I knew that Megan was working front of house at a fringe theatre in Surry Hills. I’d meant to get along to one of their plays and hadn’t made it. I rang the place, got an answering machine and left a message for her that I’d help and could have some money for her within twenty-four hours. What did a return air fare to New York cost? I rang Qantas. Three and a half thousand economy for a ticket allowing a one year stay. How long did you need to study acting? Throw in five hundred mad money. Four grand. I didn’t have it but I thought I could get it.

I rummaged in the leather jacket I’d hung over the stairwell post and found the cards. The Hartley Agency’s card was surprisingly modest-no Tommy gun. I rang di Maggio’s number and got a female intermediary.

‘Cliff Hardy for Scott,’ I said in my hardest tone.

‘Just a moment.’

Di Maggio came on the line within seconds. ‘Cliff. Glad you called. Thought you would. I primed the switchboard.’

I registered that but made no comment. ‘I’m in,’ I said. ‘With a condition.’

‘Name it, mate.’

Like most Americans, he couldn’t get the accent or the rhythm right and I mentally deducted points for his even trying.

‘I need four thousand up front.’

‘You’ve got it. Give me your account number and it’s in there electronically as of ten minutes from now.’

I gave him the number but I couldn’t help thinking that, even for a hotshot American outfit, this was a bit too slick. Still, money oils the wheels.

‘Thanks, Scott,’ I said. ‘Well, I’m off to see Harry Tickener.’