‘Gentlemen, you surprise me.’ Pentecost strolled back to his own end of the table. ‘Are we not the ruling elite? Do you seriously expect the burden of these losses to fall elsewhere when we ourselves –’ he tossed the paperwork down the table ‘– are directly responsible for them?’

‘If there are losses across the board, Bill,’ Al Reed ventured, ‘couldn’t it just be the effect of austerity?’

‘Austerity is something that impacts on the ordinary,’ Pentecost replied. ‘On those who lack the means and the will to resist it. We are immune to austerity, because we are the extraordinary.’

‘Don’t we get to vote on this?’ Trueman wondered.

Pentecost met him eye-to-eye. This was the potential crisis point. Trueman’s body-language suggested they had not okayed this beforehand. That would be typical Wild Bill these days. Increasingly, he reacted to developments in kneejerk fashion. Previously, he would never have made a potentially controversial move without discussing it with his number two first. It would have been difficult for any of them to tackle Wild Bill on his own, but to tackle him and Lennie Trueman together would be suicide.

Billy Boy is riding his luck, McCracken thought.

But perhaps, on further consideration, Trueman, a cooler head who saw the bigger picture quickly, had decided that the very least they could do in these trying circumstances was put business before pleasure. So, though he remained taut, he awaited his Chairman’s response politely.

‘Of course,’ Pentecost said, walking again. ‘We’re all equals in here.’ He paused at the other end of the table. ‘Any objectors raise their right hands.’

He swept them with his gaze as they each struggled with the matter.

One by one, with many a truculent stare directed downward, they folded their hands on the table in front of them, until it was unanimous.

‘I think the motion is carried,’ Pentecost said. ‘Which concludes our business for today.’

The meeting didn’t break up as amicably as usual.

The Chairman saw them out in his usual fashion, accompanying them into the penthouse lobby, where Benny B and his men restored their guns to them.

Pentecost spoke fake fond words as they departed. But when he went back into the boardroom, he found that they hadn’t all left. Frank McCracken stood by the main window, taking in its panoramic view of the city.

‘Still here, Frank?’ Pentecost approached. ‘I thought after that pep talk, we’d all consider we had rather a lot of business to attend to.’

‘Just wondering if I could have a little private chat?’ McCracken replied. ‘For old times’ sake, if nothing else.’

Pentecost mulled it over. ‘Suppose I can spare a minute for one of my oldest muckers.’

‘If a minute’s all I’ve got, I’ll get straight to it,’ McCracken said. ‘I wonder if you’d consider reversing that decision about slashing the skim?’

Pentecost looked sad. ‘How disappointingly predictable of you.’