‘Nothing to say? Is that because you’re ashamed of what a vicious, murdering bastard you are?’ Mickey paused again. ‘Or because there’s nothing in you that recognises what a vicious, murdering bastard you are? Or rather you were?’

He ground the pistol’s screw-cut muzzle, designed to accept a suppressor, into Lewis’s cheek. Pushed and twisted it into his skin until blood ran down his cheek. Deliberately inflicting pain to ramp up the pressure.

‘There’s nothing good in you, is there? Just a raving urge to hurt people. Because that’s what Mummy and Daddy made you. You’ve had a good run, but it ends here. Tonight. One way or another. So what’ll it be? Two or three hours of horrific agony, or a bullet from your own gun?’

‘Shoot me.’

‘Yeah, thought so. Because you’ve killed people with cement. Haven’t you. You know what happens. The alkali burning their flesh off. The chemical reaction cooking them, slowly but surely. I’d take death by bark-chipper over that.’

Mickey sat back. Took a cigar from his pocket. Saw Lewis’s nostrils flare.

‘Yeah, you like a Cuban, don’t you?’

He snipped off the end and lit the tobacco, taking an extravagant puff. Knowing that another half-dozen inhalations would have him puking.

‘You want some?’ Answered by a nod. ‘Yeah, I thought so. So here it is. For the bullet, and the Havana, one low, low price. All I need is one little piece of information. Bank account name, sort code, account number and pass code.’

The prisoner fell silent. Saying nothing at all.

‘Yeah, I know. Tough choice. That money’s supposed to look after those psychopaths that made you who you are, right? And your girlfriend. And that little bastard… and I use the term deliberately because he’s not just illegitimate, he’s not even yours. Not from what I’m being told.’ Watching Lewis’s face harden.

‘So now you’re getting ready to tell me to just fuck off. You need that money, right? Why else would you have tortured a dozen men to death to get it? Fair enough. Time for you to find out just what you put them through.’

He stood. Tipping the mixer’s drum over to pour its contents over Lewis’s legs. And crotch. And waited for the screams.

40

‘We’ve narrowed it down. We think he turned left here…’ Eddie pointed to the map on screen. ‘There’s a chippy here. Might be the one he mentioned.’

‘It’s a clever choice. Look at all that light industrial.’ Joe, in Eddie’s opinion unusually reflective. ‘So what now?’

‘We tried the tracker. The Rhino vanished off the face of the earth just after it turned left at the lights. Still no sign, so either whatever’s jamming it is still working, or someone’s switched it off in the car.’

‘So the odds are that he’s got Lewis.’