‘It won’t,’ said the accountant, ‘not if it’s handled right.’

‘Well, that sounds like a load of crap to me. How on earth are we going to make this a classy and interesting club, somewhere people will want to come for their hen nights and an evening out, if it gets a reputation as a strip club?’ snapped Tony, trying to make his point.

‘Why do people flock to Vegas, Tony? Because it’s a den of iniquity – gambling, girls, music – but still, they all go there for a good time. As I said last night, make it exclusive. Even the richest men like to look at pretty women, they just don’t want to do it with reporters around, or with some scruff off the streets standing next to them. Exclusivity – that’s where the money is,’ said the accountant, rubbing his fingers and thumb together. He’d spent some time the previous evening looking at the options and had an idea of how much he thought they could make. ‘Let the girls pay you to work here; a commission, if you like.’

‘What about Ralph Gold? We all know his interest in the place, would he want it turned into a strip club?’

‘All Mr Gold requires is profit, not loss. As far as he’s concerned, it’s up to you what you do with the place; after all, it’s your reputation at stake, not his.’

Tony kept throwing out the arguments, but felt he was fighting a losing battle.

At last, Jake spoke up. ‘Why not try it?’ he said. ‘The options look pretty bleak, otherwise. We’re paying more for staff on a Monday and Tuesday night than we’re making. The other option would be to close, which means no money at all.’

‘Where are you going to get these exotic women from, then? The usual ratholes? Women the punters have all seen before, who are only interested in doing extras with them… Is that what you really want, Jake?’ Tony sighed. He ran his hands through his hair and sat back in his chair. He knew Jake was right; it was costing more to open on the quiet nights. Nobody went clubbing on a Monday, most of them had work the next day. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘but you had all better have some good ideas, to make this work.’

Tony wasn’t happy; this wasn’t his dream, but he could see everyone’s point of view. He was beginning to wish he hadn’t mentioned the policeman’s suggestion, the night before. Still, he had, and now, finally, he was prepared to listen.

‘I’ve had some ideas,’ the accountant said. He seemed to have it all worked out. He had taken into consideration both Tony’s feelings and the money-making opportunities the idea held. After all, he was an accountant; money was all he knew. ‘We’re going “Vegas”, Tony, pole dancers, all the same height and all the same size. Diamante costumes, and house rules. Firstly, no messing around with the customers, and secondly, you have nothing to do with it.’ He pointed a finger at Tony, in what seemed a threatening way. ‘You are the weekend showman, the playboy host. Sharon and Jake will run the strip club. Sharon will do the hiring and firing.’