As his dad had once said to him, getting to the top was the easy bit, it was staying there that took the hard work. He was in his thirties, and he was no Prince Charles – he had no intention of waiting around for fucking years to get what was rightfully his. He wanted it now, while he was still young enough to enjoy it.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One

Danny Bailey and Delroy were eating breakfast in a café in Manor Park. They were both tired out.

‘I went everywhere, Danny. I tell you, Terry Allen was nowhere to be found. Now his body turns up in a fucking squat in Barking? It stinks.’

Danny was inclined to agree with his friend, but he didn’t say that. Instead he said nonchalantly, ‘How so?’

Delroy grinned, he knew this fucker so well. Danny Bailey wouldn’t commit if the Pope himself requested it.

‘You know exactly what I mean. Whoever shot Terrence would be crowing about it. Whoever it was would know that there was a price on his head. A fucking hefty price at that.’

Danny agreed; this did stink. Anyone with half a brain would happily put their hand up to Terrence Allen’s murder. ‘Maybe, though, whoever ironed him out was behind the bombing? And, be fair, it would be in their interests to keep that quiet, wouldn’t it?’

Delroy nodded; that made sense. ‘But think about it this way: how would we know about that? We have nothing, so surely it would make more sense to own up, and concoct a fucking feasible story about how the Allens had them over? I’m telling you, this feels wrong. No one seems to know anything about the bombing and, let’s face it, Danny, we have exhausted every fucking avenue open to us. Even the Filth can’t come up with anyone who the Allens might have been in bed with. Half the Faces in the Smoke were in the club the night it blew – they wouldn’t fucking put themselves in the firing line, would they? Suppose the gas main went with the bomb – that would have taken out everyone in the fucking club. It’s all wrong. We are missing something or, more to the point, someone.’

Danny was aware that his uncle and his dad were both thinking along the same lines. It had to be someone they knew and knew well. He shrugged. ‘I want them. I want them for what they did to my mum – she was an innocent, like most of the people in that club. They were after my Uncle Peter, and that means this had to be the work of someone who has enough clout to follow it through.’

Delroy nodded his agreement. ‘That’s exactly what I’ve been saying all along, for fuck’s sake!’