The guy took a sip of his G&T, unfazed by the turn in the conversation. ‘But hang on, I don’t suppose that would work. “Joey the Gent” sounds like “Jimmy the Gent” … and wasn’t he some kind of gangster? That would never do, would it?’

‘Who are you?’ Lazenby asked, instinctively closing his laptop to protect the information it contained.

‘Me? Oh, I’m no one important enough to have a cool nickname.’

‘You a cop?’

The man smiled to himself. ‘I’m guessing they call you Ordinary Joe because you look and act like an everyday Charlie. Perhaps we should call you that, instead: “Everyday Charlie”.’

‘I could ring my solicitor right now,’ Lazenby said, talking tough, though in truth his hair was prickling because he didn’t know if he could; he had no clue how much the law might have on him. ‘This is harassment.’

‘Be my guest,’ the guy said. ‘Ring him.’

‘I’ll see you around, officer.’ Lazenby did his best to look relaxed as he lifted his briefcase, slid his laptop into it, and clicked it closed. ‘Come back when you’ve actually got something.’

He stood up.

‘You know harassment’s hard to prove,’ the man said. ‘I should know … me and my associates have made that call a few times. Never got anywhere with it.’

Lazenby was about to leave the table, when these words sank in.

He turned back, regarding the newcomer with careful deliberation, before sitting down again.

‘You’re the Crew, aren’t you?’ he ventured.

The man looked nonplussed as he sipped more gin. ‘The Crew? Never heard of them.’

One second ago, Lazenby had been stiff and numb; his spine had gone cold – internally he’d been reeling with shock that the law had so unexpectedly caught up with him. He’d tried to brazen it out, praying that whoever this interloper was he was merely on a fishing trip. Now he felt only relief, though there was no guarantee he was on safe ground yet.

‘Look …’ he said warily, ‘we don’t need to have a problem here. I’m more than willing to do a deal.’

The man raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps it should be “Co-operative Charlie”?’

‘I know what this is about. I’ve got somewhere you can’t. I’m selling all over suburban Manchester. Middle-class districts which you have no access to. I’m also in with the white-collar crowd in the commercial area. And believe it or not, they gobble the stuff like it’s free.’

‘Oh, I believe you.’

‘But it isn’t free.’ Lazenby leaned forward confidentially. ‘And I’m making good money without setting a single foot on the mean streets.’