‘Not for my friends.’

Madden is all leprechaun charm. ‘Are we not friends then, Daniel?’ His eyes are dull green, and his skin reminds me of a plucked chicken.

I am too old for this.

‘Cut the shite, Mike. What do you want?’

Mike chuckles fondly. ‘Shite. I like that.’ He leans against the wall and it creaks. ‘I want the money you owe me.’

Groan. He isn’t even here for me. I’m a bonus.

‘Vic owes you money, not me. He owes me money too, but out of respect for you and your organisation, you can collect first.’

Mike is a little surprised by this backchat, but amused too. ‘Thanks, McEvoy. Very Catholic of you. But I’d rather you pay.’

‘Not the way it works, Mike. Even God can’t transfer debt. I don’t owe you a cent, and if you don’t stop weaving it into the conversation, I’ll squeeze my way through all that fat on your shoulders and break your thick neck.’

Might as well try bravado, see if it works.

If it was fear and submission I was hoping for, then my bluntness does not have the desired effect. Mike Madden looks tired and resigned, like he is so fed up of doing things the hard way and why can’t it just be easy for once.

‘Righto, laddie. I hear you. Now you listen to me. I’ve been searching for something.’

‘Why don’t you ask the universe? Seems to work for a lot of people. That’s a secret, by the way.’

Madden grinds his teeth. ‘You know what I’m talking about.’

We both know where this is going.

‘I don’t know, Mike. Believe me. But I know how you search for things.’

Mike spreads his hands wide. ‘Couldn’t be avoided. The disk could have been in your apartment.’

I am surprised. ‘A disk? A bloody disk. What do I look like to you? Jason goddamn Bourne?’

Mike Madden hooks the flap of his tweed sports coat over the revolver at his belt.

‘Any road, laddie. You’re going to have to quit work early tonight.’

He’s right. I can’t see any way out of leaving here with him.

‘I have a gun too, you know.’

‘Maybe, laddie. But I have several. One hostile move from you and the floors run with blood. Wooden floors, though, so at least the blood will wipe off, if you get to it quick.’

I place my gun on the desk. ‘No one has said laddie for a hundred bloody years, you phoney.’

‘My heart is Irish,’ objects Mike, worried more by the insult than the weapon.

‘Your heart is clogged with bacon and beer and will drop you in your tracks any day now.’

Which is an unusual thing to say to a person you just met.