Hammell ran his tongue over the replacement filling. It didn’t seem quite smooth, but he liked the coarseness. He felt movement next to him and turned to see Darryl himself standing there. Hammell patted the young man’s upper arm in greeting.

“Not a bad crowd for a weeknight,” he said over the music.

“It’ll get busier,” Darryl stated. He was in another new-looking suit, dark, with a pale-green shirt beneath.

“Where’s Rob tonight?”

Darryl turned his attention from the dancers to his employer. “I had to let him go,” he said.

Hammell lifted an eyebrow. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened. But with you up north, it made it easier for me to tell him to take a walk. He got a bit of money, same as the others.”

“He was a good guy.”

“He was your guy, Frank, that was Rob’s problem.” Christie gestured towards the dance floor. “Now it’s all my guys.”

Hammell pulled back his shoulders and bunched his fists. “What the fuck’s going on?”

Darryl Christie answered with a cold smile. “You’re out, Frank, that’s what’s going on. I’ve got some paperwork arriving from your lawyer—now my lawyer, too. You’re going to sell me your entire business for one pound sterling.”

“You little shit bag, get your arse out of here.” Hammell was standing toe to toe with him, flecks of saliva flying from his mouth. “After all I’ve done for you? Ungrateful wee bastard.” He jerked a thumb towards the stairwell. “Go on, before I rip your head from your fucking neck!”

“Look again,” Christie said calmly. Hammell looked, and saw three men appearing at the top of the stairs. Doormen. Men whose names and faces he didn’t know. Darryl Christie’s men.

“I’ve got everything,” Christie went on, his voice still icy calm. “Passwords, account details, everything. The offshore banks, the numbers you don’t think anyone knows about. It did for Al Capone and it’ll do for you. Taxman’ll have a field day.”

“What’s your mum going to say?”

“Not one damned thing, because you’re not going near her again. You’re steering clear of my family from now on.” Christie paused. “Unless you want me to tell her about you and my sister.”

Hammell’s face froze.

“It was Annette who told me,” Christie went on. “That’s how she was—no way she could keep it to herself. I nearly whacked you over the back of the head for that—that and everything else.”

“There’s not a chance in hell of me signing anything.”

“Then a memory stick arrives at HMRC sometime tomorrow. Not even enough time for you to leave the country—not when I’ve got your passport in the same safe place as everything else.”

The three doormen were standing behind Hammell, awaiting orders. When Hammell made his move, they grabbed him by the shoulders, stopping him from getting to their employer.

“I made you who you are,” Hammell growled, trying to wrestle free. “Gave you a job, took you to my house…”

“And pretty soon I’ll have a house just like it,” Christie said. “But there’ll always be a difference between us.”