a collection of framed photographs on it and picked one up. It showed two women, one in her twenties and one in her thirties. Hands around each other's waists and smiling at the camera, as if they knew their profession was to be judged now by the quality of that smile as much as it was by the service and care they provided.
And he realised as he looked at the photograph that they had all got it completely wrong.
Delaney felt like someone had taken a heavy hammer and struck him on the head. It was definitely time for a new job, he thought. Somewhere warm. Somewhere quiet. But, as he cracked open his bloodshot eyes, he realised that new employment prospects were the least of his problems. His hands had been tied behind his back and he was sitting in a lock-up garage somewhere, propped uncomfortably on a wooden chair. The door opened and Mickey Ryan walked in, followed by his cubic minder and his traitorous fucking cousin. If Delaney could have worked up the saliva he would have spat at him.
There was a metallic clang. Delaney looked across to see the gorilla of a henchman putting a toolbox on the workbench that ran along the whole left-hand side of the garage. The man made Kevin Norrell look human, he realised with a shudder.
'You might wonder why you are still alive, Delaney.'
'Must be my guardian angel.'
Ryan laughed, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. 'I wonder if you'll still be laughing when my man here goes to work on you with a pair of needle-tooth pliers.
Liam stepped forward. 'Nobody said anything about that.'
'Nobody points a gun at me and gets away with it. You're going to learn that, Delaney. And that grassing tub of lard Norrell is going to be next.' He turned to Liam. 'Put one in his gut, give him something to think about.'
Liam raised the pistol he had been holding in his right hand, a semi-automatic with a silencer. Delaney could see no mercy, no compassion in his eyes as he pulled the trigger.
The minder made a sound like a dog swallowing a fly and dropped to the floor, a hand fluttering towards his heart but not making it. Liam pointed the gun at Mickey Ryan.
'The fuck you think you're doing?'
'The fuck you think I'm doing?' Liam retorted.
Ryan shook his head. 'We had a deal.'
'I don't make deals with scum. Gut shot, wasn't it?' He pulled the trigger again, and Mickey Ryan dropped to his knees, squealing and holding his stomach. 'Hurts, doesn't it?'
Ryan's face had gone purple and he hissed between his teeth, but if they were words they were not intelligible.
Liam grabbed a Stanley knife from the toolbox and slashed the ropes binding his cousin.
Delaney stood up and wobbled on his legs. He had to hold on to his cousin's arm before he could steady himself. 'What's going on?'
Liam smiled. 'I made some calls after you left. Figured out what was what and realised you'd be way out of your depth.'
'I had it covered.'
'Sure you did, cousin. But you weren't going to kill him, were you?'
Delaney didn't answer.
'Which means that one way or another he would have ended up killing you.'
'Maybe.'
'No maybe about it.'
