Michael
The night is icy, the ground slick with frost and a breeze, slight though it is, bites at fingers and ears, even through the gloves and the woollen caps both Klempner and I are wearing.
Slipping from one shadow to another, we skirt the luridly lit front entrance of Club Electric, moving around the side.
"Don't slip on the ice," mutters Klempner. "You'd end up in the canal."
The water, black and unwelcoming, ripples sluggishly, assorted unsavoury-looking objects bobbing at the surface.
"No, thanks... How are you planning on getting inside? I'm assuming you weren't planning on the front door."
"No. He probably has the back covered too."
"Fire escape?"
Klempner shrugs, noncommittally. "Maybe."
"So, what then?"
He brandishes the wooden carrycase he's been toting since he firs
