‘So, let me see,’ he said, biting down on his fear – this was only going to end one way, so the best he could do now was try to affect some kind of damage limitation. ‘I’ve got to source my own product, pay the advance on it, arrange importation, storage, security, distribution, delivery … with no input from you whatsoever, and you still get paid? Is that correct?’

The man who had to be Frank McCracken sat back. ‘You make it sound like you don’t win.’

‘It depends how much.’

McCracken made a show of thinking this through – for about two seconds. ‘I reckon sixty/forty’s a fair split, to be honest.’

‘Sixty/forty?’ It could have been worse, Lazenby supposed.

‘In our favour, of course.’

‘In your favour …?’

‘You sound doubtful, which I suppose is understandable.’ McCracken thought it through, again. ‘So, let’s make it seventy/thirty. Until we get to know each other better. Oh, and we’ll take our first payment from the two hundred-thou you’ve pulled in so far this year.’

‘This … this …’ Lazenby struggled to suppress his helpless rage. ‘This always the way you do business?’

‘Not at all. We’d normally be having this conversation out back. But out of respect for your status, I thought we’d do it differently today.’

‘And I suppose if I say “no”, those gloves will come off, will they?’

McCracken shrugged. ‘No rush for that. But anything can happen.’

‘I could’ve been a good friend to you.’

‘You still will be, I’m sure.’

‘You reckon?’

‘You live off Mulberry Crescent, don’t you? Nice part of Crowley, that.’

Lazenby didn’t suppose he should be surprised that they knew where he lived. He said nothing, however, neither confirming nor denying it.

‘Not as nice as Carrwood in Altrincham, mind you,’ the gangster added. ‘Or Bromley Cross in Bolton, or Worsley in Salford, or Ellesmere Park, or Hale, or Timperley …’

Neither, Lazenby supposed, should he be surprised that they knew his main sales areas.

‘Nice places,’ McCracken mused. ‘Tree-lined streets, green lawns at the front of every house, couple of cars on each drive.’ Suddenly, there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. ‘Be a real shame if things changed. You know, if the yobbos turned up … and the crackheads, and the gangbangers, and the boy-racers. Looking to party every night up and down those quiet streets. The residents would call the fuzz of course. Probably again and again. I mean, they’re not used to that kind of disorderly conduct. But is that really what you want, Joe?’

‘And let me guess … if I pay my taxes, none of that happens?’