Lenny was annoyed. Like Jackie Mills and his fucking debts were of any interest to him.

'It seems young Pat Brodie and his brother, Lance, have bought him out, like. I expect they want to raise their game, eh?' Trevor relaxed then. He had delivered the news and Lenny had not lost that phenomenal temper of his.

'The Brodie boys? You mean he has sold out to a pair of fucking kids? Better keep an eye on your pocket money; next thing you know they'll be round your house half-inching your racing bikes.'

He was laughing then and that was all the more worrying because the men around him knew he was making a mistake if he thought the Brodie brothers were beneath his radar and of no consequence. They were big lads now and they were their father's sons.

And the fact Lenny had given their mother two more children to worry about should have told him they were not kids any more.

'Good fucking luck to them, they deserve a bit of good luck. Young Patrick is home from clink then, I take it?'

Everyone nodded, pleased he had taken the news so well. But they were all wondering why he didn't know the boy had been released. If anyone should have known, it was him, considering the circumstances.

'Bad business that. The boy was fucking well within his rights but you know what the courts are like…'

Lenny shrugged. 'I couldn't help him, he had already fucked up by hammering an Old Bill. Once that happens…'

They all grinned at the memory; it had been a nine-day wonder at the time and Pat had made a rep for himself overnight. He had taken out a filth with three punches and it had taken a paddy wagon full of them to take him in. He was a handful all right and so was that Lance, but young Patrick was the one they watched out for. He had the same presence and the same demeanour as his father before him.

'Bad business all round. I wish I could have helped him more…'

But the fact of the matter was Lenny could have helped him but he had not even tried. He was half-brother to the children Lenny had with Lil and that was what had caused the initial spate of whispering. Lenny had lost a lot of his kudos over the boy's sentence; he had not even had a decent brief on his side. People thought he should have made himself busy and stopped the whole thing before it had even gone to trial. He could do that but he had chosen not to. People were not impressed and Lenny knew that as well as they did. He had taken a few hard knocks over it.

He'd lost a lot of his street credibility into the bargain. This was a man who could orchestrate a deal for fucking murderers and drug dealers, who bought prison sentences for hard cash, brokered with judges and barristers and weighed out the police and the Flying Squad. Sixty grand guaranteed a five-year sentence instead of a fifteen and these deals were only done through him. And yet he had tried to bullshit everyone that he couldn't help out young Patrick Brodie on a fucking GBH. His liaison with Lil had stopped overnight and that alone had caused suspicion. There was something fishy about it and, as a wise man had said many moons before, even dogs had the sense not to shit in their own beds.

Spider was in his local drinking Guinness and watching the cricket. It was a lovely day and he was relaxing with his eldest son. Spider's real name was Eustace and he had passed this name on to his oldest boy.

He was called Spider because he had been a Spiderman fanatic as a boy; he still had all the Marvel comics he had collected and had even added to them over the years. They were worth a small fortune now, to the right person of course. He would rather be called Spider than Eustace any day of the week. But it was the name of his father and his father's father before him so it had been Eustace for his firstborn as well.

His son was a big lad with a handsome profile and the smooth, burnished skin of a real Jamaican. He'd had the look of a fighter from birth; Pat Brodie had remarked that he looked like he would be capable of a row. As his maternal grandfather had been a boxer called Micky McMurray, known to all as Mac, Spider had given the nickname to his son. It had stuck and over the years it had been bastardised to Mackie as well as Mac, and it was now the name he answered to.

The lad was a good kid; he was big enough to make people think twice about fighting with him and he was intelligent enough to think twice before starting a fight himself. Spider was proud of him, as he was proud of all his children.

The door of the pub banged open and Spider saw two young men looking around. They both had dark hair and deep-blue eyes and, jumping up from his seat, he shouted across the crowded bar. 'Hey, Brodies, over here.'

Pat Junior rushed to him and they embraced for long moments. As Spider felt the strength of the boy and his happiness at his welcome, he forced down the urge to weep. These children had played on his mind over the years. Everything that their father had been, and everything he had worked for, had been taken from them in a single night. Pat Junior was like his father's clone; it was like looking at his old friend once more. He even had the same mannerisms.

Spider pushed the boy away from him and held him at arm's length as he drank in his presence. He didn't seem the worse for wear, he could look after himself he knew.

'You good?'

Pat nodded. 'Yeah, you?'

Pat was suddenly a man and Spider watched as his son embraced him. He saw that Lance, as always, was on the sidelines watching everything but never joining in until he was asked to. Patrick Junior had to drag him over to them all and Spider hugged him, as was expected, but the feeling was different. Lance was stiff and unyielding and he knew that, unlike his brother, Lance wasn't bothered about seeing any of them. Spider sensed that Patrick knew that but ignored it.

Still, each to their own.

'The Windies thrashing us as usual?'

Spider and Mac grinned. 'What do you think? You white boys might have invented the game but you can't fucking play it!'

Everyone laughed happily.

'It's good to see you, boys.'

'And you Spider, and you.'

Even Pat's voice was different; deeper, and he seemed to speak slower with more emphasis on his words. He was also heavier in his body; he looked like he had been working out but that was usual for someone straight out of nick, there was fuck all else to concentrate on. But it suited Pat; he was a big lad and his huge shoulders and forearms made for an intimidating picture. He had the Irish colouring: the dark shadow that needed shaving twice a day and the thick black hair and glittering eyes that were a deep blue and made women want him.

As they all sat down, Mac slipped a small package into Pat's hand. 'Grade A grass, just what the doctor ordered.'

'Ta. You look good mate, you fucking handsome bastard.'

As the two young men hugged again, Spider was reminded of the years that had passed and was glad that his son and Pat's son had forged such a strong bond of friendship.

'You look like twins, do you know that?' Mac observed.

Lance and Patrick shrugged with indifference.

'We've been told that all our lives,' said Pat. 'Now, what do you want to drink?'

Spider was already out of his chair.

'No way. I'll get them in. You all right for money, Pat?' Pat nodded and, pointing at Mac, he said quietly, 'He's already weighed me out, Spider, don't worry.'

Pat saw the look of shock on Spider's face at his words and laughed once more.

'I see. So you are sound for the moment then?'

'Yeah, rocking, mate. Thirsty though.'

As Spider walked to the bar, Mac smiled. 'You got the gig then I take it?'

Pat nodded. 'Bought it first thing. Now we're going to go round and introduce ourselves to the regular punters and make sure they know that it's in their interest to pay promptly. I should have your dosh for you in a few weeks. I have some other things lined up, as well you know.'