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semen.
        'I paid for the drink,' the man protested.
        'You didn't pay for my conversation, or for anything else,' Zena told him.
        'Conversation? What are you talking about?' the man said indignantly.
        Scott snatched up one of the menus that lay on the coffee table and flipped it open.
        'Buying the hostess a drink signifies agreement to pay the hostess fee,' he quoted, as if he were reading some point of law. Then he dropped the menu back on the table. 'You owe her sixty pounds.'
        'Sixty pounds?' the man said, getting to his feet. 'Forget it.'
        He tried to step around Scott but Zena pushed the table with her foot, blocking his way.
        'Come on, pay up,' Scott demanded sharply.
        The man raised a hand to push past him. Scott grabbed him by the wrist and shoved him away.
        'Sixty,' he hissed, a glint in his eye visible even in the dull light of the room.
        'I haven't got it,' said the man, swallowing hard.
         Scared, eh?
        'Well, fucking find it,' hissed Scott through clenched teeth.
        The man tried to push past him again.
        Scott pressed a large hand into the man's chest and shoved him back.
        'You find that fucking money now. Sixty quid.'
        He could see the fear on the man's face. Flabby white face, glasses. Suit, tie. A respectable type.
        'You think you can walk in here and do what you fucking tyke.' Scott was breathing heavily now, the knot of muscles at the side of his jaw throbbing angrily. 'Get your money out.'
        'Don't hurt me. Please.'
        Scott almost smiled.
        There was the fear again. Christ, he was beginning to enjoy this.
        The balding man tried once more to get past.
        'I told you not to push me,' Scott snapped.
        'I didn't push you.'
        His voice was wavering. He looked as if he was ready to burst into tears.
        'Sixty quid or I'll push your fucking teeth so far down your throat you'll have to eat through your arsehole.'
        The man fumbled for his wallet, pulled out three twenties and shoved them into Scott's hand. This time, when he tried to pass, the younger man let him. The man made for the narrow flight of stairs that would take him up out of the viewing area. As he was leaving another man was about to take a seat. The balding man muttered something to him and glared at Zena. She immediately scurried across and aimed a kick at the back of his legs.
        'Fuck off,' she yelled at him as he disappeared up the steps.
        Scott shoved the sixty into his pocket and headed back to the door marked STAFF ONLY.
        'What about my stockings?' Zena said. He dug in his trousers and found a couple of pound coins. He tossed them to her. She caught them and smiled at him.
        'You're a real charmer, Scotty,' she said.
        He made his way back to the office, his breathing gradually slowing down. The sort of incident with the balding man wasn't unusual in clip joints like 'Loveshow' but Scott didn't think it was his job to deal with them. He'd done enough of that when he worked as a bouncer. Eight years ago. Ten. It seemed like an eternity. The scar on his left forearm was a reminder of it. At a disco one night he'd been ejecting a couple of piss-heads when one of them had cut him with a sharpened steel comb, opening his arm almost to the bone with the razor-sharp prongs; Scott had broken his jaw and three of his ribs before tossing him into the street.
        Now he closed the door of his office, relegating the music behind him once again to nothing but a dull thud. He walked across to the window and peered out again into the street. It was raining heavily now; the street and pavements were wet. The sparkling neon reflected up off the slick concrete. It looked as if someone had spilled fluorescent paint on the thoroughfare. Across the street, in the doorway of an empty shop, a man was sitting, wrapped in a dirty