My mobile rings. I answer it.

'Mr Innes, it's George.'

'George,' I say.

'I work at the casino. You gave me your card. I think Rob Stokes is here.'

'You're sure,' I say. But I know he's sure. He knows who Rob Stokes is. I knew that when I talked to him.

'As sure as I can be. He matches your description.'

'Uh-huh. He just walk in?'

'He's been in a while. I had to wait until I got my break.'

'Right, I'll be there in a bit. Try to keep an eye on him for me. Let me know if he leaves, okay?'

I disconnect, start back towards town. My legs ache and my bad tooth starts to throb. So Rob Stokes is at the casino, that's great. But something doesn't add up. Things are happening too quickly for me to get my head round them. I've been in town two days and found the bugger, so why couldn't Morris?

Because he never got this far. Gave up at the first hurdle, maybe.

I shouldn't think about it. Just go with the flow, see where the current takes me. If George says Stokes is there, he's probably there. If it's a mistake, then we're back to square one.

I check my wallet. If it's the right guy, I should pay George. Yeah, I've got enough. A couple of hundred should do it. And then all I need to do is keep an eye on Stokes and follow him home.

Then I call Mo and I'm out of here.

And then what happens to Stokes? I can't afford to care. At least if I'm out of Newcastle, I won't have to hear about it. Not unless Mo feels like bragging. But then, I'll be off the hook with Tiernan. There'll be no reason to see any of that lot again.

Keep telling yourself that, Cal.

I take the long way round, skirt the drunks and avoid eye contact. Outside a fun pub two lads in Hilfiger shirts shower each other with spit when they talk. One of them wears more jewellery than my mam. It throws light off his arms when he flaps his hands.

I press on. Hit Central Station, and the line for black cabs is already growing. People have started to walk up to the casino now, either beered-up and looking to blow the rest of their money, or out to impress whoever they have on their arm. I fall back from the herd, take my time. There's no need to rush. From what I know about Rob Stokes, he'll be there all night. It's not like he doesn't have enough money to lose.

'So I says to him, get the fuck out my way, like. Then I stots him right in the fuckin' face…'

This from a couple of bruisers in suits walking behind me.

'And he's like all bleeding an' that, fuckin' bubbling like a bairn. So I gives him a kick in the knackers for good measure.'

'Might as well put the cunt to the floor, like.'

I don't turn around. They speak like a certain copper I know, but they've got the greasy sadism of a couple of bouncers. If I didn't get the point before, it's soon hammered home.

I told him, I said to him, nae fuckin' students.’

‘Cunts think they're special.’

‘Not too special to avoid a slap.'

We get to the casino, and I hang back as the bouncers head straight for the guys on the door. It's all backslaps and missing-tooth grins. I slip past, unnoticed. Into the reception and I get caught up in a gang of young guys and girls who think this place is a proper hoot. One guy with spiky hair and oily skin is trying to sign them all in. Another guy sorts out the memberships while the girls giggle to themselves. The musk of aftershave is overpowering; before I know it, my eyes are watering.

I hand over my membership card. The receptionist gives it a quick once-over and buzzes me in. When I step into the casino, it's like the place has been transformed. Blue-and- white lights fill the place. The Friday night crowd are out in force. The hum of conversation, the clatter of balls hitting roulette wheels, excitement in the air. The brand new, hip and happening gambling experience. It's a far cry from

Tiernan's club, but then that's probably the point. This is the new school.

George is still behind the bar. I catch his eye and walk over. He nods towards a guy, tall and reedy, playing roulette. I can only see him from the back, but his hair is speckled grey.

I stop, find a seat at the edge of the pit. A valet crosses in front of me, asks if I want a drink. I order a coffee. When it comes back, it tastes like someone shat in it. And judging from the look I get when I don't tip the valet, they probably wished they had.

The guy at the roulette table, he's hunched over the layout, his hands a blur. He has a dealer's reflexes, and a punter's mixture of bad luck and worse temper. When the dealer calls out a number, he falls back from the table like someone punched him in the face. When he's watching for the spin to stop, he plays with his chips, clipping them over each other. It's a nervous action, and one that gives him away as an ex- croup.

He turns his head and I get a look at his face. Too many wrinkles, a sign of stressful living. I'm starting to see the same lines on my face these days.

I finish the coffee and make my way up to the bar. George needs to be paid. And I need a good place to watch Rob Stokes in action.

THIRTY

'You got a room?' I said to the receptionist at the Premier Inn. I tried to be nice and cool about it, but me heart were skipping all over the shop. Tracked the fucker down. Once Rossie managed to work out that he had to stay out of sight, he got the whole tailing thing sorted. Saw Innes come back across the bridge. And we had a wander about. And there were Innes' Micra in the Premier Inn carpark. 'Sorry, sir. We're full.'

She were lying. And that weren't nice. But then I looked at Baz and took her side. Baz were standing by the door looking like he were after summat to nick.

'Westlife,' I said.

'Sorry?'

'Westlife're playing, am I right?’

‘At the Arena, yeah,' she said. 'You like Westlife?' She smiled. 'Not really.’

‘Nah, you're too old for them.' She just kept smiling. 'And she's too old for you,' said Baz. 'Leave it,' I said. Then, to the receptionist: 'Ta for your time, love.'

Breath of fresh air outside. I nudged Baz for a ciggie and he handed one over. I lit it and stood looking at the hotel.

'I told you, Mo,' said Baz. 'I ain't sleeping in the back of that van. It stinks.'

'You fuckin' stink,' I said. 'And nah, we ain't kipping down in the back of the van. We ain't kipping down anywhere. We're going to wait until Innes shows his face and then we're going to scare the fucker off.'

'What's the point in that?' said Rossie.

'It'll make me feel better,' I said. 'What the fuck d'you think the point is? We scare him off, we can go looking for Stokes ourselves.'

'You think we can scare him off?' said Baz.

'If there's one thing I know about Innes it's that he's a fuckin' bottler. And he don't want to be doing this anyway. So all we're gonna do is give him an excuse to get the fuck out of Dodge, know what I mean?'

I grabbed the pair of them and pushed 'em back towards the van.