When the cargo arrived in Glasgow it would be lodged at a neutral venue such as an empty factory or warehouse and observed from a safe distance for a period of time before being uplifted. Thereafter it was taken to a safe house for preparation for onward distribution.

Tablets containing amphetamine sulphate or methylenedioxyethyleamphetamine, known on the street as ‘speed’ and ‘ecstasy’, would be packaged into set quantities before being despatched to the lower level dealers who would sell them to the customers. Blocks of cannabis would be broken up into smaller units. Some of the sub-dealers were in it for the money and never touched the stuff themselves. Others were users who would sell drugs in order to feed their own habit. Powdered drugs such as heroin or cocaine would receive special treatment. A kilo of powder will contain a mixture of the drug itself and various adulterants. Anything could be added to the drug to give it more bulk and thereby increase profit.

When the Gallaghers received a kilo of heroine they would cut it with the equivalent amount of glucose and instantly double the profit. At least glucose did the user no harm. Other dealers were less scrupulous. Some added anything they could get their hands on, such as draincleaner or even brick dust. Often the cutting agent did as much damage to the user as the drug itself, sometimes more.

When the adulteration process was complete, the drugs were distributed. As they moved down the chain towards the user, the subdealer would add further adulterants and by the time it reached the street about fifteen per cent only of the powder was made up of the drug. The scope for profit was enormous, and everyone made money (apart from the mugs who shot the stuff into their veins).

It was because of concern for this source of income that Frank Gallagher had called the board meeting. He set out the agenda.

‘Right, so we’re toiling to punt the stuff just now. I’m getting serious grief from the boys down by. They’re nudging me to take more and you bastards can’t get rid of what we’ve got.’

Gallagher was not much given to wasting words when he had a point to make.

‘Aye, you bastards can’t get rid of what we’ve got’.

Charlie chipped in his tuppence worth, but since he was quite incapable of summoning up an original thought he mimicked his father, parrot fashion. It was manifestly obvious to everyone who knew him that Charlie had failed to find the queue the day the brains were being dished out.

Gallagher shot a filthy look in the direction of his boy. It carried a very clear message, ‘Zip it!’

Stupid as he was, Charlie was smart enough to know when he should keep quiet. He contented himself with nodding sagely as if he had just made a telling contribution to the debate.