“I’m calling it Fuds Say the Funniest Things.”

The young man moved closer. “Fud, am I? Maybe we should go round the back and find out…”

The third bouncer, who looked the most experienced, had kept his counsel thus far, but now he patted his young colleague on the back.

“Easy there, Marcus. Our friend’s a police officer.”

Rebus stared Marcus down. “He’s right, you know. And the reason I’ve got to the age I have is that I never start a fight I can’t win. Little tip for you there…wee man.”

Rebus turned his attention to the leader of the group.

“Who is it you want to see?” the man asked. Shaven head; neat mustache/beard combo peppered with gray. He too was a survivor.

“Mr. Hammell,” Rebus told him.

“He knows you’re coming?”

“Not exactly.”

“Might not want to see you, then.”

“Maybe if you tell him it’s about Annette.”

The doorman chewed this over, at the same time working the gum in his mouth.

“Does Mr. Hammell know you?”

Rebus nodded.

“Okay then. Follow me.”

Inside the foyer lay an acre of red carpet. There were tiny twinkling lights set into the ceiling, and the old box office was where you still paid your entrance money. Behind two sets of swing doors, Rebus could hear pounding dance music and a few drunken female whoops. The doorman had stopped long enough at a narrow stairwell in one corner to unhook a red rope. The sign next to it said STAFF ONLY. They climbed to the balcony area, the walls throbbing from the sound system.

“That Marcus needs a bouncer of his own,” Rebus commented.

“It’s turning into a young man’s game, same as everything else.”

Emerging at the top of the stairs, Rebus saw that some of the old cinema seating remained, rows of plush velour awaiting an audience that would never come. A mirror ball was working hard at entertaining the dancers below. Red and blue lights pulsed. The doorman led Rebus past the back row of seats to an office, where he knocked and entered without waiting to be asked, stranding Rebus on the door’s other side. Half a minute later, he was back, leaving the door open this time and signaling for Rebus to go in.

“Thanks,” Rebus said. “I mean it.” The doorman nodded, aware that he was now owed a favor, something he could tuck away in his back pocket for the future.

The office surprised Rebus by being large, bright and modern. Pale wooden furniture, ochre-colored leather sofa. There were framed publicity shots for old films on the walls, including many Rebus had seen in his youth.