Tommy looked at her and shook his head.

‘Oh, no! You’re not going. That ain’t no place for you, or any woman come to that. You’re staying here. Sort out the clubs, the houses, anything. But you ain’t going near the places tonight!’

Briony faced him. Putting her hands on her hips, she said: ‘And who’s gonna stop me?’

Tommy walked to her and pushed his face close to hers. ‘I ain’t never raised a hand to you, Briony, nor to any woman, but I’ll give you the leathering of your life if you set one dainty foot near that place tonight!’

Tommy rounded up twenty of his best men, including Abel Jones and Jimmy Reynard. In the basement of a slum in Wapping, Tommy displayed his arsenal and the men each picked out a weapon and secreted it on their person. Knives, guns and coshes were the order of the day, and as they all left to go to the fight there was a general air of excitement. Most of the men had grudges against the Oldses and the Campbells, so were looking forward to the fight. Tommy smoked cheroots one after the other as the cavalcade made their way to Hackney. They arrived just after nine.

The first fight was already taking place and the park was literally packed out. Tommy and his men pushed their way through the crowds, looking for Ronnie Olds. He would be made to tell them where Bolger was hiding out, even if it meant losing his testicles during the conversation. Tommy was now acting on pure adrenaline. His heightened awareness made him more aggressive than ever and he pushed through the crowds with a grim look on his face. He wanted this sorted once and for all. The chance was he would end his life here tonight but it was a chance he was prepared to take. Tommy noticed Jimmy and another man buying themselves roast chicken from a vendor. Walking over to them, he grabbed Jimmy by the throat.

‘What’s this then, Jimmy, a fucking night out or what?’

Jimmy put the piece of greasy chicken back on the barrow and followed Tommy sheepishly. He was starving. Unlike Tommy he hadn’t eaten since the morning and his stomach was gurgling now, with only a few pints of Watney’s inside it.

Tommy walked along, keeping up a stream of abuse.

‘I don’t fucking believe you, Jimmy! What next? Shall we have a break and watch the poxy find-the-lady bloke? Or, I know, how about we go and have our fucking fortunes told?’