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Authors: Leah Giarratano
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Manzi getting killed. Apparently they'd been members here for years, and Dennis Rocla was a playmate of The Owner. There were rumours that the killer was a cop, but Wayne knew their biggest threat was always the discards. Kids who grew up and didn't like the games they'd played. That's why Wayne stayed away from relationships. By the time a kid talked, he was long gone. He didn't have the money a lot of these guys had to travel to Asia whenever they liked, or to pay their way out of anything. He'd waited ages to join this little club and now it looked as though the members could be targets. Screw this, he thought. I've been doing this long enough on my own. He decided this would be his last meet.
Pity, he thought, I never got a chance to bid for a live trade. Still, I'd never have the money to outbid some of these old farts anyway. Back to being alone. In and out. No harm done. He could just as easily score Rowies, his date-rape drug of choice, off the internet.
11
J ILL HADN'T EVEN reached her desk the next morning when she was told to see Inspector Andreessen.
'There's a rape case asking for you,' he grunted, gesturing out his office door to a very tall, dark-skinned girl who was drawing a lot of stares from the males in the squad room. She wore thigh-high, black PVC boots, white micro-shorts and a lime-green cropped jacket. She perched on one of the government-issue chairs in the waiting area, all legs, her back to the wall.
Jill wasn't surprised this girl had asked for her. Most of the working girls told one another to ask for her if they needed help. She didn't know whether it was because she didn't judge them, or because hers was the only name they knew. She suspected that some asked for her because she was partnered with Scotty.
'Name's Honey Delaney,' said Andreessen, head down now, looking at papers on his desk. 'She's had a rape kit done, and the hospital sent her over. Like I said, she asked for you.' He turned a page and started writing. It was clear she was dismissed.
Jill made her way over to the waiting area. As she drew nearer it became clear that Honey had not been given that name at birth. She was stop-traffic gorgeous, but her hands and jaw gave away the fact that she'd been born a boy.
When the woman looked up, Jill masked the shock she felt at seeing her eyes. They were a plastic, lolly-green colour, shining too brightly. The effect was momentarily frightening, until Jill realised that Honey was wearing cosmetic contact lenses. There was no attempt to make her eyes appear natural – the lenses were like something shock-rocker Marilyn Manson might wear. Well, we all have masks, thought Jill. She sat down with a chair between them to give the girl space.
'Honey, I'm Jill Jackson. I understand you've been attacked. I'm sorry to hear that,' she paused, and when Honey said nothing, continued. 'Do you want to come with me to a more private room and you can tell me what happened?'
In a voice devoid of all emotion, her shark eyes staring ahead disconcertingly, Honey told Jill that the night before she'd been anally raped by two football players at Moore Park. The attack had taken place near the cricket grounds, in a particularly isolated region of the vast parklands that traversed several inner city suburbs.
Jill led Honey to another room and formally took her statement. Before she ended the interview she offered to get her some help. When describing the attack, Honey's voice had been so flat, lifeless.
'Did the hospital arrange for some counselling for you, Honey?' asked Jill.
'I'm not interested,' Honey replied, staring unnaturally from the synthetic eyes. She looked around the dingy room with a look of distaste and then down at her acid-orange talon-like fingernails, flicking her thumbnail against her pinkie.
'Tell you the truth,' she continued in a raspy voice, 'I'm only here because I can't claim Victims Compensation unless I've made a statement. We all
Pity, he thought, I never got a chance to bid for a live trade. Still, I'd never have the money to outbid some of these old farts anyway. Back to being alone. In and out. No harm done. He could just as easily score Rowies, his date-rape drug of choice, off the internet.
11
J ILL HADN'T EVEN reached her desk the next morning when she was told to see Inspector Andreessen.
'There's a rape case asking for you,' he grunted, gesturing out his office door to a very tall, dark-skinned girl who was drawing a lot of stares from the males in the squad room. She wore thigh-high, black PVC boots, white micro-shorts and a lime-green cropped jacket. She perched on one of the government-issue chairs in the waiting area, all legs, her back to the wall.
Jill wasn't surprised this girl had asked for her. Most of the working girls told one another to ask for her if they needed help. She didn't know whether it was because she didn't judge them, or because hers was the only name they knew. She suspected that some asked for her because she was partnered with Scotty.
'Name's Honey Delaney,' said Andreessen, head down now, looking at papers on his desk. 'She's had a rape kit done, and the hospital sent her over. Like I said, she asked for you.' He turned a page and started writing. It was clear she was dismissed.
Jill made her way over to the waiting area. As she drew nearer it became clear that Honey had not been given that name at birth. She was stop-traffic gorgeous, but her hands and jaw gave away the fact that she'd been born a boy.
When the woman looked up, Jill masked the shock she felt at seeing her eyes. They were a plastic, lolly-green colour, shining too brightly. The effect was momentarily frightening, until Jill realised that Honey was wearing cosmetic contact lenses. There was no attempt to make her eyes appear natural – the lenses were like something shock-rocker Marilyn Manson might wear. Well, we all have masks, thought Jill. She sat down with a chair between them to give the girl space.
'Honey, I'm Jill Jackson. I understand you've been attacked. I'm sorry to hear that,' she paused, and when Honey said nothing, continued. 'Do you want to come with me to a more private room and you can tell me what happened?'
In a voice devoid of all emotion, her shark eyes staring ahead disconcertingly, Honey told Jill that the night before she'd been anally raped by two football players at Moore Park. The attack had taken place near the cricket grounds, in a particularly isolated region of the vast parklands that traversed several inner city suburbs.
Jill led Honey to another room and formally took her statement. Before she ended the interview she offered to get her some help. When describing the attack, Honey's voice had been so flat, lifeless.
'Did the hospital arrange for some counselling for you, Honey?' asked Jill.
'I'm not interested,' Honey replied, staring unnaturally from the synthetic eyes. She looked around the dingy room with a look of distaste and then down at her acid-orange talon-like fingernails, flicking her thumbnail against her pinkie.
'Tell you the truth,' she continued in a raspy voice, 'I'm only here because I can't claim Victims Compensation unless I've made a statement. We all
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