‘So you’d be getting what from this potential arrangement, exactly?’

Which, he had to admit was one hell of a question. Which had a one-word answer. One he couldn’t voice. But which was the only possible reason for what was otherwise an act of insanity.

Escalation.

20

‘So, the question is, who is it?’

Mickey looked sideways at Deano across the scarred pub table. Frowned at the terse nature of his friend’s question as he took a sip of Guinness. Friday night, three pints in. The point where the conversational threads started to get tangled.

‘Who’s what?’

The big man shrugged.

‘Thought you’d know what I was talking about. After all, nobody’s talking about much else round here. We talked about it all last Friday night.’

‘While I wasn’t here.’

Deano shrugged. ‘Doesn’t take a genius to guess, does it? The Car Park Killer. No-one’s talking about anything else, not with Joe Castagna getting his arse handed to him so publicly. There’s even a book running on my relief as to who’s got the minerals to go after him.’

Mickey nodded vehement agreement.

‘I’ll bet there is. And dollars to donuts you’re the one running it. Don’t let the bosses find out, or you’ll be in front of AC-12 with your federation rep before you know it.’

Deano rolled his eyes at the popular culture reference Mickey had deliberately dropped in. Being of the highly vocal opinion that Line of Duty was one giant bag of shark-jumping shite.

‘Professional Standards can suck my dick. And as it happens, since you mentioned donuts, we’re playing by cakes for stakes rules. Let’s see them make something out of that, eh. Since there’s no dough involved?’

Mickey sniggered and nodded. Challenge accepted.

‘Cakes for stakes? In that case I’m definitely not up for it. I’m not looking for a turnover like that.’

‘Are you sure, Mickey? I think you need to be a little more eclair about that.’

The usual rules: whoever couldn’t continue the thread would be the man to get the next round in. Mickey knew that Deano would have laid the bait carefully, luring him onto prepared ground.

‘I’m not sure I like the panettone of your voice, mate.’

Deano grinned widely, deploying what he expected to be the killer blow.

‘You do not want to croissant me, my son. Or I’ll have you over before the bun goes down.’

Groans of pain and appreciative nods. A double shot demanded a double shot in return just to stay in the game. Or a triple for the win. Mickey bared his teeth in a hard grin.

‘Double shot, eh Deano? I’d offer you outside for that, except you don’t look well enough… you look pale… a bit…’

‘For the love of God, no.’

He ignored Steve’s plea for mercy.

‘…pastry-faced!’

Silence, Deano shaking his head.