Her eyes flash and she wants to claw my eyes out, but Brandi is the consummate survivor.

‘No problem, Dan. We got a few bumps, that’s all. Not even bumps . . . implants.’ And suddenly her breasts are wrapped around my arm. Took all of four seconds for her mood to swing.

‘No bumps,’ I say, flexing my bicep so her boobs pop off. ‘The booth is closed. Now, you go do your job.’

I wasn’t sure I could flex enough to dislodge Brandi, but I did and it was cool. I leave her wobbling and stride towards the office.

The phone is buzzing when I reach the desk in Vic’s office, but I let it ring out. I need a minute to put my pieces back together. My jaw throbs and my knuckles ache and I realise that I should have raided Zeb’s painkiller stash.

I crank Vic’s chair down a few more notches and settle back until my head touches the wall behind me.

My office, my desk.

That’s it. Crises over.

Now I need to take stock of what’s happened. A lot of new things have come into my life and I don’t know which ones I want to keep. One thing is for certain, as soon as Zeb is back on his feet I am going to knock him on his arse. After that, I need to get my head straight, then take a few days’ rest with nothing on my mind but food and drink.

My eyes begin to close and I don’t fight it. The familiar sounds of chips clicking, glasses clinking and gamblers moaning in the casino beyond are almost like a lullaby.

Relax, I tell myself. Irish Mike is off my back for the moment. Okay, the Sofia Delano situation needs a little work, but it’s not life-threatening.

Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe in balls, breathe out pussy, as the marines say, though I always thought that came off a little ambiguous.

Getting there, nearly calm now.

The phone rings again and I nearly fall out of the seat. I slap the receiver out of its cradle.

‘What? What now?’

Ronelle Deacon’s laugh is like whiskey and cigarettes. ‘Management too stressful for you, Dan? You cracking up already?’

I blink myself alert. ‘It’s been a long night, Detective. A long week.’

‘I sent a couple of uniforms over to your friend’s store. Quite a mess. Or to quote Patrolman Lewis, Big motherfucking hole in the motherfucking wall. A couple quarts of blood too. You wouldn’t know anything about that?’

‘Not a thing. I arrived after the fact. Zeb was the only one bleeding.’

Brandi slinks in the door, making full use of her stripper training; every movement is choreographed. I see where this is going. I’m in for a full-on booth negotiation.

‘Dan,’ she purrs. ‘We need to talk, baby.’