Brooklyn Mega Bowl. The note still rests open in Will’s palm. Even by the low light, one word seems suddenly readable.

Bowling. Bowling alley.

It happens at the bowling alley.

Lights will come back on late at night.

When lights back on see Danny. Go to alley to find. Only talk to Danny.

V. important you only talk to Danny.

Will knows he can’t just walk away. Yet he steps no nearer either.

Danny’s his brother. If he’s in danger …

Again, that familiar girl’s voice cuts through, echoing off the building fronts.

April.

I should check on my brother, Will thinks, striding in the direction of the commotion.

It wasn’t me.

The note disappearing. You going looking.

Nothing to do with me.

I wouldn’t know how.

If someone, or something, caused you to drop the note – and let’s be honest, that seems likely – it most definitely wasn’t me.

Whatever forces might be at work round here, they’re bigger than I am.

But you’re in the right place now – that’s all that matters. Because where would we be if I’d got it wrong?

You tried to beat the system. You didn’t.

I saw it, and so it will be.

Although comfortable viewing it isn’t.

Showtime

The Brooklyn Mega Bowl building is a cube of concrete, its ground floor a low-ceilinged car park glowing with fluorescent light and open on all sides. Only one car remains there: Danny’s Fiat Punto. Will stands out in the open air, the car park so densely populated by pillars that a small movement this way or that allows him to disappear.

‘Say it to my face,’ Danny shouts. He’s twenty metres from Will, unaware of his presence.

A parking bay’s width away from Danny, a tall, skinny guy jitters from side to side, slamming his palms into his own chest. His head is shaved smooth and he’s wearing a beige rain mac with a popped collar. ‘What you gonna do?’ he shouts.

‘Just get in the fucking car, Danny,’ April says, one foot already in, leaning on the passenger door.

‘Listen to your whore,’ Beige Mac says.

Danny shrugs his hoodie to the ground. He’s wearing only a grey, skintight vest underneath, which exaggerates his swollen and shiny arm muscles. He steps no nearer his opponent. In fact, they both appear to be performing an odd sort of dance, never straying over the white line each of them stands behind, the vacant parking space between them a makeshift no man’s land.