‘All right, lads?’ His voice was strangled-sounding, as if one of the twins already had a hand around his throat.

Both of them turned around at once.

‘Well, well, well, if it ain’t Dickie Lawson. Come to buy us a drink and pay over our winnings, have you?’ Boysie’s voice was loud, jocular, and Dickie took heart.

‘That’s right, lads, what you having?’

He took a brown envelope out of his jacket pocket and slipped it on to the counter. Danny picked it up and opened it, counting the money.

‘There’s only a hundred quid in here, Dickie boy.’

He bit his lip and then licked his lips which had dried in record time with fear.

‘That’s what I owed you, lads ... hundred quid.’

Boysie snapped his fingers and the barmaid sloped over and smiled at them.

‘What can I get you?’

‘Two very large scotches, my love, a half of bitter for me little mate, and whatever you want of course.’

The barmaid set about getting the drinks and Boysie turned back to Dickie who was now a deathly shade of white.

Danny laughed.

‘What we want, Dickie, is our rents. As you probably know, poor Kenny Riley is well out of the ball game now, through explosives like. He left us everything he owned. And that, I think, includes yourself.’

Dickie, seeing the light, the crystal clear, plain as day kind of light, nodded his head furiously.

‘Of course ... Of course, lads.’

He slapped his sweaty forehead with a sweaty palm and, taking out a roll of money, paid up without a murmur.

Boysie poked Dickie in the chest none too gently.

‘A word in your shell-like. We ain’t your lads, see? We are Mr Cavanagh to you. Do you think you can remember that?’

Dickie was once more nodding, harder now.

‘Yes, lad ... I mean, yes, Mr Cavanagh!’

Boysie and Danny laughed out loud.

‘Good lad! Now pay for the drinks like a good boy and then piss off. You’re beginning to annoy us. We’ll see you next week, Dickie. You won’t have to look for us, we’ll find you. All right?’

Half an hour later they were on their way to meet two girls, both good Catholics, both definitely virgins. Both waiting to be plucked like nice ripe gooseberries.

All in all, life couldn’t be better for the Cavanagh twins.