Beezer nodded. The boy had got the message. He’d be careful about staying true to the cause, the Charlie Stone cause, in future. He wouldn’t want to risk this happening again.

‘Nah, he hasn’t,’ said Harlan, and again the steam billowed out with a loud, hungry hiss.

The boy’s eyes rolled in his head. He was passing out with the pain.

‘Want some more, pretty boy?’ said Harlan, leaning over him, grinning.

‘I said that’s enough,’ said Beezer, and snatched the iron away. He moved over to the socket and yanked the plug out and stood the thing on the dressing table among the pots of rouge, an inch of dust and half-opened packets of coke. ‘We don’t want him out of work too long.’

Harlan drew back, scowling. For a minute, Beezer thought that he was going to get a right-hander off his boss’s son. He’s enjoying this. Really getting off on it, thought Beezer with a cold shudder.

All right, sometimes you had things to do. Unpleasant things. You didn’t have to bloody well enjoy it though. You didn’t have to be a fucking monster.

Then Harlan composed himself.

‘OK,’ he said with a shrug, and went and lounged in the doorway, hands in pockets.

Beezer went to the bathroom, dipped a towel in cold water and took it back out and dropped it onto the boy’s shrivelled, scarlet manhood. The boy’s eyes flickered open and he groaned.

Beezer pointed a finger at him. ‘You remember this, all right? You work for Ch—’

‘Harlan Stone,’ said Harlan from the doorway.

All the men standing around the bed froze.

‘Dad said I was in charge up here and I am, right?’ Harlan said, looking first at Beezer and then at the two others. ‘If any of you disagree with that, there’s still plenty of water left in that steam iron,’ he added with a smile that chilled them all.

Beezer didn’t think he’d ever once heard Charlie say that Harlan should be in charge. Personally, he wouldn’t leave Harlan in charge of a dog, much less an outfit of the size and scale of Charlie’s. But what could you do? Cross Harlan and you were crossing Charlie too, and if Charlie got upset, blood was spilled. Nobody would be dishing out medals if anyone opened their stupid gobs and spoke out.

‘Fine by me,’ said Beezer.

‘That’s good,’ said Harlan, and they left the building.

Later, Harlan and Beezer were in Charlie’s luxe apartment with a Tower Bridge view. Harlan had ditched the Langham because he was sick of hearing Charlie carping on about the expense of it, but he wasn’t going to rough it just to please that tight old cunt. This place would do him nicely, for now. As they sat there, Beezer said he was going to tell Harlan the facts of life.