Joe, they told the younger guys, would have the end cut off a bloke’s finger with no more thought than if he’d asked for sliced bread. Immune to all the blood, and the noise, and the frenzy. Although it was a wise and fortunate man who could take his punishment and keep his mouth shut. In which case Joe was sometimes happy to accept their stoicism as a form of atonement. Yeah, weird mofo and all that, but it was what the man did. Whereas the blokes who made a lot of noise, or had to be held down while punishment was delivered? Likely to get it doubled. One poor bastard actually losing three finger joints before Joe decided he was bored of the whole thing.

Whereas Eddie? Eddie always approached the inevitable fact of punishment – any punishment – with all the relish of a twelve-year-old faced with triple maths. Put his head down and bulled his way through the whole sordid ritual. Because that was his job. And in fact, one older and sager head argued, perhaps respect was due? Arguing that Eddie was deserving of more kudos for hating it, but still doing it? Opinions were divided on that. But on one thing they all agreed. Eddie wasn’t going to stop pacing the arches until later in the night. When it was almost too late to sleep.

And so they watched him with a mix of respect and pity. Respect for standing the pressure of working for Joe for as long as he had. And pity for just the same reason. Wondering, in their quieter moments, what might happen when his ability to soak up the stress reached its limit.

52

Three in the morning was the witching hour, according to Shaw. The team were preparing their newly acquired equipment, while Shaw laid out his plan for the assault.

‘You’re a gang banger standing guard at this time of day, a few things are certain. One, you’re pretty knackered. Unless you’ve been at the go pills, of course. But why would you do that when there’s not a war on? You get forty-eight hours of hyper-performance. Then you sleep for two days. Too risky taking that stuff until the very moment you’re ready to pull the trigger. So these people are going to be in less than sparkling condition by now.

‘Two, you don’t believe anything’s going to happen. It never has before, so why should it now?

‘Three, even if it does happen there’s no way any bastard’s going to get the better of you, right? After all, you’re carrying. Got the big man shooter. And that lump of metal gets you all the respect you need back where you came from. You’re a king amongst men to the civilians, and you know it.