Peter stood at the bar, tapping his fingers in irritation while he waited for the barman to return. When he did, he pursed his lips again, nodded, then flicked his head back before turning on his heel and going back in the direction he had come from. Peter followed him closely behind, making a mental note to do something about the barman’s attitude in the near future.

He led Peter up some stairs and along a corridor to Max’s office. The barman knocked on the door.

‘Yes,’ called Max.

Then the barman pushed the door open and nodded before sashaying off down the corridor. Max was sitting behind a large desk, his features strained as he looked across at Peter. Within a few seconds he was out of his seat and shaking Peter’s hand agitatedly.

‘Please, have a seat,’ he urged as he retreated to his own seat and entrenched himself behind the sturdy old desk. Then he pulled a decanter of whisky from one of the desk drawers and two glasses. ‘Drink?’ he asked.

‘Not for me, thanks,’ said Peter. ‘I’d rather get down to business.’

He watched as Max poured himself a liberal measure of whisky then placed the decanter back inside the desk drawer. Peter noticed his shaking hands. Max had the face of a drinker; his complexion ruddy, his nose bulbous and a sheen of sweat on his skin.

Now in his mid-sixties, Max was looking every bit his age. Once he’d been a big, handsome man with a good physique, but now most of Max’s muscle had turned to flab and his features were marred by heavy porcine jowls. Sad really, thought Peter. Max used to be pretty handy in his day but now he looked as though he couldn’t even handle a bunch of nursery kids. He was also sporting a black eye.

‘Well?’ asked Peter when Max didn’t speak.

Max took the glass away from his lips and seemed to hesitate a moment longer while he gulped his whisky. He was still clenching the glass so tightly that his knuckles were white.

‘It’s about the payments,’ said Max. Then he took another swig of his drink before carrying on. ‘It’s getting more difficult to meet them. And… and… I’m still having trouble so I don’t really see the point.’

Peter stared fixedly at him. ‘Don’t give me that bullshit! You’ve got plenty of ready cash. And what d’you mean, you don’t see the fuckin’ point? What sort of trouble are you having?’ he asked.

‘Like last Saturday. It kicked off big time; it was like bleedin’ bedlam in here. I had to wade in to give the bouncers a hand. That’s how I got this,’ Max said, pointing at his black eye.