‘Now?’ he said, clearly looking at Locke, rather than Stenner at the far end of the boat. ‘Now, after all I’ve done for you?’ Bolton spoke through gritted teeth. ‘You try and sell me out over a girl? Over a fucking girl, and one I had nothing to do with? You know fine fucking well I had nothing to do with that. Nothing.’ His voice rose and fell again, like an engine revved.

‘What have I just said, James? He’s fishing. You of all people should be able to see through that.’ Locke raised a hand, wagging a finger to emphasise his point.

Porter flinched as the first shot rang out, dropping to his knees instinctively. Another sharp crack followed right behind it, echoes merging, overlapping with a third. A fourth. What the fuck? Why are they shooting? Bolton was still facing away, and as much as Porter detested the man, shooting him with his back turned was unthinkable. It wasn’t until he saw Locke spin around, falling away from him to the floor of the boat, that his brain started to play catch-up. The gun in Bolton’s hand, still held low by his side, was pointing towards Locke. He had shot his boss, or shot at him at the very least. Porter thought Locke had been hit at least once, but couldn’t say for sure now that Locke was obscured from view where he’d fallen.

Bolton whipped around, dropping to a crouch as he spun, moving faster than Porter would have believed possible for a man of his size. He’d almost completed the turn when Porter registered shots from either side of him. Everett and Kaye returning fire, shots popping like firecrackers in Porter’s ears. Bolton grimaced, the arm holding the gun dropping as the bullets slammed into him. His own momentum kept him spinning around, past what would have been his firing line at Porter, and he staggered to the left as he fell.

Another noise cut through the ringing in Porter’s ears as the engines roared into life. He saw Stenner hunched over the controls, partially shielded from the gunfire by a Perspex windscreen that wrapped around the front and part way down the sides of the vessel. He saw twin holes punched into it, kaleidoscopic cracks surrounding both, but Porter couldn’t tell if Stenner had avoided the bullets that had made it through. The boat lurched forwards, taking with it what was left of Bolton’s balance, sending him toppling over the side with about as much grace as a drunk at last orders.