After their brilliant success in the Asian champions League, the Western Sydney Wanderers well and truly lost their mojo of the past two years.
Was their mojo really lost or was there something more sinister at play? The Roar have commissioned ace private detective Mill Pharlowe and his trusty assistant Miss Danno to investigate the case. Mill takes up the story…
I was waiting under a street-lamp on the corner of first and second Streets, Blacktown. From the all-night deli a woman in a blue trench coat emerged with a smoking kebab in her hand. This doll sure looked swell, but there was a sharpness in her eyes that could slice you like a razor if you ventured too close.
I stepped off the curb and walked alongside her. “Miss Rushton, do you mind if I have a word.”
“OK but quick, I have to host a UFC show”, she replied.
“Not so fast lady. I want to ask you about the missing mojo. Are you going to talk freely or will you require some persuasion?” I tapped the holster of my Derringer to convince her.
“I taught most of the UFC athletes all they know. I would send you to the floor quicker than you could say Francis Awaritefe,” she said.
Not to be deterred I pushed on, “I know you have the motive.”
“Of course I wanted the mojo to help get the BBL gig but things worked out just fine. Mel has to work with dimwits like Flemmo, Waugh and Punter whereas I get to work with…put it this way, I have no need of it. Why don’t you ask Bozza, maybe he’s hiding the Wanderers’ mojo under his rug.”
I followed the dame’s tip-off all the way to a street-lamp in a dark alley off Collins Street, Melbourne, where even the scurrying rats seemed to have something to hide. A side door opened and a man came out with the sounds of revelry coming from inside.
I approached him warily. “So Bozza, what are you hiding beneath your rug?”
“I’m Kevin Muscat you idiot and don’t talk about my rug. I’m not telling you a thing.
“Maybe I could loosen your lips with this Kentucky bourbon,” I replied.
“I have been loosening my lips since 11:00am”
I tried a different tack. “Perhaps some of the punks in the press might want to know what you are getting up to during work hours.”
“Listen Pharlowe, I am getting paid to do this. It’s on public record that we are celebrating until July – its part of my job description. You are looking in the wrong place. Yes we were tempted but any team that has me as the coach has no need of the Wanderers mojo.”
He had a point. As I watched the scurrying rats an idea began to take shape.
The night was a real pea-souper. The fog was so thick you could spread it on your toast. The shriek of a solitary gull along with the sound of the crashing waves amplified my sense of hopelessness in cracking this case.
A far-off ship’s foghorn played a game of snakes and ladders with my melancholia. I was reaching for my hip flask when a dark car screeched to a halt and a disheveled figure stumbled out.
“Pharlowe” he croaked. I felt the trap closing on my rat.
As he spoke, I flicked a switch. Miss Danno held him with an arm-lock as the 20,000 watt lamp of Nobby’s lighthouse shone directly in his eyes.
“So Mr Tinkler, or should I say, Tinkerer, I know you wanted the mojo and you would do anything to get it,” I said accusingly.
“Sure I wanted it Pharlowe. Everybody did. I almost had it in my hands and then….”
“Then what, Tinkerer?” I asked.
“The deal fell through because I couldn’t raise the cash. It’s all Gallop’s fault. Leave me alone. Why don’t you ask Perth Glory they don’t seem to have any problems.”
At Perth Glory the place smelt of money. There was more dough here than a European bakery. I was expecting a five and dime joint but it was more than that. Even my contact was a nickel. Rich Nickels had volunteered to show me the shed. Not that shed, the other one, reached via a trapdoor at the back of The Shed.
Inside was row after row of shiny new mojos. “Wow” I said, “how could the club afford all this?”
“Let’s just say the FFA doesn’t know about this shed. It proves we’re innocent though, we don’t need the Wanderers mojo.”
There was one thing still gnawing at me that I just had to ask him. “So why did you roll over Rich. Were you humiliated that they couldn’t afford what you were asking inside the cap?”
“No, I am humiliated that they couldn’t afford what I wanted outside the cap.”
Like the Indian-Pacific pulling into Perth station we had hit a dead end. It was then that Miss Danno came up with a hunch too ridiculous to contemplate.
Miss Danno could be pretty persuasive at times. Twenty-four hours later, we touched down at Narita airport in Tokyo. We’d even brought Tara along for extra security. Before long we had entered a giant compound on the city’s outskirts.
Our quarry was at home.
“Why, if it isn’t Mill Pharlowe,” he said.
“Shinji Ono,” I mumbled.
“Welcome to my humble 98-room palace. Do you like it?” He motioned to two nearby Sumos who rushed forward. Luckily Miss Danno and Tara were there to take care of them.
“So Shinji, it appears you do you have something to hide.”
“Not at all,” said Shinji. He stepped aside and there it was, the Western Sydney Wanderers mojo mounted on the wall next to a framed document that had been torn in half.
“So it was you all along Shinji. So tell me, what was your motive?”
“You see that torn document there? Look closely. It was my one-year contract extension. It would have meant another twelve months of adoration, cheap Shinji face-masks and all-you-can-eat meals at Denny’s.”
“There’s your confession. Book him Miss Danno,” I sternly advised.
Miss Danno shook her head. She said, “unfortunately since our Government has pissed off most of the countries in the region, none of them recognise our extradition treaties any more. Mr Shinji is free to go.”
“Well Mr Ono, it appears as though you have outwitted me”.
“Trust me Mill, it wasn’t that hard. Here, maybe I can loosen your lips with some Sake.”
I would have liked to say no but my inner demons convinced me otherwise.
Draining the glass I asked him “maybe you could help me with my next case?”
“And what would that be Mill?” Ono asked curiously.
“Sydney FC and the case of the missing bling.”
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