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centimetres in her stilettos and weighs close to 100 kilos. Wrapped in flowing draperies—‘Rubensesque’ is how she describes herself— that description about does it. She has black hair, pale skin and heavy, handsome features all owing a great deal to art.
    â€˜Cliff, darling,’ she said as we embraced. ‘I’ve longed for this day.’
    â€˜Come off it, Rube.’ I slapped her ample rump. ‘This is a business call.’
    She laughed. ‘What else, you old bastard. There was a time when I thought you might take off your trench coat and have a little fun.’
    â€˜I’ve never worn a trench coat in my life, and just now I’m having all the fun I need, thanks very much.’
    â€˜Amateurs,’ she said as she subsided into a chair. ‘Okay, waste some of my time.’
    I sat and felt the soft padding ooze around me. I could almost sense the many gentlemen’s trousers that had been draped over the chair.
    â€˜I’m looking for a working girl, Rube, but my last piece of information goes back over twenty years.’
    While she’s no saint and has played very rough in her time, Ruby has genuine concern for the people she employs and others in the sex business. She shook her head sadly.
    â€˜Not many survive that long, mate.’
    â€˜I know it’s a long shot. This woman’s name was Pixie Padrone. I thought you—’ Ruby sat bolt upright, her upholstered breasts heaving.
    â€˜Pixie, that bitch!’
    â€˜You know her?’
    â€˜I should. She was on the street like you say, a real lowlife. Asked me for a spot but she was a hopeless junkie and she’d had more claps than a symphony orchestra. Then all of a sudden she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the shit and working out of a flash flat in Point Piper. She took away some of my business for a while and didn’t she rub my nose in it.’
    â€˜When was this?’
    â€˜Like you say, at least twenty years ago.’
    â€˜I mean specifically.’
    â€˜Shit, Cliff, it’s a long time ago.’
    â€˜I’m talking about 1983.’
    She thought, then shook her head. ‘No, must’ve been a year or so later. I was in Enzed for most of eighty-three— avoiding a couple of warrants. I put in a manager here.’
    â€˜You didn’t know her brother killed a doctor in Darlinghurst?’
    â€˜I might’ve heard something about it when I got back, but I didn’t pay it much attention. There was a lot going on thereabouts, what with the AIDS thing hitting and all that.’
    â€˜When you say she’d cleaned up her act, what d’you mean exactly, Rube?’
    â€˜Jesus, you’re really into exactly and specifically and precisely, aren’t you?’
    â€˜â€™fraid so, it’s like that.’
    â€˜I mean that she must’ve gone to some detox place and got herself cleaned out. Takes time and money, that. Plus, she’d had her teeth fixed, boob job, the works.’
    â€˜Where is she now?’
    â€˜Haven’t a clue. She took off somewhere with her pimp.
    Funny, you saying her brother killed a doctor. Pixie’s bloke was supposed to be a doctor. Probably an abortionist.’
    â€˜What was his name?’
    â€˜Can’t remember. Adolf, Boris—something German like.’

9
    I pressed Ruby for more information about Pixie Padrone but she’d run dry. According to her, Pixie vanished from the Sydney sex scene ‘sometime around when Australia won the America’s Cup’, which was as close as she could pin it down.
    â€˜That was a boom time, if you like,’ she said. ‘I wish they’d bung on stuff like that permanently.’
    She said she’d ask around about Pixie, but she didn’t hold out much hope.
    â€˜She must have had parents, family of some kind apart from her brother?’
    â€˜If Pixie had parents,’ Ruby said, ‘they probably kicked