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‘OK, let’s do some business,’ Steeleye said. ‘What do you need?’

‘What can you get?’ Koenig replied.

‘Most things.’

‘I want a Lawgiver Mk II. Two DL-44s. And, if you can get one, a Westinghouse M-27.’

‘Exotic,’ Steeleye said. ‘Not been asked to get these for a while.’ He pulled a crumpled notebook from his jacket pocket. It looked like one of the complimentary notebooks the hotel chains dished out like candy. Each page would have the hotel logo on the bottom. Free advertising and they travelled far beyond the local catchment area. Steeleye’s was small, about the size of a dollar bill folded in half. It didn’t have a protective cardboard cover. Scribble pads, Koenig thought they were called.

The barman handed Steeleye a half pencil, probably from the bookmaker’s next door. He licked the end as if he were a 1920s newspaper man. He started writing down Koenig’s order. He held the pencil awkwardly, like a monkey would.

Koenig looked over Steeleye’s shoulder as he wrote. ‘The “house” in “Westinghouse” is spelled with an S , not a Z ,’ he said. ‘And “Lawgiver” only has one V .’

Steeleye frowned but made the corrections.

‘That all?’ he said.

‘It is. How long?’

‘We have these in stock. As soon as we see your money, we’ll place the order.’

‘And as soon as we see the hardware, you’ll see the money. You know how this works.’

‘I’ll make some calls,’ Steeleye said.

He got up and walked out of the bar.