We got to the patch of waste ground. It was dark. They walked me deeper into the darkness, further and further away from the street lights. Then one of them said to me flatly, ‘Lie down, you wee fucker. If you try to move about it’ll be worse.’

I lay down quietly on the ground. ‘Prisoners Out’ was scrawled on the wall in front of me, just visible in white paint. The ground was cold and hard, with tiny bits of gravel on it that scourged my cheek. But the beating didn’t come. I lay there, waiting.

I still waited. Then somebody, I think it must have been McGee, said, ‘What do you think, Jacky? Do you think we should stiff you?’

I turned my head on the ground and looked up towards the black hood where the voice was coming from. The hard glint of something metal caught what little light there was. Christ, he meant it. He was holding a gun.

I said nothing. The voice said again, ‘Should we shoot you?’

‘Please don’t,’ I said, through the gag. It came out as a strangulated gargle.

‘Why not? Say pretty please, and then I might do it anyway.’

‘Pretty please.’

Oh fuck, why were they forcing me through these hoops?

I felt the cold metal pressed against my cheek. At the same time, a warm patch of urine started to spread across my trousers. I hoped they wouldn’t notice.

‘He’s pissed himself,’ said one of the voices. They all laughed.

‘Bang bang. You’re not the hard man now,’ said McGee. ‘Not like the other night in the Whistle.’

He was kneeling down close to my head now: I could smell the tang of stale beer.

‘That was a mistake,’ I said absurdly.

‘You hit me by mistake?’

‘Thought you were someone else.’

‘No you didn’t, you lying wee fuck. You were pissed off because we did your big fat friend, the one who was squealing for his mammy. Well now you’re going to be squealing for yours.’

‘Mine’s dead.’

Why did I tell them about her? Did I think I could invoke her protection, like a hovering saint?

‘I’m not surprised, when she saw what a toe-rag she had for a son.’

He jumped up. The others sniggered again.

‘Give him the treatment,’ he said.

The crack of a baseball bat came down on my arm and everything spasmed in the white heat of pain. And another, and another. I heard the blows whistle through the air as they came towards me. I was yelping like a dog now and snivelling for them to stop. I tried to curl up, but the blows kept on coming. A fist hit my jaw, with a sickening smack. The copper taste of blood filled my mouth, and – oh look, there was a loose tooth swimming in it. My stomach started to heave. I fought for air through the blood-soaked gag.