‘There’ll be a guard at the stage. What about him?’

‘I’m pretty sure the rig tech is splitting the booze with the guard.’ She stood up. ‘Meet me at half eleven, my place?’

‘Sure. What the hell.’

She got up and, to my surprise, hugged me. ‘Thank you, Jerry,’ she whispered. ‘This means a lot to me.’

‘I know,’ I replied, feeling guilty for my earlier recalcitrance.

I made the mistake of trying to catch at least some sleep before I had to go to meet Rozalia at eleven-thirty, and suffered the inevitable nightmares. Mostly they revolved around drowning, or of feeling sodden hands reach up from beneath to drag me down, and mouths that gaped too wide to be human. When I woke, I decided I’d tell Rozalia the deal was off. Then I changed my mind, then flip-flopped from one side to the other about a hundred times before I finally set out for Rozalia’s on foot.

When I got there, I found her waiting by her front door with a pair of mountain bicycles and a heavy-looking rucksack. ‘What are those for?’ I asked, nodding at the bikes in confusion.

‘A jeep would make too much noise,’ she explained, ‘and more than likely someone would see us driving up there and wonder why. This way is better.’ She nodded at one of the two machines. ‘You can have Nadia’s.’

It took us twenty minutes to cycle to the main stage. When we got there, I saw a lone guard standing outside the warehouse doors, looking as jumpy as hell as we rolled up to him.

‘Hey,’ Rozalia said casually as she dismounted her bicycle and lifted her rucksack from her shoulders. ‘Dom around?’

The guard glanced at the rucksack, which made a distinctive clinking sound as she took it off. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Go right in.’

I wheeled both bicycles inside to the main stage while Rozalia carried the rucksack. I could hardly believe it had been this easy to get inside. I saw a small rotund man sitting smoking next to the control rig and guessed this must be Dom. He jumped slightly when he saw me enter beside Rozalia, and darted an accusing stare at her.

‘What the hell?’ he protested loudly. ‘You didn’t tell me you were bringing anyone else with you!’

‘Here,’ said Rozalia, dropping the rucksack at his feet. ‘Take a look and stop complaining.’

She stepped back and watched as Dom kneeled by the bag with a wary look on his face, unzipping it to reveal half a dozen bottles of whisky.

‘All yours,’ said Rozalia.

Dom glared up at her. ‘This had better not be any of that rotgut your friend Yuichi’s been brewing,’ he muttered.

‘It’s the real deal,’ Rozalia insisted. ‘Try some if you don’t believe me.’

‘Fine. I believe you,’ the technician muttered, and nodded towards the stage. ‘You got transport where you’re going?’