Wally's Pub is all the way across the city and not our usual haunt, definitely not the place we did Roarke.
Tom Waits is singing Way Down In The Hole when I walk in and I'm wondering if I'll be finding myself in one come morning.
Terry, Jack and Billy are all sitting around a table, smoking and drinking, not saying a word, communicating only with stares at their watches and each other.
"You're late," Terry says.
"By two minutes, Terry," I say.
"Siddown, Teddy Boy, we gotta talk about Stephen."