She looked in the mirror, and smiled at what she saw; as a natural redhead – both collar and cuffs, as Danny put it – she had an unusual beauty. She had a good body, and it was all natural, which she suspected was why she was so popular with the punters. Unlike the majority of the girls with their fake tits and orange tans, she had pale milky skin, and large natural breasts that seemed to defy gravity. They moved properly, and that was a bonus in her game. She was a trained dancer as well; she’d taken ballet classes as a little child, eventually moving on to modern dance and ballroom. Too short in stature to ever make a career of it, she had used her talent for lap dancing; now she could climb a pole without even concentrating.

She had missed Danny Bailey; she had not expected to see him again. He had waved at her as she danced on the podium, and mimed having a drink, so she was content with that much for the moment.

As she slipped into a short leather skirt and white fitted shirt, she was confident she looked good. A quick spray of Coco Chanel, and she was ready.

Danny and his brother Davey were waiting for her in a private booth and, as she slipped in beside them, she was already buzzing with suppressed excitement. She had dropped half an E about an hour before, so she had a gentle high – just enough to make her eyes look dreamy, and the world around her feel more accommodating. She couldn’t dance without a little help; she hated being naked, or nearly naked. It made her feel too vulnerable, and she would never carry off the private dances without a little buzz.

‘Long time no see, Danny. You’re looking well.’

He smiled at her, and saw the gleam in her green eyes that told him she was under the influence of chemicals as usual. He sighed sadly. He enjoyed a bit of gear – everyone did in his game – but he had never understood the power of E for people who weren’t out raving. It was a dance drug. True, Stephanie danced, that was fair enough, but E was also a very unpredictable drug. Not his cup of tea at all.

A young woman in thigh-high boots and tiny hot pants brought them through a bottle of champagne and, slipping the girl a tenner, he opened the bottle theatrically. When they each had a glass in their hands, he said gaily, ‘You’re looking very well yourself, Stephanie. How’s it going here? I hear the money’s good.’