‘Can I get you anything else, gents?’ she asked. She was Australian, in her mid-twenties, with a sprinkle of freckles across her upturned nose, and breasts that rippled under her black T-shirt. The younger of the two men raised his beer and winked. ‘Your phone number?’ The barmaid’s eyes hardened, but the smile stayed in place. ‘My boyfriend doesn’t let me give it out,’ she said. The older man laughed and slapped the other on the back. ‘She’s got you there, Vince.’ Vince Clarke took a long pull on his pint and scowled at his drinking companion as the barmaid walked away. ‘Probably a lesbian,’ he said. Clarke’s head was shaved and a pair of Ray-Bans was pushed high on his skull. He was wearing a long black leather coat over a black suit and a thick gold chain hung round his bull neck. ‘Yeah, the boyfriend was the clue.’ Dave Hickey sipped his vodka and tonic and chuckled. ‘You never stop trying, do you?’ His hair was close-cropped and, like his companion, he had a pair of expensive sunglasses perched on his head.
