‘Excuse me,’ said Asquith. ‘Who is the toughest chap in here, the meanest?’

‘Are you a policeman?’ asked the bartender.

‘Definitely not.’

‘That bloke over there is the worst kind,’ she said, nodding towards a bearded man who stood at a high table, a cigarette dangling from his lips while he rolled another smoke, pulling tobacco from a pouch inside his jacket pocket.

‘But you be careful about him,’ the woman said. ‘Don’t get yourself harmed.’

Asquith went straight up to the bearded man and put down a glass of beer, an offering.

‘What might you do for a living, sir?’

‘Why you want to know?’

‘I may have a business proposal,’ said Asquith.

‘I’m sort of a debt collector,’ the man said. ‘Got an outstanding debtor?’

‘In a certain sense, I do.’

‘Keep talking then.’

‘It’s a small job, but easy work, if not entirely legal.’

‘Work that’s not legal is extra,’ said the man, leaning back.

‘Never mind collecting any debt. I’d like you to smash a few windows in a cafe. Nothing too severe. Make a mess and then be on your way. And be sure no one sees you. I’ll pay you five pounds for your services.’

‘Five? Six I’d say. Where’s this cafe?’

‘Here’s the address.’ And Asquith handed the man a folded piece of paper. ‘Make a mess. We want to teach him a lesson.’

‘Is this cafe run by grease-balls?’

‘They are of Greek heritage.’

‘I hate the Greeks in this city. If their country is a mess they should stay and fix it, I reckon.’

‘You’ll take the job?’

‘I’ll enjoy doing this. For a bob extra I’ll burn the whole place down.’

‘No. Don’t burn anything down. Break a few windows. Inconvenience them. The man who runs the cafe got away with something he shouldn’t have. We’re squaring the ledger. You’re enacting a kind of justice.’

‘Fair enough. Give me the money now, and I don’t take coins.’

The rain fell while they spoke: a shower that quickly turned to drizzle and finished. Good, Asquith intended to leave right away.

‘To be clear,’ he said, ‘I’m not asking you to burn down the cafe.’

‘If I want to burn a place to the ground, that’s what bloody happens. You understand?’

‘Understood. Just make a mess, please, nothing more.’

He pushed the money across to the man—whose name he didn’t care to know—and the notes were snatched away. On the dark sheesham table, Asquith’s long hand looked like a daub of white, enriched by a plain ring on his index finger.

7.