The ramp loomed before her, and she had just started to ascend it when another hand

written sign grabbed her attention. “Slippery when Greasy” it said, with an ironic picture of

a stick figure slipping down a slope. Her eyes fol owed the heavy track of grease up the

ramp, then flicked down to focus on her “going on a date” shoes. She gulped.

Just then a door opened in the wall behind her, and Pavel and the apprentice, Clint Lockley, emerged. “It's easier to go up the stairs,” Pavel said with a knowing smile. He

held the door open for her, gave her a polite nod, and let the door go BANG behind her on

the self-closing mechanism.

“Was that . . . ?” asked Clint.

“The crazy chick with the Volksy who is after the boss? Yes. You'd have thought he'd

have learned after that last one. She was a nightmare.”

“What happened?”

“Let's just say it involved a hatchback, marriage and a broken heart. Belinda her name

was, and she could strip paint at twenty metres with a stare.”

“Belinda? You can't be serious?”

“See you tomorrow, boy-oh.” Pavel slapped Clint on the back as they parted.

“See ya.” Clint would have been happy with any chick being after him.

The staircase was only a little less grimy than the ramp, but decidedly safer. She walked

up slowly without touching the handrail, which looked like it had been dragged through a

toxic waste du