His nerve-clumsy fingers crab down his body towards the nine in his belt. He’s way too slow. I reach across and crush his hand in mine. Brandi puts him away with a vicious elbow to the side of his face. That girl changes allegiances in a heartbeat. No, that’s wrong. Our girl Brandi only has one allegiance. Vic slides off his chair, moaning, blood pouring from a cut above his nose.

AJ is moving, but I have so much adrenalin in my system that he might as well be wading through mud, coming around the side of the table at my ten o’clock with a look on his face that’s more animal than human.

I draw my little Glock 26 and put a shot in the bar mirror over his head. Fragments rain down spectacularly, glittering icicles, slicing AJ’s neck and hands.

I don’t have to say anything. Even AJ is not dumb enough to go up against a gun. He lies on the floor and starts crying.

I turn to Marcie and her friend. ‘Go now. Don’t ever come back in here. Stay off the strip.’

They kiss and hug me for a minute, like I’m an old rock star.

‘Thanks, Daddy,’ blurts Marcie. Then, ‘Oops. Sorry. I mean thanks, mister.’

Then they’re gone, skittering across the casino, sandals slapping the floor.

‘Thanks, Daddy,’ says Brandi, imitating the California/MTV twang that all kids speak with these days, then she cracks up laughing. ‘I don’t believe this, Dan. You own the club.’ She stamps the heels of her Catwoman boots with sheer joy. ‘That asshole’s time has come. I should crack his skull for all the shit I’ve had to put up with these past months.’

‘Don’t crack anything yet, Brandi. Vic hasn’t signed the lease over.’

‘Hmm,’ says Brandi.

She rouses her ex-boss with a sleet of ice from a steel bucket. As soon as he signs, she cold-cocks him with the bucket.

‘Finally this club is going to rock,’ she sings, pouring herself a healthy shot of bourbon. ‘We can get some professional girls working in back. Maybe cut a deal with Irish Mike for some product. Make us some serious money.’

I can see I’m going to have staff problems.

Jason shows Vic and AJ the door with unseemly glee. He actually sings them out using the tune from ‘YMCA’ and his own lyrics:

‘Get-the-Fuck-Out,

You pair of assholes.

Get-the-Fuck-Out,

And don’t come back here!’

I’m impressed. I haven’t seen Jason this happy since his signed Lou Ferrigno T-shirt arrived.

News spreads across the club like electricity across water, spasming everyone it touches. Pretty soon the entire staff are gathered outside the back room waiting for some kind of pep talk.