Goodcop aka Roman Pelka is trying ineffectually to pull Antonio off Donato Cruz aka Badcop. Roman is neither large nor strong, and his relationship with his own body is kind of like my dad’s relationship with that drone he tried to put together without an instruction manual and ended up drop-kicking into a carp pond in rage.

‘Sergio!’ Roman yells, and then takes an elbow to the mouth as Antonio pulls an arm back unexpectedly. ‘Sergio, some help?’

The kebab shop’s been closed for hours, and Sergio headed to his flat upstairs after our last round of food and drink. He locked up but didn’t close the security grille, which is how Antonio spotted us and then hurled himself at the door yelling accusations in Portuguese. This was too much for Roman, who opened the door, which was maybe unwise of him.

Now Sergio comes thumping downstairs barefoot in trackies, his hair all messed-up, carrying an axe-handle. He takes in the scene, shouts something in Turkish and then wades in.

Roman retreats, blood streaming from his nose.

‘Please don’t break Antonio’s face!’ I cry. ‘Will no one think of his looks?’

While the three of them are huffing and grunting and knocking down furniture, I grab some paper napkins and pass them to Roman.

‘Keep your head back,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll look for some ice.’

While I’m finding ice behind the counter, Sergio is separating the two combatants. Antonio is flushed and gesticulating wildly but Donato doesn’t even appear winded. He brushes off his trousers and shirt.

‘There was no call for any of that,’ Donato says to Antonio, darkly. ‘We’re not the police. We’re not detaining Miss Aaron. And if you’re back on the streets already then there’s no reason to think anybody will accuse you of murder. Let alone shoot you.’

There’s a crushed chip stuck to Donato’s arse. I have the urge to pluck it off but restrain myself with a mighty effort. Instead I give a tea towel full of ice to Roman. His upper lip is swollen somewhat attractively.

Antonio reaches for me. Sergio extends his axe-handle, blocking Antonio from touching me.

‘This is not worth it for me, bruv,’ Sergio says to Roman. ‘You guys better find another place to do business.’

‘I pan bet oo Addenal tiggeds,’ Roman says, head back, ice on face.

Sergio looks at him uncomprehendingly.

‘Arsenal tickets,’ I fill in. ‘He can get you a season pass.’

‘I nebber ded a deedon badd!’

‘Didn’t you? Sorry. He can get you tickets, Sergio, but a season pass is beyond his powers.’

Sergio grunts. He and Donato pick up chairs and generally put the room back to rights.

I turn to Roman, lean on his arm while the other two shout at each other. I feel like green jelly.

It’s been a very long night.