He smiled. “So, then? What do you think?”
Darlene looked down at the sample under the scope, then back up, shrugged. “What the hell?”
Chapter 125
DARLENE DROVE A ’70s VW Beetle she’d lovingly restored. Johnny often reflected on the eccentricities of the woman. She looked like a young Elle Macpherson but loved nothing more than messing around with blood and body parts during the week, only to get her hands black with grease at the weekends. He’d always found it a heady mixture, but knew she was way, way out of his league.
The car chugged through the exit gate of the garage. The se
curity guy smiled and gave her a shy wave.
“Sweet bloke,” she said, turning to Johnny. “Insisted he come back to work as soon as he could. Only had a few days off after suffering concussion.”
It was 11.32 pm and the sidewalks of the CBD were abuzz. They passed a club on George Street called The Ivy, a line out the door stretching two blocks.
Johnny leaned in toward the radio – an original sixties collectable. Pointed to the machine. She nodded and Johnny nudged down the “On” switch. Classical music flowed from the speaker.
“You ever been to anything like this before?” he asked, picking up the invitations.
Darlene shrugged. “Long time ago.”
Johnny knew she’d been a model for almost a year after graduating from university. She didn’t like to talk about it much. He assumed it hadn’t been a positive experience.
“How do you change channels on this thing?”
“Don’t like Monteverdi?… The dial.”
Johnny slowly turned the knob. He passed through a jazz station, the ABC late program. Then some pop music came on. He went past it, backtracked, tuned it.
“Unreal!” He turned to Darlene.
“What?’
“Only Micky Stevens’ new single! Heard a snatch of it earlier today.”
“Coincidences do happen.” Darlene turned off George Street. They both fell silent for a few moments, listening to Micky’s new song.
She hung a right into Castlereagh Street and looked round at Johnny. “Pretty catchy tune … What’s up?”
He was pale, staring at the radio. Held up a hand. “Sssh! Listen!”
The music swelled, Micky repeated the chorus: “I just wanna die at midnight in your arms. Like Jimi and Janis and Kurt Cobain too … Club 27 charms.”
“What’s the time?”
“11.40.”
“Darlene! Put your foot down!”
Chapter 126
THEY DIDN’T NEED to wait in line, showed the invites to a huge bouncer at the head of the line. He peered at the papers, stared Darlene and Johnny up and down, nodded to the double doors. As Darlene walked in, she took a closer look at Micky’s invitations. In the top right of each she saw the letters: “VIP.”
It was a huge club. Music throbbed from powerful speakers. Lights swept and flashed. One vast wall was covered with an early Pink Floydesque display of psychedelic colors.
It was packed. They forced their way across the main floor of the club. Where the hell was Micky?
They reached the bar, leaned in, trying to attract the attention of the barman.