‘We’ll get to that. So, for the sake of argument let’s agree that I’m fate’s chosen means of settling the score with you. Which means that my voice is the last one you will ever hear in this life. And, it occurred to me, that your departure from it should be… well, fitting.’

Silence. Lewis listened intently.

‘And when I say “fitting”, I mean fittingly drawn out and painful. Agonising. Horrific. A hard death, by degrees, and without any mercy. There is an alternative, of course. Quicker. Cleaner. But you’ll have to pay for it.’

And after a moment of silence. ‘Go on.’

‘Sensible. The hard way you’ve already guessed. And I’m pretty sure you’ve used it yourself, on occasion. Cement, eh? Marvellous stuff. Did you know there are Roman buildings standing today, built with cement? But it has a dark side, does the old grey stuff. A nasty alkaline bite. It’ll burn the skin right off you. And when I fill this bathtub right up to the brim, there’s another aspect to consider.’

Lewis had gone quiet again. And white. Understandably.

‘Yeah, you know. See how pale you are. That good old fight-or-flight response kicking in. Pity you can’t fight, isn’t it? Bet you’d put up one fuck of a fight, now you know what I have planned for you.’

‘What’s the alternative?’

Lewis’s voice was strained. Mickey waited for a moment before replying. Allowing the tension to ratchet up.

‘I’m not sure I even want to offer it to you. I think you’ve earned the harder ride downstairs.’ He put the barrel of Lewis’s own pistol against the enforcer’s left temple. ‘I pull this trigger right now and you’ll be standing in front of St Peter a second later.’

Lewis replied without hesitation. ‘Do it.’

Mickey laughed tersely. ‘Fuck me, Lewis, but you’re some kind of realist! Fifteen minutes ago you were telling me you were going to strangle me with my own guts. And now you’re asking for a mercy killing. But here’s the thing, Lewis old son. It.’ He tapped the gun barrel against his captive’s head. ‘Doesn’t.’ Tap. ‘Work.’ Tap. ‘Like.’ Tap. ‘That.’

He waited for a long moment. Allowed Lewis to fill the silence. ‘How does it work?’

‘Thought you’d never ask. The thing is, Lewis, that over the years you’ve made a lot of money. A lot of money.’ Mickey paused, ostentatiously. ‘I say “made”, when of course I mean you stole it. Other people made it. And then you made them your victims. Killed them and robbed them. If they were lucky. And now, by a quirk of some poetic justice, you’ve come to the end of your rope. How does it feel?’

Silence.