Vic’s daughter was standing in the doorway. She smiled at him and looked him up and down. She’s so pretty.

“See, your perfect scenario – your most profitable situation – is one where everyone knows you’ve got deep pockets, but you hardly ever have to pay out. Because you’ve made a couple of big investments in the right places years ago, and they’re still paying off for you now. You manage that – the right investment at the right time – and it’ll carry you for years.”

He paused as if to let Donald speak, but Donald could think of nothing to say.

“Don’t say much, do you? Good for you.”

Since silence seemed to be working, Donald continued to say nothing.

“You do get what I’m saying, though, don’t you? You’re not just sat there in a daze waiting for me to stop talking? It makes sense and all?”

“It makes sense,” said Donald.

He drank his coffee. It was hot and sweet. Like the girl who made it.

“So here’s the thing,” said Vic. “It’s time for us to make an investment. And Rob tells me you might have pockets deep enough for the job.”

Donald didn’t dare move in case he spilled his coffee on the carpet. Vic was apparently very houseproud.

“Are your pockets deep enough? Would you say that about yourself, young Donnie? Do you go by Donnie, by the way? Or do you prefer Donald?”

“Whichever you prefer is fine with me.”

“Fair enough. Since we’re talking man to man, let’s say Donald. It’s a restaurant. West End.” Vic grinned. “Decent grub.”

“What kind of investment are you looking for?”

“He owes us five grand. What do you think’s appropriate?”

A couple of big investments in the right places. Was this his moment to go in big? Or was he being tested to see if he was one of the stupid ones, the ones who piled in all guns blazing, then spent their best years behind bars? He looked at Vic. Vic looked back. And again he had that blaze of insight, and he knew what the best answer would be.

“How about you give me the address and leave it with me?” he said.

“What an astonishingly good idea.” Vic smiled. “You got a pen and paper?”

He hadn’t got a pen and paper. He flushed with annoyance.

“Never mind. You’ll learn.” He gestured to the bureau in the corner. “Top drawer. Help yourself.”

Rummaging in the drawer, his fingers stumbled across a scented eraser, shaped like a strawberry and meant to fit on the end of a pencil. He could picture Vic’s daughter using it at school. It must have been there for years. He took out the notebook and dropped the little strawberry into his pocket.

Vic gave him the address. (Why was Vic making him do the writing? Of course: the same reason he hadn’t given clear instructions. If Donald was caught and he had the address on him, it would be harder to trace it back to Victor. That just confirmed what he already knew – that despite appearances he wasn’t really on the inside yet, not all the way in, although perhaps once he’d delivered to everyone’s satisfaction… )