Leon was shrinking into himself. With a zillion questions running through his mind, he wondered how the hell he was going to get out of this shitstorm, and, more worryingly, how he was going to escape with his life. He hoped that under these mean-looking men’s clothes there was a police badge, or he was completely buggered.

Mike continued to ignore Leon, his eyes boring into Saeed’s. ‘How the fuck did you meet Leon?’

‘I bought the drugs from him, and he gave me a job to pay for what I owed.’

‘Where did you meet him?’

Leon was now crumbling; his dealer was singing like a fucking canary, and he knew that if these men sussed out who his own supplier was, he was a dead man.

Saeed’s eyes flicked over in Leon’s direction; he concluded that his boss was the lesser of two evils and that he would do worse if he didn’t grass. ‘The Pomodorra in Peckham.’

A cold feeling swept through Mike. ‘The Italian restaurant? And what would a scummy toerag like you be doing dining in a classy place like that, eh?’

Saeed felt sweat dripping down his back. ‘No, not the restaurant. The ice-cream van outside it. It’s a known place to get gear if you have the password.’ As soon as he said it, he realized he’d said far too much.

‘And the password is?’

Saeed didn’t reply right away; he faltered. It was to prove a big mistake. ‘Er . . . ’ He looked across the road and spotted the sign “Tudor Way” on the wall of a side street. ‘Er, Tudor.’

Mike looked at Staffie. ‘Ya know me, Staff. I’ve always been able to smell a lie a mile away, and this silly little knobsucker has just tried to take me for a fool. And you know what I do to fools that try to mug me off, eh?’

Staffie grinned. ‘Do you want your monkey wrench or your blowtorch? What’s ya flavour?’

Saeed gasped. Jesus, they’re gonna torture me, he thought. He wasn’t ready for such premeditated violence, and, instantly, the shock made him piss himself. ‘No, look, sorry, it’s not Tudor. Fuck, it’s Governor.’

Mike’s eyes widened. ‘You what?’

Saeed’s head was shaking as if he was about to have a fit. ‘Yeah, it’s Governor. I promise, I’m not lying.’

Mike suddenly let Saeed go and turned so fast towards Leon that the man jumped back.

‘Who supplies you?’

‘I don’t know his name. They just call him the Governor. I swear to ya, he just calls me and meets up, drops off the drugs, and takes the money, or he tells me where to drop off the money. That’s all I know.’ He was now crying and pleading like a real wimp.