Pretty Lethal. Joe Schreiber

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      Now, forty-four hours later, we were here in Venice. Two steps off the train, Norrie dropped his duffle bag on the platform next to Caleb’s and flung himself down on it as if it were a huge body pillow, pulling down his baseball cap and closing his eyes. Linus had fought his way into the station to buy tickets for the water taxi, and Sasha had tagged along, already on the prowl for Italian girls. Of the four of us, he was the only one with a seemingly limitless supply of energy, propelled forward by the libido of an adolescent rhino.

      I was digging through my bag for the last Red Bull when my phone started ringing. I looked at the screen and saw an international number I didn’t recognize.

      ‘Hello?’

      ‘Perry?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘George Armitage here. How are you, mate?’

      I stood up a little straighter, suddenly feeling wide awake. ‘Oh. I’m – I’m fine.’ Even after all the time I’d been with Paula and talked about Armitage, what he was like and so on, I’d never actually spoken to the man.

      ‘How’s the tour going so far?’

      ‘It’s going great. We were in London . . . It’s been incredible – ’

      ‘Splendid. Love the new songs, honestly. The reviews of the London show have been over the moon. You blokes are going to be huge – you do realize that, don’t you?’

      ‘Thanks,’ I said. In front of me, Caleb and Norrie were now both sprawled out on their bags. They looked like they’d gone into matching comas. Norrie was drooling.

      ‘You’re in Venice now, aren’t you?’ Armitage asked.

      ‘That’s right. We just got in.’

      ‘Brilliant, brilliant. Wish I could be there to show you the city.’

      ‘Yeah, that would be cool.’ For a split second I toyed with the idea of asking him where he was, but I managed to stop the question from tumbling off my lips. According to Paula, George Armitage was an intensely private man. If you Googled him – and we all had – you’d find out that he was British by birth but had renounced his British citizenship and spent most of his time traveling, a media multi-hyphenate. Nobody was quite sure where all his money had come from. In recent years he’d expanded his operation globally and become, for all intents and purposes, his own free-floating sovereign nation. He ran his own production company, a publishing group, and an airline. By all accounts he had more cash than he knew what to do with.

      ‘While you’re traveling, if there’s anything you need, I hope you won’t hesitate to ask.’

      ‘Thank you,’ I said, unable to shake the feeling that there must have been some other reason he’d decided to call. I didn’t have to wait long to find out what it was.

      ‘Listen, mate. I didn’t want to mention anything too early, but at this rate, there might be a record deal for you at the end of all of this.’

      I felt my heart stop. ‘Seriously?’

      ‘Absolutely,’ Armitage said. ‘Ask Paula. The last band whose tour I set up sold six million units in the first two months. Legends are forged by fire. We’ll speak soon. Cheers.’

      I said goodbye, turned, and kicked Norrie’s duffle bag until he pushed himself up on his elbows, blinking, and gave me the finger. ‘Whuh-what the hell’s wrong with you, Stormaire?’

      ‘George Armitage just called me. He wants to get us a record deal.’

      ‘Armitage?’ Norrie stared at me. All at once he didn’t look remotely tired. Caleb sat up next to him. ‘What? Now?’

      ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s go find Linus.’

      They were both on their feet already and grabbed their bags, and I hoisted my guitar case, following them down the platform, my head whirling with what Armitage had said and with the abrupt influx of noise and commotion inside the train station.