Chapter 1

Daniel always looks at the shoes first. You can tell a lot from a bloke’s shoes: what sort of work he does, how well off he is, how much it’ll hurt if he gives you a kicking. Then he slowly raises his gaze, taking in all the details on the way, until he gets to the man’s face. A punter once told him it’s dead sexy, like he’s drinking in the sight of them, savouring every inch. Talk about making a virtue out of necessity.

Course, sometimes he doesn’t need to go that slow. He’d know those boots anywhere—he knew them the minute they turned the corner from Market Street, just from the sound they made on the pavement. Heavy, but not quite even; the left one’s been mended at some point, and the nail or the staple or whatever they used must stick out a bit. It gives the step on that side a metallic clang that cuts through the more solid sound of the rest of the boot.

So as soon as he sees those boots, Daniel flicks his eyes straight up to the face and gives the bloke a smile, although really it’s a shame to be so hasty, as the bits in between are well worth lingering over. Still, the face is good, too. It’s not movie-star handsome, not by a long chalk, but the dark eyes—brown, Daniel thinks, but it’s hard to tell at night—are kind and the smile is one of those magic ones that turns a bloke from threatening bully to teddy bear.

“Evenin’,” the boots’ owner says, as usual. His voice is so deep Daniel was surprised when he first heard it. The bloke’s six foot six if he’s an inch, and his chest measurement must be something similar; you’d almost expect him to have a squeaky little voice to compensate.

“Evening,” Daniel returns. “Any trouble tonight?” He doesn’t know the bloke’s name, but he knows he’s a bouncer down at the King’s Head. He helped Daniel out one time when a punter got nasty and went for him with a knife, and he always passes this way on his route back home after work. Always has a friendly word or two to say.

“Nah, dead quiet. Well, the usual, you know. Couple of young ladies pissed off their heads we had to persuade into a taxi, but no rough stuff.”

Anyone else would have called them slags, or slappers, or something equally derogatory, but Bob the bouncer (well, he’s got to call him something, hasn’t he?) is always polite about the people he deals with. Daniel likes that about him.

“‘Ow’s tricks, then?” Bob asks Daniel in his turn.

Daniel shrugs. “You know. So-so. Bloody recession. Last bastard asked if I was going to cut me prices.”

Bob grins. “Tell him you’re a luxury item. They’re s’posed to sell better when times are hard, ain’t they?”

Daniel grins back. “I wish,” he says, although he’s not sure which part of Bob’s statement he’s referring to.

“Night, then,” Bob says, and the boots clomp off home.

“Night,” Daniel calls to their echoes, the night already feeling a little colder as the sounds die away.

* * * *

“Evenin’.”

“Evening.”

“You look like your bloody dog’s died. What’s up? Not had any more trouble with that gentleman I saw off for you?”

Daniel snorts. “He wasn’t a gentleman; he was a fucking cunt.” He sighs. “Sorry. Had a bit of bad news today.” He had his three-month check up at the doctor’s this morning. And right, he already knew things were going downhill fast, but he’s been doing a fair job of ignoring it up until now.

And miracles happen sometimes, don’t they? Least, he’s read about them in the papers. Babies surviving against the odds. Mummy and Daddy’s little miracle. Course, everyone loves it when babies get miracles. Lads on the street like Daniel, with a mum and dad who hadn’t cared enough to even keep him? Not so much.

“Should take the night off, then.” Bob’s voice is sympathetic.

“Bit late now, innit? I’m here, aren’t I? Anyway, I need the money.”

Bob’s quiet a minute. “I got paid tonight.”

Now Daniel’s silent. He likes Bob. He’s not sure he wants that to change.

“Look, we don’t have to do nothing. I’ll pay you for your time, all right?” Bob sounds sincere as hell, but Daniel’s not daft. He knows where it’ll end. Still, he does need the money. It’s not like he’s going to be able to count on earning any for much longer.

Daniel focuses on the boots. The right one’s dusty at the toe, like someone stepped on it, but the left shines brightly in the lamplight. Deep, rich black. Old, but recently polished. Well cared for. “All right. Where to?”

“I live on Carter Street. Got a flat above the Indian. Hope you like curry.” He sounds like he’s smiling, and Daniel looks at his face to make sure. Somehow it’s easier than he thought it would be to smile back.