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  ‘Hello, Pepper,’ Victor said. ‘You remember Danny?’

  ‘Yup,’ Pepper said, acknowledging him with another of her quick smiles and a dip of the chin that sent a small tremor through Danny, like the shivering of a leaf. Then Victor unlocked the front door and they all went on up.

  Walking behind her, Danny was acutely conscious of the squeaking of her leatherwear and the tightening of the black denim around her buttocks as she ascended the stairs. His brain was in a spin trying to work out what to say to her to open up a dialogue that would establish rapport and lead on to bigger and better things. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted to spend the rest of his time on the planet fucking this lovely bird who had just happened into his life.

  He needn’t have worried too much. After Victor had lavishly sung his praises, when they were all settled, the bundles of money handed to Sigmund and sorted, the Riccadonna poured – Danny trying hard not to obviously eye off Pepper sitting opposite him – Sigmund raised his glass and said, ‘Here’s to youth, to the freshness and uncorrupted beauty of young people. I love them.’ Some small talk ensued, during which Danny made sure he got his share of Pepper’s attention. To his discerning eye there were signs in her body language of an increasing level of interest. Perhaps noticing this, Sigmund broke into their conversation and said, surprising Danny, ‘You two should get to know each other.’ To Pepper, he said, ‘This man has the magic touch when it comes to pulling money out of the air. He’s the man with the golden arm. I think we should call him Goldfingers. Danny, why don’t you spend some of your winnings by taking Pepper out to Shanghai House tonight? It’s just the best Chinese in town. Have you been there, Pepper?’

  ‘No,’ Pepper said, and cleared her windpipe. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’ The breathy way she delivered her words made Danny’s mouth dry up. He sipped more wine and made to speak, anxious to stake his claim, but Sigmund cut across him.

  ‘The maitre d’ is a very good friend of mine. If you’ll allow me to make the booking you’ll get blue ribbon treatment and the best table in the house. What do you say, Danny. They make a Peking duck to die for.’

  Danny said, ‘Sure thing, if Pepper wants to.’

  She looked at Danny that time, more closely than she ever had, and Danny knew the next few seconds would say all that needed to be said about his chances of making it with her. He smiled faintly, doing his best to look diffident and trying to give the impression it wouldn’t break his heart if she turned him down. He could see she was weighing him up, trying to decide if he was worth her time and effort. She did not seem at all bothered or embarrassed that Sigmund was matchmaking them. In fact she was so composed that Danny suddenly felt sure other young men had been in exactly this position before him, that it was somehow part of Sigmund’s and Victor’s plan.

  ‘Why not, Danny Goldfingers,’ she said, as if responding to a challenge, and just for an instant Danny’s heart stopped. Going by the expression of amused curiosity on her face she might have added something like: Let’s see if you’re up to it.

  ‘Excellent,’ Sigmund said, rubbing his hands together rather like a scientist whose experiment had just worked.

  Sigmund immediately made the call on his mobile, after which talk switched back to the casino. Victor repeated his story about Geoff Egan, the jockey, and while he was relating it, Danny sneaked an occasional glance at Pepper, hoping to attract her briefly as a sidebar to the main event. When their eyes did meet it was for longer than he expected. She did not smile, but instead transfixed him with a cool, screen goddess sort of gaze that made Danny swallow and look away in case the blood rose in his face and elsewhere, and his lustful imaginings became too transparent. He became aware that Sigmund was speaking to him, and said, ‘Sorry. I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I was suggesting that tomorrow – assuming you are agreeable to continuing with our project-you might consider going upmarket to the Platinum Room, where you are not restricted to such modest wagers.’

  ‘The problem with that idea,’ Danny said, aware that Pepper’s eyes were back on him, ‘is that I am much more likely to become the centre of attention there, as a stranger, especially if I happen to land some good bets. I could finish up being investigated by the men upstairs. There are cameras running all the time in the Platinum Room. Also, I don’t know the tables or the croupiers. It’s a totally different ball game. I could go right down the drain.’ Not wishing to appear lame or unadventurous he added, ‘But I could give it a run if you like.’

  ‘I’ll leave it up to you, Danny Goldfingers. I was merely thinking you could produce a better result in much less time.’

  ‘If it worked out that way. Sure.’

  Victor said, ‘You really ought to be travelling hero class, Danny. Away from all those peasants and unwashed hordes down below decks.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a bear pit, isn’t it. But you can lose yourself in the crowd there.’

  ‘Well, I for one wouldn’t want to lose myself for long in that lot,’ Victor said.

  Danny left not long afterwards, having arranged to meet Victor at the casino in the morning. Before they parted company at the stairs, Victor advised that in future it might be a good idea for Danny to ask for a cheque when cashing in his chips. That would help to keep things ship-shape, and Danny’s commission would then be paid on the face value of the cheque. No problem, Danny told him, hurrying away to catch up with Pepper. Outside he asked her if she would like him to pick her up for their dinner date, but she declined, as he knew she would, saying she would see him at the restaurant at seven-thirty.

  Walking along Flinders Lane, he felt light-headed but also at a loss. It was now just after four, and he didn’t feel like driving all the way back home to his mother’s house in the outer suburb of Airport West, which he would need to do if he was going to freshen up and change his clothes. So he found himself loitering around Southbank among the Japanese tourists and the smart young crowd who, like him, all seemed to be at a loose end, as if they were filling in time before a show.

  Danny gazed in shop windows, lingering at a menswear boutique and tossing up whether to buy a nice checked shirt they had on display, but then he would have to carry it around all evening. Then he thought, maybe he could buy Pepper something, just a small gift – or would that be overplaying his hand. You didn’t buy presents for people you hardly knew, surely, and yet … if he could only spot the right thing, some harmless object she would think was … kinda cute or funny. Jewellery was out of the question. Perfume? Too serious, and anyhow he didn’t know her tastes. A small cuddly toy? Hm, a bit twee, that. So he wandered around, dismissing this and that idea, seeing nothing that leapt out at him and looking at his watch every so often, wishing time would hurry up and pass.

  Just before he’d left the others, Sigmund had said something about finishing the photo shoot with Pepper, which presumably Danny had interrupted the day before. It was a weird situation. What sort of fashion or pop magazine published shots of naked and seriously body-pierced women? Well, anything was possible nowadays. A popular magazine had recently copped flak for having models pose as corpses. One thing was for sure – you would never recognise Pepper in any of those pictures. Danny realised that part of his attraction to her came from the radical transformation in her appearance. That, and the tough image: leather, Virago motorbike, and her fuck-you attitude. All up, one very horny package.

  He stopped in front of a shop window. There was a diaphanous silk scarf, a flimsy little number with playing cards and tumbling dice on it, the type of souvenir they sold at the casino. He went in straightaway and bought it, got the girl to do the gift wrapping bit and tie it in a bow with gilt ribbon, which she curled with the scissors. It was just something frivolous she could laugh off if she wanted to, a harmless conversation opener but at the same time an indication that he had thought enough about her to want to buy it. It could go either way. She could think it was a considerate, no-strings gesture or a pathetic suck job, in which c
ase he would blow everything right at the start. Christ, all girls like receiving presents, don’t they?

  But the thing with someone like Pepper was not to come on too hard too soon, which had been Danny’s major weakness in most of his romantic entanglements so far. He loved girls much too easily, and suffered as a result. So he would do his best to be like her: cool, restrained, maybe not even showing much interest in having sex with her if the chance came up. Some hopes. He walked across Princes Bridge shaking his head and smiling to himself at the odds on him being capable of knocking her back. Want to come in for a coffee? Thanks, but no thanks. Better head off. Maybe next time, huh?

  No, sir. Never happen.

  3

  Danny arrived at Shanghai House, tucked away in a side street in Chinatown, at seven-thirty on the dot. Unsure if it was preferable for him to be there first, he peered in the window, but couldn’t see properly through the smoked glass. No signs of a motorbike anywhere. He hung around outside for a minute in case she turned up, then decided he was behaving stupidly and pushed the door open. Immediately he was greeted by a smiling head waiter, who became effusive at the mention of Sigmund Barry’s name, and shown to a vacant corner table near the window. He had already scanned the room in vain for Pepper. The head waiter asked if he would like a drink from the bar, and he ordered a Heineken.

  While waiting for the beer he pretended to study the menu, which was so comprehensive he couldn’t focus on it. His insides were tight with nerves and he had no appetite at all, even though he had hardly eaten all day. Then the Heineken came and the head waiter, who had introduced himself as Richard, emptied it into a large goblet. Danny sipped and kept watch on the door. It opened and some people came in. No Pepper. It was now twenty to eight. Bad feelings started creeping into his bones. What if she doesn’t come? What if she stands me up? Another ten minutes and he had all but resigned himself to the worst. The restaurant gradually filled. He finished his beer and toyed with the empty glass. Then he heard a rumbling sound close by outside, and saw the darkened shape of a motorbike pulling up.

  ‘Sorry I’m a bit late,’ she said, having sat down and ordered a glass of champagne from Richard. Danny had asked for another Heineken. ‘I’ve only just got away. What a session.’

  Danny said, ‘That’s all right. No problem. How’d it go?’

  ‘Well, it went. Slowly. Talk about slave labour.’ She removed the leather jacket, thrusting her chest out, and draped the jacket on the back of her chair. Underneath she had on a black skivvy, and Danny could see from the bouncing going on inside it that she wore no bra. The eyes that had been aquamarine were now hazel, one of which was distinctively flecked with brown markings. He remembered the present in his pants pocket and wondered when would be the best time to produce it. Then he began to have second thoughts. Maybe it was a bad idea. She’ll think I’m wet; a total penis. While he was wrestling with that problem, Richard came back with their drinks, and seemed to take forever emptying the Heineken bottle into his fresh goblet.

  ‘Cheers, Pepper,’ he said.

  ‘Cheers to you, Danny Goldfingers,’ she said, and they touched glasses. She seemed to enjoy using that name, which pleased him.

  Danny laughed. ‘He’s a strange guy, Sigmund. Is Pepper your real name?’

  ‘Hardly,’ she said, bringing the flute to her lips and looking intently at him. ‘It’s Sigmund’s idea of a joke. Pepper, you know, it’s … hot ’n’ spicy. I’m a red hot chilli pepper.’

  ‘Right. So what is your name?’

  She swallowed some champagne, tossed her hair out of her eyes, and said, ‘Mischa. Mischa Fleming.’

  ‘I’ll call you Mischa then.’

  ‘If you like. Whichever.’

  Seizing the moment he withdrew the small package from his pocket, put it in front of her and said, ‘I got this for you, Mischa. It’s all right, no big deal. Just something I saw in a shop.’

  She inspected the gift blank-faced, as if expecting it to unwrap itself before her eyes, and said, ‘This is … most unexpected.’ There was no sign of a sneer that Danny could see. Then she smiled at him and picked it up. ‘Thank you, Danny.’

  So far so good.

  Mischa tied the scarf around her neck, saying, ‘Is it supposed to bring me luck?’

  ‘Maybe. It looks good on you anyway.’

  ‘Well … that was very sweet of you, Danny.’

  Danny just shrugged, and they prattled on a bit about nothing much. Then Richard turned up, wanting to know if they were ready to order.

  Mischa said, ‘My God, I haven’t even looked at the menu yet.’

  Richard said he would come back, but Danny pulled him up, saying,

  ‘Hang on, Richard. If it’s all right with you, Mischa, why don’t we have Richard bring us an assortment of entrees to share, then the Peking duck for two?’

  ‘Fine by me.’

  Nodding deferentially, Richard said he would be only too pleased to oblige, and would they like to order something from the wine list?

  Danny perused it, and after consulting with Mischa on the question of red or white, settled on an expensive Pinot Noir.

  When Richard had gone, she said, ‘I can’t drink too much – I’m still on my P plates. You’ll have to have most of it.’

  Danny said, ‘Tell me about this modelling caper. How’d you get into it?’

  ‘Very easily,’ Mischa said. ‘I was walking along the street. I’d just been to the movies when this guy, Victor, came up out of the blue and asked if I was interested in a modelling or acting career. He wasn’t too pushy, said I had what it took and all that bullshit, then he gave me a card and said I should think about it and call him next day. I had my doubts, but anyway I did. That was about six months ago.’

  ‘Sigmund’s a funny kind of guy. What’s his story?’

  ‘Funny’s right. You don’t know anything about him?’

  ‘I only just met him.’

  ‘Well, there is a story, actually. I’ve only picked up bits and pieces along the way, but apparently he got into big trouble during the eighties in Adelaide. He was running some kind of finance or fund management business that went bust and he did time for it. It was a famous fraud case, apparently, in the papers and everything. They couldn’t find out where he’d put the money, what he’d done with it, but he got five years anyway.’

  ‘Christ. How do you know all this?’

  ‘Oh, he leaves documents, old newspaper clippings and stuff lying around. I’ve heard him on the phone to lawyers – well, I assume they’re lawyers. And he doesn’t mind talking about it if he’s had enough to drink. He’s a bit of a blabbermouth. Likes to big-note about the trial and how he survived jail and so on. And of course, he was framed.’

  ‘So … this is his private income. The missing funds.’ He was speaking mainly to himself. ‘Sigmund Barry, Sigmund Barry. It’s an unusual name, but …’ He frowned. Something was not quite right about it.

  ‘Four Corners did a job on him. Paul Barry, he was then – Paul Sigmund Barry. He now calls himself by his middle name, for obvious reasons.’

  Danny was staring at her. ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘I said, his real name was Paul Barry. Why?’

  Danny sank back in his chair, apparently shellshocked.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Mischa said.

  ‘Nothing,’ Danny said, shaking his head vigorously, as if trying to clear it. ‘I do remember that case now. I was only a kid at the time, about twelve or thirteen … Paul Barry. It’s funny, I thought there was something … Shit. I’d never have picked him. His hair used to be so much darker.’

  ‘I’d say the silver came out of a bottle.’

  ‘And … he’s now using the funds he had stashed away, right?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mischa said. ‘Probably. He seems to have plenty to play around with. At first I thought this job was going to be a rip-off sleaze act, but he wasn’t like that at all. He always pays up, cash in hand. Generously. And h
e’s never once tried to hit on me.’

  Meeting his intensely interested glance she added, a little surprised, ‘He’s kinky – but only with the camera, as far as I know.’

  Danny sipped some wine and said, ‘During the eighties. In Adelaide.’

  ‘That’s right. Nineteen-eighty-eight, to be exact. And the name of the company was PB Investments.’

  Food was delivered by a knot of waiters amid some fuss and ceremony and requiring a re-arrangement of the small table. The delicious aromas instantly revitalised Danny’s dormant hunger pangs. He distributed food to their bowls – using chopsticks with a speed and dexterity that obviously impressed Mischa – then got stuck in. The more he ate, the more ravenous he became. Mischa seemed to take his lead, but became impatient with the utensils and switched to a fork and spoon. Then Richard appeared with the pinot bottle wrapped in a damask linen napkin.

  Everything was just wonderful.

  While they were waiting for the duck, Danny said, ‘What about Victor? What does he do?’

  Mischa said, ‘Victor? I don’t think he does anything except ponce around in a flash suit. He hangs out with famous people, I know that – or he says he does, anyway. He seems to know all their names. Victor looks the part, but …’ She shook her head.

  ‘But what?’

  Mischa looked thoughtful, resting her chin on her fist. Danny was finding himself constantly having to revise his estimation of this supposedly intimidating person about whom he had been so nervous. Once you scratched the surface, she was just a regular girl with normal attitudes and an intelligent mind. He admired the fact that she was obviously able to handle suave characters like Sigmund Barry and Victor Wineglass, and especially liked the way she used expressions like ‘ponce around’. Up close, there was none of that hardline, techno-industrial feminism he had first associated with her, no evidence of any ball-busting at all. She also gave the impression of being a year or two older than he had thought, although she had said she was still on her P plates. That didn’t necessarily mean anything, however. She was probably just one of those unafraid, strong-minded kids who learn to walk the walk in the big, bad world well before their time.