Mickey took a breath. And dived in. ‘You said I’d be fine. And to call you if I wanted to pay up on that pint. So I’d like to pay up. And see if there’s a way I could also pay you to do a job for me.’

Another moment of silence.

‘Do a job for you? You do know what my team’s services cost?’

‘I’ve got a pretty fair idea.’

The next silence longer. Definite thinking time.

‘You’re not proposing some sort of bank job, are you? I’ve heard the stories about you lot having fun planning how to carry out armed raids with police weapons in your lunch breaks.’

Mickey nodded subconsciously. It was a game he’d played in his time. Not that he or any of his mates had ever had the balls to follow through. Which, given what he’d done of late, would have been darkly funny. Except for his current circumstances.

‘No. This is something riskier, truth be told. But without the danger of the Met coming after us.’

‘Us? You want to participate?’

‘Meet me and I’ll explain it to you. Over that pint. But the job has to be done in the next…’ Mickey took a look at his watch. ‘Eighteen hours.’

Another silence.

‘Better make it a coffee then. Where are you?’

49

The ex-soldier met him an hour after their call. Friendly, but sufficiently brisk for Mickey to know that this was business. He sipped at his cappuccino, nodded appreciatively, then stared levelly at Mickey and issued a simple command.

‘Talk. Tell me everything. If I doubt what you’re telling me I’ll walk away without looking back.’

Mickey, having subconsciously repressed the events of the previous month, uncorked the bottle. And told Shaw, quite literally, everything. Warren, the car park ambush, Number 37, Lewis. No detail spared, nothing held back. Shaw sat and listened. And if he had been surprised or shocked at any point, his face stayed remarkably composed. Eventually, an hour and a half and two more coffees later, Mickey ran out of steam. Looked across the table at Shaw questioningly. Your turn. Shaw lifted his cup before speaking, draining it. Looking disquietingly like a man getting ready to leave.

‘So, to summarise, you’ve carried out four hits on this man Castagna’s organisation. Killed seven of his men and bitten a fair-sized chuck out of his reputation. And now that he knows who you are, he’s got you by the balls. You gambled that you could put him down before he caught up with you. And you lost that bet.’

‘Yeah.’

‘So go on then. Tell me how you think we can pull your nuts out of the fire.’

Mickey started talking again. Showed Shaw the last text from Nemesis. The pictures he’d pulled from Google Maps. The rough floor plan of the arches.