'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.