Sam took a quick glance to either side, ensuring no one was paying any attention to his presence. In a city that busy, Sam knew he’d faded into obscurity, but it was an old habit that would be with him to the grave.

Without a plan, Sam pushed open the door and entered. The familiar smell of a bar hit Sam immediately. The last time he’d been in one, he was squaring off in a violent gun fight in Ukraine. The High Five was considerably quieter but judging by the heads that turned his way as he entered, the atmosphere was no more welcoming. A few middle-aged men sat around one of the tables sneered in his direction. Their obvious conclusions that he didn’t belong drew an ironic smile from Sam. Another patron sat on his own – gloved hand wrapped around his pint glass – peered at Sam. They had all the correct gear on, but Sam knew the deal.

They were local men, playing biker.

The commercialisation leant on heavily by popular TV shows and the media-driven idea of a midlife crisis meant that this bar was authentic as a politician promise. The one person who did belong in the bar was sitting at it, turned away from the door, his eyes glued to the baseball match playing out on the screen above the pool table. With the lights above shimmering off his bald head, he casually lifted a beer bottle to his lips before wiping any residue from his thick beard with a tattooed forearm. As Sam’s steps echoed, he swivelled on his seat and shot a look at Sam that instantly told him what he already knew.

He wasn’t welcome here.

Despite the hostility, Sam approached the bar several feet from the hulking biker and offered a warm smile to the woman behind it. She glanced at the biker nervously, then back to Sam with a forced smile. She was pretty, and Sam was certain she was a factor in a number of men frequenting the bar.

‘Hey, sugar,’ she said cheerfully. ‘What can I get you?’

Her accent was thick, clearly local.

‘I’m looking for a friend,’ Sam responded, aware the biker was listening.

‘Hell, we all are.’ She winked at him. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Or his?’ the biker interrupted, chuckling. Sam ignored him and kept his focus on the girl. She had a badge pinned to the cuff of her open shirt.

‘Kelly, is it?’ Sam said, and she glanced down at her exposed cleavage as if looking for confirmation. ‘I’m looking for a girl named Alex Stone. Used to work here.’