The accountant took off his glasses; he wasn’t shaken by Tony’s response. After all, his bosses were much bigger fish in larger ponds. Tony was just a beginner, and he had been put there to guide him, whether he wanted to listen or not.

‘What I mean, Tony,’ said the accountant, ‘is look at the Las Vegas showgirls. There’s nothing cheap or tacky about them, and yet they wear the same skimpy underwear, it’s just done with style and elegance. Anyway, your busiest nights are Thursday, Friday and Saturday; how much money are you wasting on electricity and staff wages the rest of the week? Even if you closed on those nights, it wouldn’t be profitable.’

Tony couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Now he really was angry. ‘Are you saying we’re running at a loss and making no money? Or is it because you keep fiddling around with the books!’ He ran his hands through his hair and loosened his tie.

‘No, I’m not saying that – and for the record, I don’t touch your personal accounts, only the accounts I need to adjust, if you like. You knew I would be here when you accepted the job.’

The job? Tony felt his world was crumbling. The job? Is that all he was, some bar manager? ‘Tell you what, you can shove your job up your arse, I’m out of here. Come on, Jake.’

Tony was about to walk out when Jake stopped him. ‘Calm down,’ he said. He tried reasoning with Tony. ‘The place is crawling with police, don’t make a scene. We both know it’s a job we’re doing for now. It gives us time to build a reputation. Nobody is saying this place isn’t yours. Come on, your name’s on the sign. Lambrianu’s – it’s your club.’ He felt Tony had got carried away with everything and had forgotten he didn’t own the place – yet.

Tony knew Jake was right; tonight was not the night to lose his cool. There were a lot of high-ranking officers out there. He didn’t want to attract any attention or raise any suspicions.

He sat down and Jake handed him a drink. He was breathing heavily, and clearly upset.

‘I didn’t mean to undermine you, Tony.’ The accountant looked apologetic. ‘We both know who owns this place and we both know who he does business with. That’s why he came to promote your club – to help you, the way you’re helping him, with me. Capisce?’

Tony had his head in his hands. When he heard the accountant speak Italian, he looked up at him. ‘You’re Italian?’

The accountant nodded at him and smiled. ‘As I was saying, done properly, the striptease idea isn’t a bad one. It could be done earlier in the week, and then the place could revert to its use as a nightclub the latter end of the week, with certain conditions.’

‘Such as?’ asked Jake. Even he was surprised that this man was Italian. There had been occasions he and Tony had spoken in Italian, so the other staff wouldn’t understand what they were saying. Thank God they hadn’t said anything bad about Ralph Gold or Don Carlos!