“The client said you’d like it,” said Joe distantly from his driving coop as he quietly rolled the thing forward and out on to the airport exit road. Dirk looked around him at the scuffed and threadbare velveteen blue upholstery and the tinted plastic film peeling from the windows. The TV, when Dirk tried it, was tuned to nothing but noise, and the asthmatic air conditioning wheezed out a musty wind that was in no way preferable to the warm evening desert air through which they were moving.

The client was dead right.

“The client,” said Dirk, as the great rattling thing cruised out onto the dimly lit freeway through the city. “Who exactly is the client?”

“An Australian gentleman, he sounded like,” said Joe. His voice was rather high and whiny.

“Australian?” said Dirk, in surprise.

“Yes sir, Australian. Like you.”

Dirk frowned. “I’m from England,” he said.

“But Australian, right?”

“Why Australian, exactly?”

“Australian accent.”

“Well, not really.”

“Well, where’s that place?”

“What place?” asked Dirk.

“New Zealand,” said Joe. “Australia’s in New Zealand, right?”

“Well, not precisely, but I can see what you’re . . . well, I was going to say I can see what you’re getting at, but I’m not sure I can.”

“What part of New Zealand you from, then?”

“Well, more sort of England, in fact.”

“Is that in New Zealand?”

“Only up to a point,” said Dirk.

The car headed north on the freeway in the direction of Santa Fe. Moonlight lay magically on the high desert. The evening air was crisp.

“You been to Santa Fe before?” Joe nasaled.

“No,” said Dirk. He had abandoned trying to engage him in any kind of intelligible conversation and began to wonder if he had been deliberately chosen for his shortcomings in this area. Dirk was trying hard to stay sunk in thought, but Joe kept yanking him back to the surface.

“Beautiful place,” said Joe. “Beautiful. If it doesn’t get ruined by all the Californians moving in. Californication they call it. Hur-hur. You know what they call it?”

“Californication?” hazarded Dirk.

“Fanta Se,” said Joe. “All the Hollywood types moving in from California. Ruining it. Especially since the earthquake. You heard about the earthquake?”

“Well, I did, as a matter of fact,” said Dirk. “It was on the news. Rather a lot.”

“Yeah, it was a big earthquake. And now all the Californians are moving out here instead. To Santa Fe. Ruining it. Californians. You know what they call it?”

Dirk could feel the whole conversation wheeling round and coming at him again. He tried to deflect it.

“Have you always lived in Santa Fe, then?” he said feebly.

“Oh yeah,” said Joe. “Well, nearly always. Over a year now. Feels like always.”

“So where did you live before?”

“California,” said Joe. “Moved out after my sister was hit in a drive-by shooting. You have drive-by shootings in New Zealand?”