After several days in the cell, their food and water brought to them with barely a word from their captors, Lucky and Gregor ran clean out of subjects to discuss. To break the silence Lucky whistled or hummed one of the Benny Goodman tunes he’d intended to perform, such as ‘Why Don’t You Do Right?’ or ‘Don’t Be That Way’. Sunlight strayed through air vents high in the wall. Their worsening body odours crammed the air like balls of fat. On the final morning of their captivity, Gregor said in a shaky voice, ‘Oh fucking hell,’ and it sounded to Lucky’s ears like someone far away crying out: ‘I’m stuck in a well.’

‘Keep it together!’ said Lucky.

‘What are they doing to us? This is torture!’

It might have been another two hours, maybe three, when the door opened. One of the MPs asked for ‘Benny’, and soon there he was, Lucky, in an adequately lit room at the back of the building. A plate of mutton and squash had been set out for him. Also on the table was Lucky’s pleading letter from a few nights ago.

‘We can talk while you eat,’ said the MP whom Lucky and Gregor referred to as Harry.

‘Thank you.’

‘We know your name’s Vasilis Mallios. Awful name. I’d hate my parents—’

‘Call me Lucky. And you would be?’

‘You don’t want to joke with us.’

‘How long you been in this country, Lucky?’ asked the other MP, Frank.

‘Eight months.’

‘You a draftee, Lucky?’

‘No,’ said Lucky.

‘Most of the draftees are dipshits, thought you’d be one.’

‘You won’t be playing no concerts,’ said Frank.

‘Except for the Collins Hotel tomorrow afternoon,’ said Harry. ‘This city closes early, which means you start early. You’ll be appearing as Benny and we’ll charge an entry fee. Your buddy will collect the money on the door and hand it to us. The owner wants fifteen per cent. You get zero per cent.’

‘We need to think about it,’ said Lucky.

‘Then think about it right now. Here, I’ll remove this distraction,’ said Harry, taking Lucky’s unfinished plate of food off the table.

Lucky said: ‘And after the concert we’re free to go?’

‘We’ll see.’

‘If I’m going to be forced to play, I’ll need my bags and clarinet—I have to practise. And I should practise out here. It’s too dark in the cell.’

‘Done.’

Lucky changed the focus of his gaze from Frank to Harry. ‘And we need to wash.’

‘That’s acceptable.’

‘And a bottle of liquor. And cigarettes.’

‘Just looking at you makes me angry,’ said Harry. ‘Benny Goodman is a great musician. And you’re an ass.’

Harry roughly helped Lucky up from his seat, though no help was required, and they walked back to the cell. The imposter asked his captors to leave the door open, please.

2.