She shark bit him; to be honest he was looking at the car which was of greater interest to him than she was, although he didn’t have the heart to tell her, he didn’t want to disappoint, guessing that she must have felt super-attractive and confident behind the wheel, he smiled again and crossed the road into the public parking, where he had left his car.

As he drove out onto Canon Drive all the girls were climbing into their car with their takeout order. He wound his window down for air, the heckling started again on recognition, and he thought how unacceptable it would be now, if it was the other way round. They screeched the wheels on the road, like he used to when he first got a car, demonstrating their dominance in the most masculine of ways, screaming out of the window as they drove off.

He waved and found the reversal quite an interesting experience.

His only silent comeback was that they weren’t as attractive as they thought they were.

*

On his drive home, he passed by 633 North Oakhurst Drive.

He dropped the letter through the letter box, which was, he had observed, in the door and not the traditional mailbox at the bottom of the driveway.

He had crept quietly, not wanting to go through any explanations now, and walked back to his car which he had left round the corner on Elevado. A Beverly Hills police car drove by, the toughest police force in America, they say, in possibly the most respectable neighbourhood in America, at least the only city without a slum area. They slowed down at the unusual sight of a walking human, and having wound down their window, observed that Ever had a respectable car to get into; they accelerated and looked for other riotous trouble.

A quiet night was probably ahead.

*

Opening those gates at the entrance to Havenhurst.

He secreted his car underground. The first thing he did on entering the darkness was to go to the supply of logs in the corner of the room, to the left of the fireplace, and look at the hiding place.

The hollowed-out log, two from the bottom, where he had secured the Glock 17. It was there. Comfort. He took it with him, up the one flight to the one bedroom that was housed upstairs, and in true movie style, put it underneath his pillow, safety off. Why? He wasn’t sure, but it made him feel secure and at least no one else was going to get it.

No tequila, the stars would go on burning without him.

For one night at least.

They would manage.

He very rarely slept the sleep of the innocent, and tonight he felt the need to resort to one of the sleeping pills his doctor had given him, with the instruction not to make a habit of it.