Ray was aware that he had dropped what was known in his world as ‘a serious bollock’. It had been so last minute and he had forgotten to tell Reggie he needed an alibi for a few days. Sharon wasn’t in and out of the offices any more; they had people to take care of everything and she was more or less a homebody now. Ray could kick himself, seriously kick himself. He knew how dodgy it would look to Sharon, especially as she was heavily pregnant and on a short fuse. And now, on top of everything else, he had to go away again for a few days. He was leaving at five in the morning and he imagined that news was going to go down like a lead balloon. He sighed heavily. Sharon was a good girl, and he loved her, but she could be suspicious at times. His mum insisted it was a woman’s thing but he wasn’t so fucking sure. Sharon had a radar in her head, and nothing or no one could turn it off.

As he drove through the gates to his home he was amazed that he actually felt nervous. Sharon was the only person in the world who could make him feel like this – that she kept him on his toes was part of the reason he loved her. He hated lying to her but the truth, if she ever found out, would be so much worse. Not that he could tell her that, of course.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Seven

Jack Johnson was with a small, sharp-toothed man called Micky Biggs. An unfortunate name, considering his reduced size. At four foot eleven, he was just off being a dwarf. But anyone with half a brain would take one look at the short man and know instinctively that he was not to be fucked with.

Jack remembered seeing him attack a huge fellow once in a North London pub. The bigger man had made one too many quips about his diminutive height. It had been a sight to see, that was for sure. Micky didn’t so much fight, as bite. He was like a terrier and, like a terrier, he went for throat, ears and face. It was the sheer ferocity of his attacks that laid waste to his detractors. Now he was a small but respected member of the community, not that anyone ever mentioned the former. Not within Micky’s hearing anyway.

‘You look well, Jack. Time’s marching on, boy.’