Vodka Doesn't Freeze by Leah Giarratano Page A

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 at his club tonight,' Honey said, still smiling and sipping at a cocktail as colourful as her dress.
     
'I thought this 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