Rebus headed to the bar. The barman had already clocked him. He bided his time while the orders before him were dealt with. Then it was his turn.

‘Forgot to bring some records,’ he said. ‘Next time for sure, and for now I’ll have a dark rum and Coke and a Highland Park – always supposing that’s what’s in the Highland Park bottle.’

With a scowl, the drinks started to be poured.

‘You’re Kenny Beecham?’ Rebus tried to make the question sound casual. ‘I hadn’t noticed the scar before.’

Unable to stop himself, Beecham’s fingers went to the pale raised line just below his jaw. ‘So what if I am?’

‘Still handing over a cut of the proceeds to Big Ger Cafferty?’

‘Drink your drink and get the hell out,’ Beecham said, snatching the twenty-pound note Rebus was holding out to him. Although Rebus’s palm was ready when the change arrived, Beecham slapped it down onto the bar instead.

‘Nice shooting the breeze as always,’ Rebus said.

Over at the machine, Tommy Oram’s luck had run out. Rebus placed the two drinks on a nearby table and pulled out a stool, Oram taking the one next to him.

‘What happened to your face?’

‘Nose job.’

‘I’d ask for a refund.’

‘Know why I’m here, Tommy?’ Rebus asked, not bothering to wait for an answer. ‘Those kids you use as lookouts at your lock-up. Turns out you’re far from their only source of income.’

‘Oh aye?’

‘It can’t have escaped your notice that they’re being used to shift drugs around the estate. Probably further afield, too, thanks to those bikes.’

‘News to me.’ Oram gulped from his glass and looked around the room. Rebus did the same, and noted the barman over in one corner, talking to the bald heavyweight who’d been the only other customer last time Rebus had been in. He was seated alone at a table with no view of any of the TVs.

‘Somebody must be in charge of them, though,’ Rebus pressed. ‘Strikes me you’re the ideal candidate. You know your boss Fraser Mackenzie is at the top of the pecking order? How about his ­daughter? She in on it too?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Oram had taken his phone out and was tapping the screen.

‘Calling the cavalry?’

He turned the screen towards Rebus. ‘Ordering the pizza, if you must know.’

‘Whole point of me coming here is to stop you getting in any deeper than you already are.’

Oram stared at him. ‘Why?’

‘I just think maybe that slot machine isn’t the only thing in your life that’s left you short-changed.’

‘Not your fault, is it?’ Oram broke off as he noticed a shadow falling across the table.

‘Everything all right, Tommy?’