He hadn’t seen them for six months when they once more turned up, minus Delroy, and with the intention of ‘helping him out’. They had taken him from Alabama back to New York, bought him new clothes, cleaned him up, watched his drinking, and now here he was, back in London, living in a nice place in Notting Hill Gate. Evander was to be the instrument of blackmailing Kerry Cavanagh. In return he would get back some money and self-respect, both the things that had been denied him when Kevin Carter and his henchmen had stamped their booted feet on his hands. It was a sweet revenge, a just revenge on the woman who had brought him this low.

But the child had thrown him, he had to admit that. He hadn’t known about no child. A good-looking girl, more like an octoroon, like the whores in New Orleans. But she was his child all right. Looked like his sister Eulalie who’d had the same whitey look about her. His mama said she was the product of a sugar farmer, poor white trash. Well, Kerry wasn’t poor white trash, Kerry was loaded, and he was going to see, with the help of Skip Paquale and his boys, that a few thousand dollars came his way. It was just and fitting, it was right.

Might even get enough to buy his own place. He wouldn’t be playing the piano for much longer, the rheumatism had set in and his hands were getting to be less than useless.

He sat back in the chair contemplating his good fortune in meeting Delroy and Skip. Or ‘Mr Skip’ as he had to call him. Mr Skip to an Eyetalian! He smiled to himself at the thought. They were no better than him, they were just immigrants. His forefather had been in the States a mighty long time, longer than Paquale and his so-called family.

He knew the drink was making him aggressive and closed his eyes, once more seeing the creamy limbs of Kerry Cavanagh. She had been one hell of a loving woman.

She had also been his downfall, and he was looking forward to paying her back.

Skip looked at the big, bloated man sitting opposite him and hid his disgust.

‘We move in tomorrow. You stop your drinking now, you hear?’

Evander opened one yellowing bloodshot eye and nodded. So tomorrow was the big day?

Big deal.

He drank the last of his whisky and, getting up unsteadily, made his way to bed.