Simon McLeod rolled his shoulders, hands flexing in and out of fists. ‘Reuben. Who let you off your leash? ’

‘You and me got a problem.’

Naomi squeezed past her employer and out through the back door.

Simon McLeod smiled. ‘Think I give a—’

‘Oh, you better, ’cos if you don’t—’

‘Actually,’ Logan stepped up to the counter, ‘we need to talk about certain . . . horticultural activities.’

The wraparound sunglasses turned in Logan’s direction. Simon McLeod’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. ‘Who’s that? ’

‘I’d show you my warrant card, but there’s not much point, is there? ’

A smile crawled its way across his face. ‘Jessica, Fiona: Let the gentlemen through, then tell the punters we’re shutting for an hour – fire drill. Then make yourselves scarce. Got some business to attend to.’

Simon McLeod’s office was huge – the desk, coffee table and a pair of leather sofas spread out as if they didn’t want anything to do with one another. Leaving plenty of room to walk between them without bumping into anything.

The magnolia walls were bare except for a Rottweiler’s head mounted on a wooden plaque behind the desk, its fur patchy and singed. One ear missing, a bit like the office’s owner. The name ‘KILLER’ was picked out in brass beneath it.

Simon McLeod settled into the chair behind the desk and folded his arms across his chest. ‘So. . . What? You turn up with one of your bent cops and I’m supposed to be scared? ’

Reuben cracked his knuckles. ‘Had half a brain, you’d be terrified.’

‘Really? ’ Simon took off his wraparound sunglasses. There was nothing underneath, just deep flesh-coloured dents where the eyes should have been. Even the eyelids were gone, leaving a network of twisted scars. ‘You think anything you could do can scare me? ’

Silence.

So what now?

Logan sat on the couch nearest the wall. It creaked and squeaked under him – probably to make sure Simon would know exactly where he was.

Bloody Wee Hamish Bloody Mowat: I have faith in you, Logan. It’s in the common good, Logan. You don’t want a drug war, do you, Logan?

How the hell was he supposed to negotiate a peace treaty between rival drug cartels? Buy them tea and biscuits and ask them to play nice? He cleared his throat. ‘This isn’t a shakedown, I’m not a bent cop, and if we can come to an agreement it doesn’t have to go any further.’ Yeah, this was definitely a career high.