‘Sure, he works for Harry these days. Runs a club called the Flamingo in Gascoigne Square. I play the piano for him whenever I remember.’ He moaned suddenly and again his body was racked by uncontrollable shivering. ‘Christ, but I need that fix.’ He struggled for breath, his teeth chattering. ‘What time is it?’

‘About ten fifteen.’

Lazer’s face tightened visibly. ‘Too late for evening surgery. That means I can’t get a prescription till the morning.’

‘You’re a registered addict?’

Lazer nodded. ‘The only reason I didn’t go back to the States years ago. Over there, they’d sling me in the can. Here, at least they allow me to exist, courtesy of the Health Service.’

‘How long have you been on this stuff?’ Garvald said, picking up the empty heroin bottle.

Lazer bared his teeth in a ghastly grin. ‘Too long to be able to get through the night without a fix, Benny boy.’

‘You know where you can get one?’

‘Sure, outside the all-night chemist’s in City Square. Plenty of junkies getting their evening surgery prescriptions filled, but it could take money. Something I’m fresh out of.’

Garvald took a wallet from his breast pocket and counted ten one-pound notes out carefully on top of the bedside locker.

‘Enough?’

‘Plenty.’ Lazer’s eyes were suddenly full of light and he reached for the notes.

Garvald covered them with one large hand. ‘Sammy Rosco, Chuck. Where would I find him?’

‘Sammy?’ Lazer looked surprised. ‘He works for Manton around the clubs.’

‘The Flamingo?’

‘With his mug?’ Lazer shook his head. ‘Fred manages one or two other places for Faulkner, dives mostly. Bad booze and worse women. You know the sort of thing. Sammy goes where they need him most. Barman and chucker-out, that’s his style. I think he’s at Club Eleven this week.’

‘He and Wilma still together?’

‘He couldn’t manage without her. Mind you, things haven’t been the same since the Act pushed ’em all in off the streets. She mostly works from the house now.’ He frowned desperately, trying to remember. ‘Carver Street. Yes, that’s right – Carver Street. I don’t know the number, but it’s about half-way along, next door to a shop with its window boarded up. The whole street’s due down soon.’

Garvald gathered the notes in one quick movement and pushed them into Lazer’s open hand, closing the fingers tightly. ‘Good man, Chuck, I’ll see you.’

‘At whose funeral?’

Ben Garvald turned in the doorway and smiled briefly. ‘I haven’t quite made my mind up yet. When I do, I’ll let you know. You’d make a good mute.’