The padded envelope contained a note and a bundle of cash. The note read:

Charlie -

Advance for Valerie Anderson. You know her address.

Second half of payment on completion of job.

It wasn't signed.

Carlos Morales counted the cash. He counted it again. Ten thousand pounds. He stuffed the money back in the envelope and placed it on the counter.

He was alone in the tanning studio today, which was just as well. He snaked out from behind the counter, grabbed the nearest rack and pulled it over. It crashed to the floor, crushing tubs of tanning lotion and beauty products that burst and spewed and leaked all over the previously squeaky clean floor.

" Mierda," he said, out of habit.

He stepped over the debris, walked to the door, locked it, switched the sign to 'closed'.

He slid his mobile out of his pocket and called home.

Maggie answered. "What's wrong?" she said.

"Just wanted to see how you were."

"At ten past nine? What's wrong, Charlie?"

There it was, the name on the note. He couldn't bring himself to think it might be her. There had to be some other explanation. Other people called him Charlie. Well, one other person.

He breathed in. Hadn't had a cigarette in ten months, but when he dreamed, he always had one in his hand. He wished he was dreaming right now. "How's my little girl?"

"She's fine, misses her daddy."

"Tell her to hang on. I'm closing up. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Carlos climbed in his car, got the engine purring, thumbed through his CDs and couldn't find anything he wanted to listen to.

He sat there, the envelope on the passenger seat for company.

He looked away, out the window. People walking past looked blurred, as if he'd been crying. He rubbed his eyes. They were dry.