Johnny and Dan sing from The Smiths’ songbook as we exit the cab. They fail to shut the door three times, until I remove a seat belt from the doorjamb. They laugh hard at the aptness of their song; creasing themselves forward with arms across each other’s shoulders. No more apologies for us Dan, they stand swaying with their foreheads pushed together, uniting their sweaty fringes. “The casino is across the square so the club must be underneath.” I prompt them. Robert has insisted we go to a disco called Wheelers. The human traffic is against us again; even the hardened revellers are dispersing to catch rest before their skiing. The roar of water is all around, with the river flowing underneath our feet and the forceful spray from the decorative fountain in front of us. “Ambush!” Max and Steve are running at us from around the fountain, Robert comes from the other direction. Indians aiming to capture the cowboys. Legs heavy with drink, they could not catch a sober person, but Dan is easily pulled backwards.
