Peter nodded. He was pleased. This was actually Delroy’s brainchild. The boy had come up trumps. He had said this was a good investment, made a convincing argument and he had been right. He had also made sure they had a good DJ, cheap drink, and late licences. All in all, he had given them a seriously good – and legal – earn. His son-in-law had really come into his own because of this and Peter was impressed. The place was perfect for meets; it was a large building, with front and back access, four floors and, more to the point, it was always packed so it made it much harder for the Filth to infiltrate – bearing in mind the undercover police stuck out like a fucking pork chop in a mosque. You could see them a mile off, from their newly pierced ears, to their brand new leather jackets. It was embarrassing really. They couldn’t fit in just anywhere – they were the Filth, for fuck’s sake – they only fit in with their own. Ten years out of date in their clothing, they were so uncomfortable in the discotheque surroundings, they were easier to spot than a leper at a poker game. Peter had noticed more than one Filth on his foray into the offices tonight; it was laughable really.

‘You see those Filth dressed up like real people?’

Daniel laughed. ‘It’s awful, Peter, we know them all by name! Our new boy at the Met, Smith, has furnished us with all their details. Like we need them! They look like spare pricks at a wedding. But, in fairness, he’s come through for us.’

Peter nodded, then, going to the small bar in the corner of the office, he poured himself a large Scotch. He sipped it before saying quietly, ‘So, what’s the problem with Alfie Clarke now, Dan?’

Daniel shrugged nonchalantly, but he was wondering who had given his brother the nod. He was hoping to take Clarke out before his brother even realised there was a problem. Peter was too fucking gullible as far as he was concerned. He trusted the wrong people; he thought that his associates were as honest and loyal as he was.

Daniel squared up to his brother, pushing his shoulders back, taking a deep breath. It was a completely unconscious gesture. He was not happy about being caught like this, on the hop as it were. ‘You know my feelings about him, Pete. I have never hidden my contempt. I worked with him for you, but I have never trusted him.’