Jill pulled again at the black rubber skirt, trying to inch it further down her thighs. What the hell was I thinking, she thought, letting Honey dress me? When Honey had agreed to show Jill Sebastian's club in the Cross, it was on the proviso that she not look like a cop.
'I don't even wear a uniform,' Jill protested.
'You might as well,' responded Honey dryly. 'And where we're going it'll help if you show some skin for once.'
And here she was. Tottering towards Kings Cross in spiked black boots, mini-skirt and sheer black shirt – these were the most conservative clothes in Honey's acid-splashed wardrobe.
Honey had gone into pyjama-party mode, squealing and exclaiming as Jill had tried on and rejected most of her clothes. She had insisted on doing Jill's make-up and hair, and because she hadn't let her look in the mirror until she was done, Jill had ended up with kohl-rimmed, black-lidded eyes and teased hair glittering with beads and pins. She left the hair clips on Honey's bathroom sink before they left the apartment.
She glanced to her right and took a deep breath. Honey wore a bright orange slip dress with spaghetti straps, her surgically perfect breasts just restrained by the fabric. Beneath her cowboy hat, her long black hair hung in a fluid sheet down her back, and her strappy stilettos put her at just over six foot.
The traffic never moved at this time of night in Kings Cross, but tonight even the foot traffic had stopped to watch them walk past. Although she felt only half-dressed, Jill's skin shone with sweat. The heat of the day had not dissipated with the onset of darkness, and humidity left the air thick and glue-like. Green-grey thunderclouds smudged across a full moon above the lights of the Cross. Cars crowded the streets, but there was no sense yet of the dirty-glamour gaiety that usually infused Kings Cross by midnight. Silent black bats winged over the throbbing lights.
Jill felt her gut clench as they got closer to the Bluegrass Club. Up to fifty parked motorcycles, mostly Harleys, curved in a shining path around the front of the venue. On the pavement before the wide glass entry, shark-eyed girls draped themselves over leather-clad, bearded men in club colours. Her jaw tight and senses wired, Jill wanted nothing more than to walk as far from this scene as possible. Too late, she was only now listening to the nagging voice that told her tonight's trip with Honey was a very bad idea. As this was an unofficial outing, she had no badge, gun or radio, and no-one knew she was here. She had half reached forward to grab Honey's arm, ready to tell her that she was going to leave, when she recognised one of the women watching them approach.
Working undercover in Wollongong two years ago, Jill had several times bought small amounts of speed from this girl. The sullen nineteen-year-old uni student did some small-time drug sales for the local bikie gang that provided the South Coast with its significant amphetamine requirements. When Jill's crew had busted their operations, the girl copped a two-year suspended sentence and was kicked out of her science degree. Her boyfriend got four years in Goulburn Gaol.
Jill saw the girl's eyes narrow with recognition and she leaned forward to whisper to the huge man seated next to her at the outdoor table. Jill couldn't see any change in his expression, probably because almost all of his face was concealed by hair, but he looked up and stared directly at her.
Her feet moved forward of their own volition. Honey entered the dark club ahead, Jill about eight paces behind her. She felt as though she were completely naked, in one of her slow-motion nightmares where she couldn't stop herself walking straight into danger. She moved closer to the outdoor table, all senses alert. She turned her head and flatly met the gaze of the bikie staring at her. He smiled, but Jill could feel hatred emanating from the whole group.
Half a step ahead of the table now, the darkness of the club was suddenly a refuge. It seemed to be too far away; she felt completely exposed. She kept her eyes angled down to the bikie, now at her right.
To her horror, Jill saw his hand coming up from under the table; she felt ice drop into her stomach. There was nowhere to hide. She prepared herself to hit the pavement, throw herself to her belly, sure she was about to be shot.
Just as she steeled herself to dive, the bear-like arm rose above the table, the bikie's hand empty. His fingers formed the shape of a gun, aimed at her head.
With one more step, Jill walked into the haven of the dim club and waited for her eyes to adjust. She swallowed hard to push her heart back down into her chest.
Honey was already leaning on one of the two long bars in the crowded club, her yellow cowboy hat keeping her visible. It also got her served quickly, Honey assured Jill, as she drew alongside her at the bar. Watching Honey leaning forward towards the bartender, Jill thought there were probably other factors involved in their swift service. She nursed iced lemonade, hopeful it might settle her stomach a little, and took in the room.
Most of the people in this club were at least a decade older than those who would, seven hours from now, stumble into daylight from the dance clubs on Oxford Street. There were more bikies and their wannabes inside the venue, alongside mid-week office alcoholics, using anybody's birthday as an excuse to get pissed, and groups of thirty-somethings here to meet their next ex. It was smoky and sweaty and the rhythm-and-blues was too loud. Jill turned to ask Honey if she saw Mr Sebastian or his cronies, but two hopefuls trying to buy her another drink already flanked her. Jill elbowed her way closer.
'Honey, do you see them?'
She managed to push past a guy in a bright red shirt covering a burgeoning beer belly; he looked pleased that she'd done so.
'Now, where are we going, princess?' he asked, reaching for her arm to pull her back towards him. Jill slid from his reach in an easy side step, quickly appraising and discounting any threat from the half-drunk man.
'Honey, can you see them?' She shouted to make herself heard over the music.
'Relax, Jill. They won't be here tonight,' Honey said, flicking her hair, flirting with the man next to her.
'What? What did you say?' Jill couldn't believe she'd heard right.
'Mr Sebastian will be athis club tonight,' Honey said, still smiling and sipping at a cocktail as colourful as her dress.
'I thoughtthis was his club,' Jill tried to keep her voice level. What was going on here? Once again, Honey was playing her own game.
Honey laughed, and leaned in to answer something the balding man next to her had said out of Jill's earshot.
'Jill, darling,' Honey finally answered, 'we couldn't get anywhere near that place. Not at our age anyway.' She smiled, still seemingly unaware of Jill's shock at her words.
'Then why,' asked Jill, her voice hard, 'did he invite us to come to his club? And what the hell am I doing here?' This time her voice carried, and a cluster of women, all sequins and cleavage, laughed at her question and raised their glasses towards her in a toast. A group of three men wearing ponytails and leather jackets also stared hard.
'Jill, don't flip out,' Honey smiled at her, this time giving her more attention. 'This is the club he was referring to, but he's never here before two or three. He doesn't own this club though. He only comes here to talk business.'
'So where ishis club, then,' Jill asked slowly; this was like some kind of guessing game, and she didn't know the rules. She tried to calm down, simultaneously bringing her foot down hard on the instep of Mr Red Shirt, who had tried to cop a feel in his attempts to gain her attention. She ignored his slurred yelp of pain.
'Well, he has a youth drop-in centre just down the road from this club,' Honey said. 'For recruits,' she added mildly and Jill's eyes widened, horrified. 'But his play den is on the North Shore somewhere.'
Jill felt suddenly very tired. Did Honey think this was fun for her? She probably did – she looked to be enjoying herself, although it was hard to tell with those contact lenses.
She couldn't imagine spending much longer in this place. She looked at people laughing and talking, at couples obviously forming, and it reminded her how empty her love life had been since Joel. Not that it had been that full-on then. Joel had been impulsive and spontaneous, physically affectionate. She pushed the word needy from her mind; that wasn't fair. He loved to drop by unannounced. She disliked this habit so much that she would sometimes drop to the floor when the doorbell sounded, spending the next two hours in the dark so her caller wouldn't know she was home. Even when he'd phone from his mobile in the lobby Jill would maintain the ruse. It was the principle – she needed time to prepare herself for visitors.
Joel, twenty-eight, a scientist from the University of New South Wales, had never really left college. He admitted that he loved the lifestyle and was happy to combine lecturing with his marine environment research projects. When a floater had washed up on a beach in Wollongong, Jill had travelled to the university to seek an expert opinion on the body's rate of decay, trying to better place the time of death. He asked her out, in front of her uniformed partner, within ten minutes of her being in his office, and although she shot him down in her best cop voice, she'd been impressed by his audacity. When he called her office the next day and offered his services – more advice on the body, to take her scuba diving, to cook her a lobster dinner – she'd surprised herself by accepting the latter.
She'd agreed to meet him at the uni; running late she had rushed to find the lecture hall he'd nominated. When she finally located the building, she entered and, amused, realised he'd timed their meeting so that she'd catch him finishing a lecture. By that time the students were filing raucously out and she stood at the back of the hall to wait. She watched Joel at the lectern, surrounded by five students who'd stayed behind to ask questions. All female. He seemed to answer their questions distractedly, his eyes darting around the large hall. Jill slipped a little further behind a pillar at the back of the room. When Joel finally noticed her, she watched his face light up. Following a couple of words to the students, he bounded up the tiered theatre and was by her side in moments. The resentful stares of the girls down the front followed them from the building.
Joel had tried to make Jill go out more: movies, parties, art exhibitions, dancing, bungee jumping, shopping. He was endlessly enthusiastic about events happening in Sydney. He was puzzled when he finally figured out that Jill was uncomfortable in crowds and small group situations alike, and that she was perhaps most uncomfortable when they were alone. He grew quietly impatient with Jill's difficulties with intimacy and touching, and was easily hurt, taking personally her silent withdrawals at night. Joel had wanted to discuss their relationship endlessly, try couples' counselling, commit to one another by moving in together. And he was silently jealous of Scotty. After six months, Jill had told Joel that she was no longer interested in a relationship. Watching Joel's heart break had wrenched at her own. Until the numbness kicked in again, of course. Walking through the bar in search of the toilets, Jill caught sight of her mini-skirted profile in an amber-tinted full-length mirror. She laughed at the thought of Cassie's face if she ran into her now. Her sister was also always telling her to get out more.
'How can you be that happy when you haven't met me yet?' A man in his late twenties who'd bravely gelled his thinning blonde hair into a faux-hawk stood smiling in her path.
'I'm just thinking about my lover,' she spoke loudly over the music, while gesturing to one of the leather-clad bikies playing pool nearby. She laughed again as the man turned away immediately, hurrying back to his friends.
After leaving the bathroom, Jill walked through the narrow alcove furthest from the bar. The corridor was quieter than the rest of the club, and seemed to be some sort of service access. A couple of busy staff members rushed by her on their way to the kitchen, and she leaned back against a fire hose mounted on the wall to let them past. She had made up her mind to at least go and check out the 'youth club' Honey had mentioned. Walking purposefully, and determined to get Honey to accompany her now she'd gone to all this trouble, she stepped out of the quiet corridor and straight into a leather-jacketed chest. The bikie from the tables outside pushed her back into the dark corridor.
'What's a rat-fuck cop doing here?' He walked her backwards; she couldn't coordinate her feet. Adrenalin pumping, she struggled to regain some control over her movements, looked for a way around him. He filled the corridor, twice her size, and before she could recover her footing, he pushed her into the wall. Pinned by the man-mountain, Jill's back crushed into something sharp behind her. He leaned in over her, dwarfing her completely.
She felt the familiar wave of panic when the breaths she took didn't seem to be deep enough; she couldn't get enough air. She struggled to position herself so that she could breathe, but just by leaning into her, this man had immobilised her arms and body.
'You know, you sent four of my brothers to gaol, you bitch.' Exhaled bourbon fumes filled her nose and mouth.
Her throat closed and she couldn't swallow. Dark spots danced in her vision. Keep it together, she thought. Do not have a panic attack in front of this pig. The thought of crying and gasping for air in front of him forced her to slow the panic.
She was trying again to manoeuvre for surer footing, when the bikie suddenly moved his arm backwards. She felt his body tensing and, too late, realised what was about to happen. She tried to clench her stomach muscles, prepare herself. His huge fist smashed into her gut. The pain exploded in her stomach and her back, where whatever pushed into her had jammed hard into her spine. She would have dropped immediately but his weight kept her pinned there. She coughed, tasted blood on her lips.
'You. Dumb. Fuckin'. Slut.' His lips skimmed hers as he breathed into her face. 'There's probably fifty of us in this place right now, and we sent word out that you're here for a good time. I'm gonna carry you out of here like you're wasted, and when you wake up you'll be in our clubhouse. You're gonna love how we party.'
Just one blow had rendered Jill faint, but she knew that staying alert was her only hope. She'd rather die here than leave this place with him. She felt his weight shift as he moved his arm back again and, terrified, Jill was sure she wouldn't be conscious following the next blow – with her back pressed into the wall, her internal organs would absorb the full force of his punch. She had to get out of there. She tried to scream, but even she couldn't hear the moan she just managed. When his fist slammed into her stomach again, through the white-hot pain she felt ribs fracture.
Jill's body buckled under the force of the next blow, but this time she felt no pain. She couldn't hear his voice either; it was replaced by a muffled sobbing sound that she did not recognise as her own. But with the pain and fear gone, Jill knew what to do. She closed her eyes and listened to her enemy. She heard his intake of breath as he prepared to pull his arm backwards to hit her again. She waited. One beat. Two. And with all the force she had, when his body was most open, ready to strike, she slammed her knee upwards into his crotch, full force. As his pupils were still dilating in agony, she struck the same place again, her knee moving before his hands could reach for his broken balls. He swayed, half-turned, and smacked face-first to the ground, his body filling the tight corridor.
Bent double, Jill sucked in air, her vision blacking in and out. The pain in her ribs threatened to return and she knew she had to get out of that place. Think! She could not walk back into the club. They'd be waiting for her.
Straight ahead lay the front door, but she'd have to traverse the dance floor to reach it, and she didn't feel up to getting past a drunken executive, let alone an angry biker or two. To her right were the toilets. She looked down the corridor and saw light spilling underneath double doors. The kitchen. There'd be a back route out of there. There was always a fire exit in a kitchen. There'd be a phone, staff, people to help her.
Between Jill and the double doors, however, lay the giant, making animal sounds on the floor. To get past him, she'd have to step on his back. She considered a running jump, trying to clear his mass to reach the other side. But even if she could manage the leap with the pain in her ribs, the thought of him grabbing her ankle in mid-air and hauling her back down terrified her. She couldn't make herself seriously consider it as an option. That left straight ahead then. Could there be another fire exit somewhere?
Fire exit. Fire. That's it, she thought, turning back into the corridor. She scanned the wall she'd been pinned against, and spotted the object that had dug into her spine. The fire hose. Next to it, a small perspex box housing the fire alarm button. She looked down; within sixty centimetres of the fire hose, the biker's meaty head rolled around the floor. Jill noted with revulsion that his cheek was lying in a pool of his own vomit.
Taking a deep breath that felt like swallowing crushed glass, Jill stepped within easy reach of the leviathan on the floor. She smashed the box with the heel of her hand, and instantly the fire alarm boomed unbearably loud from all sides.
Crouched forwards, more from pain than to hide, Jill shuffled towards the front of the club. Someone killed the music and hit the lights. Some of the blinking patrons shielded their eyes, while others held their ears. They lurched to their feet, trying to figure out what to do. The alarm made it impossible to hear anything else. She had to get to the door before any panic started. She couldn't bear to be immobilised again. Her heart was a budgie bashing around in her chest.
Staff in black aprons now moved through the crowd. Efficient and coordinated, they looked like they were herding cattle.
A female staff member with a face full of piercings motioned the group nearest Jill towards the front of the club. Jill managed to slip between some low chairs and a cluster of staggering suits, all clutching Coronas. If she could just keep moving quickly, she could negotiate a fairly clear path to the exit. She tried to jog a couple of steps, and stifled a scream when her broken rib stabbed her insides. She hunched a little lower, one arm across her gut.
Maybe thirty steps and she'd be out of here. The front of the club opened completely to the street now; the blare of the fire alarm and the lights and noises from the road merged at the doors, marking the threshold of safety.
Twenty steps, ten. Right behind her, the mob from the club surged forwards, some laughing, others complaining about having to evacuate. Almost there.
She stopped. Straight ahead, directly in her path, stood the speed dealer from Wollongong. The fresh-faced college fitness the girl had radiated just two years ago was long gone. Her arms were scrawny and marked with bruises; her eyes, locked with Jill's, were hooded with hate. She smiled coldly and looked to her left, showing Jill her fate. Three fat bikers leaned against the folded-back doors.
Jill knew what she'd do if she was them. One blow would knock her out; the movement of the crowd would cover the action, and no-one would notice a doped-out mini-skirt being poured into a waiting car.
She swayed where she stood, considering her options.
'Not feelin' the best myself.' The suits had caught her up, and a short, dark-haired man was at her side, an arm snaking around her waist. Even over the fire alarm, Jill thought she could hear his shiny suit swoosh as he walked. What remained of his hair was slicked back, gold flashed at his neck and wrists.
'I'll give ya a hand, luv.' He smiled at her. 'Let's get out of here and figure out where we're all going next.'
In the few seconds she'd stood immobile, the crowd had reached her. Jill looked around wildly, caught up in a wash of beer breath and cologne, heels and hairspray. The group carried her along, a human tide that spilled out the doors of the club. The wave swept her past the gorillas at the door and spilled onto the pavement, overflowing into the street.
Car horns sounded and people yelled and whistled. A tubby girl, heels in hand, climbed on top of a traffic signal box, gyrating in green Lycra, while her hooting girlfriends tried to pull her back down. Jill looked to the right and saw a group of young men kicking water at each other in the El-Alamein fountain. She saw the white helmets of four mounted police riding up Darlinghurst Road. The sirens of the approaching fire brigade joined the cacophony.
Jill walked left, away from what was fast becoming a street party, and within a hundred metres reached the front of the cab rank. She ignored the stares of the cabbies standing at the sides of their taxis, and got into the back seat of the first cab. When she sat down, her vision darkened as a bloom of pain burst in her chest. She put her head between her knees. She heard the cab door shut, and the world went blessedly quiet.
'You have money?'
She heard the cabbie from the front. She pulled a fifty from her purse and gave him her address, then let her head fall back onto the seat.
'You no do spew in my cab.'
Jill closed her eyes.