CHAPTER EIGHT
Travis walks into the Goldfish Bowl. It’s the front bar of The Crest Hotel, that sits in the triangle where Victoria Street and Darlinghurst Road collide, then go their separate ways. He recognises a couple of faces. Goes and stands at the bar with them. Big Maori guy sticks his hand out, ‘Travis, what’s news brother? Been killing girls at your motel?’
Travis shakes his hand, says, ‘Poor taste, even for you, big fella. The girl is dead.’
‘Sorry, bro, you want a beer?’
‘Yeah, schooner of New and a shot, Vodka. Think you can afford that, Tyrone?’
He doesn’t get a bite. The other guy is Ted Janson. An ex-rugby league player. He also shakes hands with Travis, says, ‘Saw the girl on TV. Ann something. She looked young.’
‘She was. Hey, Ted, can you still buy weed in, um, put
