Hardly anyone patronised the Dead Man’s Hand any more, which is why it suited Miles O’Grady, almost guaranteeing privacy, even now at lunchtime. There were no other punters in, and even the obese barmaid, who had been disagreeably surprised to see him and his two cronies enter, had served them a round and promptly disappeared from view, as though to ensure that she wouldn’t be called on to do any more work. Just to be certain, though, O’Grady chose the table farthest from the bar, around which to have his conflab with Stone and Roper.

‘They didn’t just take my Jag for a joy-ride,’ O’Grady said, keeping his voice very low. ‘They smashed it into some innocent bystander and then dumped it back in my garage. That means I can’t even take it to be repaired. Sixty grand’s worth of motor gone, written off, for ever.’

Stone’s eyes bulged over the rim of his beer glass. ‘Christ! Who was the poor sod?’

O’Grady stared at him as if he was an imbecile. ‘What does that matter? Some old bloke past his sell-by date. The main thing is they’re playing for keeps. This is the shit they’ll stoop to, to get what they want.’

Roper hadn’t touched his own drink yet. He listened grimly.

O’Grady leaned forward. ‘So, the situation’s simple. We either up sticks and move … as in relocate to somewhere where we don’t know anyone and would have to start from scratch. Or we resist.’

‘Resist?’ Roper said, baffled.

‘Something wrong with that, Jon?’ O’Grady asked.

‘You said this was the Crew.’

‘Who else? Only Frank McCracken would be capable of that. Walking into the belly of the beast and making fucking ridiculous demands, at the same time as looking suave and managing to sound conciliatory.’

Roper shook his head. ‘Miles … we know McCracken of old. He’s hardcore. A devil in a three-piece suit. And he’s got about twenty other devils on his payroll, if not more.’

‘And what are we … a bunch of pussies who don’t count?’

‘Miles, we can’t fight the Crew. We shouldn’t be fighting anyone. This routine of ours only works if we’re discreet about it.’

‘I went to bed on Sunday night thinking the same thing,’ O’Grady said. ‘That we’re basically screwed. We pay up or we die. Talk about a no-win situation. Except … I’ve been straining the old grey matter since then, and maybe I don’t accept no-win situations.’

‘Why is it no-win?’ Stone asked. ‘I mean paying up?’

The other two looked round at their burly, bearded companion.

‘Would it really be so bad?’ he said.

‘Are you serious?’ O’Grady replied.

Stone shrugged. ‘How much do they want?’

‘It doesn’t matter. They’re not getting a fucking penny. If nothing else, it’s the principle.’