A freak electrical accident in Bangkok would kill him, midway through the trip.

Aura of the lost.

In London, I tended to hang with the fallen. My aura of eroding decay was a beacon to those travellers of the road less survived. The drunks, dopers, cons, losers, dead angels. Come to me, all ye who are lost, and I’ll give you identification. Two people I cultivated most. They belong on the fringe of the group I’ve outlined. Detective Sergeant Keegan was a pig. Worse, he was proud of it. Of murky Irish ancestry, he was based in south-east London, Brixton and Peckham being his beats of choice.

A loud vulgar bigot, he was coasting on dismissal from the force.

I was drinking on the Railton Road, nursing a hangover and the need to coke connect. The clientèle was predominantly black. Some whites, of course, who’d taken a wrong turn. The choice of booze was black rum with coke or without. Bob Marley was giving it large. A dreadlocks had offered to sell me a Rolex. I said,

“I don’t do time.”

“Yo, man, y’all be giving it to yer lady.”

“No lady.”

He threw back his locks, joined with Bob in “No Woman, No Cry”.

I love that song.

Through the smoke, over the music, I’d heard guffawing. Glanced over my shoulder, saw a fat large man standing over a group of people. His suit jacket was lying on the floor, a pot belly had burst the buttons on his shirt. He’d a scarlet face, ruined in sweat. Mid-joke, he was gesturing obscenely. I muttered,

“Redneck.”

Maybe louder than I intended, as the dread caught it, said,

“Yo no be messing with dat man.”

I was a rum past caring, asked,

“Why’s that?”

“Dat be Keegan. Dat be mujo trouble.”

“Looks like a fat fuck to me.”

The dread looked into my eyes, said,

“Yo be Irish, mon.”

And fucked off. I signalled for more drink. It was a tad sweet for my taste, but went down like a smooth lie. I looked again at Keegan. He was singing now, “Living Next Door to Alice ”. I definitely heard the words blow job in there, which is some achievement, albeit a pointless one. I figured, he’s one of two things, connected or cop. Not that they’re mutually exclusive.