'What post office are we doing?'

'Barking High Street. It's the perfect place. The old dears leave the money on the floor; they don't safe it, because they know it will be picked up quickly. They have a cuppa and they don't even bother to put it out of sight. All we need do is let little Johnny do his party piece and we can be in and out in minutes.'

Lance laughed. 'How did you find out about that so quick?'

'Mrs Doyle worked there; her son was banged up with me. I popped round there to give her a drink and she filled me in on the basics. I owed her Kevin a favour and I said I'd weigh her out with a few quid. Fucking Brewster was supposed to see her all right and he didn't give the poor old bag a fucking groat! He's doing a nine for that ponce and I can tell you now, he is not a fucking happy bunny.'

Lance laughed at his brother's cheery voice even though he knew Pat was annoyed about the situation. 'The man's a cunt and a fucking vicious cunt at that.'

'Has he really blanked the old woman?'

Lance nodded then. He realised Pat knew the score without even asking him anything.

'I've been doing a bit for him, like I said. But you know what he's like, all over you one minute and can't remember your fucking name the next.'

Pat crushed his empty lager can and threw it expertly into the bin. 'Well, I am going to remind him about Colleen and Christy.'

Pat had an edge to him now and even though he was still young there was the hardness about him that only a segregation wing can hone. He had been put in solitary twice while away and, because of his fighting skills, he had been moved into the prison system earlier than he should have been. He was proud of that, Lance knew. Men who had been away a long time respected Patrick because he could not only have a serious row but he could also do his bird with the minimum of fuss. He also had his father's creds and had made a point of ferreting out anyone who knew a story about him.

Pat was a realist; he knew that he had to get his head around his sentence and sit it out because the one thing that was guaranteed in nick was that the time passed, eventually.

'We have to get this gaff sorted for Mother and the kids and make sure she ain't got to work any more. She has grafted enough over the years and we need to sort her out soon as, don't you think?'

Lance nodded.

Pat watched his brother for long moments and wished he could climb inside his head, because he was a different boy to the one he had waved goodbye to at Chelmsford Crown Court all those years ago. Lance was even more nervous somehow. He seemed worried although he was still vicious. Pat had heard about his ravings even in nick; about when he lost it. Lance was a fucking headcase when he did go; that was their strength these days. Lance was capable of great anger and great violence but only when he was goaded beyond endurance.

Lance had suffered over his mother's indifference, Pat knew; she had swallowed it down over the years and had hidden it away but it was still there, lurking around, waiting to surface in the future. Pat could feel it coming off her sometimes and he knew that if he did, Lance had to feel it as well. Pat knew that the bus incident was always near the front of his mother's mind when she looked at Lance and he still bore the scars from her hiding all those years ago. But he had been a kid then and now he was a man. At least Pat hoped he was; he would soon find out anyway.

Pat leapt out of the chair, forcing the thoughts away.

'Want another beer, Lance?'

Pat walked into the kitchen and, opening the fridge, the anger hit him once more. His father had worked his arse off for them and Brewster had walked in and taken it from under their noses.

He had heard all about it in nick, had heard the stories and the rumours. He'd also found out about Lance's dealings with Lenny but he had planned to wait a while before he mentioned that to him. He'd been hoping against hope that Lance would mention it first, would confess his involvement in Lenny's scams. Pat had been as patient as he could with his brother and reminded himself that Lance had been left to shoulder the burden on his own and that he had done what he thought was right. And now he had. Each day Pat was gathering more and more information and the more he learned the more he felt in control of his life. In the meantime, he could feel his excitement about the plans for that afternoon building up inside him.

When little Johnny finally arrived, Lance was reminded of how small he actually was. He was just over five feet two in height and he had dark skin and deep-green eyes. His thick hair was tied back in a ponytail and he wore the usual blagger's garb: leather jacket, jeans, officer boots and a baseball hat that would of course be replaced with a black balaclava once they hit the post office.

Johnny was carrying a dark-blue canvas bag that held three sawn-off shotguns and a German Luger that Pat had ordered as a set-piece. He knew he needed protection and he was determined that he would have it. In fact, he already had a Saturday-night special that had been the property of his father. He had known where it was hidden, even as a kid, and he had kept it in perfect condition ever since. He had also kept its existence very quiet; like his father before him he lived by the old Irish adage, people only know what you tell them.

Carrying a piece was as inevitable to him now as was his thirst for revenge, not just for his father but for his mother as well. For the struggle her life had been to feed and clothe them and bring them up, especially after Brewster had moved in on them and then dumped them. His mother, who should have been left comfortable, who should have been taken care of with his father's graft, had been reduced to selling herself to make ends meet. The drink had become her daily sustenance and had even made Annie bearable. His mother had been hardened over the years but he was determined to make her life as easy as it would have been had his father lived to see them all grow.

Like Spider said, his father had been murdered by the Williams brothers all right but all his graft was gone, his kids had been robbed of what should have been theirs by rights and Brewster was finally being seen for the two-faced, no-neck bastard he really was. He would pay for his fucking treachery and, by making him pay, young Patrick Brodie knew that he might finally get some kind of peace.

He had had a long time to think, learn and plan. That was the only good thing about stir; it gave you plenty of free time to decide how best to go about your daily business once you were on the out.

As they all got ready for the off, he glanced at a photo of his father and felt the sting of tears; he had worshipped him and he had seen him brutally killed. But his legacy would always carry on, he would see to that himself.

'Colleen Brewster, you bloody liar!'

Colleen was laughing her head off and it was such a deep and hearty laugh that it infected all the girls around her. She was a card was Colleen and now her big brother was out of poke she was intelligent enough to feel the difference in the way they were treated by everyone around them. The local shopkeeper had given her sweets as gifts; refusing her money as if she had never been asked to pay for anything before. The first time it had happened she had thought it was a wind-up, then the man had smiled craftily and said, 'Give your brother me regards, won't you?'

It was then that she and Christy had understood the esteem her brother was held in. Her father was a Face, she knew, but no one tried to get round them for his benefit because everyone knew he didn't give a toss about them. All her friends at school were aware of their parents' gossip and knew that her brother was home. Lance had a reputation as a nutter and Pat was a nut as well. When Lance went, it was so over the top he scared anyone around him. But her big brother Pat was the one people seemed to be more chary of; seemed to find the more sinister of the two. Colleen knew though that Lance, who was good to her, was the madder; she had seen him flip and she never wanted to see it happen again. She had been literally terrified and she had caused it; she had made him lose his temper like that. He had dragged the man out of his house and beaten him in the street until he was unconscious. She had been playing knock-down ginger and the man had told them off. She had cried and then told Lance, who just lost his mind. Colleen had learned a big lesson that day. At seven years old she had understood the strength of her brother's anger and the trouble that an unwise word could cause.