He sauntered to the door, not something he did very often – saunter – and was passed, thinking about Jacob, by a well-built man, carrying a bit of extra. He realised the truth of his size as he saw him closer – he wasn’t so short – pulling out a ticket, about to collect his car from the valet.

Ever followed fast, desperately searching his pockets for his ticket; in the panic, of course, he couldn’t find it.

A twenty-dollar bill was flashed as the Rolls, which had not been moved anywhere, was opened and the keys were handed to Mr Lorken.

How long would it take them to pull his own car from the bowels of wherever the hell they had taken it? He gave the valet the found and crumpled ticket and a ten-dollar bill, but didn’t want to lose Mr Lorken. He wanted to track him.

He dropped his phone under the swish of blue, or at least pretended to. He addressed the driver of the Rolls who had just fired the engine into purr mode.

‘Can you hold on a second, sir. I’ve just – it’s my phone – under your wheel.’

Ever instinctively adopted his American-accented voice. The one he had developed when he stayed with his father and wanted to blend in, until he realised the power of the English accent with Californian girls. In this instant he felt achievement and pride in his new persona; in the next second, he felt Australian.

‘Not a problem. Not a problem.’

These were the first words he had heard this man utter. What prophetically wrong words they were because he was everything that was the problem.

‘Nice car to have your phone crushed by though.’

Came the limp reply from Ever, still holding his head facing the gutter. Another moment of sleuthing pride – the unseen face. He had made contact with his target, it was a weird and damaging feeling. Somehow the man now had a personality, was a reality to him and not just a figure of hatred and bitter resentment. He was now actually a person who he bitterly hated and resented.

‘Thank you for waiting.’

Ever said, as he fluked the phone into his hand. Turning away and with his back to the car he lobbed across a nonchalant—

‘Enjoy.’

And with that, the effortless movement of three tons eased itself from the roadside; just as Ever’s car pulled up and the keys were handed to him, dangling with a disdain between finger and thumb. The smell hit thick – windows down. He could follow his man.

Out of downtown, the journey went onto the 10 and the Rolls turned off at La Cienega.

Was he going home?

Ever hoped. In the crawl that had been the freeway he had no difficulty in following this car: It stood out clearly and it was indeed a pleasure to watch its movement scoop up the road in almost silent procession.