They gathered speed towards Crescent Drive and the turn north. She had managed to turn around and take a look as the top was going up; an acceptably unsuspicious thing to do, with all that activity, not that Mr Lorken was anticipating any kind of problem. But she could see no Ever. They crossed Santa Monica Boulevard: she wondered what Ever would be doing now. Where was he? She was sweating and felt the world leaving her; her heart was double timing and it was causing a light-headedness, she pressured down to keep from fainting. Like taking a crap with a push. They were approaching the stop sign at Carmelita, she opened her Fendi bag and exclaimed in a panic,

‘Oh my God! My phone! I’ve left my phone!’

His instinctive reaction betrayed an audible groan of annoyance. He slowed to a stop, fifteen yards from the four-way stop at Carmelita, suggesting he call the restaurant. At that moment she saw Ever’s car emerge from the east onto Carmelita, and drive into the middle of the road, past the stop sign: she knew, although she couldn’t see, that he would be staring at the Rolls. The Honda turned left onto the other side of the road while Mr Lorken was calling the restaurant. Ever pulled up and got out of the car, nothing suspicious in that for Mr Lorken, who didn’t even notice. Ever had the look of purpose but she couldn’t see a gun. What else was he going to do? He wasn’t coming to say hello.

‘You know where we were sitting, where I always sit, just look at your seating chart, for Christ’s sake!’

The voice continued on the phone. Ever was now virtually upon the car and Mr Lorken turned in reaction to the approaching 6’ 2”.

‘What the fuck!’

It was flat aggression from Mr Lorken.

Lomita almost at a scream.

‘Found it! Got it here!’

He turned back to Lomita, distracted, with an exhale.

‘Thank God.’

They were just completed, those two words. Her hand went inside the Fendi bag, feeling for the grip and grasping the handle of a Beretta 70. She released two bullets into Mr Lorken’s chest: they managed over the short distance to revolve inside the body, increasing the damage, the bag was pressed tight to his body, muffling the sound, the impact was instant, unmissable and fatal.

The thick leather seat took the rest of the hit as one of the bullets passed through. The other was lodged in the spine, having made contact on the vertical moment of its revolution.

The last word he had spoken was ‘God’.

Let’s hope he heard.