‘Well, from what I can gather, a friend of his from school went on the trot about a year ago. Poor little sod had a terrible time of it at home. Didn’t get on with the mum’s boyfriend. You get the picture, I’m sure. Anyway, he rang my Owen up and told him what a great life he was having and Owen went to see him and I ain’t seen hide nor hair of him since.’

‘Well, stop worrying. If he’s with McDougall he’ll be home, quick smart.’

Juliette stood up and left the room.

Patrick picked up the phone and dialled. He was looking forward to sorting out McDougall.

Tony Jones was chatting with Emmanuel at Sexplosion when Patrick Kelly and three large men walked into the shop.

‘All right, Jonesy?’ Kelly’s voice was not friendly and Tony was aware of it.

‘Hello, Mr Kelly, how can I help you?’

‘I want to know where I can find Jimmy McDougall. Now. This second.’

Tony Jones was squirming in his shoes. Jimmy McDougall was not a man to fall out with, but then again neither was Patrick Kelly. Of the two he decided he was more frightened of Kelly. He looked at Emmanuel.

‘What are you staring at, you great big fairy? Get out the back and sort the videos or something. And keep your big trap shut about what you’ve heard here tonight.’

Emmanuel did not need to be told twice. He literally ran from the shop.

‘What day is it today? Tuesday . . . He’ll be at his safe house by King’s Cross Station. I’ll write down the address.’

He went to the counter and hurriedly wrote a few lines on a piece of paper. Kelly took it from him and glanced at it.

‘Do you know something, Jonesy? I used to like you once but now I find you disgust me. Flogging all this crap is one thing, but to be an active participant in this kind of filth . . .’ Kelly waved the paper at him and shrugged. Then, spitting on the shop floor, he turned and left, his men following.

Jones breathed a deep sigh of relief. It crossed his mind to phone McDougall and warn him, but after weighing up the pros and cons of such an act in his mind, he decided against it. McDougall could do with being knocked down a few pegs and Patrick Kelly was just the man to do it.

Owen was sitting on a large settee watching a video. The glamour of his new life had already worn off. There was nothing to do but watch videos, drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes, and the novelty of all that was long gone. Plus the big man, Jimmy, who had been so friendly at first, had twice come into his room and made him do things. Things that made him feel sick. That was when he realised he was a virtual prisoner.