‘What’s a matter?’ said Atif.

‘Fuck off,’ was the girl’s response. Her friends tried to pull her away, giggling as they walked. She refused to go with them, standing her ground and staring at the Ferrari.

‘Where you working? Will you go out with me?’ said Atif. He nodded at the girl in a ‘you know you want to’ kind of way.

The girl narrowed her heavily made-up eyes; green contact lenses gave them a snake-like quality. ‘I wouldn’t go out with you if you were Amir Khan. Anyway, whose car you robbed?’ she said.

Atif broke into a grin. ‘It’s mine. You wanna ride?’

Shouts echoed across the street and they looked to see what was happening. On the other side of the road, two bouncers outside a bar nightclub were arguing with a couple of well-dressed Asian men. One of the well-dressed men pushed the bouncer: ‘You fuckin’ racist. I’m gonna see you very soon with me shooters.’

The bouncer turned to his colleague. ‘Check out 50 Cent over here.’

Hearing the response, the younger man’s shouts grew louder and more vicious, but his friend dragged him off.

‘I like his style,’ said Atif. ‘You gotta love it. Home of two riots. And we ain’t afraid to start a third. I’ll do it just to get you in my car, girl.’

The girl looked at the car and then at him and then at his car again, but said nothing.

‘Alhamdolilah! God made me Asian, baby, I got skin like Caramac, you know you want to lick it!’ Fireworks began exploding across the sky. ‘See, it’s a sign from Allah. Subhanatallah!’ Atif wasn’t going to let her go without a fight. ‘My last girlfriend said I look like Zayn Malik,’ he added, nodding his head and acting the man. ‘Or was it Dynamo?’ He winked.

The girl’s narrowed eyes widened and then crinkled with laughter. She pointed to the small drum that one of the girls was carrying. The instrument was played at parties in the run-up to Pakistani weddings. ‘We’re singin’ and playing the dholki at Akbar Khan’s house later. Pick me up at the Beauty Spot, I’m getting my hair done first,’ she said, before teetering along the road and climbing into the car where her friends were waiting.

‘What time?’ he called after her.

‘You figure it out.’

The men watched as they drove off.

‘This must be one expensive wedding,’ Aslam said as a second batch of fireworks exploded.

‘Them’s not for the weddin’. That’s the next delivery. Don’t you know nothin’? When the big drugs haul comes in, the fireworks go off. Come on, let’s go to Pasha’s. I need me some shisha.’