Stephen was in The Bordello, one of his peepshows in Soho. As he lifted the takings from the manager, they chatted about the general state of the economy. The manager was saying what everyone in the know in London believed, from black cab drivers to porn merchants and politicians.

‘Listen, boy, if the toms ain’t making it, then there’s no money about. Even the fucking tourists are few and far between, thanks to the IRA. All that lovely American money going to waste, eh? I wish they’d sort something out over there, I really do. I mean, we’re doing all right, but fuck me, not like last year, eh? Money was creaming in last year and the birds were right fucking ropey, some of ’em.’

Stephen nodded in full agreement.

‘It’s been a lousy summer, I grant you that. How much you salting away this year then?’

The two men smiled at one another.

‘Not as much as I could, Brunos, you know that. It’s why you employ me. I never did take the piss.’

Stephen grinned now.

‘Fair comment. How is the place?’

A record came on, a strident rock number, and the small office space was literally shaking with the bass line.

‘How the fuck that bird can even pretend to dance to that crap, I don’t know!’

Before Stephen could answer they heard a loud shriek.

Rolling his eyes at the ceiling, the manager pulled himself from his seat and barrelled along the corridor to the work area.

‘Oh, bollocks! Micky, get off that door and get down here!’

Stephen watched in amazement as the manager, Terry Rawlings, stepped through a hole in the wall. One of the peep cubicles was completely gone and a heavyset man was laying into a half-naked girl lying on a double bed.

The sheets were already staining with blood.

Black Micky, the bouncer doorman, and Terry pulled the man off her. Holding his arms behind his back, they forced him to a kneeling position.

‘What’s your problem, mate! Fucking calm yourself down, will you?’ Terry’s voice was exasperated.

The man was obviously as high as a kite and his voice, when he answered, had a slight German accent.

‘She was laughing at me. I could see her laughing at me.’

Micky shook his head and smiled.

‘Course she was laughing, mate, that’s her job. You wouldn’t want her crying, would ya?’

Terry tutted. Turning to Micky, he said, ‘Clear this cunt’s pockets. Take his traveller’s cheques and cash the lot. He can pay for this damage. Looks like he could stand a few quid. Then give him a slap.’

Micky dragged the man along the corridor towards the back of the building. He was shouting now in German and English but no one was taking any notice.