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means?’
    Moxley fumbles for the tobacco and papers, which MacKay pushes out of his reach. ‘Let me read you something.’
    He takes a sheet of printed paper from his jacket pocket and reads: ‘Every habitual criminal shall, at the expiration of his sentence, be detained during His Majesty's pleasure, and subject to the regulations in some place of confinement set apart by the governor by proclamation in the Gazette , for that purpose.’
    The meaning is not clear to Moxley. His Majesty…Governor…Gazette. He shakes his head.
    MacKay pushes the makings towards Moxley. ‘It means they can lock you up for as long as they please.’
    Moxley's hands shake as he rolls the cigarette. ‘You've got me, Mr MacKay.’
    MacKay smiles. ‘I know I have, laddie.’

    â€˜He's a dog, Art,’ Ernie Devine says. ‘And he put us in on that bank job as sure as eggs are eggs. He's the reason we're on bail. I'm gonna do him.’
    I don't know,’ Arthur Kellow says, ‘he's a tough nut, Ernie. He was in the war. He's probably got a gun.’
    â€˜In the war, bullshit. I met a bloke named Mumby who knew him. He reckoned Snowy Moxley fought his war in the guardhouse and the fuckin’ pubs of London. I'm the one with the gun.’
    Kellow pushes off from the wall of the Lord George Gordon Hotel in Sydenham and moves through the crowd of drinkers to the bar. He returns with two beers. Keeping his voice low, he says, ‘If he's in with the coppers like you say, killing him's too risky.’
    Devine downs half his beer. ‘All right, all right. We'll just put the fear of God into the bugger. How about that? We'll bring Jimmy Duncan along, too. He's got a score to settle with Moxley.’
    Kellow is a much smaller man than Devine, less well dressed, altogether in his shadow. It's rare for him to win a point. He touches his glass to Devine's and smiles. ‘You're on, mate. I'm with you all the way.’

    By arrangement, Devine, Kellow and Duncan meet Moxley at the Newtown Hotel in King Street. They have a drink and go out to where Moxley has parked a Vauxhall Tourer in Parramatta Road.
    â€˜Nice car, Snowy,’ Devine says. ‘How'd you come by it, mate?’
    Moxley winks. With his bulging eyes, the gesture looks obscene. ‘People are careless,’ he says. ‘Hop in, we'll go for a spin and youse can tell me what's on your mind.’
    They drive down Parramatta Road, stopping at several hotels along the way. Devine points as they pass the Homebush tip.
    â€˜There's a few planted there, eh, Jim?’
    â€˜Just rubbish,’ Duncan says.
    Moxley joins in the laughter uneasily. When they reach Auburn, Devine produces a pistol.
    â€˜What's that for?’ Moxley says.
    â€˜Turn here, Snowy. We're going to knock over the Commercial Bank.’
    Moxley turns but stops the car. ‘No fear, I'm not going to be in that.’
    Devine suddenly jams the pistol against Moxley's head. Moxley yells but Duncan, sitting behind him, locks an arm around his head, cutting off the sound.
    â€˜I'm gonna ram this down your throat, you fuckin’ dog, and pull the trigger.’
    Moxley has been doing pick-and-shovel work on the roads for the dole. He is strong in the hands and wrists and he breaks Duncan's grip. He opens the door and stumbles out of the car. Devine is surprised and angry. He points the pistol and fires. Moxley staggers as he runs back to the main road. With blood pouring from his head he waves frantically at an approaching car. The car swerves, seems to be going past him, but stops. Moxley jerks open the back door.

    WILLIAM MOXLEY'S HOSPITAL ADMISSION CARD AND WARD REPORT, OCTOBER 1930

    â€˜Take me to a hospital, mate,’ he gasps. ‘I've been shot.’
    The motorist, whose name is Murray, is worried that a man who claims to have been shot might have a gun himself. He drives Moxley to the Parramatta District Hospital.

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