Not a line, not a crease of Logan’s face moved.

“A reference?” he asked. “As in…”

“For a fucking job. Aye.”

“A reference… for a job?” Logan said, speaking the words slowly like they were the clue to some cryptic puzzle. “You want a reference for a job? From me?”

“Fuck me, Jack, it’s no’ that hard to grasp, is it? Surely even you can get that big fucking melon head around such a simple concept?” Hoon spat. He prodded himself in the chest. “I—me—require you, sat here in your sad, pokey wee office, to write me a job reference.”

“Why?”

“Jesus fuck! So I can make it into a wee paper hat and wear it to parties. Why do you think I want a job reference, Jack? Put on your fucking thinking helmet for a minute if you have to, and mull that one over. I’ll wait.”

Logan scowled, annoyed more at himself than at Hoon. It had been a pointless question, given that his roll was continuing to go cold on the desk in front of him.

“What’s the job?”

“Never you fucking mind what the job is,” Hoon told him, stabbing a finger against the scuffed surface of Logan’s desk. “All I need is a few hundred words saying what a joy I am to work with, what a fucking honour it was for you to have me as a boss, and how your life is so utterly pointless without me in it that every morning when you wake up and remember you won’t be working with me, you contemplate getting a razor and opening up your fucking wrists.” He gave a wave of his hand. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be word for word that, but you get the gist.”

Logan nodded slowly. “Should I mention you getting fired and narrowly avoiding prosecution, or…?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“And what do you mean ‘without you in my life?’ I swear to Christ, Bob, I see you more often now than I did when you worked here.”

“Look, just shut up. You’re like a wee granny up the back of the bus, giving it all meh, meh, meh, meh about the price of a fucking fish supper.” He made a flapping mouth movement with one hand. “Are you going to write me a fucking reference or not?”

Logan gave a weary sigh, shot a glance down at his congealing breakfast, then returned his gaze to the man across the desk. Hoon was a few years older than Logan and lacked the DCI’s height and imposing build.