He loved the sweet shake mixed with the heat of alcohol, and made himself another, this time half filling the cup with whisky, topping with milkshake and stirring. Harry ate the last of his burger, watching people coming in and out of the restaurant as the light faded and drizzle trailed down his windscreen.

‘I love you, Charlie,’ Harry told nobody, necking more whisky milkshake and sniffling loudly. ‘I love you so much.’

‘Calling Charlie,’ the car said.

Harry knocked fries out of his lap as he reached for the centre console and cancelled the call.

‘Bad car,’ Harry said, stuffing escaped fries in his mouth as his eyes rolled. ‘This milkshake is strong.’

Rather than mix more in the little French-fry cup, Harry took the big shake cup and glugged in a quarter bottle of whiskey. This mix was stronger than before and the first gulps left him bloated and a touch queasy.

‘Why don’t you want me, Charlie?’ Harry sobbed, his head slumped on the steering wheel. ‘Why am I such a loser?’

Harry dripped tears and felt sorry for himself, until he got a call. Ellie’s name flashed on the centre console, but he was still suspicious. Kirsten might have asked him to call …

‘Answer,’ Harry sniffled after several rings. ‘Hey, Ellie.’

‘Harry, are you crying?’ Ellie said, worried.

‘All good,’ Harry lied, fighting to sound normal. ‘Good, good. I’m in the car, it’s probably a weak signal.’

‘I can’t stop thinking about our meeting yesterday,’ Ellie said. ‘I feel pretty bad. The way Janssen treated you was patronising and I was an ass to join in.’

‘And the fact you had the real meeting and ate breakfast before I got there,’ Harry said acidly.

‘I founded Vegas Local,’ Ellie said. ‘But it’s your nose for a story that gives the site its voice.’

‘Cheers,’ Harry slurred, wiping tears out of one eye.

‘I was blinded by the money,’ Ellie said. ‘I’ve been thinking about Janssen. Five rundown casinos and a bunch of strip malls doesn’t add up to the kind of influence he’s got.’

‘You just worked that out?’ Harry said, managing a laugh.

‘He’s definitely a drug dealer,’ Ellie said. ‘I hear he’s into prostitution. And are you flunking math?’

‘Maths,’ Harry said irritably, hissing the S. ‘In the UK we call it maths.’

‘Harry, are you drunk, or crying, or what?’

Harry ignored the question. ‘How do you know I’m failing maths?’

‘I had this jokey message from Janssen this afternoon. He said he enjoyed meeting us yesterday and yada-yada. But he made a remark that he’ll be more than happy to send one of his boys to have a word with your math – maths – teacher.’

‘How does he know stuff like that about me?’ Harry said, shuddering.