‘She’s a client. What’s the idea?’

His voice was level, almost bored. ‘The idea is you shut up until we get where we’re going.’

‘Where’s that?’ He answered me with a vicious dig of the gun into my neck and I shut up. The Asian drove like an angel; his hands barely moved and he touched the brake pedal as if it was a soap bubble. The car glided back towards the city as the afternoon light died and a little sprinkle of rain settled the dust. The driver left the freeway at Darling Harbour and wound up through the streets that avoid the bridge approaches. It was dark when we stopped in a lane which dead-ended in a high, dark ruin that was overdue for demolition. The gunman hustled us out of the car, and the driver backed out of the lane and took off.

A dead-end and sheer brick walls on either side, there was nothing to do but obey the gun. He shepherded us to a deeply recessed door and ordered me to knock on it. I did and stepped back when bright light hit me as the door opened. A small, dark man in a suit stepped away from the door and the gunman motioned Louise Seneka and me to pass him.

‘Any trouble, Willie?’ the man in the suit asked.

‘None. What’s up? Why the suit?’

‘Appointment. I’ve got to go out.’

‘You mean you’ve got no guts for it.’

We were standing on frayed lino tiles in a lobby with an old lift and a badly hung door standing open. Through the door I could see a room with a chair and desk. The whole place had an uncomfortably spare feel to it, but the feeling might have just been a product of the rather strained conversation of our hosts.

‘This is a mistake,’ I said, just for the sake of saying something.

‘You might think so very soon,’ Willie said. ‘You’re staying, Barnes. Let’s get them in there and get on with it.’

Barnes took out a handkerchief, which was dirty. It looked strange coming out of the pocket of his clean suit; but then, he didn’t look as if he wore a suit all that often. He wiped his sweating, red face and then his hands. ‘All right,’ he said.