Beezer knew everything about the product, and soon, under Beezer’s tutelage, so did Harlan. The pathetic old sod had been hanging out of Charlie’s arse for years. Harlan recalled the story that was told and retold at family parties, about Billy ‘Beezer’ Crowley doing a job years back but refusing to burn his designer togs afterwards for sentimental reasons – and costing himself two years inside. Fucking pineapple. Harlan watched Beezer now as he moved around town carrying out Charlie’s orders, Beezer with his snappy suits and his Rolex watch and his worn old face, age-spotted from too many holidays down on the Costas.

Harlan watched Beezer whenever he was at home – which wasn’t often. Watched the stupid old sod giving Milly and Belle presents, telling them funny stories, making them howl with laughter.

Silly bastard.

Harlan was getting his own comrades around him. A younger mob, the cream of Charlie’s up-and-coming crew, like Nipper and Ludo and Sammy and lots of others; not the old crew that Charlie loved the best and shoved all the goodies towards. Harlan was busy cultivating the new boys; he liked their fresh approach to old problems. Kept them in money and whores and anything else they desired. Treated them like they were his high-flying executives and he was their CEO, had fun with them on breaks away and in massage parlours.

Him and his men were in one of the parlours on Friday night. It had been a good week, profitable. Everything running smooth. No worries. Now it was time to relax.

The madam was used to them, looked after them. Gave them high-end booze, stocked the place with only the best girls. Chinese, African, Swedish, each one like a model. And all expensive. Not that expense worried Harlan. Never had, never would. Dad could moan, but Harlan was Number One Son, only son, he’d do whatever the fuck he wanted and screw Charlie Stone.

They were lined up in the parlour, all the girls, in skimpy underwear. The men were spoilt for choice.

‘Her,’ said Nipper. He’d selected a statuesque brunette; they wandered off together, hand in hand, to one of the many luxurious bedrooms in the place.

‘That one,’ said Ludo, ebony-skinned, lean and supremely elegant in his designer gear.

He’d chosen a milky-skinned redhead. She smiled and they sauntered off.

‘And for you, Mr Stone?’ asked the madam, smiling.

There was a small blonde at the end of the line. She had big sparkly wide-awake blue eyes, which was a bit of a problem because Belle’s were a dark liquid brown, smoky with sensuality, but in other ways this girl did look a bit like Belle, and he liked that. He could fantasize about Belle while he had her. Belle was going to be his one of these days, there was no doubt about that, try as she might to resist. But this one would do – for now.