Woodrow was tired, the shock and horror of the last few hours having sent him into his shell. He thought he was hard; his little firm were scared of him, and they gave him respect and a name. He looked at Mike and realized that he himself was such a small fish in a big pond; his way of dealing with business was nowhere near in Mike’s league. At one time, he thought that it was a myth how the old-school gangsters were cool and yet fucking dangerous. Not now, though. He felt as if he’d just stepped out of a film about the Kray twins. The vision of Mike swinging that heavy-duty spanner with so much aggression, and yet doing so with such deliberation, as if it was all planned, kept filling his mind. Of course, he wouldn’t go to the police. If Regan’s firm ever caught up with him, then God knows where his body parts would end up.

‘Is it true that Dez was gonna rape your son?’

Mike’s knuckles went white as he gripped the steering wheel.

Woodrow could see the man’s anger appear from nowhere. ‘Sorry, I guess that question was a bit close to the mark. I just wanted to know, that’s all.’

‘Yeah, he was, as a matter of fact. He also fucking burned all but one of the photos I had of my son when I thought my boy was dead. It was lucky for your brother he was in prison when he held a knife to Ricky’s throat, ’cos if he’d been on the outside, I’d ’ave killed him.’

Woodrow inhaled slowly through his teeth, and his top lip quivered. ‘You’re gonna kill Dez, ain’t ya?’

Mike nodded. ‘Yeah, I am . . . but Randy will live, and ya sister will go about her daily business, if you do as you’re told.’

Woodrow’s muscles tightened in his chest. ‘Me sister’s a good woman. She’s a nurse, so please don’t hurt her. I didn’t think you old-timers hurt women and kids. Some rule like that, anyway.’

‘Well, you’re right, but that depends on the circumstances. Someone has hurt my kid – badly – and I ain’t taking that lightly. I want revenge, and if it means I tear through every fucker in South-East London to find this cunt, then your sister is expendable.’

Woodrow wouldn’t argue – he knew that the Governor had met his match with Mike Regan. As they approached Peckham, Woodrow clocked a woman with a pram; she was walking with an older person. His heart was in his mouth; it was his mother, accompanying his sister and his baby niece. They looked so happy, so innocent. ‘Mr Regan, can we talk? I wanna do a deal with you.’