While Lenny kept an eye out and watched the dying man at his feet, Reggie ran into the house and collected all the money he could find. Within ten minutes it was over. The money and the guns were in the boot of the car, and Lenny and Reggie were laughing their heads off; they had pulled it off without a hitch. It was a great feeling. The euphoria was infectious and they were almost hysterical.

When they got back to Jack’s yard they were still high as kites. It was such an adrenaline rush. Neither of them cared that Jason was dead and gone. In truth they were pleased. Jason Prior had been an accident waiting to happen. He had mugged off too many people, laughing while he did it. No one would be mourning him.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

‘You took a fucking chance there, Len.’

Lenny shrugged; he had expected this from Jack.

‘Reggie is a good bloke, plus his share of the earn is going to pay off some of his mother’s debt. I’d heard good things about him, thought I would give him a try-out.’

Jack Johnson grinned. ‘A nice fella, I admit. Must be hard coming from a shower of shite like that lot.’

Lenny nodded. ‘Thing is, he ain’t been seen around because he was obviously banged up. So I put him nearest to Jason, thinking if he noticed him he wouldn’t click anything, you know? Jason would expect trouble from me, but not from an unknown face. And Reggie looks like butter wouldn’t melt.’

Jack nodded. ‘Good-looking lad, no doubt about that. And your hunch played out.’

Lenny grinned. ‘I think we can use him, Jack. He’s got a bit of savvy. Knows the score. He is willing and all – appreciates the chance we are giving him. We need some new blood. No disrespect, but a lot of the blokes are getting on a bit, and the younger ones ain’t exactly fucking contenders for Mastermind, if you get my drift. We could do with a few team leaders. He is good with people as well, very respectful.’

Jack laughed loudly. ‘Fuck me, when’s the wedding? All right, you’ve convinced me. And, joking aside, you have a point. Time fucking rushes by, son – remember that. Old Sammy is sixty-five this year and still at it. Sounds like a fucking sewing machine when he has to run away. But he’s still game. I wouldn’t fancy my chances with him in a straightener, old as he is.’

Lenny knew Jack spoke the truth. But this was a young man’s game, and the older blokes still thought it was the 1960s. They had no finesse whatsoever. He was wise enough to keep that little gem to himself though – Jack wasn’t exactly a spring chicken either and Lenny knew his place.