Preliminaries over, the two of them sat in Nick’s kitchen and shared a bottle of white rum.

‘What do you want to know, Nick? Is it about JoJo or Jack Coyne?’

Nick Carvello chalked one up mentally to Dicky. ‘News travels fast.’

Dicky laughed. ‘Tell me, man, what the fuck did you do with his fingers?’

Nick chuckled with him, softly, as if they were sharing a huge joke. ‘I flushed them down the crapper.’

Dick grinned, showing surprisingly white teeth capped with gold. ‘Best place for them if you ask me.’

Nick stopped smiling. ‘But I’m not asking you, am I? What you’re here for is to tell me what you’ve heard about me, JoJo, Jack, or King Street fucking Charlie. Spill it, Dicky, I ain’t got all day.’

Little Dicky sipped at his white rum and shrugged.

‘Well, everyone knows about the shooting, except the police of course. But that’s how it should be. And what I hear besides is this: you’re planning a jump for someone and that someone is assed off with JoJo. So you sort of done him a favour, without realising it. I also hear that there’s a few people down south who want to know what’s going on and they’re willing to pay a lot of money to find out. That’s what I hear, Nick. Care to enlighten me further?’

Nick ran his tongue slowly across his teeth. ‘Who told you this?’

Little Dicky smiled again, his biggest, whitest smile.

‘Now you know I can’t divulge that kind of information, Nick. That’s what’s kept me alive for so long. Little Dicky never opens his mouth about anyone. You of all people should realise the sense in that.’

Nick nodded. ‘Listen to me, Dicky, this is a big one, but you already know that. Now listen to me good. I’ll put you on a retainer, working exclusively for me, just until all this is over. If anyone offers you a cent you refer them to me, through the grapevine of course. I’ll pay them a visit personally, you don’t have to soil your hands. I’ll watch your back, and I’ll set you up, but I need your word you’ll only work for this baby. Any double crossing and you’ll be found minus your head, tongue and cock. Do you get my drift?’

Little Dicky sat for a few seconds as if thinking over the proposition. Both Dicky and Nick knew he had to accept it. Nick was the undisputed King of the Gays and owned too many people. Little Dicky respected the fact he was pretending to ask him. It cut ice with the older man, afforded him a measure of respect. He knew how to play the game and he played it.