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the table and a tight T-shirt said “New York’’.
    Hugo’s voice sounded clear in his head. “You’re the man, Dexter.”
    â€œThese are for you, Indira,” he said, pushing the roses forward.
    She looked up briefly from an article, rolled her eyes, then returned to the magazine.
    â€œFlowers give me hay fever,” she yawned.
    â€œHay fever,” reeled Dexter, stumped. “Oh … okay then … I’ll just … um …”
    He tried to recall if Hugo had mentioned hay fever. They’d certainly covered acne and personal hygiene. But nothing on hay fever.
    â€œA quiz!” beamed Indira, turning the page. “This sounds interesting. ‘Man or Mouse — Is he Lightweight or the Real Deal?’ ”
    Suddenly the blond supermodel on the cover of Cosmo came to life. All arms and legs she was, like a puppet, dancing on the page. She giggled through swollen red lips and looked Dexter up and down. “That’s no man, honey,” she announced, “that, there, is pure rodent.”
    It was time to regroup and, luckily for Dexter, Veejay was onto it.
    â€œCome on, Dex,” he said. “Let’s see if there are any curry puffs floating around.”

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    T hat afternoon, the boys found Ron in his usual spot by the window, giving the tea lady hell.
    â€œForget it,” he snapped, when he spotted them. “My boys are here.”
    Three chairs were arranged around him in a semicircle.
    â€œWhite with one, Ron?”
    â€œGood lad, Travis. A couple of shortbreads too, if you don’t mind.”
    While Travis fixed the tea, Ron started up some small talk.
    â€œAny luck with Indira, Dexter?”
    â€œWho’s the big mouth?”
    Veejay shifted uneasily in his chair. “Sorry.”
    â€œFraid not,” admitted Dexter. “I think she’s got a bit of jet lag.”
    â€œNever mind, she’ll come round.”
    While the other residents dozed quietly in their recliners, Ron was unstoppable.
    â€œWaste of bloody time sleeping,” he said.
    On the outside Ron looked like one of those antique cars, a rare collector’s item, but inside, the engine was a roaring V8.
    â€œOkay then. I’ve been doing some research, boys. Still got some contacts in the force, believe it or not. Anyway, we’ve struck gold. Turns out that the owner of Burger Barn is none other than one Horace Dundee — ‘Grubby’ to his mates. I knew him when I was a copper. He’s as dodgy as they come. Trouble is, no one’s ever been able to pin anything on him.”
    â€œSo what’s the plan?” asked Travis.
    â€œIt’s time for a stake-out, fellas.”
    â€œCool,” said Veejay. “Where?”
    â€œIf I remember, Grubby is a creature of habit,” explained Ron. “Not the smartest guy in the world either. He likes to shower his associates with free grub, hence the nickname. Let’s try Burger Barn at closing time.”
    â€œYou’ve forgotten one thing, Ron,” interrupted Dexter.
    â€œI have?”
    â€œYeah, we don’t have a car.”
    Ron drained the last of his tea and smiled.
    â€œJust meet me here tonight. Outside, say nine o’clock?”
    In the street outside Happy Valley, Veejay checked his watch again.
    â€œHe’s late.”
    â€œDon’t worry, Veejay,” said Travis. “He’ll be here.”
    â€œWe should have synchronised our watches. It’s not professional.”
    In the distance, a car chugged sluggishly into the street. A horrible grinding noise sounded as its driver searched for the right gear. The gear stick found its mark and shot the car forward, whirring sickly towards them.
    â€œSorry I’m late,” said Ron from the driver’s seat. “Had to do a couple of warm-up laps.