McCracken had to admit to being impressed. The Taurus was a man-stopper, for sure, and not a make you regularly encountered in the UK; Lazenby had clearly cultivated some good connections in South America. Of course, whether he was willing to use it was another matter.

‘Very confident of you …’ Lazenby stuttered, his words slurring as he walked up to his intended target, the barrel barely ten inches from the gangster’s heart. ‘Coming here alone.’

‘You sure I have?’ McCracken replied. ‘What’s that bright red dot on your chest?’

Lazenby glanced down – and never saw the fast right hand, which knocked the Taurus from his grasp, nor the faster left, which dealt him such a slap to the face that his glasses flew off and he went staggering sideways. The next thing Ordinary Joe knew, a knee had rammed into his groin, pile-driving the wind from him, and as he doubled over, an iron claw bunched itself in the material of his collar, and propelled him sideways towards the low barrier, pushing him violently over it.

Lazenby sprawled on the cinder path, crying out in shock and fear. Before he could scramble back to his feet, McCracken had stepped over the barrier after him, dragged him upright and frogmarched him to the canal’s concrete edge.

‘Fancy an evening dip?’

Lazenby straightened like a flagpole, every muscle taut. ‘No, please …’

‘It’s less than you were planning for me.’

‘But I can’t swim.’

‘You can’t …?’

McCracken paused as two curious passers-by approached along the towpath; two students, by the looks of them, in woolly hats and anoraks, and wearing backpacks. He released Lazenby’s collar, laughed and brushed him down.

‘Nasty fall, that, sir … glad to be able to help, though.’

The youngsters traipsed past, resuming their conversation, vanishing into the evening murk.

‘You really can’t swim?’ McCracken asked, grabbing the Liverpudlian’s collar again, and hoisting him up onto his tiptoes. ‘Seriously?’

‘I … I … never learned …’

‘You’re as far out of your depth at this level as it’s possible to be, aren’t you … Everyday Joe? I mean, were you actually planning to shoot me? What if the recoil had hurt your hand?’

‘I don’t … I dunno …’ Lazenby could barely speak, his gaze directed down his nose at the glimmering black surface of the canal.

‘Have I really interrupted my schedule for a worthless little pillock like you? Do you know how busy I am, Joe?’

‘Was only … only gonna shoot if it was you or me.’

‘Well, it is you or me.’ McCracken turned his captive around and marched him across the path, back over the barrier and into the car park. ‘So perhaps you should’ve shot when you had the chance, and not wasted time gabbing.’