Warner has a password system. Every message from her begins with the last password she used, and a new one for next time. Last time it was Santa Monica, Jacksonville. Next time it might be Phoenix, St Louis, or Phoenix, Fargo, or Phoenix, Dallas. She uses a different password for each employee. She rarely meets people in person, so this system ensures that no one else can give orders, at least not without her finding out. I assume she has a database somewhere of which employees are expecting which passwords. If it was me, I’d memorise them all. But not everyone can do that.

‘You’re coming with us, Blake,’ Sariklis says. ‘You want to be conscious, or unconscious?’

I go limp.

‘Good call,’ he says, and lets me go.

Francis has closed the door and is looking around my dusty living room. His gaze settles on my ratty sofa, the holes in the fabric patched with duct tape.

‘You know,’ he says, ‘I think I saw your house on an episode of Cribs one time.’

‘Where were you?’ I ask. ‘I was waiting.’

‘Tell it to the boss lady. Maybe ask to borrow some money while you’re at it. Her interest rates are very reasonable. Buy yourself a new sofa. Shit, maybe a whole new house.’

‘Leave your phone here,’ Sariklis tells me.

One exception to Warner’s take-your-phone-everywhere rule: I’m not supposed to have it when I meet her in person. Or, I assume, when her men are taking me to an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere.

‘Sure. I’ll put it on the charger.’ I start to walk towards my bedroom.

‘Nope.’ Sariklis grabs my shoulder. ‘Leave it right here, on the floor.’

‘Let me grab a shirt, at least,’ I say.

‘No time. She wants to see you ASAP.’

I put my phone on the floor. Sariklis frog-marches me to the front door. Francis cracks it open. Cold air floods through the gap.

‘No one out there,’ he says. ‘None of these fuckers have jobs. They won’t be up for hours.’

Shawn is up. But I don’t say anything.

They push me out towards the white van. The cold makes the hairs on my arms stand up and turns my nipples into bullets. When I was homeless I had zero per cent body fat—with a shower and a haircut, I could have been a model. But being half naked in this weather would have killed me in minutes. These days, I figure I can survive about an hour.