'Fucking hell, Pat. Ten, don't the time go fast?'

Patrick nodded sagely. 'Wish I was ten again and knew what I know now, don't you?'

Spider laughed, his huge head going back on to his shoulders and reminding Patrick just how strong he was in all ways.

'When I was ten I had just started nicking fucking motors with me cousin Delroy. You remember him, Pat, he was shot in Kingston about three years ago. He finally went back to Jamaica and got wasted over a fucking bird.'

Spider shook his head in abject disbelief. 'A fucking bird. Only Del could die over a bit of pussy.'

He looked at Cain and said with pride and amusement in his voice, 'He could sniff out pussy like a fucking bloodhound and it was always sweet, at least that was what he said anyway.'

'He never got shot. He wore his cock out, Spider, and died of exhaustion. He got a hard-on looking at Fanny Craddock; he would trump anything. We used to have to hide our grannies if he was coming round.'

Cain and Spider were roaring with laughter, the earlier atmosphere was gone now, and they were all boys together once more.

Cain took a large gulp of his drink and, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said craftily, 'You can talk, Pat. What is this I hear about you and a certain flat-chested redhead? Love is it?'

Patrick Brodie paled in front of the two men's eyes and the shock on his face was almost comical.

Cain realised immediately that he had said the wrong thing. Spider was looking at him with undisguised anger and Patrick was, for the first time ever, lost for words. Cain had just made himself look like a gossiping old woman, had alerted Brodie to the fact that he was being talked about and his name was being coupled with this girl, whoever she was. Brodie was a family man and very protective of his wife and his children, everyone knew that.

Spider replenished their glasses while Patrick busied himself lighting a cigarette and gathering his thoughts.

Cain spread his arms out in supplication. 'I was only joking, Pat. I didn't mean to cause offence.'

Cain was remembering the stories he had heard about this man: the torture of people who tried to thwart him and the torture machinery he kept in a warehouse in Silvertown. Spider had said that he'd seen Patrick electrocute naked men, hard men, without blinking an eye. He'd heard them begging him as they smelt their own skin burning and he had watched as the current had marauded through their bodies and caused them to be thrown a foot in the air, their screams eventually muffled by the quick-setting cement Patrick had forced into their throats once he had heard enough to satisfy his curiosity. No one ever crossed him twice. That was why Dave was so terrified about Dennis and his loose-cannon status and this was why Cain wished he had kept his big mouth shut.

Patrick was an anomaly; he was quiet, he was devious and no one ever knew what he was thinking or what he would do next. He went to Mass with his children, he took Communion every week and he had never had a rep as a womaniser; womanisers always ended up shitting on their own doorsteps, that was a phrase Patrick Brodie had used over and over again. He was right as well, Cain and Spider knew that. In the end, womanisers destroyed their families, had to look for a new home, had to deal with the resentment from children and relatives, and ended up in the same position they had been in at the beginning. Another, younger, wife and kids the same age as their grandchildren, and when the novelty wore off they were always out on the prowl once more. Patrick Brodie had no time for those men and the devastation they wreaked because they had no family loyalty, no respect for their wives, the mothers of their children, or the children they had created with those wives.

The stories about him were whispered, all rumour and innuendo; no one could ever place him at the scene of any crime and no one ever would.

It was that simple.

Now Cain had opened his mouth and given Patrick Brodie something to think about; the girl was a liability and Cain had pointed that out to him.

'Relax, son, you just did me a favour. Is it big talk or just rumours at the moment? More to the point, who told you?'

Spider could hear the underlying threat in Patrick's voice and he wanted to launch his brother into outer space for his careless talk.

This was Patrick all over; he was fastidious in his ways and he was almost a prude where his sex life was concerned. But Spider knew that his biggest fear was one of the blokes in their employ telling his wife or girlfriend about the redhead and the news then echoing back to Lil. She was everything to him and he would rather die a thousand deaths than have her hurt in any way, shape or form.

The fact that he was being talked about because of Laura was a worry, but he was also aware that Dennis's mother was a friend of Annie's and Annie would give ten years of her life for a piece of information like this.

'Look, Pat, it was me who opened me trap. I saw you with the girl a few times and it's not like you, is it? You are usually beyond reproach and Cain just got carried away, that's all. You know, joking about Delroy, it was just guys together. We would never talk about it outside this room.'

Patrick grinned then and Cain saw the coldness in his eyes that until then he had only heard about. He finally saw the Patrick Brodie he had only ever heard about and Cain was aware that he would never, ever like to incur the wrath of the man sitting so relaxed and quiet in the chair before him.

'I understand that, Spider. I am a cunt. I just need to know if it is common knowledge, that's all. If anyone else is talking about me, about my fucking private life.'

The sentence ended on a shout and Patrick was out of the chair and across the room in seconds. Cain instinctively put his hands up to cover his face, expecting to be attacked.

Instead, Patrick was at the drinks cabinet and his whole demeanour changed in seconds as he laughed jovially, saying, 'Fuck me, son. Relax and we can sort this out sooner rather than later.'

Spider was staring at his brother and Patrick was staring at him as well and for a few moments, Cain wasn't sure which one of them he was more wary of.

Laura let herself into the flat in Bloomsbury at about two-fifteen; she had been chauffeured there by a guy called Clinton, who was Patrick's driver on occasion. She was being her usual imperious self and Clinton had been told to stop and get her some cigarettes, which he had paid for and she had then insisted that he drive slowly because she was spilling the drink she had brought with her from the club.

Clinton had followed her into the block of flats and she could hear his quiet breathing from behind her as she tried to get her head around what she was seeing. She was wired, speeding out of her nut, but she was still sober enough to realise that there was something radically wrong, even though it was a few seconds before what exactly that was sunk in properly.

The flat was empty, not a piece of furniture or even a curtain remaining. It had been stripped bare of everything except for two cases and a woman's overnight bag, which were placed in the centre of the lounge.

Laura was still standing there, trying to get her bearings, when Clinton picked the bags up and walked back down the stairs with them.

'What the fuck is going on?' She was screaming at the retreating Clinton like a banshee because she was suddenly aware that her life in London was over. If Patrick Brodie wanted her gone, then she would have to go and that was that.

Laura was racking her brain for what she could have done wrong, what she might have done inadvertently to offend him and she could think of nothing. So she had thrown her weight about a bit, that was not something he would care about, surely? The tears were hot and salty on her creamy skin and she heard the sound of someone coming up the steps; she assumed it was Clinton coming back to remove her from the premises.