It had been his third eviction of the night and Ellie didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she had that adoring look most women had for heroic deeds. Yeah, like being an unofficial bouncer was so hard. Kye waited by the front door as the last two patrons, barely legal women who’d ingested too many Margaritas, tottered out into the cesspool that was Kings Cross at night. In the week I’d been here, I’d seen crowds stream along Darlinghurst Road, particularly between eleven pm and two am, when Ellie closed on the weekends. She’d casually mentioned the Cross had the highest murder and crime stats in the city and with some of the lowlifes I’d seen, I could believe it. What intrigued me though were the hip inner city types strolling alongside them, searching for entertainment, good food or a drink. The Cross was intriguingly cosmopolitan and now that I was working here I loved its vibe, perfect for a guy like me to discover there was more to life than Mum’s weekly Sunday roast and potato stew.
