The play area is still empty as I sit down on the plinth and survey my surroundings. I can feel the weight of the gun in my pocket tugging on the shoulder of my suit. The sun is shining and I can hear the sound of the traffic on Peckham High Street and kids shouting and screaming in the nearby park. From one of the flats beyond the play area I can hear the strains of Bob Marley’s ‘No Woman, No Cry’. I sit on my hands while rocking back and forth and pray that the dongle exchange will release me from this torture.

They arrive in two cars, Tommy’s red BMW and a small silver Japanese hatchback. Both cars park up on the grass verge of the play area. Tommy revs his car engine hard after it comes to a standstill to alert me to their presence. Peterson and McCoy emerge from the silver hatchback and the three of them walk slowly towards me. I notice as they approach that both Tommy and McCoy are significantly bow-legged, and it gives the moment a bit of a country-and-western vibe. I stand up to greet them and place my hand in my jacket pocket to indicate that I am armed and a potential safety risk. Tommy does the same with the pocket of his brown suede bomber jacket. McCoy is the first to speak:

‘How appropriate to be meeting a little prick like you in a children’s playground, Gary. Have you had a go on the swings, or do you need one of your parents present before you’ll risk it?’

‘Is that a remark?’ I enquire.

‘Just hand over the dongle,’ says Peterson.

‘I’ll hand it over as soon as I have the knife.’

Tommy reaches into his pocket, so I immediately reach into mine and hold the gun pointed directly at him. Tommy withdraws his hand and barks at me:

‘HEY, CALM DOWN, LAD, HA HA HA. THE KNIFE IS IN MY POCKET, DO YOU WANT IT OR NOT?’

‘Bring it out dead slow. I mean really slowly, like it could bite you or something. I’m pretty jumpy here so hurry up but keep it slow,’ I reply.

Tommy laughs at me then does as I have requested. Little by little the plastic tube emerges from his pocket. He holds the tube towards McCoy in his closed hand.

‘SHALL I GIVE IT TO HIM, BOSS? WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO? I COULD JUST RIP HIS HEAD OFF IF YOU’D PREFER?’

‘Just give it to him,’ replies McCoy. ‘To be honest, I’m sick of the sight of him. The sooner this is done the better.’