Jack really wanted to hear more about Jimmy, but Tony seemed determined to continue talking about himself and Arnie.

“My brother was a bit of an art expert—fenced loads of paintings for Harry over the years. That was his mistake. Like I just said, once you was involved with Harry, he had you by the balls. ’Cos if he went down, so did you. I never met the man personally, on account of him always doing business with the organ grinder and not the monkey—that’s what he called me, the cheeky bastard. A ‘monkey.’ Fuck him! The newspapers made out Harry’s funeral as being half of London paying their respects . . . It wasn’t. They were making fucking sure the bastard was dead. Criminals and coppers. And we were all wrong!”

In a flash, Jack’s mind leapt from the hatred he felt for Tony to an overdue penny finally dropping . . . If Harry Rawlins was shot to death by his wife in the autumn of 1985—who did Tony and half of London watch being buried approximately nine months earlier?

Tony was still talking—having a whale of a time—but at least he was back on topic now.

“Jimmy Nunn was a fucking nobody who did what he was paid to and then kept his head down, spending his cut on women and cars till the next job came along. So, I’ll tell you something for nothing, DC whatever-you-said-your-name-was—if Jimmy’s still got his head down after, what, thirty-somefink years, then he took one hell of a cut from his last job.”

“You think he’s got his feet up somewhere?”

“If there’s one thing Jimmy Nunn was good at, it was running away. He was there for a good time, not a long time . . . as they say. He’d do a caper, then disappear. He’d do a bird, then disappear. I mean, if Trudie was mine—full-time I mean—I wouldn’t have left her.”

Jack noted Tony’s last comment about Jimmy Nunn probably being on the run with a load of cash. But, as he stared at Tony, he could also see the very second that the dirty old man’s mind strayed back to the good ol’ days of shagging Trudie on his brother’s French-polished desk. Jack’s nostrils flared and his eyebrows dipped.

“Somefink I said?” Tony grinned. Jack pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “Don’t go yet, son. We’re having a nice chat, ain’t we?”

Jack paused. “I hear the man who attacked you is recovering well.”

His tone was now very different. The sucking-up had stopped, the pandering to Tony’s ego had stopped and he was suddenly playing a different game. Tony could feel the change in mood, although he didn’t know what had brought it on.

“I also hear that you’re on a warning. One more bit of trouble and you’ll get a nice, long stint in solitary.” Jack placed his fists squarely on the table, looked Tony straight in the eye and whispered, “I’m going to make sure you die in here. No one looked up to you then and no one looks up to you now—as Harry Rawlins said, you’re just a big, stupid ape.”