They were in a car mechanic’s workshop, and the only window had a thick curtain across it. A fluorescent strip light hummed and stuttered on the ceiling above him.

It had taken them about fifteen minutes to get here after they’d snatched him, so he reckoned he was somewhere in South or East London.

He didn’t see the exterior of the building because they backed the van up against the doors before dragging him out. Once inside, they’d forced him onto the chair in the centre of the workshop and warned him to be quiet.

‘So what happens now?’ he’d asked them.

‘We wait,’ one of them had replied.

‘What for?’

‘The man who wants to ask you some questions.’

He was sure that whoever they were waiting for was going to do more than just ask questions.

He sat up straight, shoulders pushed back, tried not to let them see how scared he was. But he couldn’t stop his body from shaking or droplets of sweat from sprouting on his forehead.

He’d never been in a situation like this before and it was a real eye-opener. He now knew what it had been like for all those unlucky pricks he’d brought to places like this to be tortured and murdered.

He’d laughed at those who had pissed and shit themselves. And he had mocked those who had begged him to let them go.

He was determined not to be so pathetic and weak. He’d rather die than disgrace himself like that.

The place stank of petrol and various other unpleasant odours. It was cramped compared with other workshops he’d been in and it was packed to the rafters with repair equipment, including tool chests, battery chargers, car creepers and transmission jacks.

Most of the London gangs owned at least a couple of garages and he wondered who this one belonged to. Was it one of the slags who had phoned him? Jack Smythe or Willy Norman perhaps. They were both convinced that he was responsible for the cop killings and they were both headcases. So maybe it was one of those guys who was about to turn up in the hope of persuading him to pull off his shooter. If it was one of them then it was unlikely he would walk away from this.

‘Here we go,’ one of the blokes said.

Slack heard a car pull up outside and his heart did a drum roll.

He lifted his head and clenched his jaw as he stared at the doorway. Two of the men went outside and he heard voices. A few moments later they came back in and they were standing either side of a man who wasn’t wearing a balaclava.

Slack recognised him at once and the breath lurched out of his chest.

‘I don’t fucking believe it,’ he gasped. ‘The last person I expected to see coming in here was a copper.’