I don’t work for Zeb any more, though he begs me every day. I just hang around with him for free. It’s nice to have a whiskey buddy, plus we have this thing we do with movie references and song titles. Can be lots of fun.

I’ve been in worse shape, but not recently. Seems to me there was a time when I could take punishment the way a young man takes his liquor; go all night and still function at work the next day. Now I’m grunting with every step, walking like my bones are made of glass. The various tussles with Bonzo, the tuna-melt guy and Faber’s goons have really taken a toll, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I die earlier than I should as a direct result.

At least the book is closed on Faber, unless he can generate himself a fresh ticker. Whatever his reasons for murdering Connie, he took them to the grave. Maybe when he floats out of the Tunnel, he’ll have to explain himself to St Peter. For his sake, I hope he can come up with something better than she slapped me, Jesus. I would pay good money to hear that conversation.

The Deacon problem is on hold. But I have a feeling that as soon as Ronnie gets bored of the super-cop tag, she’ll be giving me a call. It would be nice to believe that Detective Deacon would be in my corner should I need some badge. I’ll make the call if I have to, but I’m not counting any chickens. First and foremost Ronnie is a cop, and she’ll uphold the law even if it means hanging her and me both.

Counting chickens? pipes up Ghost Zeb, still hanging on in there. What the hell are you doing counting chickens?

Don’t you listen? I’m not counting chickens.

Counting chickens, not counting chickens, I could give a shit. All these situations you’re closing the door on, what about me? I’m out there somewhere.

Probably dead.

Probably, yes. But did you ever think that I could just be maimed? I’m out there somewhere with my dick cut off, I got maybe forty-five minutes to make it to the ER for reattachment surgery.

I can’t help wincing.

Okay, Zeb, okay. I’ll make a few enquiries.

When?

Soon. Very soon. I just have to pick up my funds at the bus station, then square things with work and Mrs Delano.

I’m bleeding to death and you’re squaring things?

If I find you, will you get out of my head?

Not only that, but I’ll do all your check-ups for free.

Yeah, see that’s how I know you’re not the real Zeb.