‘That’s only one, my son. And right from the bottom of the barrel.’

‘Yeah, I’ll have to get them in.’

Deano spread his hands in triumph. But his celebration faltered as Mickey raised a finger. With a grin that told him the game wasn’t over.

‘I had one a minute ago… but it’s scone.’ Mickey looked around gleefully as he delivered the coup de grâce. ‘Seriously, Deano mate. I’ve got muffin. Muffin at all. Now do you want some more sponge, Victoria, or have you had enough?’

Beers in, hysteria subsided, Deano tried again.

‘Seriously though, someone’s after Joe Castagna. Big style. And they’re literally not taking prisoners.’

‘And you’re trying to work out who?’ Mickey shook his head. ‘It could be anyone.’

‘Yeah, but you miss my point. The bloke doing the shooting could be anyone. Although there aren’t many people with the cojones, right? But who’s telling them where to shoot? And when? And why? Eh? I’m not going to lie, we even wondered if it was you. Because you, my son, are a dark fucking horse.’ He looked at Mickey expectantly, clearly waiting for a response. Got nothing more than an amused eyebrow raise in response. ‘Nah. You’ve got the stones all right, even if you hide it most of the time. But you don’t have anything like the information needed, do you?’

‘Me?’ Mickey pushed his expression up from amusement to incredulity. ‘No. I’m not exactly plugged into the gangland underground.’

‘Yeah. We thought that too. Because whoever’s going after Joe knows their shit.’ Mickey tried very hard not to look offended. Given that not knowing his shit was central to his not coming under suspicion. ‘Whoever’s going after Joe knew where he needed to be, and when, and what would be happening at that moment. And that has to mean he’s got inside knowledge.’

Mickey nodded, darting a glance at Steve. Whose frustration, at that very table, with Jason Felgate’s cease and desist order on going after Joe’s money-laundering operation had been the genesis of his going after it, in his own way. But if Steve even remembered the discussion, he wasn’t showing it.

Den frowned, making a rare interjection. ‘Inside knowledge? Couldn’t the shooter just have been a proper copper?’ He shot a glance at Mickey, half-apologetic. ‘No disrespect, Mickey son, but you’re a long way from the sharp end.’

All three of them marvelled at Den, usually the quietest of them. Happy for the most part to listen and make the occasional gnomic intervention.