Peter raised an eyebrow sceptically. ‘I have never heard anything remotely like that and, believe me, I hear fucking everything.’ He downed his brandy and placed the glass carefully on the mantelpiece, watching O’Neill intently. He had admired him once, many moons ago, when they were much younger, but now he saw him for what he had become. ‘Do you know what you are, Kevin? You’re a fucking leech. You have lived off everyone around you since day one – you live off a rep that you got in the fucking dark ages. It’s the seventies, mate, people don’t doff their fucking caps no more because you shot someone once. All that’s long gone. You’re a mug, no more and no less. It’s a new order now. You could have had another five years if you had used your fucking loaf. But you have no real intelligence. You’re a fucking fool.’

Kevin O’Neill looked at the man who had the audacity to walk into his home and insult him and, shaking his head in disbelief, he said quietly, his anger now bubbling to the surface, ‘You stupid black cunt. I was willing to swallow your outrageous fucking behaviour, because I believed you and your brother were worth me taking an interest. But you walk in here like you are fucking important, and have the nerve to talk to me like I’m a cunt, and you think I’m going to swallow my knob like that fucker Lanson? Well, I fucking well won’t.’

Peter said seriously, ‘I should hope not.’

Then, taking out the Stanley knife, he sliced O’Neill across the face, opening the man’s mouth from ear to ear. He disabled him in the worst way possible, making it impossible for him to say a word. It was an insult worse than anything he could have experienced and they both knew it.

‘No one’s coming to your aid, mate – we’ve already nobbled your little boys, I’m afraid. They deserted this sinking ship hours ago. And one last thing before I slice you up good and proper. Don’t you ever call my brother a fucking moron. He’s worth a hundred of you.’

Peter Bailey took his time, and he made sure Kevin O’Neill was still alive when he finally left him. He wanted him to die slowly, knowing exactly who had killed him, and why. He looked around the room, noting everything. He would call his men to clean up later.

As he drove home he looked at the sun rising and smiled to himself. Today was the dawn of a new age and the Bailey boys were exactly where they deserved to be.

Chapter Six

‘All right, Mum?’