“‘People’?”

“Everyone knows you’re clean, Jammy. They respect that, man. But the lads in here: you know them, they know you. Fellas come through here every day of the week. Some of them are in the line of what I’m talking about.”

“Listen, man. Get this through your head: I’m clean. Like I always been. Like you used to slag me about. I play an odd game here and that’s it.”

“Don’t get me wrong, man! I’m not asking you to get in on something you wouldn’t want to. Really, Jammy! I swear. All I’m saying is maybe you could put in a word for me. Only me, like. Not you. I’ve been thinking, right? I want to settle down, don’t I. Get a start and do things right. You know, move in with someone.”

“Who’s the lucky someone?”

“Mary, maybe.”

The scorn left Tierney’s face.

“Mary? Mary Mullen?”

“Well, yeah. Maybe you wouldn’t understand.”

Tierney blinked and looked away to the end of the hall.

“Come on, Jammy! You could get me in the door at least.”

“I don’t work for the Egans. I mind me own business. So should you. Fucking iijit.”

“It’s not just them, Jammy! You know people. People coming through here, like.”

“Get the message, man.”

“I’m good at stuff, Jammy! I am!”

Tierney’s eyes bored into his now.

“What the hell are you so good at that the likes of the Egans would want you for? ‘Pavement Artist: Leonardo Hickey. Specialising in chalk, and getting high.’ ”

“I can do cars steady, Jammy. I’m good at it. Regular fence. I do a bit every night now.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant, man,” said Tierney. “Just ace. Oh, yeah. Christ. I’m out of here.”

He walked alongside Tierney.

“And I can drive. Aw, man, you know I can do that.” Tierney didn’t slow his pace.

“You’re about ten years too old to be still joyriding. Get smart, Leonardo. Fuck’s sake.”