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way down to my ankles. I was wearing light trainers with thin soles, where it would have been nearly impossible to conceal anything, but he kneaded each foot in turn.
    Junior slapped my wallet back down on the bar. “Properly,” he grunted to Derek. What the hell. I sensed Derek hesitate, before his big beefy right hand cupped my balls and gave them a good kneading. My eyes watered and I nearly did slam an elbow into his face, but I held back: better to be groped than forced to drop my trousers and show everyone that the only weapon I had tucked away in there was standard issue.
    “I usually don’t go this far on a first date,” I said.
    Derek snatched his hand away, more embarrassed than I was, and I saw Junior catch his eye, nod and turn to Michelle.
    “Is he there yet?”
    “He’s just bringing it round,” she said.
    “You’re lucky I called in today.” Junior smirked at me. “I don’t normally. Prefer places with a bit more life, to be honest. And a lot more fanny. It’s like a geriatric ward in here, except the food’s worse.”
    I saw Michelle’s glance flick to him, in her eyes a tiny spark of resentment that she snuffed out instantly. Her overpainted face resumed its bored, vacant expression. She was scared of Junior, I could tell, and I suspected his jolly, sardonic exterior was a thin layer of hardened lava over a volcanic temper; the same temper I’d seen in his father.
    “Oh, and I’ll need a carrier bag,” Junior told her, as an afterthought. Michelle rooted around under the counter—I got the impression she was rummaging in a dustbin—before she finally produced a thin plastic carrier bag, the sort you get from all-night no-name supermarkets. She shook some dubious liquid off it and handed it to Junior. I thought he’d insist on a clean one, but he didn’t seem bothered, and when he rolled down the rim and turned to me with the bag held in two hands I understood why.
    “You’re not going to suffocate,” he said. “It’s only until you’re out in the car.”
    “I could just shut my eyes—” I started to say, but he’d already started pulling the bag down over my head and neck, so I couldn’t even see out of the bottom. I heard Eric pipe up, with a snort of sarcasm, “You going to spin him round and round as well? Like in Blind Man’s Buff?”
    “No, I’ve got a better idea,” I heard Junior say, an instant before his fist crashed into the side of my head. I staggered, lights flashing behind my eyes, and my knees went a little. Or rather I let them go a little, so Junior wouldn’t feel it necessary to hit me again. He’d been aiming for my face, I knew, hoping to knock a tooth loose or split my lip, but as soon as he’d spoken I’d heard his intentions and turned my head. It still felt like I’d been whacked in the skull with a frying pan, and the cut to my temple had opened up again, but the blood trickling down my neck below the bag’s rim seem to satisfy Junior for now.
    A hand under my armpit hauled me upright and dragged me forward, back towards the passage that led to the toilets, and out again into the hot still air of the stinking yard. I heard an engine running, a quiet purr of power, and knew I was being dragged towards the boot of a big car before my thighs collidedwith a rear bumper, the tow hook nearly taking my kneecap off, and a hefty hand between my shoulder blades pushed me forward and bent me down.
    I let my balance go and fell into the open boot, raising my fists and pushing my chin into my chest to shield my face as I landed. Somebody hauled at my legs and I pulled them in only a moment before the boot lid slammed shut, locking me in darkness. Instantly I felt like a spud left to bake in a slow oven. Sweat gushed from my pores, soaking my shirt, and I tasted the blood from the cut to my temple as it changed direction and trickled down into my mouth.
    Well, at least I’m getting somewhere, I thought. And my hands were free. I hooked the rim of the