Fabrizio: The subway leaves, and the people from it drain away up the stairs. Except for one; a watchful man in a long black raincoat, his hat brim tilted down. I give him the money I prepared. He nods to a man on the other platform. I go upstairs and over there.

The second man holds out his hand to a young boy, who spits something blue into it; a limp balloon. If there were trouble, the boy is trained to swallow it. I accept it and fold it into my handkerchief. I hurry to the stairs. I am all set for another week of being the perfect maitre d’. I must find a place to wash.

But I have been careless. A knife gleams in the hand of a burly, insistent man. His other hand is open. NoNoNoNo.