Fortunately I still had the black eye to make me look even more respectable. I saw Leonie sitting alone at a corner table, a barely touched pint of Guinness in front of her. Her eyes widened when she saw me. The bartender on duty – a guy I didn’t know – actually started coming around from the bar to hurry me out. A few patrons stared at me, just to see how long and how noisy the ejection would take. ‘Uh, sir, do you need help?’ the bartender asked. This was the polite first volley, second volley to be, now get out. ‘I’m Sam Capra. I own the bar. Is Bertrand here?’ ‘Uh, no, Mr Capra, he’s not on duty today.’ At least the bartender recognized my name. ‘I’ve been in an accident.’ ‘Yes, sir, um, do you want me to take you to the hospital?’ I could feel the heat of Leonie’s gaze on me. Wanting to ask: is it done? Is Jack Ming dead? ‘No. I want to go to the office upstairs and I want you to call Bertrand and have him get here now.
