When it came for him to disrobe, he did so behind the industrial-sized dishwasher. He emerged, white-coated too, to be reminded of her, tall and strong and lithe, by her impact armor sitting like a headless soldier on a spare chair.

Back at their table, she kept on stealing Petrovitch’s chips.

“I thought you said you weren’t hungry.”

She looked at him with a gloriously defiant expression, and reached forward again.

“Still counts as food, even if it is from my plate.” He speared a whole sausage with his fork and started to eat it from one end.

Chain put down his sandwich and wiped his mouth. “Can someone please tell me why you think Oshicora’s dead? It’s important, even if you lot are busy filling your faces.”

Petrovitch spoke around his mouthful. “Pif, give him the card.”

Pif reached past the gun in her bag for the data card and slid it across the table.

“Sam hasn’t seen these yet,” she said. “They seem authentic.”

“Yeah. In my little conversation with Hijo, he all but admitted that he’d put a bullet in Old Man Oshicora’s head. Then he told me I was next, which was nice of him.” Petrovitch turned his fork and made short work of the other half of the sausage. He lost two more chips to the same predator. “Chyort! Get your own!”

“Don’t swear at the nun, Petrovitch,” said Chain. He got out his handheld computer and slid the card in.

The little computer wheezed and strained, and eventually a tinny voice called out: “I hope this is you, Sam. I really hope it’s you. They’ve killed my father. They dragged him away and they shot him. I heard it even though I wasn’t supposed to. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where to go, I don’t know anyone who can help me. Except you. You have to save me, Sam, because there’s no one else.”

Chain looked out of the corner of his eye at Petrovitch, naked but for a catering uniform, chewing on the last piece of sausage.

“What?” said Petrovitch.

A smile flickered on Chain’s lips. He tried to squash it, but failed.

Petrovitch swallowed, and turned in his chair. “What? What is it?”

“Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope,” squeaked Chain, and started to laugh.

“Zatknis na hui, gaishnik. Did she call the police? No, she didn’t. Why? Because she knows they’re all as useless as you.” Petrovitch examined the tines on his fork and wondered what they’d look like sticking out of Chain’s leg.

“Okay, so it’s quite sweet she asked you for help, but really, Petrovitch.” He snorted. “Get a sense of perspective.”