There was no need to speak to the woman at the lectern to get into the club this evening. One of the men who had delivered the cocaine to Milton was waiting there, and as Milton approached, he indicated that he should follow him inside. They went up to the third floor, but, rather than going to the VIP area, they continued to a short corridor with a secure metal door at the end. The man tapped out a code on a keypad that was set into the wall and waited until the lock was released. He pulled the door back and indicated that Milton should go through.

The door opened into a suite of rooms that looked as if they were used to administer the business of the club. There was a plain room with boxes of spirits stacked along two of the walls, and another that had been equipped with a wooden desk that held a PC and several screens displaying the feeds from the club’s security cameras. Milton looked at the screens as he passed through and felt vulnerable; Ziggy would be able to access that footage, but there were no cameras in here and, even if there were, Hicks would be unable to get to him if he needed backup.

He was alone. It probably wouldn’t be the last time.

“Through here,” the man said, opening a door and gesturing that Milton should go through.

He did, and passed into an office. There was a desk with chairs on either side, a sofa opposite that and prints on the walls. It was functional, not lavish, and Milton suspected that it would more usually accommodate the manager of the business rather than the owner. López was sitting on the other side of the desk and, at Milton’s approach, the Mexican indicated that he should take the seat opposite.

“Señor Smith,” he said, “how are you?”

“Very good. Thank you for seeing me again.”

López smiled indulgently. “How can I help you?”

“I wanted to say thanks.”

“I heard the delivery was smooth.”

“It was. Your men are very professional.”

“I pay them well.” He glanced over Milton’s shoulder to where the man who had brought him inside was standing. Milton couldn’t see him, and his presence there was disconcerting; Milton knew that the man’s placement in his blind spot was intentional. “And the product? How was it?”

“Just as advertised.”

López regarded him shrewdly. “Where is it now?”

“In the process of being sold.”

“London?”

“That’s where we agreed.”

“Very good.”

Milton held his eye. “I’d like to place another order.”

López clucked his tongue against his teeth. “I don’t know.”

“Not for the same amount,” Milton said, ignoring López’s stage-managed hesitation. “I know what we said before, but I want more.”

He shook his head. “You know that isn’t possible.”

“Because of Jackson?”