Arm could see their faces in the bar mirror, looming like moons above the miniature skyline of spirit bottles arranged along the back shelf. The neon changed colour and the light caught her nose, and this time Arm noticed the way it was set, and it had been set, just barely imperfectly. It looked like an old break and Arm was about to ask what happened, but right then Dympna clamped him on the shoulder.

His measly eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks puce. Ignoring the girl, he wheeled Arm away from the light of the bar and into a corner.

‘Douglas, tell me now. Can we trust them?’

Arm looked over his shoulder. The rider was talking to the girls. She said something and popped her eyebrows, prompting a giggle from the natives.

‘Hector, Paudi,’ Dympna said.

‘They supply,’ Arm said, ‘if we don’t have them we don’t have nothing.’

‘They won’t let this Fannigan thing drop.’

‘You think they’ll carry through on it?’ Arm said.

‘I think they will. I think they’ll lift him from the street and take him out there and feed him to their dogs. I think they don’t give a fuck about anything after that, the shit storm that’ll follow. They don’t believe in the guards, jail, not really. Fuck, they barely believe in this town. They live out in the fucking wilds with the stones and the dogs and their guns and they think that’s all there really is.’

Arm looked to the bar, but the girls were drifting away through the crowd. The rider did not look back, but there was something in her carriage, in the alignment of her neck and shoulder blades, that suggested she knew she was being watched go.

The night went on. The band churned out an hour of stuff to increasing indifference and relieved cheering when they finished and the DJ took over. The young ones flocked to the floor. Arm watched them, a tribe of women stamping and twisting, and he wondered; where are all the fellas?

‘Good night anyway,’ Dympna said, ‘and fuck the rest of it.’

Dympna’s eyes were wobbling in their sockets. Arm felt nicely dented too. Arm patted Dympna’s shoulder and stepped out onto the dance floor. Spumes of dry ice rolled between the commingling bodies. Arm turned and knew she’d be there. The rider, bobbing in place behind her two mates, both of whom were wrapped round fellas. She smiled at him, flicked the brows in a way Arm figured for consent. Arm smiled and leaned in. Got a taste of the lips before she drew back and her hand was up on his throat.

‘What the fuck,’ she mouthed at him over the music.

Arm shrugged and hung his head at a contrite angle, then stooped in again. She took another step back and at least smiled ruefully this time. ‘Nooo,’ she mouthed, and shook her head like Arm was an idiot.

Arm pointed to the smoking area, meaning let’s go talk, then.