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We just met last night at the Banshee.”
    â€œAnd such close friends already.” Adrian removed his stovepipe hat, revealing thin, shoulder-length dark hair streaked with gray. “I try to check in on Krish every day. Make sure she has a pulse.”
    I perched on the opposite end of the loveseat, reaching to pick up an empty pill bottle. Haldol, 5 mg. “She has quite a habit.”
    Adrian raised a white hand that trembled slightly. “Let he who is without stain throw the first stone. May I see that?”
    He took the pill bottle and inspected the label, sighing when he saw it was empty. “Years ago I spent an entire day going through this flat with a fine-toothed comb. I found exactly one Mandrax. Where do you think she hides them? I pulled up the floorboards, there’s nothing there.”
    â€œWhat’s Solpadol?” I asked.
    â€œCodeine and paracetamol.”
    â€œWhat’s paracetamol?”
    â€œAcetaminophen. Did you find some Solpadol?”
    â€œNo. Just curious.”
    â€œYou’re lying.” Adrian smiled. “I like that in a girl.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t have anything that might help me wake up?”
    â€œNot today, darling.”
    â€œWhat do they call Ritalin here? Focalin, stuff like that.”
    â€œRitalin. Methylphenidate hydrochloride, if you’re a pharmacist. Which I somehow suspect you are not.” Adrian peered at me. “You looking to sign on with the NHS?”
    â€œNo. Just tired.”
    â€œWe’ll all sleep when we’re dead, won’t we? Here.” He withdrew a card case, scrawled something on a card, and handed it to me; collected his top hat and stood. “I came to remind Krish that there’s a birthday party tonight for Morven Dunfries. I tried to ring but of course her mobile’s dead. You’re welcome to come along—you look like you could use a hot dinner.”
    â€œI’d rather find a drink.”
    â€œI’m sure Krish has something, somewhere. Or you could just squeeze her like a sponge.” He tipped his hat. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”
    â€œWhat time is it?”
    He pulled out a mobile. “Half four.”
    â€œJesus.” I raked the damp hair from my forehead. “I was supposed to meet someone, only now I’m not sure where to find him.”
    Adrian nodded sympathetically. “I know just how you feel. Here in Camden?”
    â€œBrixton. But I got the place wrong, or he did. Do you know Derek Haverty?”
    â€œDerek? The barman at the Banshee? He’s easy to find.”
    â€œNot Derek. Someone he knows.” I hesitated, wondering if I could trust Adrian. Almost certainly not. “Is he an okay guy, Derek?”
    â€œAn okay guy? He did a bid in prison, if that’s what you’re after. I wouldn’t sit on his Jimmy Shands.”
    He made his way through the midden of clothing to the door, waved without looking back, and left. I stared at the card he’d given me.
    ADRIAN CARLISLE, ESQUIRE
    On the back he’d written an address. It was meaningless to me, so I stuck the card in my pocket and went through the contents of my bag. I counted out some bills from a wad of twenty-pound notes and left them in my wallet with the stolen passport. Then I put my U.S. passport into a Ziplock bag, retrieved my Tony Lamas from under the loveseat, and stuck the Ziplock bag in the bottom of one cowboy boot, along with the remainder of my cash.
    â€œMorning.” I turned to see Krishna emerge from behind the Chinese screen. An oversized soccer jersey hung from her matchstick frame, falling well below her knees. Staring at her made me queasy: She looked about twelve. “Who was that?”
    I held up Adrian’s card. “This guy.”
    She walked over and took the card, yawning. “He’s up early.”
    â€œHe was here when I woke.”
    â€œYah, Ado gets where he wants to be.” She pronounced