CHAPTER NINE
The taxi stops at the beginning of a short lane off Pitt Street in the heart of the CBD. Travis walks past early leavers, joins the queue in a roped-off section outside the club. Red rope strung along silver poles like a million nightclubs all over the world. A tacky, sticky red carpet, laid out on the concrete leading to the solid wood front door. Angels written in a curving font in neon lights above the wood door.
Travis thinks, stuff this, walks to the front of the line, says to the girl checking ID, ‘I’m a friend of Billy, need to see Declan.’
‘I’m a friend of Billy’s too, join the queue.’
Now he knows why they call them door bitches.
He goes back to the end of the queue; truth is it’s not that long. A couple in front of him cling to each other like their lives depend
