John pulled the car around the back of the pub, where the delivery drivers dropped off the barrels of beer. Tony’s car was far too obvious, and if spotted, would give the publican the opportunity to run for it, if he felt he had to.

‘Will this do, boss?’ asked John, half turning to look into the back. He parked up and turned off the headlights. ‘Some party… are you sure you want to go in alone? It looks like a real rathole.’

‘I’ll be fine, John, but thanks. I used to do some collecting around this area, you know, back in the day. It almost feels like a trip down memory lane. You’re right, though, it is a rathole.’ Tony laughed; he waited for John to get out of the car and open the door for him.

As soon as Tony stepped out of the vehicle, the icy wind hit him and he shuddered, then he fastened up his long camel coat and put his hands in the pockets. ‘This won’t take too long; I’ll be back in a bit.’

‘Remember to wipe your feet on the way out!’ John got back into the warm car and settled down to wait.

Tony walked through the back entrance, where the publican had set up some sort of cheap beer garden in his back yard. He’d put up a few hanging baskets, full of plants that were now dead, and there were some wooden tables with benches. Real class.

To give the man his due, he had tried decorating it with some Christmas lights to give it that seasonal feel. The overly full ashtrays didn’t help, though. Some people came out, laughing and joking and obviously very drunk, sat themselves down on the benches and lit cigarettes.

Tony walked past them and opened the back door. It led into the rear of the pub, near a quiet corner that in the past was known as the snug room. This was where some of the older men would gather to read their papers or play some pool, while getting away from the noise.

Tony stood at the side of the bar and looked around at the place. He felt a little disgusted when he realised his shoes were nearly sticking to the worn carpet. It was then that the publican, dressed in a Santa suit and hat, but not wearing a long white beard, came around the side to see if anyone needed serving.

Tony thought the shocked look on his face was a picture, and watched as the happy smile slid from his features.

‘Mr Lambrianu, what brings you here?’ Tony could see he was nervous and, remembering Jake’s words, put him at his ease.

‘Mine’s a whisky, if you’re offering?’ Tony was tempted to rest his elbows on the bar, but seeing the dirty bar towels and the puddles of alcohol, he decided against it.

‘Sure, Mr Lambrianu.’ The publican picked up a glass and made a point of polishing it with one of his bar towels, to impress Tony. He turned around and filled the glass with some whisky from the optic.