The Carlton Club was up West, just around the corner from Annabel’s where all the celebs and royals hung out. Josh scrubbed around his previous plan to spend the night down the boozer and went straight to the Carlton. Outside, it didn’t look anything special, with two skinny pimple-faced youths trying to puff themselves up and look big on the door. He told them he was here to see Mr Houghton and one of them went off indoors ahead of Josh, beckoning him to follow.

Inside wasn’t much better. There was a jazz trio up on the half-circle stage trying to liven the atmosphere, bored hostesses were propping up the bar with empty trays, and a handful of punters sat at the dimly lit circular tables. The place would have seated ninety, but there couldn’t have been more than twenty in tonight and, from the look of them, they probably wouldn’t be coming back again.

Josh grabbed the youngster’s arm. ‘It always like this?’

The youth nodded, said nothing. He led the way through the club and paused beside a red door at the back, knocking. Then he opened the door and Josh stepped into Mr Houghton’s inner sanctum. It was a bare room with filing cabinets, a cheap desk and chair, nothing stylish about it. Behind the desk sat a man who slapped the phone back on to the cradle then looked up with weary eyes as Josh came in.

‘What now?’ he asked irritably.

Josh looked at Houghton. He was a half-bald little monkey of a man in his fifties with a thin wrinkled face, but there was an air of authority about him.

‘I’m Josh Flynn,’ said Josh. ‘John Finlay at the Crown asked me to give you a bell.’

‘Oh, right. Yeah. The boxer,’ he said with more interest.

‘That’s right,’ said Josh as Spotty left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

‘Take a seat then. I’m Dave.’

Josh did. ‘So what’s the problem, Dave?’ he asked.

‘Druggies,’ said Dave, running a hand through his thinning hair. ‘Druggies in here day and night, shooting up in the bogs. That useless pair of tossers I got on the door, I think they’re taking a slice of that action and turning a blind eye when the dealers come in. It gives the place a bad name. Makes the punters stay away. I need someone solid out there, someone who’ll kick arse.’

‘I could probably take the job on,’ said Josh. He thought of Shauna, running through the money like it grew on ruddy trees. His mate Linus Pole had a few handy lads who’d be pleased with this work and enjoy the rucks that would inevitably occur. He didn’t fancy doing more door work himself, but he could certainly subcontract it out to them and carry on with the fighting. ‘Provided the deal was right, of course.’