‘And you told me it was a piece of cake!’ Stewart hissed. ‘Don’t tell me you sent Sam and Eddie?’

‘Don Empson.’

‘He’s well past his sell-by date.’

‘Dad always liked him.’

‘Dad’s in the past, George. All of that’s in the past.’ Stewart ran a hand through his hair, trying to think. He was tall and thin and didn’t look at all like George. This had led him to wonder, had their mum had an affair? George looked like their dad, but not Stewart. Bit late to do anything about it, but all the same… it might explain a few things.

‘So what are you going to do?’ he asked.

‘Check the hospitals. Shooter took Don’s car, so we’re looking for that, too. But can you talk to Hanley, see how he’s doing?’

‘I’ll talk to him. But don’t forget, it’s my money, George. Someone’s got to pay.’

‘Okay, Stewart. Is the club busy tonight?’

‘Dead.’

‘It’ll get better.’

Stewart wanted to slap his brother, wanted to punch him in his soft, fat face. But he wouldn’t. He was a proper businessman these days. He had to keep his distance from everything in his past.

He had to stay clean.

He ended the call and gave the nearest wall a couple of butts with his head. What did he do now, phone Hanley or visit him in person? How could he visit him when his driver hadn’t turned up for work yet? And besides, the whole point of using George’s guys for the handover was so he himself could steer clear of Hanley.

It was cleaner that way.

‘If a job needs doing,’ he muttered to himself. He went to the main office and asked if anyone had seen Benjy Flowers. There were shrugs and shakes of the head.

‘As useless as his bloody Uncle Don.’ Then, to the room: ‘Soon as he gets here, send him along.’ Leaving the room, Stewart reached into his pocket for his phone.

The home of Councillor Andrew Hanley

Andrew Hanley was back home, seated in a chair in his darkened study with a glass of whisky in one hand.