“Why did Kent send you here?”

“He was ragin’, same as me. Someone got a lot of blokes killed today, sent us in with bad information. We were overmatched, outgunned, we had no bleedin’ preparation for what we went up against. He told me he was going to find out who set this up and burn them for it. He said if he went down and I made it, that I should come to you and you’d tell me who hired him for the job.”

“Southampton, you say? I take it you work for Tony Palace.”

Court didn’t miss a beat. “His son, Reggie.” Court had looked into the Southampton underworld before arriving at the pub, expecting to be questioned about the leadership of the organization he claimed to work for. He’d found that their largest criminal firm was ostensibly run by an eighty-year-old gangster named Tony Palace but in fact had been taken over by his forty-five-year-old son, Reggie.

Court thought he was selling himself well but knew he had to remain sharp and not let his guard down for an instant.

Jones said, “Reggie ain’t his dad, is he?”

“No, sir. He’s a right bastard. With all the coke he does he’s fucking useless most of the time. Can’t be bothered about real problems, even if it throws his own men into danger.”

Court had read that the man had been arrested for cocaine possession more than once. The rest of it he was winging. He’d spent most of two decades freestyling his way through background stories, and he was damn good at it.

Jones said, “I know Reggie Palace. How about I call him right now, make sure you are who you’re sayin’ you are?”

Court shrugged. “He’ll just tell me to get me arse back down to Southampton, won’t he? That’s not what you want.”

“It’s not? What is it you and Kent cooked up? What do you want from me?”

“The name of the bloke who reached out to you about this in the first place.”

“And what will you do with that?”

“I’ll give him a talkin’-to.”

The man seemed unsure, but then he stood, headed across the pub alone, and sat in a booth on the far wall.

Court was confused, but once there, Jones motioned him over. Grabbing his Carling, he complied. He was halfway across the floor before two men grabbed him and roughly frisked him, causing much of his beer to spill. Finding no weapons or microphones, they let him proceed and he sat down across from Jones.

Jones leaned forward, speaking softly now. “I’m askin’ meself why I’d pass along important information like that to some geezer I don’t even know. Never heard of. Workin’ for a bastard that I don’t respect.”

Court said, “Because all this today happened on your turf. To your men. All the other firms sent one man on this op. You sent one, and then, when Kent came here, you sent him two carloads more, didn’t you?”

“What of it?”

“Your losses make me suspect you want payback for this shite same as me. Maybe more.”

“You’re right. Seven of my men killed today. Good men, all. And you were the one tosser who walked away with your life. How is that?”

Court said, “Dunno. But I do know I’m going to find the people responsible for sending us into that bleedin’ buzz saw, and I’m going to put this right.”

Court could see both indecision and skepticism on the older man’s face. Finally he said, “You and Kent had yourselves some sort of pact to avenge the deaths of a load of blokes you just bloody met for one op?”

“For me, it’s not about the other blokes on this op. I react poorly when people try to send me to the slaughterhouse. Kent and I didn’t have a plan. I just told him I wanted the name and I was sure my boss wouldn’t give it to me. He said he would ask you.” Court shrugged. “Then he died, on your turf, along with six more of your crew. I’m betting you wouldn’t mind someone not attached to you in any way dealing with the bastard who caused all this.”

Charlie Jones sat and drank in silence for a minute. Court sipped his lager, waiting. Finally the leader of the Nottingham criminal firm said, “I don’t know who set the whole thing up. But I do know who I talked to. A solicitor in London. He works for some interesting chaps. Russians, mostly. Underworld, all.”

Court nodded. “A name?”

Another long pause from Jones before, “Tell you what. A couple of my boys will take you to an inn, right down the street. You stay here tonight, and I’ll do some lookin’ into you. I find out you are with Southampton, and were there at Ternhill and Rauceby today, then I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“I don’t have time for that. If I’m going after the men that did this I have to do it now.”

“If you want the information from me, you have to play by my rules, lad. I’ll talk to you in the morning about what I learned.”

Court said, “You’re not gettin’ my bloody name, Jones. Palace finds out I’m doin’ this and I’m in loads of bleedin’ trouble.”

“Don’t need your name. Got your description, don’t I? I know blokes in Southampton who will tell me if a dark and angry shooter who looks like you works for Reggie Palace. Don’t worry, lad. I can be discreet.” He shrugged. “I hope you check out . . . I want someone’s bollocks for what happened to me boys.”

Court started to protest again, but he realized it was futile.

A minute later there were four firm hands around Court’s biceps and he was being led back outside, then turned and walked towards a small and simple inn at the end of the street. He knew his scheme would fall apart if Jones took even a couple hours to dig into him, and he couldn’t let that happen. He had no real doubt he could make short work of these guys, even though he could plainly see the butt of a 1911 pistol inside the jacket of the man on his left.

But he had to remain in character, even for just a short time more, to increase any slim chance his plan had for success.

The check-in process for the inn involved one of the heavies with Court stepping behind the counter and pulling a set of keys off a shelf while the front desk clerk looked on silently, and seconds after that the three men began walking up a staircase. Court was led to a room at the end of a hall; the door was opened by the guy with the .45, while the other grabbed a chair by the tiny elevator door and dragged it over. Court entered his room, gave a nod to the men who led him there, then closed it, just as the one man sat down on the chair, facing the stairs and elevator.

Looking around the simple space, he realized the room had no balcony. There were two windows, one on either side of the bed, and while they weren’t large, they opened to the side. He peered outside and down the street, then stepped out onto the windowsill in a crouch.