‘An interpreter? Don’t be so naïve, boy. Your father loved Tito. He worked for him for years and would do anything for him; the blood on his hands is real. Only after Tito’s death did he begin his silly work. He believed in Yugoslavia, the deluded fool, when Milosevic was showing us the true way of Serbian superiority. He had his chance to be a great patriot but then he met your Roma mother and became soft, especially once you were born. He lost his balls and became a subservient pussy.’ Branko’s unpleasant chuckling continued. ‘I would have let him live but he stole from me and wouldn’t fight on the right side. That’s why he died; I shot him between the eyes and laughed as I did it.’ He began to laugh hysterically now, tears coursing down his scarred cheeks, his eyes shining with manic, unhinged fury and mirth.

Novak’s expression and demeanour had not changed at all as he watched the big Serb’s hysterics.

Branko composed himself and looked at Tom, ‘You should be thanking me, Novak. By killing your weak father and having my fun with your whore of a Roma mother I gave you the gift of strength. Not for us the weakness of compassion, but the strength and power of ruthlessness. The weak deserve to die and leave the strong behind, Novak, you must realise this. We are the same, Novak. It is us, and those like us who will triumph,’ Branko hissed through gritted teeth, his red-rimmed eyes blazing with hate.

Tom paused and his eyes betrayed a smile that had appeared behind the mask.

‘We’re not the same,’ Tom said in a hoarse whisper as he stood.

Tom’s extended fingers flashed towards Branko and drove into the cartilaginous tissue of his windpipe, just below the Adam’s apple, crushing it completely. Branko’s free hand clutched at the ruined trachea, but it was too late and the damage was too devastating. Unable to draw in air he began to panic and thrash, clutching at his throat and trying to clear the destroyed airway. The more he thrashed and panicked the greater his need for oxygen. His legs kicked and he tried to pull away from the radiator, his eyes beginning to bulge and his tongue lolling. His struggles soon weakened as his face grew red. Soon he lay still. Tom sat back down on the chair and waited.

‘We. Are. Not. The. Same.’ Tom spat every word at the corpse.

He quickly removed Branko’s watch and freed his wrist from the radiator. He took his wallet and mobile phone from his trouser pockets, which he put in a small carrier bag he’d picked up from the floor.