‘A black one,’ said Canton. ‘It’s very clean.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Just that I don’t want to get it dirty.’

Canton looked pointedly at Angel’s suitcase, which had certainly seen better days but was too old to remember them. Angel followed the direction of Canton’s gaze, and reluctantly conceded the point.

‘Maybe we ought to just tie it to the roof,’ he said.

‘No, we can put it in the trunk. I have some plastic sheeting.’

‘What about me, do I have to go in the trunk, too?’

‘I guess you can ride up front.’

‘Will I have to talk to you?’

‘Only if you’re bored.’

‘Then lead the way. I figure my taxes are probably funding the car anyway.’

‘Not your taxes,’ said Canton. ‘You don’t pay any.’

‘Even better,’ said Angel. ‘And I hope you have candy.’

In the event, there was candy – boxes of Swedish Fish and Milk Duds – and some polite conversation passed between Angel and Canton on the journey, the former’s animosity toward the latter being general rather than specific, and arising from the aforementioned distrust of federal law enforcement. Canton’s radio was tuned to one of those classical music channels aimed at those anxious to improve themselves but hampered by short attention spans.

‘I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me why you’re here?’ said Canton at last, as they turned off Euston Road and entered London’s congestion zone.

‘I want to catch up with a friend,’ said Angel. ‘I may even take one of those bus tours. I didn’t have a chance last time I was here.’

‘Well, you were otherwise occupied, what with you and your buddies leaving a trail of bodies and all.’

‘A “trail” might be an exaggeration. And a couple of them were down to you, or so the newspapers said, unless you plan on demanding a retraction.’

‘Thankfully, I wasn’t actually named.’

‘You shouldn’t hide your light under a bushel,’ said Angel.

‘It wasn’t my light I was hiding.’

Which was true. Canton had taken the heat for killings that would otherwise have left Parker, Angel, and Louis with awkward questions to answer. It didn’t seem to have hurt his career, Angel thought, unless he was being forced to moonlight as a limo driver to make ends meet.

‘So this isn’t a business trip?’ said Canton.

‘It’s personal all the way.’

‘Huh,’ said Canton. ‘I wasn’t aware that SAC Ross had expanded into leisure tourism.’

‘I think he’s planning for his retirement,’ said Angel. ‘You know how much he hates idle hands.’

They crossed Oxford Street and edged into Soho.

‘Nevertheless,’ said Canton, ‘if you anticipate problems arising out of your activities here, I expect to be informed before they happen, not after. For old times’ sake.’

‘Is that a warning?’ said Angel.

‘Call it a government advisory,’ said Canton. ‘Unofficial, of course.’