‘There’s no answer. There’s not even any signal, from the sound of it.’

Joe shrugged. ‘Mobile phones, innit? He’ll pop back up again soon enough. What was the last thing he said?’

‘He was following the reporter north up the main road. Then we lost his phone signal and the tracker on hers at the same time. We think she turned at the lights and he followed.’

‘Which way?’

‘No idea. He had to use the blue lights to clear a path, I could hear the siren. Which meant he wasn’t talking. Then when I asked him where he was he didn’t know. Said something that might have been “chippy”, then his signal went to complete shit.’

‘What about the tracker on the Rhino?’

Eddie making it an article of faith always to know where all the gang’s vehicles were. Basic security.

‘Nothing. Must be in the same signal black spot.’

Joe’s face creased in a frown. Not because Lewis couldn’t look after himself. But because his best soldier was out of contact.

‘Right. So get on Google Maps and look for a turn-off with a chip shop. And let me know when he surfaces. I want that name!’

39

Mickey looked down at Lewis. Waited impassively as the big man slowly returned to consciousness. Surfacing from deep with the bends. A grimace on the big man’s face. Speaking of both pain and disorientation. Slowly, grim reality dawned on the enforcer.

First, the realisation that he was blind, a double-thickness mask over his eyes. Next, the dawning terror of total immobility. Pinioned by six lengths of heavy chain. Each five yards long. Their weight making it harder for him to breathe. Wrapped around his body while he’d been held up in the sling. His trousers perforated with a dozen scissor cuts, in between the zip ties.

He was lying in an old bathtub Mickey had purchased from a builder, out of a skip. Untraceable. His feet against the tap end, head level with the battered enamel rim. With padding either side to prevent him from even rocking from side to side. Nemesis having been very clear that this wasn’t someone you took a risk with more than once. Hearing some minute sound, the captive stared sightlessly straight at him.

‘When I get out of here I’m going to fucking kill you. Whoever you are, you’re fucking dead meat.’

The statement matter-of-fact. Bored, even. Not even a threat, just a declaration of intent. A bravura performance, under the circumstances. Mickey rewarded it with a terse laugh.

‘And what is it that makes you think you’ll be able to get out?’

Mickey could have sworn that the big man shrugged. Even trussed like a turkey.