‘That’s right,’ Errol conceded with a grin. ‘If you snorted up the entire snowdrift, when you got to the stuff that made you talk bullshit at three o’clock in the morning, that would be the cocaine.’

Mr Snuff, having scored such an effective point, was in the mood to be generous. ‘I don’t want to make no Federal case out of this,’ he said kindly. ‘I just think that language ought to reflect the lives of the people who are speaking it. Not some rural bullshit like needles and haystacks or… or… the early bird catches the worm. I don’t want no fucking worm, man. What is more, if I had a horse, which I don’t, I wouldn’t waste no time taking the motherfucker to water when it wasn’t thirsty in the first place.’

Bob groaned again. ‘Let me go. I didn’t rip nothing off, man.’

He might as well have appealed to a couple of concrete gangsters for all the good this was going to do him.

‘Don’t insult me, Bob. You think I can’t count? You think me and Mr Snuff here are so dumb that we can’t count?’

Bob quickly assured Errol that he had intended no such slur.

‘In which case, how come I ain’t supposed to know the difference between one hundred kilos and ninetynine kilos, you sewerrat? A onehundredth part is a substantial differential. Suppose I was to cut off a onehundredth part of you? Do you think you wouldn’t notice?’

It would have taken a more stupid man than Bob to have misunderstood the meaning of Errol’s question, but nevertheless Errol rubbed that meaning in by grabbing at Bob’s crutch. It is said that men who practise the ancient Chinese art of kung fu are capable of retracting their testicles at the first sign of danger. They probably couldn’t do it if the testicles in question were held in the vicelike grip of a large gangster.

‘I gave you what Speedy gave me,’ Bob protested. ‘I didn’t steal nothing. I’m not a thief.’