that mooching Ruby with her whimpering ways, plotting to put Pearl on this miserable street corner instead of up at the Big House or at number four, where at least she would be keeping out of the bitter night.) So what if she took some time off ? She deserved it.The thought of those hot steaming oysters made her want to devour them in one, solid, tongue-licking swallow.Back at Casselden Place she had secretly stored some bottles of choice champagne.Didn’t see why the toffs or the pollies should have all the fun, when it was her legs going blue with the cold.She had mastered a trick of leaving half a glass in the bottom of each bottle, especially as the night grew older and the clients grew drunker.She would quickly whisk the open bottle away out of sight and return with a full one.Pearl learned quickly that a client always knew if he had ordered three or four bottles.There was never any problem, as long as his bill had the correct number.By the end of a good night, she was able to fill two or three bottles with the leftovers.Mixers, she called them [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]