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worth a try. Never done it with a Somali chick.’
    Jack was horrified by his casual arrogance.
    â€˜But you’re a merchant banker! Fancy Collins Street types don’t go out with single mums from the Carlton flats!’ His vehemence was revealing, but Matt wasn’t paying attention. In his world, taxidrivers weren’t entirely human, especially ones like Jack. The idea of Jack as a romantic rival was so ludicrous that it would not have occurred to him.
    â€˜Yeah, I know. Still, world’s a funny place.’
    â€˜How’re people going to react when you turn up at cocktails and garden parties with a Somali chick?’
    â€˜I don’t really go to garden parties.’ Matt was now sounding pensive, and he didn’t take the bait, so Jack returned to safer subject-matter.
    â€˜So what do you actually do at work anyway?’
    â€˜I’m in M and A. Mergers and acquisitions. I’m a vice-president, which means I’m a kind of apprentice on the way up the ladder.’
    â€˜An apprentice is vice-president? What’s your boss called? Grand Pooh-Bah?’
    â€˜Managing director. I’ve been there for about four years, so I might get promoted to director soon.’
    â€˜You get shitloads of money?’
    â€˜Not yet. Pay’s good, but it’s only the guys at the top who light cigars with hundred-dollar notes.’
    Matt elaborated on his role in the investment bank. He was part of a team that advised big companies in negotiations on a merger or takeover. Matt was in the engine room of the process, organising research, crunching numbers, and assisting the senior banker handling the deal. He often worked very long hours, sometimes beyond midnight.
    â€˜So it’s not all glamour and celebrities and stuff?’
    Matt chuckled. ‘Nope. Maybe for the big guys, but it might be a while before I’m up there.’ He sniffed, and looked at a large, garish watch that looked like it belonged on a wrist about twice the size.
    â€˜Hey, do you do direct callouts? Can be hard finding a cab sometimes. Got a card or something?’
    â€˜Yeah. I gave you a card after the shit-fight, remember?’
    â€˜Oh, yeah.’
    â€˜I do mornings, so you won’t get me taking you home after work. Give me a call if you need me.’
    â€˜The way things are heading, I might end up leaving work around the time your shift starts.’ Matt raised himself off the seat and rearranged his expensively tailored trousers. He sniffed again, and then looked out the window at the ugly light-industrial landscape.
    There was no congestion on the freeway, so they approached the airport terminal with time to spare. Jack was relieved: traffic was out of control on the freeway these days. Passengers who missed flights tended to blame the cab driver, regardless of the real cause of the delay.
    Jack crawled to a halt on the upper level of the terminal building outside the Qantas section. He took Matt’s Amex card without comment, and processed the EFTPOS transaction on his card reader.
    â€˜Hey, catch you soon, Matt.’
    â€˜Yeah, thanks. I’ll call if I need a cab.’
    Jack caught sight of an airport parking officer in a fluoro vest heading his way, so he pulled out and sped off. Stupid fucking airport Nazis , he grumbled to himself. The airport had made a number of changes that seemed deliberately designed to irritate taxidrivers. Jack was always getting into arguments with minor airport workers about where he could prop, and things like that.
    He checked the time and made a quick calculation. He still had plenty of time to get to the police station before one o’clock. Even if the mythical fare to Warburton turned up, he would still make it.
    Farhia floated around his mind, inciting longing and admiration in equal measure. He did the wide loop needed to enable him to enter the pickup line, and soon had another passenger who looked and sounded just like