I shrugged. ‘I called in some gunship fire on my own position.’ The shrug was to make this seem like no big deal, but it was a big deal and my legs were shaking as I said it and my mind flicked back to the tracers criss-crossing the night sky like something out of Blade Runner or maybe Star Wars. Whichever one was in space.

‘That does sound like the action of a moron.’

He was baiting me, but that was okay, because we were both smiling a little now. ‘What was left of Amal decided to overrun the entire compound,’ I explained. ‘Old-school style. An honest-to-God battle; couple of them had swords. Everybody made it into the bunker except the watch. I had a radio so I called in a gunship.’

‘Was that a good decision?’

‘Not according to the manual. Lots of property damage but not as much as there might have been. Plus a general got to live.’

‘So they shipped you out?’

‘Cos I was shell-shocked.’

‘And were you?’

‘Absolutely. No bowel movements for three days.’

Moriarty hit me again. ‘So why did you join the army, Daniel?’

He was good. I wasn’t expecting the change of tack. I mean, that gunship thing is an interesting story. ‘Because I reckoned dying overseas was better than living at home.’

Moriarty punched the air. ‘One nil,’ he crowed.

Most nights after work at the casino I take a couple of Triazolam to nod myself off. I go for as long as I can trying to tune out Mrs Delano in the apartment above, but she grinds me down with her ranting, so I pop the pills just to shut her out for a few hours.

Usually we have a little exchange through a hole around the ceiling light fitting.

I’ll lead off with something like:

For Christ’s sake shut up.

To which Mrs Delano will reply:

For Christ’s sake shut up.

I could follow this with:

For one night? Could we have a little bloody peace for one night.

Which she might cleverly twist to:

One night I’ll give you a little bloody piece.

You get the idea.

Tonight I’m thinking about Connie, so I add the Triazolam to a shot of Jameson and manage to grab a few hours of sweet dreams, but by eight my crazy neighbour’s piercing tones have ruptured my rest, and I lie in bed listening as Delano lets fly with a few nuggets that wouldn’t sound out of place in The Exorcist.

‘If I ever find you, baby, I will poison your coffee.’

That gets me out of bed sharpish. I’ve lived in this building for five years and for the first couple Mrs Delano seemed like a normal, non-homicidal human. Then, in year three, she starts in with the poisoning coffee spiel. I’m starting to believe that nobody really knows anyone. I’m pretty sure no one knows me.