Young Delroy shrugged indifferently. ‘I’m cool. What’s your problem?’

Delroy stopped the car. They were on a quiet road; most of the terraced houses were now flats, and the people who resided there were generally outsiders.

‘Why we stopped here?’

Delroy could hear the annoyance in his son’s voice. He was already psyched up for the night ahead, of that much he was sure.

‘You’re stoned.’ It was a statement.

Young Delroy grinned foolishly. ‘So what, Dad? I had a little puff. I was with company, a few friends, chillin’, you know.’ It was said with a faux Jamaican accent, something else that always irritated Delroy. He hated the whole Jah Boy image; he thought it was an insult.

His fist hit the boy’s head hard, and he followed the first punch with five more, each one harder than the last. ‘I told you to use your fucking brain tonight, I told you to keep a sensible head on your shoulders. I will not embarrass myself by taking you with me into serious situations while you are too stoned to work out the fucking score. Now get out the car.’

Young Delroy was humiliated; he deserved his father’s wrath – he had known that he should never have taken the first hit, let alone allowed himself to get wrecked. But he had been with friends, and he had not been able to resist smoking with them. He was regretting that now, big time.

‘I said, get out of my fucking car.’

The boy did as he was told, knowing it was pointless arguing. He had fucked up, and he had fucked up in the worst possible way as far as his father was concerned.

As his father sped off, he rubbed a hand across his face; it was already beginning to swell up and he knew he would look like he had been hit by a train by the morning. Sighing, he began to walk to the nearest cab rank. His big night – the night when he was going to finally be a real partner with his dad – was over before it had even really begun. He felt the sting of tears and he swallowed them down; he had brought this on himself, and he knew that better than anyone.

Chapter One Hundred and One

Petey Bailey was at the Electric Lady; it was gone two in the morning and the place was packed out. The smell of sweat, perfume and make-up was heavy in the air. The music was loud, and the atmosphere was genial.

As he made his way through the club to the offices, he waved at Karim. Inside, Davey was waiting for him, as expected.

‘Where are the others?’

Davey grinned. ‘Where do you think? Getting private dances by now. I thought it best to keep them out of this, you know?’