The Big Score

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He was waiting for me on the front porch of my house when I got home. Big, bulky, suited, self-assured. A cop.

I opened the gate and stood just inside it.

‘Are you Hardy?’

‘What if I am?’

‘Then I want to talk to you.’

I went back onto the footpath, closed the gate and fished out my mobile.

He advanced down the path and almost tripped on one of the pavers a tree root had lifted. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘Calling my solicitor. He lives close, can be here in a flash.’

I hadn’t noticed the unfamiliar car parked across the street and a little way down. My peripheral vision isn’t what it used to be. A uniformed policeman got out and began walking towards me.

‘Takes two to tangle,’ I said. ‘And three’s a crowd.’

The plain clothes man waved the uniform away. I heard the car door close. ‘They told me you were a smartarse.’

‘Did they tell you I don’t like being accosted by rude people at the end of a hard day?’

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