Jimmy was in a jolly mood as he strolled up to the bar. Life in Glasgow was wonderful, and since moving from Rainham, apart from selling a few motors and horses, Jimmy spent his days in the boozer and his evenings with his family. He had no need to work any more. He’d sold the house in Rainham for nearly two million quid, and could quite easily manage on the proceeds if he lived to be a hundred. Jimmy smirked as he thought about how clever he’d been about that house. He’d originally bought it in 1978 and, because he was dodgy-dealing at the time, had put the deeds in Johnny Bullock’s name. Johnny Bullock was the closet friend that Jimmy had ever had. They were brought up together as kids and were more like brothers than mates. At the time Johnny had owned an incredibly successful building empire, therefore trust wasn’t an issue. Jimmy had obviously treated Johnny for his massive favour. He’d given him ten grand back in the day and another fifty when he’d sold the gaff in 1995. Johnny had now moved to the Costa Blanca. He’d always been a fucker for the young birds and had recently married a twenty-year-old Spanish tart called Adriana. Johnny’s address was still registered to the authorities as Birmingham and this thought always made Jimmy chuckle because it was another master stroke he’d managed to pull off against Eddie Mitchell. Jimmy rarely thought about Mitchell any more these days. He still wished him dead, but he could no longer be bothered to kill the man himself. Jimmy was fifty-eight now, age had mellowed him to some extent and he just wanted to live the rest of his life in peace. Too many of his family had already lost their lives because of his feud with Mitchell, and Jimmy couldn’t bear the thought of losing any more.

‘Three times I’ve just asked you – what you want to drink? Are you OK, pal?’ the young barman asked, waving his hand in front of Jimmy’s weatherworn face.

Jimmy automatically snapped out of his trance. ‘Yes, mush, I’ll have the same round again. Sorry about that, I was miles away, boy.’

Ryan Maloney groaned with pleasure as he ran his hands over Georgie O’Hara’s perfect breasts. He knew she was young, very young, but she looked so much older than thirteen and he couldn’t help the way he felt about her. Lunging his tongue inside Georgie’s mouth, Ryan put her hand on the zip of his jeans.

‘Wank me off, babe. Please just do it the once,’ he begged.

Georgie immediately snatched her hand away. She knew the effect she had on Ryan Maloney and she thoroughly enjoyed tantalising him.

‘Stop it, Ryan. You know I’m not gonna do it,’ Georgie said, flicking her hair seductively over her naked shoulder.