Once he reached the A20, he put his foot down, hoping that Randy was still okay after what Woodrow had told him. It was a wonder the lad’s heart was even ticking. Staffie had mentioned that the boy was sweaty. He flew up West Kingsdown, along School Lane, and down into Knatts Valley. As soon as he entered the narrow lane and leaped from the car, the cold air hit him. The night was drawing in, and he hoped that Randy was fit enough for a trip to the hospital.

The moment Mike pushed the door open, Staffie clicked his gun. ‘It’s all right, Staff, it’s me.’ He scanned the large room and spied Dez out cold in the chair, still tied up. Randy was also laid out cold on an old leather sofa, which was against the far wall by the kitchenette.

‘How’s he doing?’

Willie jumped up. ‘He’ll live, the poor fucker. I’ve given him a spliff.’

Mike rolled his eyes. ‘For fuck’s sake, Willie, he’s got something wrong with his heart.’

Willie screwed his face up. ‘Yeah, so ya said. Look, I never gave him any cocaine. I just thought a joint might calm him down, sort of ease the pain a bit.’

Mike studied the lad. ‘Ease the fucking pain? You’ve knocked him right out! Jesus . . . well, anyway, you and Staff, get him in the car and run him down to Darent Valley Hospital. Stick him in a wheelchair and leave him at A&E.’ He looked back at Randy. ‘I guess, if he comes to again, give him another spliff, knock him out, and then get back here. We’ve a little matter to take care of. ’Cos, see that cunt there?’ He pointed to Dez. ‘He was the spunky rat that hurt Ricky.’

‘How the fuck d’ya know that?’ asked Staffie.

‘’Cos his own brother told me. And another thing, lads. I’ve just had a big tip-off. I think we’re gonna be rubbing our hands together tonight. So, let’s get our arses into gear. We’ve some serious fucking work to do and not much time either. Staffie, give us ya phone. My poxy thing’s died. I need to make a call.’

Staffie rolled his eyes and threw his phone over to Mike.

Willie grinned from one ugly ear to the other; he loved that cheeky look on Mike’s face. It only meant one thing – they were back in business.

***

Neil leaned across the bar. ‘Antonio, you can relax, mate. The lunchtime punters are all gone. See, no trouble. Now, pour yourself a stiff drink and also me one, while you’re at it.’

Antonio sighed wearily. ‘This is all getting too much for me.’

As he poured two tumblers of Irish whiskey, Shamus strolled over. ‘One for me?’

With another sigh, Antonio took another glass off the shelf and poured a generous measure.