St Kilda Blues by Geoffrey McGeachin

‘Books, Magazines, Newspapers, Smokes, Etc.’. Berlin knew the place by reputation and it was the ‘Etc.’ that gave it that reputation.
    Roberts killed the engine and left the key in the ignition. ‘I’ll just be a tick, Charlie, you might as well wait in the car. Just need to grab a packet of smokes.’
    As Roberts walked away Berlin opened the Triumph’s glove compartment. There were four packets of Craven A cigarettes inside, still sealed in their shiny cellophane wrapping. He closed the glove compartment and climbed out of the sports car, following Roberts into the shop. A small bell mounted over the doorway rattled as the two men entered. The shop was small and cramped, dully lit by a half-dozen fly-specked light bulbs hanging from the ceiling.
    It always amazed Berlin that so many of the so-called raincoat brigade actually did wear raincoats. There were two or three of them browsing amongst the racks – frail, nervous men, pale-skinned and skittish, looking like a harsh word or sudden loud noise might frighten them to death. There was also a schoolboy, perhaps fifteen, in a blazer and shorts and battered school shoes, school tie loose and grey socks bunched around the ankles of his skinny legs.
    The men in raincoats were looking at paperbacks with lurid covers or copies of
Sun & Health
and other imported European naturist magazines. The magazines featured photographs of laughing, naked girls playing volleyball and table tennis beside lakes or in forest clearings. The schoolboy was looking at one of the cheaply printed local magazines. Over his shoulder Berlin could see a full-page black and white picture of a nude girl smiling for the camera. Besides lacking clothes, the girl was also missing nipples and pubic hair. This airbrushing allowed the publication and dozens like it to skate past the obscenity laws. Berlin always wondered how confusing it must be when the young blokes who bought these magazines finally managed to get the clothes off a real live girl.
    At the rear of the shop a man wearing a grey dustcoat over his suit was standing behind the counter.
You didn’t see shopkeepers in grey dustcoats much any more
, Berlin thought. He’d looked up when Roberts entered, reached down under the counter in front of him and straightened up with a thick, buff-coloured envelope in his right hand. Berlin was just behind Roberts and saw the detective’s head moving gently from side to side when he realised Berlin had followed him into the shop. The shopkeeper’s eyes left Roberts’ face and fixed on Berlin. The envelope went back under the counter and the shopkeeper gave the two men an uncomfortable smile.
    â€˜How can I be of help this morning, gentlemen? I’m always ready to do whatever I can to assist the police.’
    The shopkeeper said the word ‘police’ with a little more volume than was strictly necessary. There was a flurry of books and magazines being replaced on shelves and a strange, almost whistling sound of nylon against nylon as raincoat-wearing customers brushed against each other on their way out through the narrow doorway. The schoolboy, apparently frozen to the spot, was staring at Berlin, his eyes wide open and unblinking. The crest on his blazer pocket was from a leading boys school and a metal badge on his lapel said he was a prefect.
    Berlin took the magazine from his hands. ‘Don’t you have some place you should be, sonny Jim?’
    The boy nodded but didn’t move.
    â€˜Then you should be there, shouldn’t you?’
    The boy nodded again. Berlin pointed to the shop doorway. The boy turned and walked to the door, stopping only to pick up a vinyl schoolbag at the entrance.
    Berlin turned back to where Roberts and the shopkeeper were looking at each other.
    â€˜Can I have a pack of twenty Craven A?’
    The shopkeeper took the cigarettes from the shelf behind him.
    â€˜That’ll be three shillings and