Jack Johnson was over his annoyance with young Lenny Scott’s actions. If anything, his mad half-hour had only enhanced the lad’s reputation. Far from hindering him, it had been a great help. People were mentioning him with a different tone of voice. Jack had even observed some of the older men who worked for him giving the lad his due. No more of the good-natured ribbing – now he was an equal.

Jack had a little job for Lenny and he was interested to see if he was willing to do it. It was a bit out of the ordinary, but he needed it done fast and with the minimum of fuss. Not everyone would take it on, but he had a feeling that Lenny would. He was determined to show willing, bless him. But this was a tricky situation and would need to be handled with great tact and diplomacy. Jack poured himself a large Courvoisier brandy and sipped on it thoughtfully.

Ten minutes later, he heard Lenny’s car pull into the yard, bang on time as always. You could set your watch by this kid. He was a Brahma, there was no doubt about that. Jack sat back in his chair and waited for the lad to come into the offices.

Lenny entered with his usual sheepish smile, and Jack was reminded just how good-looking he was. Yet he was all loved up with his little wife. Jack had asked around and there was not a hint of scandal about this boy taking up with any strange whatsoever. He was genuinely on a love job, by all accounts.

Lenny placed a Waitrose carrier bag on the desk, filled with money. It was a big drop – over twenty grand. He took out the bundles of notes and then he carefully folded up the carrier bag and put it in his pocket. Jack Johnson watched him, marvelling at the lad’s concise movements. He moved like a boxer, fluid for all his size.

‘A Waitrose carrier bag?’

Lenny laughed as he said, ‘That’s the Fagans for you. No wonder they have to borrow so fucking much. But it’s the wife – she spends money like fucking water. They’ve got the biggest TV Dixons can provide – they could hardly get it in their own front room!’

Jack shrugged, smiling at the boy’s incredulity. It was the Fagans of this world that kept them in bread and butter.

‘What we like to hear in this game.’ He didn’t offer Lenny a drink; he knew he would refuse. ‘Sit down, son. I need a favour from you, a favour you will be handsomely paid for. I will genuinely understand if you refuse and there will be no ill will. But you’re my first port of call.’

Lenny sat down, intrigued.

Jack sipped his brandy before saying quietly, ‘Be honest with me, son. Have you heard anything untoward about Billy Mason?’