Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

1 4 Kerry Greenwood
flask of brandy to bring Black Jack up to his usual operating
level, which was not very high.
‘Now go over it for us,’ said Bert patiently.
‘More brandy.’
‘Not yet, you’ll be seein’ snakes, and I want you with us. Do
you remember delivering a box to the bookshop in the Eastern
Market last Thursday?’
‘No,’ said Black Jack.
‘Then you’re no use to us,’ said Bert, getting up and brushing
the knees of his trousers. ‘Or anyone else,’ he added, looking
down at the disgusting figure now sitting on the cobbles.
‘No, wait,’ said Alderton, grasping at Bert’s knees. ‘I didn’t
deliver it myself. But I know about it.’
‘Yair?’ asked Cec with strong disbelief. He had no time for
drunks. ‘What d’ya know?’
‘I used to work for Gibson, but he sold up and moved out.
I ain’t found a decent job since then. But when I put on my
driver’s coat to take this box to the market, from Ballarat it was,
bloody heavy.’ Black Jack stopped, having lost his thread.
‘You put on your driver’s coat,’ prompted Bert.
‘Yair, I put it on and found that I had a pad of Gibson’s old
waybills in the pocket. I hadn’t worn the coat for a while. I got
to the market and I was unloading in the underneath part, you
know, where the trucks go. See, the boss had just sacked me,
that box was my last delivery, then I was goin’ to be out on the
street again, so long, son. I was crook on it.’
‘Yair, life is tough for the working man,’ agreed Bert. For
the first time in his life, he was sympathizing with a capitalist.
‘What happened in the undercroft?’
‘This bloke came up to me, see, and said he was playing a
joke on a friend. He wanted to borrow my dispatch book and
my dustcoat and cap and gloves. He said he’d deliver the box.
Well, what’s a man to do when he’s got a coot offerin’ a pound
for a simple little joke? I didn’t see no harm in it. He scribbled
a name on my own dispatch note, so the bloody boss couldn’t
say I was half-inchin’ his delivery.’