‘Mr Callahan, I’ve got one last question for your associate, Mr Fleeting, and it’s this: why aren’t you in jail? I mean, admittedly that sounds like a very general question, one that must go through most people’s minds when they meet you, but I mean specifically. You were apprehended with a sizeable quantity of heroin not two months back and were remanded pending trial, yet here you are, free as a bird, getting “your hole”, as you put it, from undiscerning wee birds who, in your words, “take it all ways” but are otherwise “nothing to write home about”. What gives?’

This earned Catherine the satisfaction of seeing Fleeting glance anxiously at the table of young women and the smug look wiped off his face, but any further response was muted by Callahan’s subtlest of touches to his arm.

‘I’d rather my customers weren’t exposed to this manner of discussion,’ Callahan said, eyeing her fixedly but not angrily. ‘So if you wish to continue this conversation, it would be courteous to them to do so outside.’

He did not attempt to further usher them towards the doors, but instead stood with a blankly silent expression communicating that no answers would be forthcoming from either of them until the party had vacated the bar. Catherine clocked him giving the merest shake of the head to the waitress, Gillian, who had gone to reopen the door to the private dining room. Such courtesies were no longer being extended. Nonetheless, while they would have to continue outside, she did not envisage that it would be an old-fashioned rammy in the car park. Callahan would ensure voices weren’t raised. Not on his side anyway.

‘Okay,’ Catherine said, once they were on the forecourt cum disabled ramp leading to the main entrance. ‘How come you’re street-side, Gary?’

He smiled.

‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’

‘Quite. I’m curious. Was it a wee technicality? A lawyer deal? Curious as to why you’re being coy, too. You’d normally be crowing about it. Did you grass somebody? Is that it?’

‘Let’s just say it concerns matters way above your pay grade, hen,’ Fleeting replied.

Having succeeded in keeping her emotions largely in check so far, Catherine could feel her anger rising, all the more so because it was largely at herself. She should have let her question in the bar hang unanswered and left it at that; left Fleeting to sweep up the damage. Instead she’d tipped her hand, let him see there was something he knew that she was out of the loop on, and given away just how much this was bothering her.

Callahan wasn’t slow in registering it either.

‘That must fuck you off,’ he said, his eyes burning with that penetrating, bloodless sincerity. ‘Does it not? You do your bit, try your hardest, and some decision gets taken above your head … It must really fuck you off.’