That was when I saw him. Twenty-five feet away, his back to me. Dark hair, five foot eight, smart jacket. Smoking a cigarette, as usual.

I barged someone out of the way and pushed through a group of people, eyes fixed on the back of Ben’s head. Abruptly, the fire alarm ceased, leaving a deafening quiet broken by a little cheer from the shivering crowd of gamblers assembled in the car park. They started to move towards the doors, obscuring my view. I shouldered someone else out of my path. Almost there. He was definitely the right build, right height, right hair.

The bastard started walking quickly away from me, without even looking round. I held my mobile up above the crowd and pressed the shutter to take a picture. So close –

A strong hand on my shoulder pulled me abruptly backwards and I stumbled, just about managing to keep my balance. The iron grip belonged to a hugely muscular bouncer with a flat-top haircut and Celtic tattoos up the side of his neck. Steven Beecham, I thought but didn’t say. It’s him. Another hand – the blue-eyed bouncer I’d spoken to earlier – grabbed my other arm and together they marched me backwards, stumbling, almost falling, into the alley at the side of the casino. A few in the crowd watched with interest as I was marched off, but most were more interested in getting back inside, back into the warmth of the bar and the tables and the action.

As soon as we were far enough up the alley to be out of sight of the other customers, Blue Eyes spun me round and punched me in the face before I could get a word out. I had never been hit so hard. It was like getting belted with a cricket bat.

My head spun with the punch, and my mouth was flooded with the warm salty taste of blood. I staggered backwards but stayed on my feet.

‘Fuck off back to London,’ the blue-eyed bouncer said.

Beecham stood next to him, his huge hands balling into fists.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. A back tooth felt loose. I spat blood.

‘You know what happens,’ Beecham said, ‘when you pull the fucking fire alarm and all the punters end up in the car park?’

‘Listen, guys, I’m just trying to find my –’

‘The punters stop spending money. And the boss gets upset.’

‘And then this happens.’

‘I’m looking for Ben D—’

Then it was Beecham’s turn to hit me, and everything went black.

Chapter 70

70

Pain.

Awake.

Not in bed. Not indoors, even. Outside.

Dark.

Hard pavement.

Wet.

A bright throbbing pain in my jaw and the side of my head. My cheek pressed against rough gravel.