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be the victim's – obviously hoping to get his retaliation in first hadn't worked out.
    Jasper was doing a two-er and I was on a five that got cut to 18 months on appeal but in the time we struck it off we became firm mates and ended up running a snout ring; on the out we had enough of a bundle to set ourselves up with a gaff. The situation worked out a treat because we kept ourselves to ourselves and never got in each others way. When Jasper heard I was on the out again, he was good enough to offer to put me up once more.
    I hit the button for the buzzer – hoped it was the right address because I'd left my jacket – and the piece of paper with Jasper's details – in Gail's Beemer.
    'Hello.'
    I recognised the voice.
    'All right, mate ... it's Jed.'
    'Jed boy – I'll buzz you in.'
    Jasper's flat was two flights up; when I reached the landing he was waiting for me with that shit-eating grin of his. 'Jed, you old bastard!'
    He grabbed me in a bear hug.
    'Whoa, watch my ribs.'
    Jasper looked me up and down. 'You been boxing?'
    I gave him the as if look, marched indoors. 'Hope you've got the kettle on.' I tried to make it look like I hadn't just seen a shopkeeper torched, then made my escape in a hot motor, which I'd dumped in an industrial estate on the other side of town before legging it by bus and hoof. But Jasper wasn't buying it. He'd seen the look too many times before.
    I sat myself in front of the gob-unit, flicked a few channels whilst Jasper put on the kettle. He was playing it cagey. 'So what's it like to be out?'
    'Yeah, y'know ... same as I remember it.'
    A conversation killer if ever I had one. Thing is, talking about the inside when you're on the out is a no-go. You want to move on, get away from all the shit that fills your head in there. You have to block it out, and that means removing the differentiations. A hoor of a business.
    'I heard from wee Rab this afternoon.'
    'Bandy Rab?'
    'Said you pulled yourself a nice little blonde bit in the pub.'
    I exhaled; my breath escaped louder than I imagined it would. Came like an awesome sigh.
    'Fuck, that bad, eh?'
    I looked up to see Jasper standing in the door jamb. 'You could say that, yeah.'
    He dried off the cup he was holding, returned to the kitchen. 'That's the kettle boiled.'
    'Great. Got any biscuits?'
    'Fucking hell, you getting your feet under the table already?' said Jasper.
    He had me there. Funny how you always look at your old friends as a kind of extended family – or in my case a substitute one – I wouldn't want to be relying on any of my kin to look out for me. Not now.
    Jasper came through from the kitchen with the two teas and a pack of Kit Kats tucked under his arm.
    I took my tea, swiped the chocolate biscuits, said, 'Ah, nice one.'
    'Thought you'd appreciate it ...' He nodded at the Kit Kats. 'Be a fairly decent score in Killie, eh?'
    I smiled, tucked into the two fingers of confectionery heaven.
    I was in two minds about whether to tell Jasper about the afternoon's events with Gail. I felt sure I could trust him and he would stand by me no matter what; but I was a professional standover man and keeping the puss tightly buttoned was an old habit I'd never got rid of. It was a case of what he doesn't know can't harm me. I knew if he had plod busting his chops he wouldn't be too pleased but fuck-tae-fuck, it was a career hazard that Jasper had already grown used to, many years ago.
    'So, you still doing a bit of fencing, bit of dealing?' I said.
    He tapped the side of his nose, gave me a wink. 'Got a new line.'
    'Oh yeah.' Now this did interest me. Jasper had always worked the lower end of the criminal spectrum; his first stretch was for kiting. Had been a good earner but got too hard to work it when people stopped paying with cheques. He'd progressed to running lists on junkie hoisters – at one stage he had a spare room full of Gillette Sensors, Fahrenheit aftershave and Touche Eclat. The supply chains proved too erratic though, with his