Vincent said, ‘Mmm. And you also have to weigh up what kind of justice you want. Police kind, or the other kind.’

‘Yeah, all right.’ Holding up a steadying hand, patting the air. ‘But let’s just be real careful.’

‘Mmm.’

‘What’s she asked you to do, exactly?’

Vincent said, ‘Find who’s involved.’

‘And that doesn’t include tipping off the law as you go?’

He looked away. ‘I need to get some clarity on the exact policy.’

‘Right. That might be a good idea.’ He took a couple of ruminative sips and said, ‘You know how you always used to proselytise?’

Vincent looked at him. ‘How I what?’

‘You know. Proselytise. New word I learned.’

‘Oh. Well done.’

‘Yeah. But what I mean is, you always went on about how going into sand-land was hasty, poorly planned, yada yada, even though we should’ve been thinking about it since Saddam hit Kuwait in ninety-one, and then we ended up doing something that was based on bullshit strategy. You remember that?’

Vincent nodded. ‘I didn’t think it would get brushed off as yada yada.’

‘Look, I’m not trying to bust your balls. I’m just saying, let’s not do something dumb because it feels justified right now. Or it might impress the famous lady or whatever.’

Vincent said, ‘If you like, I can just keep you in the dark.’

‘Yeah, perfect. I hadn’t thought of that.’ He drank his beer down another inch. ‘All I’m saying is … ah, whatever.’ He waved off the thought and changed direction: ‘How was the drive down? Did it go all right?’

Vincent shrugged. ‘Yeah. What do you mean?’

‘I dunno. It’s, like, three hours, right? You gotta sit there and talk to her.’

‘Off and on.’

‘I always …’ he trailed off. ‘I always found it hard talking to civilians. I mean, I’d come home after a tour, and it’s like, what do you talk about with these people? You know? Like, take your comfy inner-city worries and go shove them. Get some real problems. You ever think that?’

‘Yeah. Kind of.’