‘My fucking father, man,’ the guy said. ‘I’m sorry to drag you into this.’

‘You’re not dragging me into anything,’ Bobby assured him. They were parked in an alley. Bobby quickly tried the ­passenger-­door handle. The vehicle was centrally locked. ‘I do have to go, though.’

The guy sighed again. ‘Fuckit.’ He reached across Bobby and popped the glove compartment. He took out a small wallet and removed from that a baggie of powder. Nipped it open, licked and dipped a finger, ran the finger round his gums. Then he eyed Bobby again. ‘Want a bump?’ he said in a choked tone.

‘I’m absolutely good. Let me out. Please.’

The guy looked confused, even injured, for a moment. Then he pressed the relevant button.

‘Wait, wait, wait,’ he said as Bobby stepped with relief into the alley. ‘I know I’ve fucked this up. But I wanted to see if I could show you some of my work. Could you do that? Could you look at it for me?’

He held up his phone. ‘Can I just get, like, your email or maybe a followback?’

‘I only edit hard copy,’ Bobby said.

‘I’ll print it off and send it to you,’ he said, holding Bobby’s eye with a kind of ruthless helplessness.

Bobby felt the warmth of burdenhood settle on him as he spelled out his address.

‘Poems?’ Bobby asked.

The guy shook his head. ‘Some poems. There’s some stories too. What I need to know about is the sentences. I just want to know if they are doing something interesting or not.’

‘I can’t help myself. I don’t know how I can help you.’

‘You can, you can.’

The guy dipped, ran another dab of whatever was in the baggie around his mouth. He was, Bobby had to admit, an intriguing mess. He had no doubt the guy would send him his stuff and Bobby already knew he would instantly junk it and flag the guy’s mails as spam. The guy insisted on shaking hands before allowing Bobby to walk off.

As he emerged from the mouth of the alley, Bobby checked his messages. Then he realised he was abandoning an infant to a vehicle under the operation of a man kneading tinctures of a patently illicit substance into his face. Bobby turned and looked back and waited to see if there was anything obvious he could rebuke himself for not doing. The vehicle began to move. He watched it complete a spasmodic reverse and trundle towards the far opening of the alley. Then it was gone.

Fiachra Calhoun was in his customary nook at the rear of the Andromeda, which at this hour was ­near-­empty. Jess Tombes was with him.