Larry hesitated in the doorway outside the dirtiest of the tower blocks that littered the estate, as though they’d been dropped there randomly from outer space. The wire-reinforced glass doors were so filthy that even he, who could hardly describe himself as fastidious, didn’t want to touch anything. Heart in mouth, he reluctantly slipped into the lobby just as the lift doors pinged and slid open.

Jerome stood there, looking equally intimidating and ridiculous in huge gleaming metallic trainers, freshly shaved head, a silver leather jacket, and jeans of such thick, new stiff denim that Larry thought they would stand up by themselves if Jerome’s short legs hadn’t been in them. The dog had a matching silver collar and lead and was snarling softly.

Larry’s mouth went dry and he felt suddenly preppy and immature in his OBEY sweatshirt and Vans, even though he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing the sort of gear Jerome was sporting. ‘Alright Jerome?’

‘What are you doing here?’ He gestured threateningly towards him and the dog upgraded its snarl to a sudden growling bark, straining towards him on its designer lead.

‘You texted, said you wanted to . . .’ but Jerome didn’t let Larry finish.

‘I hope you ain’t brought me no more phones. I ain’t doing phones no more, so don’t pester me with that shit. I’m upgrading into something much fucking bigger.’ He looked around to check no-one was listening, then dropped his voice. ‘Got a contact for some really good shit. Skunk. And as it goes, I might need a few more kids who can spread the good news around the local colleges an’ that. You interested? Better cut for you than for the phones, innit.’

‘Maybe. I’ll need to think about it.’

‘Whatever,’ said Jerome, making a face to imply that only pussies ever thought about anything. ‘I’ll give you ten minutes to think about it, since I’m in a good mood, so I’ll let you come with me while I take RiRi for her morning constitutional, and we can talk business. Let’s go.’

Larry followed Jerome meekly as they processed around the estate, stopping at every corner for the dog to sniff and squat. Eventually it took an enormous crap, which Jerome of course left in a steaming pile on the ground near the estate’s pitiful excuse for a playground – one rusty swing and a roundabout with most of the railings snapped off it. Despite his nerves, Larry had to suppress a grin at the idea that Jerome would ever have pulled a roll of poo bags out of his silver leather jacket, picked up the dogshit and disposed of it in the nearest bin. As if!

‘What are you smirking at, you tosser?’ Jerome snapped at him.

‘Nothing!’ Larry said hastily.