‘Thanks, Daniel, I appreciate what you’ve done.’

Daniel nodded at his brother. ‘You’d have done the same for me.’

It was strange talking like this, face to face, alone together after such a long time, and they both felt that.

‘How’s Ria?’

Peter shrugged. ‘How’d you think? Women never understand the real economics of this. They think it can all be fucking sorted out. But not this time.’

‘You’re definitely outing him then?’

Peter nodded. ‘What do you fucking think?’

Daniel poured them both a large Scotch. ‘Get that down you, Pete. You’re going to need it.’

Peter necked it in one swallow.

Daniel saw the pallor on his brother’s dark skin, and he felt genuinely sorry for him and his predicament. ‘Truth is, Pete, he was dead from the moment he started using that filth. Junkies are dying from the first hit.’

Peter laughed ironically. ‘He was dead from the minute I found out he was using. Drink is a dangerous enough game, as we know – makes people too fucking loquacious, as the old woman used to say when we were boys. Coke is bad enough, but at least you can wake up with a relatively sensible head. That brown is a different ball game. It eats at you like a cancer. It steals your soul, turns you into a fucking thief, a liar. It cancels out family, loyalty, everything that is important to most people, but seriously important to people like us, people in our game. He is no use to man or fucking beast. He’s weak, Daniel, he’s shown his true colours.’

Daniel Bailey knew the truth of his brother’s words. Junkies were anathema to people in the Life; they were completely untrustworthy and their habit guaranteed that they would betray anyone for a price.

‘Look, Peter, I’ve spoken to a couple of tame Filth. The girl’s death is being treated as a tragic accident – the lads did a good job, she was burned to fuck. So no comebacks from that quarter anyway.’

Peter wiped his nose with a huge hand. ‘Fucking real, ain’t it? Nineteen years old and dead as a fucking doornail. She nicked his stash by all accounts. Like that is supposed to be an excuse or something.’

‘If you want, Peter, I can take care of him for you . . .’

Peter held up his hand. ‘I will do it, but thanks anyway. This is my shit, and I will clear it up.’