“Aye, we should,” Hoon insisted. “Whatever that wee cockhobbit’s got coming to him, he’s got coming to him. And what the fuck were you going to do about it, anyway? You can’t arrest a man for saying he wants to talk to his nephew. Especially no’ if that man’s Shuggie fucking Cowan.”

“We both know what he’s capable of, Bob.”

“Aye, but you can’t charge someone for what they’re capable of. Fortunately for yours fucking truly. You can just get them on what they’ve done.” Hoon picked up another piece of chicken, took a bite, then continued with his mouth full. “If your man suddenly vanishes off the face of the fucking Earth, then one, good fucking riddance, and two, you can always tip a wee wink to whoever the fuck’s in charge down here now.”

“Heather Filson,” Logan said, and Hoon almost choked on a piece of crispy chicken batter.

“Seriously? Did you and her no’—”

“Long time ago,” Logan said, bringing that avenue of conversation towards a screeching dead end.

Hoon cackled, then returned his attention to his food. “You can’t get your tits in a twist about what Shuggie might or might not do to that rapey wee fuck. He might no’ even kill him. He might just cut his balls off or something. He did that before, mind? Big Billy No-Balls? Great big fella, wi’—”

“No balls. Aye, I remember,” Logan said.

“Speaking of which, did you talk to Boyband yet?”

Logan nodded. “Aye.”

“About…?” Hoon whistled through his teeth and looked down at his crotch, which was currently buried beneath a cardboard bucket of fried chicken.

“Aye. About everything,” Logan confirmed.

“High fucking time,” Hoon said. He plucked a chip from the bucket, dunked it in a little carton of barbecue sauce, then bit the end off it. “No’ that I give two fucks, but how’s he doing?”

“He’s… I don’t know. Fine, I suppose. Scared.”

Hoon tutted. “Fuck’s sake. Scared? Of what? A wee bit of ball cancer?” He caught the look from Logan, and some long-dormant memory rose urgently to the surface. “Shite, Jack. I didn’t mean that. I forgot.”

Logan waved the apology away. “I think he feels a bit useless. Tyler, I mean.”

“Fuck me, more so than usual?”

Logan chuckled. “Aye. He was meant to be off this week. Him and Sinead. But they both came in. I think he wanted to feel like he could still help. Like, despite everything, he could still make a difference.”

Hoon chewed in silence. Or chewed without speaking, at least. The chewing action itself made an unreasonable amount of noise.

“Aye,” he said, after a sip of his Pepsi. “I get that.”

“Mind and tell him I wasn’t asking for him, will you?”

Logan gave a snort. “Aye. I will,” he said. “How’s the new job going?”