Vodka Doesn't Freeze

by Leah Giarratano

  'So nice of you to come and see Jamaal, Honey,' said Sebastian in his unctuous voice, turning away from Jill. 'As you can see, he's resting now. The doctors do not feel there will be any permanent damage, fortunately. He should be able to leave tonight or in the morning. The blow rendered him unconscious, but he's now left with little more than a headache, unlike the poor devil he was with.

  'Did you hear, Honey, what happened to the other man?' He waited while she muttered her assent.

  'It's hard to imagine the world has grown so violent, is it not?' he asked, looking at Jill. 'It's a terrible shame. The police seem to have no control over the streets anymore.'

  Honey said something in reply, but it didn't register with Jill.

  'We were just on our way out, Honey,' Sebastian said, sidling past Jill. He pressed his body unnecessarily close as he passed. Jill felt dizzy, ill, and leaned as far back against the doorframe as she could manage. He then turned to kiss Honey, who had followed him out.

  'We'll see you at the club soon I hope, Honey?' he said, motioning his minder to follow. 'We've all missed you. Bring Jill and have a drink, something to eat. In the meantime, take care.

  'I hope your aunt recovers, Jill.' He smiled down at her, and the two men strode off along the corridor.

  Jill didn't know whether she was more surprised by Honey's behaviour or by her own – she couldn't believe she was walking with Honey out of the hospital; that she hadn't just left her there to find her own way home. She said little as they traversed the sterile corridors, and didn't speak a word on the drive to Surry Hills.

  She glanced at Honey's profile in the car and realised she didn't know this woman at all.

  Honey didn't try to break the silence, staring expressionlessly into the night. Jill didn't feel like food, but she'd promised Honey dinner.

  They had circled the block several times for parking, and now sat in a crowded restaurant, more than a few dishes of Lebanese food in front of them. While waiting for their order, the sky had hurled spears of rain without warning, stopping as suddenly as it began. The hot Sydney footpaths steamed.

  'So?' Jill started.

  'So what?' Honey matched Jill's glare. 'I never told you that I escaped from Sebastian and never saw him again, did I? And you never asked me if I knew Jamaal's full name,' she continued. 'You never even asked me if the guy in hospital could be the same Jamaal. You just asked me to come with you and check him out. I knew he got fucked up last week. Heard it out there.' Honey gestured to the street.

  Jill couldn't trust herself to speak. She instead selected some pickled vegetables, flat bread and yoghurt from the dishes in front of her and arranged them on her plate. She waved Honey's hand away when she tried to pour her a glass of wine, still not looking at her.

  After several moments of silence, Jill said to the tablecloth, 'Obviously I haven't been asking you the right questions. I would like to know more about Jamaal Mahmoud and any connection he has to George Manzi, the man who was killed. Two other men have also been killed in a similar way, and I'm interested in whether they knew one other. If you know anything about that, I'd love to hear about it.'

  She used the Lebanese bread to wipe up yoghurt and vegetables from her plate. She ground a mouthful into paste.

  'And while I'm asking questions,' she continued evenly, 'I really wouldn't mind knowing . . .' she took a deep breath and continued in a forced conversational tone, 'how the fuck you could kiss a man who sold you for sex?' She finally looked up.

  'Look, Jill,' Honey said, green eyes glittering, 'you have no fucking idea what it's like to grow up the way I did. I do what I have to do. Who was going to help me? The police?' Her laugh turned into a cough. She took a sip of wine.

  Jill stayed silent, waiting.

  'I tried going to the police. Twice, when I was a kid. Great help to me. First time, I got put in a foster home, where I was made to sleep in a kennel three or four nights a week.'

  Honey's face was curdled. She drained her wine, reaching for the bottle as soon as she put the glass down.

  'Second time – I tried to tell them what Sebastian was still doing to the street kids in the 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 fuckingpolite.'

  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

  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 whe
n 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.