Travis tried desperately to put up with the pain and concentrate before Mike stabbed his other knee. The Harmans had sworn they had his back. Come what may, he wouldn’t get hurt and when the business came their way, he would have a hefty cut of it. All he had to do was to find out where the lock-ups were, who their supplier was, and to record the evidence. The rest was up to them. Now, he wished he’d never agreed to any of it. It was no secret as to who he was doing over or how hard these men were.

The history of the Regans went back decades. The old man, Arthur, ran the firm with an iron fist. With his crew, they controlled the streets in Bermondsey.

Mike and Eric were Arthur’s pride and joy. He brought them up to be a pair of chips off the old block, and they were – to the extent that they were even more fierce and reckless. Learning everything they knew from their father and his contemporaries, so they wouldn’t have to learn their criminal trade within the walls of Wormwood Scrubs, it was almost an early baptism, except it began when they were aged thirteen and twelve respectively.

Travis often drank in the local haunts frequented by Eric and Mike. For years, he was just there mooching in the background, dealing a bit of cocaine and weed or selling knocked-off merchandise. It was Eric who had taken him on board, totally unaware that he was colluding with the Harmans. Yet, Eric wasn’t as sharp as Mike, and had royally fucked up this time, by not doing his homework on Travis.

‘So, tell me then, Travis, because I ain’t got all night, see. Are you gonna be the problem or the solution? It’s your choice.’

‘Harry Harman wanted me to take pictures of your lock-ups and stuff.’

Mike’s blank expression spoke volumes. Travis had to put more meat on the bones to satisfy Mike’s hunger for information.

‘I was seeing their kid sister, Paris. I swear, I didn’t want to get involved, but they . . . Oh my God, they’re gonna fucking kill me . . . ’

‘No, they ain’t, Travis, because—’

No sooner had Eric opened his mouth than Mike spat, ‘Shut it! Eric, I do the talking, if ya don’t mind.’

Eric took a step back and bowed his head to hide his clenched teeth. It was outrageous. Mike was really getting in his face now.

‘Sorry about that, Travis. You were saying?’

‘I didn’t want to work for them, but they saw it as payback for seeing Paris. They said I owed them for taking liberties, and the only way to pay them back was to take poxy photos . . . That’s all I know, I swear.’

Mike held his hand up for Travis to stop talking. He paced the floor and then spun around. ‘Staffie, give me that screwdriver.’