"Fancy doing something for me?" Carl asked.

We were in his office in The Place. I'd been working for him for six months, sometimes behind the bar, mostly on the door, taking abuse from drunken city workers.

I sat opposite him, wondering why he'd called me in. Was it because of that guy I'd punched yesterday, the one who refused to walk away?

"Depends what it is," I said.

"I'm setting up a new club up north. I could use someone a bit handy. There might be some trouble up there while we're getting set up."

"You need a bouncer? Why not hire up there?"

"Not yet, maybe when we open. For now, I just need someone to keep an eye on things. I can't be everywhere at once."

"Where are we talking?"

"Edinburgh. Been north of the border before?"

"Can't say I have."

"You'll love it. All the haggis you can eat."

"How much?"

"Excuse me?"

"The pay. How much?"

He laughed. "That's a yes then."

I was on the train the next day. I had a wallet with my month's pay in it and some extra to help me find somewhere to stay in Edinburgh. In my pocket, next to the necklace, was a letter. "Address and number," Carl had said when he gave it to me. "Keep it on the down low for now. Don't want to let the competition know, do we?"

The trolley was rolling down the middle of the aisle, laden with crisps and cans of beer. "Anything for you, love?" the woman pushing it asked when she reached me.

"Vodka," I replied.

"Got any I.D?"

"Do I look underage?"

"That's not for me to say. I've got to ask everyone. Company rules."

I shook my head and waited for her to turn to the seats on the other side of the aisle. As soon as her eyes were off me, I darted a hand out to the trolley and grabbed the miniature bottle, slipping it straight into my coat pocket. By the time she looked back, I was staring out of the window, not a care in the world.

After she'd passed into the next carriage, I dug the bottle out and unscrewed the lid, downing the contents in one. The Place had given me a taste for vodka, it helped quieten the despair that still lurked within me, that whispered from the dark any time I stopped concentrating.

The journey seemed to take forever but finally, we reached Edinburgh. I stepped off the train and headed for the exit, stopping on the way to open the envelope. Inside was the address. Seventeen, Castle Street.

I called into the newsagent, finding an A to Z and flicking through it. Castle Street wasn't too far and I made it in twenty minutes. I frowned when I reached it though. Fifteen was a bakery and there was nineteen, a hair salon. Between had to be seventeen but it wasn't a house. It was a bank. The National Bank.

I looked at the letter again. That wasn't a phone number. It was an account number. What was Carl playing at?

I pushed open the door to the bank and headed inside. There was a counter across from me with two people waiting in a queue. I joined the back and when I made it to the front, I held out the letter. "Can I help?" the woman asked.

I passed her the letter. "I'm not sure."

She looked down at her computer, typing quickly. "Mr Ward," she said, looking up. "Your new card has arrived. If you could just pop your finger on the scanner."

"No can do," I replied, holding up my scarred hand.

"I see." The standard look of disgust. "Just bear with me."

She picked up a phone and talked quietly into it. "If you'd take a seat," she said after hanging up. "Someone will be out to see you shortly."

I sat in one of the blue armchairs by the window, ignoring the magazines on the table in front of me. What was Carl doing? Was this one of his jokes? In the time I'd been working for him, he had a tendency to give people half his plans and leave them to work out the rest. I'd seen enough to know he was getting up to some dodgy things. Some of it was standard, watering down the drinks, taking cut backs from the drugs sold on the premises. But some of it was more hush hush, things I wasn't privy to. Maybe this was one of those.

"Mr Ward?" a voice said, causing me to look up. There was a black man in his forties looking back at me. In his right hand was a leather briefcase. "I'm the manager, call me Wes. Would you come this way?"

I followed him as he pushed open the door to a small office.

"Take a seat," he said, pushing the door closed behind me. "I'll just close the blinds, give us some privacy."

He sat down opposite, putting the briefcase on the desk. "I must say, it's a new one on me. Carl said I'd be able to tell when you arrived and he was right."

I said nothing, waiting to find out what was going on.

"No fingerprint he said and for the life of me I couldn't work out what he meant but here you are. Forgive me but can I ask how it happened?"

"Fire."

"I see. Well, that makes sense. Here's your card. We've preloaded it with a thousand which should see you through your first month at least. I've included two hundred in cash, consider it a welcoming gift. In the case is I.D and everything else you might need for the job."

"Sorry, what job exactly?"

"All in the letter, Mr Ward. I'll give you a minute, shall I?"

He stood up and crossed to the door, closing it behind him and leaving me alone. I opened the briefcase and found a letter addressed to me. I read it twice.

It was clearly some sort of test. I just hoped I was up to it. It seemed simple enough. Carl wanted to buy a building to set up his nightclub. The owner was holding out for more money. I was to go see the owner and persuade him to sell then head back to the bank to tell Wes it was done. There was a knife in the briefcase beside a passport in my name, date of birth making me nineteen. I got the picture. Do this and I would prove myself. I'd also get paid five thousand. More than enough to get a weapon and head back to London. What happened after that didn't matter.

The door to the office opened and the manager looked in at me as I was packing everything back into the briefcase. "Everything to your satisfaction, Mr Ward?"

"Yes," I said, accepting his hand and shaking it firmly. "Thank you for your time, Wes."

It took another look at an A to Z to find the address. I carried the briefcase under my arm. Once I got to the right street, I left the case hidden inside a hedge. There was the house in front of me. A light was on downstairs. He was clearly at home.

Frank Delaney. Fifty-three. Old enough to be scared when someone like me thrust a knife into his face. That was the way to do it. Quick. Tell him to accept the offer then go before he even had a good look at my face. So much for plans.

I tried the front door. It was unlocked. I headed inside as quietly as I could. Before I was even over the threshold, he had a hand on me. "So he sends a boy to do a man's job," he said, pulling me into the house and kicking the door closed.

I had the knife in my hand but he kicked it away. I was shoved back against the wall, getting my first look at the man I'd come to threaten. He was taller than me.

He landed the first punch, catching me on the jaw. As it hit, he laughed and that got to me. It reminded me of Rebecca, of the way they'd laughed when I tried to save her. The laugh rang around my head and I felt my fist clenching. I caught sight of his shadow as he closed in. I swung my fist and caught him by surprise.

The blow struck him on the cheek and his head jolted sideways. My hand stung but I ignored it. Before he could react, I got two more punches in and he started to stagger. The laugh had gone but I could still hear it in my head, the laugh and Rebecca shouting, "No," as I fell from the window.

He hit me again but I didn't care. Even when he got hold of the knife, I didn't care. I let it catch my cheek while I ran at him, my head down. I got him in the midriff, sending the air from his lungs.

He got a single glancing blow with the knife to my back but then he was down and my feet went in hard. "Sell up," I said as I pulled back and kicked again.

"All right," he said, wincing as he held his hands in front of his face. "All right, anything you want."

I picked the knife up off the floor, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand. I said nothing else, I turned and opened the front door, heading outside.

I collected the briefcase and then made my way to the bank. On my way in I passed by a man on his phone who gave me a single look of disgust before looking away. The blood was still dripping from my cheek and the staff turned to look at me in shock as I shoved the door open.

Wes looked up from the couple he was talking to and his smile faded. "Excuse me a moment," he said, crossing the floor in seconds. He got me around the shoulder and said loudly, "Can you please step outside, Sir?"

Once we were back through the doors, he shoved me around the corner into an alleyway. "You're going to have to learn to a bit more subtle," he said, looking me up and down. "I take it you're done."

I nodded, looking up to see one of the bank clerks standing on the corner peering round at us. She had a phone pressed to her ear.

"I'll deal with her," Wes said, passing me a business card. "You did well, John. Delaney's a tough cookie."

"What's this?" I asked, waving the card.

"You go see him. Tell him I sent you."

"But who is he?"

"You're rough around the edges but you'll learn. He'll teach you."

"What about my money?"

"It'll be in your account by the end of the day. Now get moving."

He walked away. I heard him speaking to the clerk as they headed back towards the bank. "No need for an ambulance," he was saying. "Just a scrape, that's all. He's fine."