Now Daniel Bailey observed as Terry held court. He was a good-looking man, well into his forties, but with a fine head of dark brown hair, and lively blue eyes. Like them, he had an Irish ancestry, and like them he was proud of it. Although, unlike Daniel and his brother Peter, Terry knew who his father was. Tony Allen had been a real force in his day; he had died in prison of liver failure a few years previously, seventeen years into a thirty-year stretch. Prison hootch was a fucking killer. The lads had buried him with the required pomp and ceremony that denoted his standing in the criminal community, and then quietly taken over his role along with his businesses. They had done a good job as well, no one could deny that.

But they were getting a bit too big for their boots. They had been particularly disrespectful about the Baileys, and that had come to Peter’s attention on more than one occasion. The Allens were beginning to think that they were above being rebuked by the very people who gave them their earn. Both Daniel and Peter were aware of that, and knew that the Allens had to be cut down to size before it got too far out of hand.

People like the Allens were dangerous; they were intelligent enough to plan a coup, hard enough to carry it out, but not patient enough to bide their time. They had fucked themselves with their own hubris, because they had underestimated the Baileys’ reach. The Allens had not foreseen just how many people were loyal to the Baileys, and depended on them for their earn as they had for many years. These were the same people who had no qualms about putting the word into the appropriate ear when they deemed it necessary.

Now the Allens had to be reprimanded – and publicly. They were a real handful, and that was the problem. Both Daniel and Peter were agreed that they were not men to overlook, and definitely not men who you gave any kind of leeway. If they managed to recruit other families they could then become more powerful. The fact that they were the main providers of recreational drugs this side of the Watford Gap was enough to make sure they were taken seriously as a threat.

Daniel saw his brother watching Terry Allen as he mocked the people around him; in his exuberance at telling his story he was slopping drink everywhere, with complete disrespect for Peter Bailey’s home. Catching his brother’s eye, Daniel Bailey winked at him mischievously, looking forward to taking Terry down a peg or two.

Terry Allen knew very well that his antics and foul-mouthed joking were being observed and, looking at his brother Billy, he said loudly, ‘Get us another drink, Billy Boy, I feel a real bastard of a thirst coming on.’