Sixty seconds after the call to Brad, Mick’s Nissan Almera pulled up outside Karl’s shop. Right outside, because nobody was around yet and there were no CCTV cameras about, not even watching the shop specialising in surveillance technology. The road was peaceful, quiet, secretive. But that could change in minutes.

He ran into Sunrise Electronics and found exactly what he’d expected: Król acting like a kid in a sweet shop. There was a large cardboard box in the centre of the room and Król was filling it with items grabbed off shelves.

‘What the hell are you doing back here? We need to get away from this place. We need to burn that stolen car. How stupid you are is always a surprise, Król.’

Król ignored him. Electrical items continued to sail through the air and crash into the box.

‘These other shops will be open soon. Leave that shit and let’s go.’

Król ignored him again. He moved to the ladder, but stopped when his foot stepped on something. He picked it up, took one look and tossed it to Mick.

‘That’s knackered. You can have it.’

Król climbed the ladder. Mick looked at the item in his hand. A mobile phone with a cracked screen. Mick lit it up and got a surprise.

He was staring at a photo of Król leering close to the camera. Grainy, green. Night vision. Doubtless taken at Seabury’s house last night when Król and his crony were trying to break in. A neat idea settled into his head. He put the phone on the floor and kicked it under the counter.

‘Get back down here,’ he said. He strode to the ladder and grabbed Król’s foot, and yanked him right off. Król crashed to the carpet, but the wiry little bastard bounced up in a second. He shoved Mick away, hard. Mick couldn’t believe it. He got a bigger shock a second later when Król jerked something out of his jacket. Some kind of knife with no handle. Looked like a lawnmower blade. But it was the look in Król’s eyes that concerned Mick more. A look that said he wasn’t scared. Not any more.

‘Things are a-changing round here, Mick,’ he said. He waved the blade. ‘Nice, eh? Saw this thing on the floor when I bust in his shed and figured, beats my little home-made shank. Imagine this thing sliding into the guts. You want it in your guts like that shopkeeper? And you don’t hold that over me any more. I want that knife back, and some cash for my troubles.’

I got webcam, ain’t I?

That explained the determination in the eyes: Król thought he had something on Mick and that he was going to control things from here on. But what?

‘And why would I do that?’ Mick said, buying time to think.

Król’s next words were the biggest shock of all.

‘I know that was Mr Invincible’s wife. And I saw the news. He’s dead, man. Chopped up last night, three of them. And I reckon you did it.’

Mick felt a tightening of his head, as if a steel band around his skull was shrinking. A big problem lay ahead. But it wasn’t fear of the blade in Król’s hand, and it wasn’t fear of the information in Król’s little brain.

Król said: ‘I ain’t taking your shit any more, Mick. Understand? I feed your name to the police, say you did this, and you’re fucked. Literally. I know you been missing some action since your missus, and the boys in prison will cosy up to you. I feed it to Grafton’s people, and you’re fucked there, as well. So, how about the knife, and them two books you took, and, say, two hundred a week, and you throw me some info about nice houses I can slip in to with no problem?’

Mick looked at the blade and remembered the phone, and there was a feeling akin to what you get when a tricky crossword answer clicks into place. Seabury’s lawnmower blade, and Seabury’s phone with a picture of Król on it. Talk about bloody Fate. He almost laughed aloud. But he kept his face serious and said: ‘How about you forget the two hundred and you give me ten per cent of what you make from the houses? I can talk to a guy I know and find some gems.’

As he spoke, Mick walked past Król and to a far wall, and pretended to stare at something on a shelf. Król was between him and the exit.

‘Now you’re talking my language. But I get the knife back and the books. You ain’t setting me up with them.’

‘You get the knife and the books back. And I get that nasty blade in your hand. But none of this goes down if the cops find us here. So, can we get going?’

Król picked up the box. It was overflowing, and something slid out to hit the floor. It looked like a simple plug-in air freshener, but here, in this store, was probably some kind of recording device. Mick had bought one for Tim’s room when he was twelve, just so he could eavesdrop on what his boy and his new friends were getting up to. This in mind, his anger spiked when Król kicked the item across the floor.

‘You can have that, as well.’

Mick started for the door, and, as planned, Król did the same. The damn idiot gave Mick his back as he turned and strode towards the shutter.

He got five steps before it happened, and he only got that many because Mick took two seconds to slip on a pair of vinyl gloves. And pull out his own knife. In haste, he didn’t notice his matchbox of mints slip out of his pocket.

The blade did not penetrate the neck cleanly, but caught a glancing blow that carved open one side, releasing a jet of blood. Król dropped the box and stumbled forwards, and Mick staggered back. Król sank to his knees and put a hand to his neck to stem the flow, his fingers arriving there a moment before the blade dropped again. It slid neatly between two fingers without damaging them and sank deep into the flesh beneath.

Mick ducked aside like a boxer avoiding a jab as another gout of blood erupted right at him. Król was screaming again as he face-planted the carpet.

‘That Polish for I got webcam, ain’t I?’ Mick asked, laughing.

A moment later Król got to his feet, one hand on his neck, blood washing down his torso.

‘Shit,’ Mick said. He wasn’t worried about an attack, because Król was losing blood fast; he was concerned about getting blood on his clothing if the man rushed at him.

‘That’s right, bastard,’ Król said, grinning. He sprang forward, eyes bearing deadly intent, but stumbled after only two steps. Fell onto his knees and toppled backwards.

‘Hurry up now, Król.’ Mick hurried to the shutter, bent and stared out, but the street was empty. Behind him, Król was rolling about like a man on fire, but he was gurgling now, and nobody was going to hear that.

‘Chop, chop, Król, I need some grub.’

It took eighty more seconds for Król to finally lie still. Mick took his first breath in all that time as Król expelled his last. Just before the eyes glazed over, Mick squatted by him, careful of the blood, and said: ‘No one mentions my family, remember? That was the rule. So, when you get to Hell and the Devil asks what happened, you tell him you said the wrong thing to the wrong man, okay? He’ll have heard it a billion times.’

It hadn’t been fear of the blade in Król’s hand, and it hadn’t been fear of the information in Król’s little brain: the big problem had been what to do when Król was dead. But it wasn’t a problem any longer.

Pathologists were good at determining the kind of blade that caused an injury, so Mick took Król’s weapon and jabbed it deep into the two knife wounds. He tossed the bloody blade onto Król’s body. He stripped off his gloves and pocketed them, and slipped under the shutter. He held his breath again until he was in his car and didn’t start to relax until the vehicle was turning off the street. But a few moments later he was calm and smiling and breathing just fine. Yet he was disappointed. Killing Król hadn’t produced the buzz he’d expected. Not like last night. Perhaps because he hadn’t fantasised about it for months, planning it meticulously. Or maybe because it had been primarily business, not fun.

Whatever. He still had the bitch to come. He pushed Król from his head because there was more business afoot. He made a call to the airline. He’d phoned earlier to change his flight from two weeks to two days away because of the Ramirez situation. And this new development with Król necessitated a more urgent departure. Tomorrow, early. After Seabury and the bitch were over, his new life would begin.