Jack accepted the compliment easily. He knew this was just the preliminaries before Micky got round to what he really wanted to talk about. It was laughable, but it was social etiquette to get the niceties out of the way, pay each other due respect, before discussing who was going to get maimed or murdered. Jack sipped at his whisky and savoured the burn that accompanied it. Micky was of the strange breed of criminals who did not drink alcohol at all. He claimed he didn’t like the taste and that it made him aggressive. As if he needed any help with that!

‘How’s the wife, Micky?’

Micky sighed happily. He loved his Lynda with a fierceness that frightened everyone but her. She was a tall blonde with the body of a streetwalker. But they worked, somehow, and had one of the happiest marriages in their world.

‘She is fucking over the moon with the new baby. Fabulous mother and, now she’s breastfeeding, her knockers are fucking enormous!’

Jack laughed with him. ‘How many is that now, then?’

Micky’s face was tinged with pink as he said, ‘Five – all boys too! She wants a girl badly, so I suppose this won’t be the last one till she gets her way.’

Jack looked at this strange man with respect. He was a grafter, an earner, and he gave respect where it was due. As long as no one mentioned his height he was a good friend to have. But, like most men in the Life, he could be a bitter and ferocious enemy. Jack was interested to know who had been fool enough to fuck him off or try to have him over. But they would get there in the end. They always did. It was pleasant to chat with Micky Biggs; he was a lovely bloke – a gentleman.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Eight

Sharon was eyeing Ray with suspicion in her blue eyes. He was smiling at her disarmingly and waiting for the onslaught that he was sure would be coming in the near future.

Pregnancy suited her; she had really bloomed, as the old saying went. Her skin looked almost luminous and her thick blond hair seemed to glow like gold. God, he loved this woman.

‘Why were you and Reggie in Manchester again?’

He wanted to smile at her words; she really had no guile.

He shrugged. ‘Reggie didn’t go. I thought he was supposed to but I had got it wrong. Why?’

She screwed her eyes into slits and sighed lightly, trying all the time to calm herself down. If she lost her temper she would blow it, she knew she would.

She shrugged nonchalantly. ‘What exactly were you doing in Manchester? That’s supposing you were in Manchester, of course.’

He looked her directly in the eyes and he said seriously, ‘I can’t tell you that, Sharon.’