I carefully closed the door behind me and made my way out onto the quiet night-time streets of Williamstown. The air was still, but as cool as a mother-in-law’s kiss. I had fortified myself against the cold with one or two more drams of Jameson. I had then decided on a third dram – for good old-fashioned Dutch courage. I had considered calling Laura, to explain that perhaps it was time now for everyone to move on, as difficult as that may prove to be. Especially for me. I had gotten as far as dialling her number, but then had hung up. Something was gnawing at me, telling me that I should speak to her face to face. It was the least that she deserved. But I would need to tread as carefully as if I was tip-toeing barefoot across a dark lounge room strewn with Lego pieces. There were traps everywhere. And more potential pain than the most negative St Kilda supporter has ever experienced.
There was a tune playing in my head, something soft and slow. I couldn’t quite recall the words, but I knew that Ella Fitzgerald once sung it. When I reached Laura’s place, I saw no movement, but noticed that a light was glowing somewhere inside. I approached stealthily. Instantly, I recalled those nights years ago visiting her when she was still living at her parents’ house. I would creep down the overgrown sideway like the night stalker, then tap quietly on her window, which was the signal for me to be beckoned into her bedroom. Where had the years disappeared to? I shivered. Not from the cold, but from the memories. Before I could knock, Laura opened the door. I tried to gather my thoughts, but she spoke first. She had always been one to take control. The first time we kissed, it was Laura who initiated it, pulling me toward her beside the old rotunda in the Commonwealth Reserve. “You looked a little worse for wear the last time you were here, Swifty. But I’m glad that you let me take care of you.” She arched a knowing eyebrow, and ushered me into her loungeroom, where we sat. Already poured out into glasses were a red wine for her and a Jameson for me. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come, but here you are.” Still pulling myself together, I replied slowly: “Yes, here I am.” My foot was tapping uncontrollably. I was as nervous as a teenager on a first date. And like that teenager, I had little or no clue where the night was headed.
We sat and talked about recent events. She explained that while she was still furious that Jack Shepherd would get away with murder, she had taken some time away, and resigned herself to accepting that avenging her brother’s death would only cause more pain. “Anyway,” she whispered softly, “I am just so grateful to you, Swifty. You dropped everything to look into this matter.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that, at the time, I had little else to occupy my thoughts. But not now. Not when I looked over at the beautiful woman sitting opposite me. Not for the millionth time, I berated myself for being lazy, apathetic, and inattentive in those last days we were together. I had been a fool. She was as earnest and honest as the day was long.
I silently chided myself: “Stop beating around the bush, Swifty.” It was time for some honesty from me. “I’m sorry about your brother’s death. I’m sorry about Jack Shepherd getting away with murder. Most of all, I’m sorry about ever letting you go.” I told her that I thought of her constantly, and that I believed that I had matured. And I told her plenty more besides. My mind’s stream of consciousness was erupting from a mouth that had no control over its words. She said nothing until I had nothing left to say. I had poured out my heart right into the empty Jameson glass before me. Now, she could do with it what she pleased. “I made two lists the other day,” she announced. “Yes and no. Pros and cons. For and against. You might be pleased to know that the good far outweighed the bad.” Maybe I wasn’t such a fool any more.
“Follow me, Swifty.” There was an ice-block’s chance in hell that I would disobey her. I jumped to my feet as quickly as a jack-in-the-box. She sashayed her way down the hallway, and into her bedroom. “Close the door behind you, Swifty. We have got a lot of catching up to do.” And in that instant I thanked every god I had ever heard of, that she still knew how to take control.
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What a treat! Fun metaphors, sporting and otherwise. Local settings. (I’m a little biased.) Big Shep does not get his comeuppance (maybe that’s in the next series) but Swifty’s heart is more than reconciled. The streets (and piers and cafes and pubs) of Williamstown will never be the same. Thanks, Smokie.
Bloody magnificent Smokie.
A marvellous final episode in this series albeit one that tantalisingly leaves various doors ajar for further sequels.
But bugger the sequels for now. As you well know, I have been barracking for Swifty’s love interests for some time now so that final move was an absolute ripper.
Incidentally, the one slightly out-of-left-field consequence of following Swifty’s adventures is I now think of both him and Laura every time I see a bottle of your sponsor’s whisky in Dan Murphy’s. As soon as it becomes a Dan’s members’ special, I’ll be ready to pounce.
Great work mate!
RDL
A grand conclusion to a grand series, Smokie. Les Norton comes to Williamstown.
And great to see Swifty back in the game.
Superb Swifty love the St Kilda line yes likewise I was barracking for Swifty to win out in the end
( yes love how you have left it ajar ) well played-Smokie well played indeed – 3 votes
Many thanks to all who have read, commented, and messaged me privately about the Swifty Taylor saga (and the initial series also). It is greatly appreciated.
It seems that you have all entered into the spirit of how Swifty was meant to be taken.
I am grateful to Dene ‘Guru’ Macleod for generating the AI images, which have really added to the feel.
Thanks, all.
Well done, Smokie. I’ve enjoyed the series immensely and I sense there could be more from Swifty. Agree that the AI images have contributed too.
Thanks for another ripping series Smokie.
It seems like Laura will take Swifty into her control. Will she have total control?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQhTOVZ56Zs
Glen!
Congrats Smokie. A greatly enjoyable series.
Another pearl of an episode! Terrific images too.
I loved this ST story Smoke, it walked a fine line between classic noir and the even more interesting “will they, won’t they” tale of luv. While it is set in the modern day and in geographical terms, far from LA or NYC, using 40s hard boiled detective mystery tropes and references is a master-stroke. For this series I decided to wait until it was finished then binge read it. That paid off big time. The final chapter was a treat as the real mystery was reveled and Swifty, putting his heart on the line, comes through! Pedant that I am, I also highlighted a bunch of lines from the 13 episodes that seemed to add another layer to the story, at least to me. Here are some choice lines from Swifty Taylor and the Dead Coach:
EP. 1
When I opened the door I was surprised to see the figure of my old friend Laura May standing before me. She looked in rude health. In fact, she looked better than I remembered. And I remembered her regularly.
I looked down at my shoes, suddenly aware that they could do with a lick of Nugget.
EP. 2
My dad had always told me that I would be rewarded by hard work, but a lifetime of hard labour would not get me within a bull’s roar of these barges. Plus, I was never all that keen on working too hard.
EP. 3
I felt like the dog who barks and chases after the neighbour’s car every morning: on the day that the neighbour abruptly stops, the dog is at a loss for what he should do now that he has caught the vehicle.
It was not so much a sea-change as a flee-change, for lazy Lim had left a trail of debts and angry creditors in his wake.
EP. 4
The bartender wore the plastic smile of a person who wished that he was anywhere else in the world. But here he was at the Werribee races serving drinks to desperadoes. Like me.
One had a head like a robber’s dog, the other a head like the beaten favourite.
EP. 5
I was tempted to keep right on dozing, but why stay in a bed that had been cold and lonely since North Melbourne were last competitive?
There were a few elderly drinkers huddled near the bar, making muted but enthusiastic conversation. They were either discussing their share portfolios or their knee and hip replacements – by the look on their faces, both their surgeons and the share-market were performing exceptionally well.
EP. 6
I hadn’t treated her badly; it was just that I could never quite conquer my insecurities. The lack of effort that I put into our relationship hung over us like an executioner’s axe.
EP. 7
My dad was a huge fan of acronyms. He was full of them … But the acronym of his that stayed with me was “C.Y.O.A.” It was brilliant in its simplicity. Cover your own a**e. First and foremost.
EP. 8
The toilet block which had taken only four years to build. It seemed that the local council was expedient only when it came to the issuing of fines.
Sometimes, the only mode of transportation from points A to B is a leap of faith.
I glanced about the stateroom where we sat. Rather than nautical bric-a-brac, the walls were adorned with footy memorabilia. This was the den of a man whose shattered dreams had been replaced by false football idols.
EP. 9
He had no identification on him to speak of, but his name wasn’t Arthur Murray, and he hadn’t been here to give me a tango lesson.
EP. 10
The receptionist looked me up and down and decided that I was worth putting some faith in. Maybe my luck was changing. She was showing a modicum of concern, but not too much.
On the edge of the outcrop stood Jack Shepherd. And at arm’s length from Jack stood Laura May, brandishing a knife that would have put Crocodile Dundee’s pocket knife to shame.
I attempted to keep my thoughts as steady as I could, but it was proving difficult when my brain was bouncing like a beach ball in Bay 13.
EP. 11
Sometimes the only shot a man has in his locker is a little hope.
He sounded like a man who had slept very well and didn’t owe any money.
I had been shocked by the depth of her anger. But also strangely aroused by the fire in her eyes.
EP. 12
Attached to a pair of large hairy fists that was an unpleasant-looking thin man, with a forehead so wide it could have housed four sets of eyebrows.
Shep stood to greet me. He shook my hand, and his manner was jovial. But even crocodiles could look as if they were smiling.
EP. 13
The air was still, but as cool as a mother-in-law’s kiss.
I shivered. Not from the cold, but from the memories.
Anyway,” she whispered softly, “I am just so grateful to you, Swifty. You dropped everything to look into this matter.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that, at the time, I had little else to occupy my thoughts.
She said nothing until I had nothing left to say.
Smokie, like Rick I have waited to binge read this, call it the Netflix effect.
I reckon series 2 of Swifty’s adventures surpassed the excellent series 1. Can’t wait for series 3!