Reggie understood his predicament and changed the subject. ‘Look, Lenny, I apologise if I was out of order last night. If I got the wrong signals.’

He was offering Lenny an out and they both knew it.

Just then a tremendous clap of thunder crashed overhead and they both laughed as it had made them jump.

‘Right fucking pair of hard men we are, leaping out of our skins over a thunderbolt!’

Reggie laughed with him; the atmosphere between them was changing, getting lighter. Lenny pulled up in a narrow back street and they got out of the car. They went up a small pathway and Lenny opened the front door of the ground-floor flat with a key. It took him a while to do it, the rain was so heavy. They both stepped inside quickly. The place was a wreck, and Reggie looked around him in wonder. He felt a stab of fear suddenly. Was Lenny going to take him out here over what had happened, in case Reggie told anyone?

Lenny could almost see the thoughts as they flashed through Reggie’s mind. Peeling off his wet jacket, he threw it over the arm of a dilapidated armchair, and then slowly he started to take his clothes off.

Reggie, realising what was going on, went to him and held his huge hands either side of Lenny’s head. Then he pulled him towards him and kissed him deeply.

Lenny kissed him back, amazed at the strength of feeling washing over him. It was done now; he had burned his boats. And, by Christ, it felt fucking good.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Jamie Ryan was in his fifties, but he looked good on it. He was much taken with expensive suits and handmade shoes. From Irish stock, he had the dark good looks of his forefathers. He had also inherited their strength and sense of purpose.

He had started life as a bank robber, and had the good sense to invest his money in clubs, pubs and other drinking establishments. He could pass for legitimate and that was exactly what he wanted to do. He very rarely made a mistake and, when he did, it rankled with him. Now he had made a major one and the knowledge had been eating at him like a cancer.

He was sitting in the back of one of his clubs on Southend seafront and he was setting about rectifying said mistake. He liked the look of these two, and he had heard good things about Lenny Scott. If Jack Johnson trusted him, then that was good enough for him. Jamie and Jack had known each other for years; they had run about the streets of East London together, the arses hanging out of their trousers and bombs dropping overhead. Oh, they went way back.