Mickey grinned and strolled over to them, nodding knowingly. Drank the pint in one long swallow, resisting the urge to gag. Just another quiet Friday night out with the boys. Right?

2

‘Hello, there it is. The Friday night symphony.’

The other three men smiled reflexively at Deano’s sardonic observation. They were all veterans of hundreds of Friday nights in their time. A well-established routine. Relative calm in the early evening, boring almost. Good-natured banter as the punters made their way from pub to pub. A wary eye on each other’s backs, even before closing time. Just in case.

And then from midnight to dawn, a bloody war zone. Vomiting drunks. Abusive drunks. Violent drunks. Assaults, provoked or just out of nowhere. Sometimes right under your nose. Talking sense into the aggrieved. Nicking the violent, team-handed. Taking no chances, and, metaphorically at least, no prisoners. Clocking off in the early daylight, shagged out and ready to drop. JAFN. Just Another Friday Night. Other F’s being available.

A single siren, an area car on fast response most likely. A bit early to be coming in loud. But Friday night, right? They exchanged knowing glances and sipped at their pints, Deano carrying on with whatever it was he’d been quacking on about.

‘He ain’t getting the best out of what he’s got, right? As long as he’s playing Garcia in the holding role and not letting him get forward—’

A second siren in the distance, perhaps half a mile away. An ambulance, to the experienced ear. An early street assault, most likely. And then, just as they were exchanging knowing looks, a third siren joined the chorus. The first car dopplered past the pub and pulled up. Noise dying away, rotating roof lights tinging the windows.

‘Three on the blues, that’s a decent—’

Another siren joined the momentarily reduced cacophony. Raising eyebrows around the table. Unprecedented, to have such a big shout so early. They looked at each other speculatively. After a moment Deano went over to the window, just as a second police car joined the first. He came back with a knowing look.

‘Something big all right. And it ain’t just the area cars. There’s a pair of uniforms just come down the High Street like they’re after Usain Bolt. Looks to me like they’ve found something in the alley.’

He shot a glance at Mickey, knowing what they all knew about who did business in the alley. He shrugged. Gave them the studied imperturbability he’d practised in the mirror earlier. And every day for the last three months. Practised, polished, perfected. Saved for this moment.

‘Margetson got himself a kicking – I’ll buy the bloke that did it a pint.’

Nods around the table, a muttered ‘fucking right’ from Deano. More response vehicles arriving, and the sound of shouted orders. The big man stood up again and looked over the frosted section of glass.