Mike shook his head in annoyance. ‘And, by the way. Those bags of cocaine you had, I flushed them down the toilet.’

Jackie smiled sweetly. ‘Good. I needed to get off that shit. Oh, and it’s not cocaine, it’s called Flakka. It’s bleedin’ vile, evil stuff. Anyway, I guess you did me a right favour locking me up or I would still be selling my arse to buy the next hit.’

Her words came out of left field. Mike suddenly turned cold. ‘Flakka, you said?’

‘Yeah, why? What do you really care, Mike?’

‘Who supplied you with that shit?’

Jackie sensed the urgency in his voice. ‘Why? What’s it to you?’

He glared with his nostrils flared. Jackie read the signs: she’d always been able to read him like a book. Still, there was upside for her, if she played her cards right. If he wanted this information, he could sodding well pay for it. Softly, softly, catchee monkey, she thought. She would play it cool.

‘Because, Jackie, I wanna know, and you’re gonna fucking tell me. Now!’

She sipped her tea slowly, knowing every second was ramping up his anger. ‘I don’t wanna say, Mike. I don’t want to think about it again. I’m clean now, and that’s the way it’s going to stay.’

In a flash, he gripped her arm. ‘Oh, no, it fucking ain’t. Who supplied you?’

She tried to shake him off. Now she had the measure of him, she thought she would box clever.

‘Mike, I know that after I sign those papers, you’ll have everything, and I’ll end up back in that shit-hole of a caravan. You’ll live in this beautiful home with our son, and I’ll have fuck all. So, if you want something from me, then be decent. Give me something in return.’

Mike let go of her wrist and leaned back in his chair. He had to hand it to her. She played the game well. But then, he thought, she’d learned from a great mentor. ‘Fair enough.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll pay you for information. How about that? Five grand for starters, then?’

She thought she had him: hook, line, and sinker. ‘Make it ten grand, and we have a deal.’

He nodded. ‘Fine by me. Now, who the hell supplied you?’

‘He’s called Leon Khouri.’

Mike held back any expression on his face: he knew who Leon Khouri was, and he also knew the man was dead. ‘And how do you know about him?’

‘I want twelve grand now for that bit of info.’

He nodded. ‘Yeah, okay. Go on.’

‘Wait up! Let’s see the wonga, Mike.’