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But he had always been very clear on the essential morality which society depended on and the police enforced. He said he knew who the real villains were, he was after them, not the regular citizens who over-stepped the mark by a few inches. It was a game of strategy, he said, you know who they are, and they know you know, but can you find the evidence to convict them? It was this cat-and-mouse game that had always appealed to Nicky. His favourite pastime at home was watching Columbo with his dad.
    So how come Les was in the villains’ pocket? The only explanation was that Les was a hypocrite, a bent cop, worse even than the villain who paid him to keep quiet. He had not only deceived the force and society itself, he had deceived his wife and son. Nicky couldn’t forgive him that. Les couldn’t even forgive himself. It had been written all over him. Doreen didn’t see it, it was easy to pull the wool over her eyes, and her simple-minded blind faith in Les would carry her through, provided he never confessed to her. But Les and Nicky were closer than that, and understood each other better. Father and son, they were almost the same person save for the age difference, or so he had thought up to now.
    It took Nicky an hour and a half to break away from his youth. He simply sat and thought, looked at the situation from all the angles he could think of, and came back to the same conclusion. He was finished with his dad, with the police force, with his whole life as he had believed it to be. It was all built on lies. He would start again. He would bury the hurt and the bitterness he felt, he couldn’t possibly enter the police force knowing what he now knew. He would find a job, anything, keep looking around until something turned up that interested him. He would keep his own counsel, do as he thought fit, be completely independent. He was his own man now. He wouldn’t leave home just yet, he would keep up the charade for his mother’s sake, but inside he would be different.
    He left the café and bought a copy of the Evening Standard , took it to a bench in the middle of Leicester Square and sat down to read the Situations Vacant.
    He circled a number of possible jobs, and since one company was based in Soho, he went to look for their office. It was nearly six o’clock when he found it, but all the lights were on in the building – it was in a scruffy, narrow street in which every doorway carried an assortment of bells and nameplates. He pushed the bell marked Magenta Television Productions Ltd and walked in when he heard a buzzer. Magenta was based in two tiny offices on the second floor, up a steep, lino-covered staircase. He found it atmospheric and not at all intimidating.
    An Asian man of indeterminate age greeted him and shook Nicky’s hand when he said he had come about the advert for a runner, congratulating him on being the first applicant.
    “We like people who show initiative. I’m Haris Maqbool, Finance Director. My partner’s on the phone in the other office, but if you’d like to wait we could interview you right away.”
    “Sure,” said Nicky, trying to create a good impression. Not wanting to let on that he didn’t know what a runner was, he set about asking questions which might elicit the information without betraying his ignorance.
    “Can you tell me a bit about the company, and the post?” he asked boldly, sitting himself on an old wooden chair.
    “Of course. We’re a newish outfit, very small as yet, but we’ve just won a commission to make a daytime quiz show for a regional ITV station. We’re very excited. It’s a terrifically good project, and has a wonderful star. Our company is going to do extremely well. As our runner you will be an assistant in all matters, from top to bottom. You will make the tea but you will also learn the business, if you wish. You will earn very little to start with but a very great deal in the long run. This is a truly wonderful opportunity.”
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