‘Pat her down for car keys,’ Matt joked as Harry stepped into the hall to say goodbye.

Gemma’s hair was combed straight but still wet, and she wore denim shorts and a red sports tank with a big Nike tick stretched over her chest.

‘Be cool to hook up again some time,’ Harry said, making it sound like that wouldn’t be a big deal.

He moved for a goodbye kiss, but Gemma stuck her hand in the way.

‘I first met you when you were going out with Anita, and you were a nice guy,’ Gemma said. ‘But the muscle and the money have gone to your head, Harry. Acting like a sleazy jock doesn’t suit you, and you’re smart enough to know better.’

‘Women be crazy,’ Harry told Matt as the front door slammed.

But Harry was a lot less sure of himself as he strode on to his balcony. He felt dead inside as he leaned on the hot metal railing and looked at the sun fading behind The Strip’s giant hotel towers.

He was eighteen years old. He had a sweet apartment, a lively sex life, an orange Porsche and a place on New York University’s renowned photography course in the fall. But Gemma’s words stuck in Harry’s throat, because none of that stuff had made him happy.

41 INDUSTRIAL RELATIONS

Charlie had bought nice clothes and a few expensive things for her room, but, apart from Juno, everyone she knew thought she worked for the Radical Cake Collective, so she couldn’t go flashing big bucks around. She’d bought a two-year-old Volkswagen after she’d got her licence and the car felt especially small as it approached the giant arched gates of Highgrove, one of Vegas’s oldest and most prestigious gated developments.

After passing the gate, a black man in a breathing mask came out with a pressure hose, spraying Charlie’s car with insecticide, then going down on one knee to blast the tires and the underside. As Charlie watched the milky solution drain down her windows, a call rang through the centre console. Unknown number.

‘Charlie? It’s Owen. I was at the Science Outreach day last week.’

‘Oh, hey,’ Charlie said, remembering giving her number to a tall ginger guy with a cuddly-mad-professor vibe.

‘There’s a place called Tenders downtown,’ Owen said. ‘It sells vinyl and coffee. My friend Seb is playing there tonight. I thought, maybe, you’d like to come by.’

‘Ahh,’ Charlie said as the masked man wiped insecticide smears off her windscreen. ‘It’s kinda short notice, Owen. Maybe another time.’

‘When are you free?’ Owen asked.

The masked man waved Charlie’s VW forward. As she gently pressed the accelerator, he started blasting a big Range Rover with dogs in the back.

‘I’m not sure,’ Charlie said, looking across at a huge three-storey house with fountains along the driveway.