‘That’s where we’re headed,’ he said, though at present he looked nonplussed. Having barely seemed to know where he was driving prior to learning that McCracken was going to be all right, it seemed he’d steered them onto a maze-like housing estate and now was having trouble finding his way off it again.

‘Just as long as you know, Mick … you and your bloody mates turn this thing into Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show and I won’t help you.’

‘Like we need your help.’

‘I’m telling you, pal. The Crew gets involved in a shooting war in Crowley, and November Division will come after you with everything they’ve got. Me too.’

‘Shouldn’t you be doing that anyway?’

She couldn’t reply to that.

How could she?

It was true.

Chapter 31

Miles O’Grady would probably have been the first to admit that he hadn’t been thinking straight. On reflection, the obvious thing would have been to accept Frank McCracken’s offer, a 50 per cent split between himself and the Crew. But he doubted he could ever have lived with that easily. It just wasn’t his thing to be an underling. How would he ever get rich when he was basically working for someone else? How could he ever rub those GMP fuckers’ noses in it if he just became another gangster? But as he parked the Golf outside Dashwood House and clambered hurriedly out, hair sweat-soaked, clothes clammy and dishevelled, a briefcase clenched under his arm, it still occurred to him that he might have handled this thing better.

He tucked the Taurus into his belt and pivoted 180 degrees, scanning the full length of Long Acre. It was deserted, as it should be at this time of night, but only one streetlight was in operation, so that meant there were lots of hidden crannies. He backed towards the building, fumbling for his keys. There wasn’t much of value in the office, but what there was he had to take with him, and he had to do it quickly.

He closed the door behind him, locked it and hurried up the darkened stairs.