‘We’ve had vigilante actions everywhere, lots of names named … and nothing viable has come from any of it. Accusations are still flying, old firms who’ve been at peace for God knows how long have become enemies again. It flies in the face of everything we set this outfit up for. But the real problem is that people are getting hurt – as a result of which the heat from the cops is intensifying. A couple of days ago, we lost one of our most useful soldiers. Leon Royton got a false tip that two blaggers from Crowley, George and Charlie Benton, were responsible for these jobs. Leon and his cronies shouldn’t have gone in there kicking and punching. A bit of due diligence by Security …’ he threw another glance at Benny B, ‘… would’ve shown that the Bentons were way below the league we’re dealing with here. But Leon’s paid the price, if no one else has. He got pinched for attempted murder. With his record, that means he’ll be off the roster for years. We’ll miss him, and as long as this disorganised violence continues, more of us will go the same way … and we still won’t have found out who this Red-Headed League actually are.’

Pentecost remained as inexpressive as ever. ‘Whose remit, Frank,’ he said, ‘do you reckon this business falls within?’

‘As a security matter, it’s mainly down to Benny,’ McCracken said. ‘But I’m the one charged with getting us our share from those firms who won’t play by the normal rules, Bill. So, it’s on me too.’

Pentecost pursed his lips, apparently waiting for something extra.

‘I’m gonna tackle this, okay,’ McCracken added. ‘In fact, that’s my proposal: that we cancel the reward offer – so that, first of all, we can rein in all these idiot lynch-mobs running around town. And then let me and Benny pool our resources so we can find out what’s going on in more level-headed fashion.’

Pentecost gave him another protracted stare, before replying: ‘I actually agree with you, Frank … offering a reward has backfired. I came to that decision before you did.’

Benny B looked dumbfounded to hear this.

‘I wouldn’t have expected anything else, Bill,’ McCracken said.

‘Well … good.’

Pentecost began circling the boardroom, another of his favourite tricks: prowling with steady, soundless steps past the rigid backs and stiff shoulders of each of his minions; on at least one such occasion before now, a switchblade had appeared and two disloyal throats had been swiftly slashed (one time, the arterial spray covered half the table and at least three board members seated opposite).