Brandi is in the room, hovering at Vic’s shoulder like the spectre of death in heels, so obviously she laughs. Victor’s got one of his cousins there too: AJ, a prize moron. Rumour has it that AJ once twisted a model Statue of Liberty up his arse, then tried to tell the ER doctor he sat on it in Battery Park.

‘You know a lot about the clap, Vic?’

Victor sees my eyes then, and he knows I’m not here to petition.

‘You want to watch what you say to me, McEvoy. I’m connected.’

I am so sick of this man. This is the man who ordered his surveillance discs wiped on the night of Connie’s murder, even though there may have been evidence on one of them.

‘Connected? Give me a break, Vic. Your fat arse is connected to that chair, that’s about it. Your brain isn’t connected to your stupid mouth, that’s for sure.’

AJ is off his chair, baring his teeth, waiting on the word.

I eyeball him good. ‘You better sit down, Lady Liberty, unless you got room for my foot up there alongside that statue.’

Vic waves a pudgy finger. ‘Sit, AJ. This man could kill us all without breaking a sweat.’

‘Maybe you’re not as stupid as I thought.’

My former boss leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers, a cross between Al Pacino, P. Diddy and Elmer Fudd. ‘So, what can I do for you, doorman? Before I bar you for life?’

Barred for life. Not much of a threat.

‘You can pay me. It’s the end of the month.’

Vic is delighted; he pokes the table with a finger. ‘Yesterday was the end of the month. You didn’t work the full month, McEvoy.’

Typical. ‘Listen, Vic . . . Mister Jones. I had an emergency so I missed a day. And okay, I didn’t call. So dock me for the time I missed and pay me the rest.’

It’s not really the money. I have fifty grand plus on my person, but this piece of slime owes me and he is going to pay. One way or the other.

Vic affects a pout. ‘I would love to pay you. Sincerely. But I got all my disposable cash tied up in this game with these lovely ladies.’

One of the lovely ladies simpers, like Vic’s doing them a favour taking her money. The other one knows how much trouble they’re in. She is pale and her fingers grip the table’s edge like it’s the railing of the Titanic.

‘Open the safe, then.’

‘What safe? I don’t have a safe, doorman. Anybody know anything about a safe?’

I pinch my nose and breathe heavily. After everything that’s happened, I am not about to be messed around by a smalltime big-time wannabe like Victor Jones.