'How do we know it's stolen?'

'It doesn't have a Council of Genres seal of approval. Without one, these things are worthless. Log it as evidence when you get back to the office.'

He took a sip of his drink, coughed and stared into the glass.

'W-what is this?'

'I'm not sure but mine is just as bad.'

'Not possible. Hello, Emperor, have you met Thursday-Next? Thursday, this is Emperor Zhark.'

There was a tall man swathed in a high-collared cloak standing next to our table. He had a pale complexion, high cheekbones and a small and very precise goatee. He looked at me with cold dark eyes and raised an eyebrow imperiously.

'Greetings,' he intoned indifferently. 'You must send my regards to Miss Havisham. Snell, how is my defence looking?'

'Not too good, Your Mercilessness,' he replied. 'Annihilating all the planets in the Cygnus cluster might not have been a very good move.'

'It's those bloody Rambosians,' Zhark said angrily. 'They threatened my empire. If I didn't destroy entire star systems no one would have any respect for me; it's for the good of galactic peace, you know – stability, and anyway, what's the point in possessing a devastatingly destructive death-ray if you can't use it?'

'Well, I should keep that to yourself. Can't you claim you were cleaning it when it went off or something?'

'I suppose,' said Zhark grudgingly. 'Is there a head in that bag?'

'Yes,' replied Snell. 'Do you want to have a look?'

'No thanks. Special offer, yes?'

'What?'

'Special offer. You know, clearance sale. How much did you pay for it?'

'Only a … hundred,' he said, glancing at me. 'Less than that, actually.'

'You were done.' Zhark laughed. 'They're forty a half-dozen at CrimeScene, Inc. – with double stamps, too.'

Snell's face flushed with anger and he jumped up.

'The little scumbag!' he spat. 'I'll have him in a bag when I see him again!'

He turned to me.

'Will you be all right getting out on your own?'

'Sure.'

'Good,' he replied through gritted teeth. 'See you later!'

'Hold it!' I said, but it was too late. He had vanished.

'Problems?' asked Zhark.

'No,' I replied slowly, holding up the dirty pillowcase. 'He just forgot his head – and careful, Emperor, there's a Triffid creeping up behind you.'

Zhark turned to face the Triffid, who stopped, thought better of an attack and rejoined his friends, who were cooling their roots at the bar.

Zhark departed and I looked around. On the next table a fourth cat had joined the other three. It was bigger than the others and considerably more battle scarred – it had only one eye and both ears had large bites taken out of them. They all licked their lips as the newest cat said in a low voice: 'Shall we eat her?'

'Not yet,' replied the first cat, 'we're waiting for Big Martin.'