Which meant, for the time being, that this part of the manor was locked in their iron grasp. Five gang members dead enough to get the commissioner breathing down necks. And the mayor breathing down hers. Enough to make everyone nervous. And Joe knew better than to antagonise a nervous police force.

He walked into the block by a side entrance, outside the cordon of blue-clad stormtroopers. Made his way up to the slightly risibly named “control room”. A flat on the third floor with a bedroom full of CCTV monitors. Screens showed scenes from around the block. The counting room, the gates, the car park. Eddie might have laughed at the fact that the police had completely missed the camera relaying their underground investigation, but for Joe’s stone-like expression.

‘Show me.’

The clip was lined up and ready.

‘They drive in…’ Joe, delivering the running commentary. Something that got right on Eddie’s tits whenever he was invited to watch a flick chez Castagna. Not the right moment to object though, he judged. Not that there ever really was a right moment with Joe. ‘They park up… they go upstairs. Anything worth seeing before they get back down there? No? Let’s see the attack then.’

The scene jumped, sudden movement as the bagmen came out of the stairwell. And walked into something out of a Tarantino flick. A black-clad figure, head to toe darkness. Hard to make out in the slightly grainy image, like a vengeful ghost. Climbed out of the piece-of-shit car that nobody watching had made for his hiding place. Carrying an instantly recognisable machine pistol. No muzzle flash as he opened fire. Joe nodded knowingly.

‘Silenced. Nobody would have known a thing upstairs, if the kid hadn’t grabbed that shooter and given him some back. Fuck he’s quick! Roll back ten.’

Ten seconds back. The gunman just clear of the car, weapon coming up.

‘Stop. Look at the clock. OK, start it again.’

Eddie nodded, standing behind his boss. Had to respect the man’s intellect. Cutting straight to the facts. The swift slaughter played through. Ending with the last of the bagmen being punched back into the stairwell.

‘Stop. See? That took him seven seconds. And three of them were him waiting for the last man to show himself. That, Eddie, is a professional. A gunfighter. Like that geezer on Netflix.’

‘Raylan Givens.’

One of the ironies of being Joe’s right-hand man. Expected to share his taste in box sets, however counter-intuitively. When Joe said he’d started watching something, Eddie made a point of getting through it first. Missing a cultural reference probably wouldn’t put him on the skids. Probably. But why take the risk?

Joe nodded expressionlessly.

‘Yeah, that’s it. OK, roll it on.’

They watched the black-clad figure pace forwards, weapon still raised. Watched the older of the two gang members go for the fallen pistol. Watched him die.