Normally, I didn’t bother too much about the doings of my fellow workers, but this was getting interesting. ‘Like what?’

Charlie drained his glass and looked ready for another one. He was fidgeting, stressed. ‘Contested divorce, threatened suspension…’

‘For?’

‘Entrapment.’

‘Colin always was a wide boy. Well, I hope it works out, Charlie. Gotta go.’

He looked at his glass again, then at the bar. ‘I might be giving you a call.’

As I left I reflected that his last remark was odd. Charlie always drank in the Toxteth on a Friday night and I mostly did. Why would he need to call me?

The call came five days later. I snatched up the phone hoping it was a client.

‘Cliff, Charlie Underwood. You free tonight?’

‘It’s Wednesday.’

‘Not for a piss-up, this is business.’

‘I could be free. Business between who and who?’

‘You, me, Colin Hart, Darcy Travers, Scott di Maggio.’

I sifted through the names. ‘I know the rest, who’s di Maggio?’

‘Yank. He’s with the Hartley Agency.’

‘What is this? Are we forming a union?’

‘We’re trying to protect our interests. Eight tonight in the Superbowl.’

‘Where?’

‘It’s a Chinese restaurant in Goulburn Street, just over George. Great food. Quiet, least it will be on a Wednesday night. It’s to your advantage.’

I had nothing else to do so I said I’d be there.

The place had an authentic look and feel with laminex tables, Chinese posters on the walls. More importantly, Asian people were eating there. I was late and the others already had food in front of them as well as open wine bottles and glasses. Charlie Underwood introduced me to the only man I didn’t know.