Harry read about a $30,000 fine for breaking hygiene regulations at a twenty-four-hour diner inside the Janssen Riverboat casino, a family-run construction company that went bust after Janssen’s property business refused to pay bills and a senior employee who claimed staff were ordered to turn a blind eye to drug dealers.

Clearly the Janssens weren’t the nicest people in town, but Harry couldn’t see how any of these facts could be used to help Charlie. He tried to think of a strategy, but he felt as if he’d skipped ten chapters ahead in his math textbook, staring bleary-eyed at a problem he had no idea how to solve.

When Kirsten woke Harry up, he was sprawled bare-assed over his bed.

‘School’s closed,’ he said, stretching into a yawn and knocking his still-open laptop off the edge of his bed. ‘Shit!’

‘Matt’s in the kitchen. Says you arranged to go for a run before it got too hot.’

‘Aww,’ Harry said dozily. ‘Forgot that …’

He slathered sunscreen, and rushed down to Matt with Nikes hooked over his fingers. They did some stretching outside in the courtyard, but Harry would never normally run in the evening and straight away the next morning. His tanks were empty and after less than a mile he faked an injury.

‘I’m slowing you down, mate,’ Harry told Matt. ‘Thigh is really tight. I’m sorry …’

Harry’s head was full of the stuff he’d been thinking about through the night. He wanted to help Charlie, but self-preservation had blossomed with the new day. The kid who’d flushed explosives and wiped the gun seemed like an aberration.

Harry walked stiffly through the Sinatra’s main gate. He’d gone past reception and was waiting for the elevator up to four when a fist smashed the back of his head.

His brow smacked the metal elevator door and two guys bundled him into a side room. It had originally been the sales team’s office when the Sinatra was first built. Now the windowless space had two parked housekeeping carts and stacked drums of bathroom cleaner and pool chemicals.

‘Harry?’ one guy asked, throwing the teenager’s slender body over a cart, as a much bigger dude with a man bun elbowed him in the back.

‘Friendly warning, kiddo,’ the first guy said, grasping Harry’s hair and yanking his head back.

Man Bun punched him again.

‘We know Croker called you last night,’ Man Bun shouted, sliding his hand between Harry’s legs and grabbing his balls. ‘What did she say?’

‘Nothing,’ Charlie groaned.

‘Don’t lie to me,’ Man Bun shouted, squeezing Harry’s balls. ‘She asked for help, didn’t she?’

‘We heard the recording,’ the smaller guy added. ‘Lying to us is not a good idea.’

‘Please,’ Harry begged. ‘I barely know her.’