I cut him short with a chop to his right knee.

'Howzat, you cunt.'

The bat makes a dull thump, not the ear-splitting crack I was hoping for, but George buckles, knocks his head off the roof of the car and crumples to the ground. His mate looks at me, wide-eyed and visibly shaking. There's a moment before George realises how much pain he's in. When he does, he starts screaming like someone poured acid in his eyes.

'Back off,' I say to Trev. 'Turn around and walk the other fuckin' way.'

George loses the breath to scream, falls into heavy sobbing. I want to take the bat to his head, but Trev's still here.

'Don't make me tell you twice, son. This is none of yours.'

I raise the bat. It's the picture he needed painting. Trev bolts straight for the casino and the bouncers. I need to hurry this thing along. I grab George by the shirt collar and drag him across the tarmac. He starts screaming again; no words, just noise. A quick glance at him and tears are streaking the blood on his face. He must have broken his nose on the way down.

Bonus.

For someone so bloody thin, he's a dead weight. I manage to get him to the Micra just as I look across at Trev. He's telling the bouncers what happened, pointing at me. I pull the driver's seat forward and say to George, 'After you, mate.'

He looks up at me. 'You broke my fuckin' legs!'

'Bollocks. I didn't break nowt.' I lift him under the arms and heave him into the back seat. One of the bouncers shouts. I look up and see one of the bruisers in full pelt towards me. The other one's disappeared. He must be calling the police. I slam the seat against George's fucked up leg and he yelps. Then I slide behind the wheel.

I start the engine and it catches no problem. There's a first time for everything. I gun it out of the carpark, light an Embassy as we pull onto the main road and away from the city centre.

George babbles in the back seat. 'Listen man, I'm sorry, alright? I got carried away, it happens. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to — '

'Save it, George.'

'Nah, I mean it. C'mon, you can't think I was really gonna kill you, do you? I'm all talk, you ask anyone. I'm a fuckin' coward, man. I'm a fuckin' wreck. Look, you just let us out here, I'll be fine, right?' He tries to move his leg and chokes. 'I'm gonna be sick.'

'Go ahead.'

'What d'you want, man? I'm not Rob, am I? You want cash, I got some on us, but if you want serious cash then you'll have to drop us off at a bank — '

I look at him in the rear view. 'What d'you think I want?'

He looks blank. The pain's made him slow. He'll get it soon enough, though.

Even if I have to break his other leg.

FORTY-SEVEN

Another night, another motorway.

I pull in, flick on the hazard lights and get out of the car. Cold out here, my breath misting up in front of my face. The drive here gave me a bastard behind the eyes. I didn't take anything for it, either. Let the pain dull the senses, stop me from thinking about what I'm about to do. The headache subsides for a second once I get some fresh air into my lungs, then I pull open the driver's door and flip the seat forward. George is still in the same position. He's frightened out of his mind, his eyes shining in the dark.

Good.

'Get out the car, George,' I say quietly.

'Howeh, you're not thinking straight.'

I grab his bad leg and pull hard. George splutters a shout as he tries to fight me off, but I give a good hard yank and he comes spilling onto the road, landing on his back with a thump. I give him a dig in the ribs. George tries to double up, winded. I drag him like the sack of shite he is over the lay-by and send him rolling down into a ditch. Then I reach into the car, heft the Maxi to my shoulder and stare at him until he manages to turn himself over.

'Fuck's the matter with you?' he says. His voice is strained, hoarse. Too much screaming, his fear boiled into anger now. I know that feeling all too well. Let him get wrapped up in darkness until it clamps around his lungs like two damp fists. Let him suffer those sudden jabs of light from passing cars.

Give him a taste of his own fucking medicine.

'Where is he, George?'

George shakes his head. 'Where's who?'

'Stokes.'

'I dunno where Rob is, man. He fucked off. He's gone.’

‘I don't believe you.'

'I don't give a fuck. I'll have you locked up.'

Better give him something to grass up, then. I bring the sharp end of the Maxi down on his right shin, a swift hard stamp. He spasms on the ground, yelps like a scalded puppy. Bring the bat down again and twist the bastard against the bone. George tries to move his leg, but he hasn't got the strength. He keeps calling out for God. And I keep the pressure on.

'Where is he, George?'

'I fuckin' told you where he is.'

I twist the bat, feel bone stretch and crack under my weight. Then the bat's back up at my shoulder and over his yelling, I tell him, 'You told me nowt, mate.'

George curls up as best he can, snot all down his chin. He chokes on whatever he's trying to say because his whole body is racked with sobs. I toy with the idea of battering his teeth out, but then that would defeat the purpose. It's hard enough to understand what he's saying, thanks to a swollen top lip and a collapsed nose.

I grab the bottle of vodka from the car and take a swig until my lips feel dry and stinging. Then I screw the cap back onto the bottle and let the bat touch my leg. 'What's the matter with you, George? Stokes did fuck all for you, mate, except get you here.'

'He didn't tell me nowt' It comes out as a scream, the indignant wail of a kid. A flash from passing headlights shows his red eyes, his bleeding mouth, the colour rising high in his cheeks. Like someone held a scarlet filter up to his face.

'He's a mate, though,' I say. 'You two are close. He must've told you something. I can't believe he didn't give you an inkling at least.'

'Rob's not a mate,' says George. 'He ain't fuckin'…' He shakes his head, gobs thick spittle from his burst mouth. 'Rob's an idiot, man.'

'So he's not a mate, so there's no loyalty.'

'That's not it. Fuckin' hell. You know what he did?'

'He stole money,' I say.

'He saw the chance for a big score and he went for it. And, y'know, I told him not to do it. I told him not to fuck himself over for her. Can't trust her as far as you can shit her.'

'This would be Alison.'

'Who else would it be? Aye, Alison.'

'And what's her big secret, eh?'

'It's not a secret, man. She's a fuckin' little cooze. A proper bitch and snide with it'

'She call you a name behind your back?'

George blinks slowly, his eyes rolled to the whites. The lad'll pass out given half a chance. I slam the bat against the side of the Micra and the noise shakes him awake.

'Keep alert, George.'

'It was all her, man,' he says.

'It was Alison's idea.'

'Aye.'

'Not Rob.'

'Rob didn't have the balls to do it.'

'She robbed her own fuckin' father is what you're telling me,' I say. The vodka's kicked in, crackling the blood and throwing my brain around the inside of my skull. 'You're out of your mind.'

'And you're fuckin' blinkered, man.'

I stamp hard on his ankle. As I twist, something gives way underfoot. George throws himself forward, scrabbling at my leg. I knock his hand away with the bat. As I step off, he tries to roll out of the way, ends up face-down in a puddle. 'How about you tell me the truth, George? How about that? Else I take this bat to your fuckin' skull.'

He breathes muddy bubbles in the puddle water, his face screwed up. When he talks, he sprays. 'I'm telling you the truth. I swear to God I'm telling you the fuckin' truth.'