She picks at a tiny square of body glitter on her forearm.

‘I hate to speak ill of the dead, Dan. But that girl’s morals were costing us all money. Hell, we lost a dozen high-rollers last month because little virgin Connie didn’t want any hands on her ass. My tips were way down. And I need my tips. Cat’s gotta have her cream.’

The phone is still at my ear, beeping. I can’t seem to remember where it should go.

‘I ain’t missing her. None of the girls are.’

I can see how it happened. They met in the parking lot, words were exchanged. Connie and Brandi differed on how the job should be done. Things got heated. Maybe a slap turned into a tussle. Connie went down and Brandi put her heel through Connie’s forehead. She’s capable of it; God knows she’s capable.

It’s true. My gut knows it.

I stare at Brandi’s heels, mesmerised. They are shining and wicked. After the deed was done, Brandi stood at the door beside me building her alibi. Hell, she probably had blood on her if anyone bothered to look.

‘So come on, Dan. What do you say to a little action in the booth? I’ll give you a free taste.’

The heel glints, and I see in the centre a tiny perfect circle of dried blood. Could be mud, coffee, anything.

It’s blood, I swear I can smell it.

Jason puts his head around the door. He’s half apologetic, half smiling.

‘Boss, we got a lady outside, looks like Material Girl Madonna. Got a casserole for you, says she’s your wife. You want me to show her the door?’

I can’t talk. Can’t say a word. I shake my head to defer the decision.

Brandi doesn’t want her meeting hijacked. ‘So, Dan? Is the booth back in business? You want me to slide under that desk?’

I keep shaking.

Brandi killed Connie.

‘Should I bring her through? She’s pretty hot, boss. And that casserole smells amazing.’

I manage one word.

‘Just . . .’

‘What, Dan?’

‘Just throw her out, boss?’

I try again. ‘Just . . .’

Brandi is doing a few slinky dance moves. ‘Just do it, Dan. Give me five minutes.’

‘Bring her in? Throw her out? Keep the food though, right?’

‘Just wait!’ I shout. ‘Just wait a goddamn second.’

The handset is still beside my ear, and suddenly the beeping is replaced by a familiar voice.

That bitch murdered me, says Ghost Connie. She made orphans out of my Alfredo and Eva.

No. Not another one. I slam the phone into its cradle. Not another ghost, no way.