Money bought him more than just fancy cars and a big house, of course. It bought him influence and respect. He had been at the golf course yesterday and had enjoyed lunch with three of the local businessmen with whom he often played a round, at once pleased by the fact that they saw him as a legitimate businessman and smug with the knowledge that his criminal enterprise generated more than all of their companies combined. He liked to feel part of the local community and had made a name for himself as something of a philanthropist. A primary school near his house had burned down six months ago, and Jackson had agreed to provide a sizeable proportion of the funding needed to rebuild it. There had been stories in the local newspaper and a profile of him on the local BBC news. He wanted people to like him, and this kind of attention was something that he cherished. He had been in the game long enough to know that his operation, and the real source of his wealth, was safely hidden. He was confident that there was no prospect of the police being able to delve into his real business, and even if there was, he had several high-ranking officers looking out for him. Some of them had been bought, and the cooperation of others had been secured by the fact that Jackson held incriminating information over them that would end their careers if it ever saw the light of day.

The gate was still shut. He laid his hand on the horn, letting it blare until McMahon realised that he was waiting and hit the button to open the gates. They slid back on their runners and Jackson drove the Bentley inside. He parked in his usual space and stepped outside, locking the door and making his way into the warehouse.

19

McMahon met him inside. “How’s your head?”

“I’ve been better,” Jackson said.

“It was a good night.”

“From what I can remember of it.”

“You remember the girls?”

Jackson frowned. “Did I take pictures of them?”

“You told them you were going to make them famous.”

He chuckled at his stupidity. “Posted them to the Cloud, didn’t I?”

“And Vanessa found them?”

He grinned. “Won’t make a difference. She ain’t going anywhere, is she? Knows what side her bread’s buttered.”