He was gasping for breath, took out an inhaler, said:

‘Me bloody lungs are shot but before I go, I’d like to make a stand, are you following me?’

McDonald had a fair idea but he’d let Bill spit it out, said nothing and simply stirred his tea:

Bill looked round, then said, in nearly a whisper:

‘A group of us have formed an association, a band of men to take back our streets, but we’re old, how effective can we be.’

He stared at McDonald, and seeing nothing to warrant handcuffs, took the plunge, said:

‘Now if we had a bright young ballsy fellah to lead us, we might make a difference, do you follow me so far?’

McDonald thought how complicated was it, a bunch of pensioner vigilantes, he nearly laughed but Bill added:

‘We’d pay the right man to lead us, pay him well.’

McDonald, his face neutral, asked:

‘Define well?

Bill mentioned a figure that took McDonald by surprise. The truth was, he’d have done it gratis just to have some respect, even if it was old respect.

Bill was fidgeting, nervous as a rat, asked:

‘What do you think?’

McDonald smiled, asked:

‘When would you like to begin?’

They’d decided on Friday night, that was the worst time, when the nonnationals got weeded up, doped up, boozed up, and went amok. McDonald had written down a shopping list for Bill, said:

‘This is what we’ll need for openers.’

Bill scanned the list, his dentures spreading in a wide smile.

Baseball bats

Balaclavas

Petrol

Billiard balls

Bill had hesitated at the last item, asked:

‘What’s the balls for?’

McDonald drained the last of his tea, timing being vital, said, as he stood up:

‘We’re going to make the bastards eat them.’

Bill loved it.

McDonald had picked up a fairly serious coke habit after he’d been shot and was fond of the jolt of speed too. He did a line now, swallowed a tab of speed, and as the drugs wired him, he said aloud: