Leon stepped back in shock, his mind working overtime, trying to think why the Governor was in his cottage, and, more worryingly, why he was holding a weapon. The Governor only ever made phone calls. He worked from his car; no one ever really got to meet him face-to-face. Yet the firm knew that if you crossed him you would be dead within two days. There was no bartering or begging. The man was ruthless and took no prisoners. His punishments went far beyond what any rational person would dish out.

Leon locked eyes with him and felt his bowels move. Those grey eyes that stared back were the Devil’s – he was convinced of it. And there was no way he would argue with him because death would knock at his door – that was a dead cert. ‘What’s up, mate?’ he asked, as his hands began to shake and his legs felt heavy.

‘Mate? I ain’t your mate. You fucking call me the Governor.’ The Governor’s face was tightened by his bottom jaw protruding. He shot a glance over at Jackie who was slumped on the sofa. ‘What’s up? You prick. How the fucking hell does some random slapper’ – he pointed to Jackie – ‘know where you work from, and, more to the fucking point, how does she know you supply drugs?’

‘She’s as safe as houses, Governor, I swear. She took some gear into the nick for Dez.’ The confidence in him plummeted as his voice cracked in panic. ‘Look, Governor, I wouldn’t take stupid chances, I swear to ya. She’s straight up.’ Leon could only guess that one of the men had grassed him up for having a tart turn up. Probably Stephan.

The Governor looked over at Jackie again and turned his head as if he recognized her. ‘Straight up, yeah? Look at the fucking state of the skanky bitch.’

‘Nah, she ain’t like that. I made her sample the gear.’

The Governor shook his head in disgust. ‘Where’s my money? You were supposed to fetch it to the drop-off point.’

Leon hurried over to the desk and opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a white cotton bag, ‘It’s all there.’

With a quick movement, the Governor grabbed the corner of the bag and tipped out the notes. ‘I want you to fucking count them in front of me. Now!’

Leon gathered up the money and began counting it. Each hundred bundle was carefully separated and put into piles until it totalled a thousand. Then, he placed every one in the bag. ‘Fifteen grand.’

‘Right, tomorrow, I want the next fifty grand dropped off at the Swan and Mitre, at noon. Not a fucking minute later. And if I ever have to come here in person again, I swear to God, you won’t have a fucking hand to count out the money.’

‘Look, I was gonna drop it off today. I swear to ya.’