‘Tou-friggin’-ché,’ says Duffy, struggling to his feet. ‘Shouldn’t we be getting out of here?’
Robinson nods.
‘Follow the white rabbit,’ he says and he’s off down the alleyway.
Duffy hobbles after him, keeping his knife in his hand.
* * *
‘Like something out of a Hieronymus Bosch painting, isn’t it?’ says Walker, as a Clockwork Orange skinhead French kisses an overweight transvestite. Then cracks a beer bottle over his head.
‘If you’re saying it’s a shithole, well, you’re right on the money,’ says Duffy.
And Patrick’s really is a shithole, thinks Duffy. The building itself is fine. Oak doors. Marble bar. Silver chandeliers. And a very tasty old Wurlitzer Jukebox. But the dregs of The City are drawn to Patrick’s like a used c****m down a toilet bowl.
‘One of Dragan’s most successful
