She stumbled forward, unable to stop, and Mick didn’t expect her momentum, which amplified her weight. Unprepared for such a heavy impact from a petite woman, he lost his feet. He hit the floor hard, with the woman on top of him.

‘Run,’ he heard Brad shout.

Catlike, he slipped from under the woman even before her full weight had landed on him. He tried to stand, and took someone’s knee right in the face. He fell back, crashing into the bookcase beside the fireplace, and raised the gun and his eyes at the same time. Brad was right there, moving in, a knife in his hand, but the gun changed whatever plan he had and he darted aside as Mick fired.

It gave Mick space. He lunged forward, grabbed Brad around the waist and lifted him up. But Brad crunched his abdominals as his torso went over Mick’s shoulder, forcing himself forward fast. Unprepared for the manoeuvre, Mick toppled backwards, falling into the bookcase again, crushing Brad into it.

Mick scrambled away as Brad fell to the ground, and this time it was Mick’s knee and Brad’s skull that collided. Brad thumped back against the bookcase, and Mick leaned in, grabbed his hair. The pistol was right there on the carpet, so Mick snatched it up with his free hand and swung it, and his head, towards the far wall where his captives were.

‘Don’t mo—’ That was all he got out before he realised he was aiming at nothing. Seabury, Seabury’s bitch wife, and Grafton’s bitch wife – had seized the moment and darted away like terrified cats.

‘Again!’ Mick yelled in anger. They had got away yet again, but this time because of his damn dallying about. He yanked on Brad’s head, toppling him from his sitting position, dragged him a few feet, and thrust his head into the open fire. Coal jumped and sparked and fell out onto the granite hearth. As he leaped away, screaming in pain, Brad’s arm cast over an ornate metal urn holding pokers, spilling them onto the carpet.

Mick stepped back as Brad yelped and clutched his face.

‘This, Brad, this? After what I did for you?’

‘This, Mick, this!’ Brad yelled back. He swiped at a burning piece of coal on the hearth with his fingers, sending it flying. It went nowhere near Mick. ‘After you tried to have me killed. Did you forget?’

Mick had no response to that.

‘Dave I could understand, if I had your fucked head.’ Brad swiped another dislodged piece of coal. Mick had to jump aside to avoid this one. Brad sat up. ‘But I was with you all the way, Mick. You had no reason to think I’d run out on you.’

‘Got no reason to think I’ll crash on the way home, Brad, but I’m still gonna wear a seatb—’

Brad made to sweep another piece of coal, and Mick reacted by stepping back. Instead Brad grabbed a poker from the spilled urn and launched it. Mick lifted a defensive hand and turned his head, but the poker clipped his busted ear. He yelped, staggered back, brought the gun up but by then Brad was up and moving forward, powering into Mick’s legs, driving both men across the room.

Mick pivoted, using Brad’s momentum to swing him hard against the wall, hip first. Brad’s grip failed, and he collapsed to the carpet, clutching his hip. Mick stepped back, slotted his gun away and snatched up the poker. He cracked it hard against the hand laid on Brad’s hip, lacerating the flesh. Brad yelped and clutched the bleeding limb to his chest.

‘You’d be long dead in a prison graveyard if not for me, Brad. So, you’ve got no right to moan that the gift bag is empty.’

‘And you’d still need to burn the whole world if not for me.’

That made Mick pause, and Brad saw his chance to crawl towards the doorway in desperate hope. Mick followed him. His eyes sought the next spot to pulverise, decided on the right shoulder so that both arms would be hurt. Brad screamed, but continued to crawl. Out the door, and towards the front doorway. Mick followed.

Brad was halfway across the threshold, halfway into the big wide world, when he raised himself onto his knees. It wouldn’t be long before the guy could stand again, and run, so Mick attacked him with a blow across the lower spine. But Brad didn’t drop, so Mick helped by kicking him in the ass. Brad sprawled forward onto his belly on the tarmac.

‘I won’t ever forget!’ Mick bellowed. No matter how fast they had run, they’d hear his threat and believe it. He would never forget, and he would never stop, and there would be no place to hide for them ever again. He would emerge from the woodwork when they least expected it.

He raised the poker for another shot, this time a finisher, on the skull. Mick laughed as Brad covered his head with his hands and unleashed a roar of fear.

Only it wasn’t a roar, Mick realised. It was the growing sound of an engine. And by the time he had worked this out – half a second after hearing it – it was too late. The speeding van was almost upon him. He jumped back into the doorway a second before the van hit the frame with a thunderous boom and crunch of glass.

Frozen in place, chest heaving, gun raised, and just inches from the crumpled front of the van, Mick laughed as he realised he had been here before. But this time something was different. This time he was facing no wall of metal.

This time his gun was pointed directly, undeniably, at the guy sitting shocked behind the steering wheel.

‘This time I see you,’ he said, and fired. Four shots. The guy in the van thumped back in his seat four times, and then slumped forward, dead.