Cross. Got a beating for that. They nearly fucking killed me.'
Honey paused and stared out at the night, the streets wetly malevolent. 'Anyway, he's still there, I'm still here, and when I see him I'm fucking polite .'
The bread caught in Jill's throat. She reached for some water.
'Honey,' she said levelly, searching for eye contact, 'if that freak is still hurting kids I'm going to do something about it. I'm sorry that you went through the shit you did. No kid should have that happen to them. If you could help me – if you could show me and tell me what you know about what is still happening out there – I promise I'll do something about it.'
Honey finally met her gaze, but there was no way to tell what was going on behind her lightless eyes.
16
J ILL 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
Honey paused and stared out at the night, the streets wetly malevolent. 'Anyway, he's still there, I'm still here, and when I see him I'm fucking polite .'
The bread caught in Jill's throat. She reached for some water.
'Honey,' she said levelly, searching for eye contact, 'if that freak is still hurting kids I'm going to do something about it. I'm sorry that you went through the shit you did. No kid should have that happen to them. If you could help me – if you could show me and tell me what you know about what is still happening out there – I promise I'll do something about it.'
Honey finally met her gaze, but there was no way to tell what was going on behind her lightless eyes.
16
J ILL 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
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