`It keeps them off the street.’

Father Leery didn't smile. 'So close the youth club.’

'That's not so easy. It would look bad for a start. And would it solve anything?’

`Have you talked with Mr. Cave?’

`He doesn't listen. He's changed. That's what troubles me most of all.’

'You could kick him out.’

Father Leery shook his head. `He's lay, John. I can't order him to do anything. We've cut the club's funding, but the money to keep it going comes from somewhere nevertheless.’

`Where from?’

'I don't know.’

'How much?’

`It doesn't take much.’

'So what do you want me to do?’

The question Rebus had been trying not to ask.

Father Leery gave his weary smile again. 'To be honest, I don't know. Perhaps I just needed to tell someone.’

'Don't give me that. You want me to go out there.’

'Not if you don't want to.’

It was Rebus's turn to smile. `I've been in safer places.’

'And a few worse ones, too.’

'I haven't told you about half of them, Father.’

Rebus finished his drink.

`Another?’

He shook his head. 'It's nice and quiet here, isn't it?’

Father Leary nodded. 'That's the beauty of Edinburgh, you're never far from a peaceful spot.’

'And never far from a hellish one either. Thanks for the drink, Father.’

Rebus got up.

`I see your team won yesterday.’

'What makes you think I support Hearts?’

'They're Prods, aren't they? And you're a Protestant yourself.’

'Away to hell, Father,' said John Rebus, laughing.

Father Leery pulled himself to his feet. He straightened his back with a grimace. He was acting purposely aged. Just an old man. 'About the Gar-B, John,' he said, opening his arms wide, `I'm in your hands.’