Willie got into the driver’s seat and pulled out his own gun. ‘Move, either of ya, and I’ll shoot ya!’ He was giving his best sadistic laugh, and both Randy and Dez knew then that one false move and nutty Willie could easily fire a bullet.

Staffie hopped in the front passenger seat and then took over. ‘Right, you two fuckers are coming with us. We need a word.’ He didn’t take his eyes off his captives all the time it took for Willie to drive like a madman to the lock-up in Knatts Valley.

***

Lou and Mike sat patiently, waiting for Woodrow, the eldest brother. ‘Nice suit, Lou, but it’s gonna get kinda messy because I’m gonna fuck that Dez up, and I’m also assuming it’s gonna take more than pulling a couple of teeth out to get information from this prick . . . There he is, look! Take a fucking butcher’s at that swanky cunt.’

Lou peered across the road at the tall, slim Rasta, his dreadlocks piled high inside a Jamaican woollen hat. His long white shirt was open at the waist, revealing a black vest and a heavy gold chain. He walked with such a swagger, he was almost doing the moonwalk. They watched as Woodrow stopped for a moment. He pulled out his skunk from inside his hat and rolled a fat spliff while he leaned against the wall.

He looked up and down the road. Mike guessed he was waiting for his brothers. ‘Right, let’s make our acquaintance, then, shall we?’

Lou got out first and headed towards Woodrow with a smile on his face.

‘Hello, mate, I’m Lou Baker, your friendly adviser.’

Woodrow stopped licking the fag paper and frowned. ‘Sorry, but you got the wrong bloke.’

Mike was laughing to himself. Lou could always pull off a city slicker or a lawyer when the need arose, like now.

‘No, mate, I’ve got the right bloke.’

Woodrow glowered at Lou, with his eyes twitching. ‘Fuck off. I don’t know you.’

Lou, the smallest of the firm, stood defiantly with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. ‘No can do. You need some advice and me and me pal are gonna give ya some. End of.’

Woodrow looked over Lou’s shoulder to find a massive man with a chest the size of a fridge-freezer and hands like whitewater rafting paddles. The Yardie’s eyes protruded, and his heart raced. Pushing himself away from the wall, he was stopped by Lou, who suddenly whipped a blade from his pocket.

‘I wouldn’t, mate, if I were you.’

Woodrow looked down at the knife, and then he heard a click; it was a recognizable sound that turned him to stone. As his eyes slowly looked up, the huge man was holding a gun in his hand.

‘What the fuck is this all about?’