Kevin opened the door with a genuine smile, and a cavalier attitude. O’Neill was a man who knew the importance of change and, as far as he was concerned, he didn’t give a fuck who worked the Smoke for him, as long as he got his poke. He was glad it was Peter Bailey who had come to give him the hard word. At least Peter had a reputation for doing things quietly, unlike his brother Daniel. He was a drama queen of Olympian standards, which was why Kevin had more often used Daniel for jobs rather than this one. He began to realise now he’d overlooked the more dangerous Bailey brother.

‘Well, I was expecting you at some point. Come on in.’

Peter went into the house, impressed despite himself at the sheer size and opulence around him. This was the good life all right and he wanted a bit of it for himself. In what was obviously an office, he waited for O’Neill to pour them both a drink before he said quietly, ‘We’ve taken them all out, Kevin, but you already know that, I’m sure.’

Kevin O’Neill looked at the huge black man before him. He had to admit he was a formidable opponent – both he and his brother were hard fuckers, the hardest he had ever come up against if he was honest about it.

‘I heard.’

Peter smiled. ‘I don’t think you really get this, do you?’

Kevin O’Neill laughed, half impressed with the man’s front, but aware that he also needed to be taken down a peg, sooner rather than later. ‘What’s to get, Peter? I couldn’t give a fuck who works my pavements, whether it’s you, fucking Jed Lanson or King Street fucking Charlie. As long as my name is kept out of it, I couldn’t give a toss. You had a swerve tonight because Lanson was getting too old. I’ve been wanting a younger, keener, hungrier crew, and if you and that moron of a brother had waited a few weeks I would have offered it to you on a plate.’