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you look about 110.”
    â€œI never said I did dope,” protested Billy.
    â€œYou think I’m blind or something?” Mickey felt he was getting back on top.
    â€œYou don’t understand the scene, so shut up!” It was Billy’s turn to be rattled.
    â€œI know enough. I’ve seen your sort fall apart a lot faster than a drunk. They die quicker too.”
    â€œOkay,” confessed Billy. “I use the odd shot, that’s all. I’m no junkie.” He stopped. Why was he letting this little man get to him? What did he know, an over-the-hill unfunny man? He pointed a finger, quivering. “I can handle it, man.”
    â€œYeah, that’s what they all say,” said Mickey, his voice cool, calculating, and waiting for the moment - the moment of truth. “It’ll kill you one day and sooner than later by the look of you.”
    â€œI can handle it.” The voice was stronger.
    â€œBloody rock stars, bloody junkies.” Mickey was not going to let go. “Sex and drugs that’s all you know. All you do is spread disease and misery. At least I spread a bit of happiness when I’ve had a couple of drinks.”
    Billy gave a shrill laugh. “You call your joke-telling spreading happiness? God, they’re enough to make a grown man cry.”
    â€œI’ll bet you’ve got AIDS,” said Mickey slyly.
    â€œDon’t be bloody stupid.” Billy was stung. Not AIDS. He was careful. No shared needles - and no sex with men. “I look after myself.”
    â€œYeah, I can tell just by looking at you - a living skeleton.” Living? A shiver whistled through Mickey’s body. Was that someone walking over his own grave? Or... He shrugged it off. “Look after yourself! You’d grab a needle from anybody. You’re a junkie. You use dope because you need it.”
    Billy glared.
    Mickey became expansive. “Me I enjoy the odd glass. Drinking’s a social thing; a couple of drinks make the world go round. I drink because I like it.”
    Billy strode towards Mickey. He was angry, worried. Was it truth hurting? He thrust an aggressive finger out. “You drink because you can’t do without it. You’re an old alkie has-been. So don’t give me that social crap. Christ, look at you in those ridiculous clothes. They went out of style when my old man was a kid, and that silly bloody ukulele! You’re about as funny as a shark attack.”
    Mickey’s shoulders slumped and he slid, boneless onto a chair. The truth was more painful than the gut ache he got when he couldn’t get a drink.
    â€œHas-been, has-been. I bet you’d crawl on your knees for a drink.” Billy was crowing with his perceived victory.
    He moved in for the kill, but the clatter of stiletto heels beat him. He stepped back and looked expectantly, watching for Angela’s return.

Chapter Four
    Belvedere Thornton felt even more bilious when he stepped from the stage into the dank darkness. Cold settled on his broad shoulders like a mantle of soot riddled snow as he marched down the passageway. He hesitated on his dash to freedom and looked back. The light from the stage winked warm and inviting. He looked the other way. Inky blackness with vague patterns of light reflected off damp walls.
    He remembered the door that had slammed shut and refused to open. Steel solid? Had he walked into some sort of diabolical trap?
    He frowned in the darkness. Then he took a deep, settling breath as he realised he was letting his always vivid imagination take charge. Why, the very idea was preposterous! It was like the plot of one of those dreadful horror movies in which he had sometimes been forced to perform. He gave a snort of amusement and set off again. Then he stopped? What was that? Rustling? Footsteps?
    Thoughts of unexorcised evil floating ectoplasmically in the darkness above invaded his mind. He jerked his head upwards, but there were no