Joe reached out and stroked the bronze horse’s head sculpture that decorated one end of the kitchen counter. He loved that sculpture. Both because it was “proper art” – Joe holding no truck with “all that modernist shit” – and because it reminded him of his favourite film. No-one had ever done the old “who’s the godfather?” joke in front of Joe to Eddie’s certain knowledge. Because Joe thought the sun shone out of Don Vito Corleone’s back passage. The first two films in the series were favourites in his cinema room. Which made an invitation to share vintage grappa, a cigar and Marlon of an evening one that wasn’t refused lightly. Not if a bloke knew which side his bread was buttered. Eddie launched into his briefing, watching Joe’s eyes intently.

‘I got a call from Felgate. We’ve got a problem. One of the street dealers has been shot. Dead.’

Joe shrugged, eyes untouched by the news.

‘So, get another one. Shit happens.’

‘Not like this, Joe. He was tapped in the forehead with a .22. Felgate says it’s a professional’s weapon—’

Joe’s eyes narrowed, and Eddie suddenly felt unaccountably warm.

‘I don’t need bent filth to tell me what a .22 is. When did this happen?’

‘Last night, about eight, they reckon.’

Joe thought for a moment.

‘OK, so someone offed one of my dealers. Which one?’

‘Warren Margetson.’

‘Margetson.’ Joe shrugged, the name without any meaning to him. ‘And no clues? Nothing to send Felgate’s mates in the Murder Squad off after the killer?’

Here it came. The moment of maximum danger, to someone who knew Joe all too well.

‘There was one clue. They only found it at four this morning when they got the clothes off him. This fell out of his coat collar.’

He held up his phone, and Joe reached out. Took it. Looked at the picture on screen. Gave it back.

‘I see. That is interesting.’ He went quiet, and Eddie knew better than to interrupt his thought process. ‘Right, so you tell Inspector Bent that I want a daily update. Every day without fail, until they work out which cunt did it.’

Eddie nodded, respectfully, taking Joe’s instruction as his cue to leave.

‘I’m not finished yet, Eddie.’

Eddie turned back, working very hard to keep his face straight under his boss’s ice-pick stare.

‘Joe?’

‘Double the guard on the house. And tool them up properly. Get the assault shotguns out of storage, and enough ammo to start a war with. Julie and the kids don’t go anywhere without protection either. And get someone good, right? Someone very good. Because if any of my family catch any of this, the men guarding them better hope they die protecting them. You know what I’ve got when it comes to threats to my family, don’t you, Eddie?’