Thrill City Read Online Free PDF Page B

sister.’
    ‘Twins?’ Chloe squawked. ‘Get fucked.’
    ‘It’s true,’ said Nick.
    ‘Not identical.’
    ‘No.’ Liz pursed her mouth.
    ‘Keeping it all in the family.’ I laughed, trying to lighten the mood.
    ‘My publishing Nick’s books has nothing to do with nepotism and everything to do with the quality of the work.’
    Yikes. The sharp tone and stern look made me feel like I was fourteen and back in the principal’s office.
    ‘Curtis you know,’ Nick said quickly, ‘and this is Desiree. She’s another author.’
    Chloe usually stared out other blondes, kind of a territorial thing, but that day she only had eyes for Desiree or, more specifically, the hand Desiree had just proprietarily placed on Curtis’ thigh.
    Desiree looked strangely familiar; she was about ten years older than Chloe and me, late thirties perhaps, and my first thought was that I wanted to be like her when I grew up. She wasn’t exactly pretty, but she was stunning, tall and slim with burgundy hair blunt-cut at her shoulders and a thick fringe that skimmed her black eyebrows. Her skin was tanned and her face angular, with sharp cheekbones, a long nose, feline eyes winged with liquid liner, and a wide mouth painted red. She wore a tight black knee-length skirt, a sleeveless, dark red cheongsam top and exotic-looking jet earrings. She seemed sleek and predatory, a red-haired Cleopatra, and made my friend, in her flouncy gingham, look like a kewpie doll in comparison.
    As Desiree stared back evenly at Chloe I suddenly realised who she was: the former high-class callgirl who’d penned a book about her exploits, naming no names but providing just enough information so you could make a fair guess who her rich and powerful clients had been. After the memoir she’d written a book of sex tips and now had regular spots on various television and radio shows as their resident ‘sexpert’.
    I had to hand it to Curtis, he had a lot of luck with the ladies considering he wasn’t the hottest tamale in the bain-marie. He wasn’t ugly exactly—in fact, with his sandy, slightly curly hair, boyish face and putty nose some people might have called him cute—but he’d always seemed like an annoying younger brother to me, even though he was thirty-three. When we’d first met, Curtis had worked for Picture magazine and had been the proud owner of a mullet-style haircut, a host of flannelette shirts and Dunlop Volley tennis shoes. After moving to Melbourne, becoming a crime journo and dating Chloe, he’d changed his style, going to the other extreme: natty shoes, slicked-back hair and shiny ties that made him resemble an extra from The Sopranos , albeit an albino one. Now that he was an actual true-crime author his sartorial style had settled: khaki chinos, Adidas slip-ons and a short-sleeved, red-checked, tastefully retro Wrangler shirt.
    ‘Hey, Curtis, how you going?’
    ‘Great.’ He stretched out the word and slouched into his chair, one arm slung over the back. Mr Cool, these days. ‘Book about the Wade case is all but done, just waiting for the trial and soon as that’s over, bam, we rush the release. Couple of other writers are covering it too but I’ll blow them out of the water, seeing as how I was personally involved in the situation. You know there’s still time for you to give me an interview, let me know exactly what was going through your head when you thought you were gonna die.’
    ‘No thanks.’
    Curtis shrugged. ‘No probs. I’ll just make it up.’
    I tried to like him, god help me I did.
    ‘Any word on the trial date?’ Nick’s sister asked.
    ‘Early next year,’ I said. ‘Late January, early Feb.’ I didn’t want to think about it because every time I did my stomach flipped.
    Emery Wade was one of those rich, powerful people I couldn’t stand: a high-profile criminal lawyer who’d knocked off members of his own family to protect his reputation and get ahead. His favourite hobby had been to visit