‘People want him. He’s owed big, three hundred grand, more, three-fifty, I don’t know. He put the weight on them, they want him gone.’

‘Frank’s wife? The ID?’

‘Bullshit. Bitch wanted Frank done. In it over her tits.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Fucking. True fucking love fucking. She’s rooting a bloke, his brother owes Bren. This way, they top Frank, she gets Frank’s money. Then there’s about eighty grand belongs to Bren. Frank was hanging on to it. Bitch gets that too. And Bren goes in, close that gate, he’s history, everyone’s happy.’

‘And you?’

Tony looked up at me, sniffed again. ‘I live,’ he said. ‘I fucking live.’

‘You know Frank was going to get it?’

He shook his head. ‘No fucking way.’

I took my hand off his shoulder. ‘Brendan says, “Tell Tony I’m still his mate. I know he’s under the gun. He should’ve told me. Tell him, he does the right thing now, it’s forgotten. I’ll look after him.’’’

Tony sighed, a desperate, drawn-out sound. ‘Bren’s a dangerous bloke,’ he said.

Silence. The light in the stained-glass windows was dimming, shadows growing everywhere, the sort of cold only churches can harbour coming up from the flagstone floor.

‘He says he knows how the Armits fit. He’ll settle them, take the push off.’

Tony tried a laugh, ended up coughing. ‘Jesus,’ he said when it stopped. ‘Fucking smokes. Bren got the fucking vaguest what it costs to get the Armits off my back?’

‘One-sixty.’

Tony’s head came around, eyebrows up. ‘He knows that?’

I nodded.

He sucked his teeth, hissing noise. ‘Where’d he hear that?’

‘I told him.’

He studied me. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘fucked if I know where you got that. Anyway. Bren walks on the Frank thing, it’s not over.’

‘Bren knows that. He says he can handle these people. He also says to tell you he’s got people who still owe him favours. That is, if you feel you can’t tell the truth about where he was.’