The room was austere. Bare even. Walls, looking like plasterboard but, Mickey was sure, with solid brickwork behind them. No window. Carpet covered the floor, spotted with food stains. The only furniture a double bed. A cell.

He opened the door and moved back into the hall. Listening carefully, hearing only silence. The door opposite was locked. Occupied. Mickey didn’t bother opening it. He knew that the occupant wasn’t likely to be rational. He contemplated the stairs. Knowing the odds that they would creak were high. Put a foot on the first step, right next to the wall. No sound. Took another step up, the other foot against the banisters. Still nothing. The theory was good then. Advanced slowly upwards, wincing at every tiny creak. Hearing snoring coming from one of the rooms at the top.

Doors on the right and left. Mickey took another long, slow, tidal breath, then opened the door on the right. Went in as swiftly as he could while retaining some semblance of stealth. But he needn’t have bothered. The occupant was fast asleep, a half-drunk glass of dark spirit on the stand beside him. Snoring loudly, dead to the world. Mickey crossed the room in rubber-soled silence. Closed to within touching distance of the sleeper. Eased a strip of black tape from his trouser leg and peeled off the backing strip. Eyed up his victim for a moment, then struck. Slapped the tape over his mouth. Almost simultaneously thumbing the Taser’s contact discharge button. Pushing its boxy snout onto his bare skin with a staccato crackle of current.

The effect was instant, the gang member’s body convulsing. Writhing under the pulsing charge, exhaling violently through his nose. What would have been a scream of pain muffled to a low moan through his nostrils. Mickey gave him a two-second shock. Released the button but kept the stun gun ready to use again. Simultaneously pinching off his nostrils with his other hand, preventing him from inhaling. Then holstered the Taser and punched the trembling man in the head. Hard. No half-measures. Hard enough to add a new layer of pain and disorientation.

He released his grip on the other man’s nose and smiled grimly at the frantic inhalation that resulted. Took out a set of zip tie cuffs and secured the bastard’s wrists while he was momentarily stunned. Punched him again, keeping him reeling. Tied his legs at the ankles and knees. Pulled the zip ties as tight as he could. Then flipped him over to lie face down, hearing his breathing against the mattress.

Mickey bent to speak quietly in the trussed man’s ear. Pulled the Beretta from its holster and ground the muzzle against his temple.

‘I know you can hear me. You need to be very quiet now. If I hear any noise from you, the next thing I shoot you with won’t be electric.’