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who was boss around here. But he’d found him. And at that point Lefty felt the situation was not beyond rescuing. He gave the boy a little glimpse of the blade, made him quiver, threw a great big scare into the youngster, which was good, stop him doing the same fucking thing all over again.
    Deano wanted him.
    Deano would have him.
    What the hell did he care? And then that bastard had whacked him with the pole, and it had been goodnight nurse. When he’d come round, both boy and bastard had fled the scene and he’d limped off to the nearest hospital to get stitched up.
    ‘You’re not sayin’ much, Lefty old son.’
    Now Deano stood up. Lefty took a step back. Deano was so big that he seemed to fill up the entire low-ceilinged room with his bulk. Deano could intimidate without even trying. He was solid as a brick wall and his eyes showed about the same level of feeling. He had a shaven head as big and round as a bowling-ball and a ridiculously neat little goatee beard. Deano was a vicious bender, everyone knew that; he’d been worked over good and proper by his father at an early age, everyone knew that too. Everyone also knew that Deano had offed his own father as soon as he’d had the size and strength to do it. Whether or not being shafted by his own dear old dad had turned him, no one knew – and no one was going to ask either , that was for sure. Certainly not Lefty, anyway. Live and let live, that was Lefty’s motto. Just so long as the big creep wasn’t trying to stuff it up his arse, he didn’t give a shit.
    ‘I told you what happened, Deano. It’s the God’s honest truth,’ said Lefty. He could hear the pathetic whine in his own voice, but he couldn’t help it.
    ‘But you were meant to be keeping an eye on my boy,’ said Deano mildly, drawing closer.
    Jesus , thought Lefty in a spasm of terror. His guts were going up and down like Tower Bridge.
    ‘I know that.’ Lefty held his hands out, palms down, in a gesture of suppression, saying, Hey let’s calm this down, shall we? And Deano looked calm, but then, he always did. Even when he was getting ready to rip someone’s throat out. ‘Listen, Deano. It’s not a big deal because I’ll find him, okay? I got the boys out looking already, and he can’t have gone far. We’ll get your boy back. No sweat.’
    ‘Oh, you’d better sweat, my friend,’ said Deano, looming ever closer. Now he was standing right in front of Lefty.
    Lefty was sweating, he was sweating buckets. He could feel nervous perspiration popping out all over his body. Could feel his face wreathed in a shit-eating sort of grin, like a junior ape trying to placate a silverback. His heart was beating very fast. His wounded head was throbbing with every single beat.
    ‘Tell me again, Lefty.’
    ‘Nothing to tell, Deano. This bastard hit me with a pole. When I came round, Alfie was gone.’
    ‘This bastard , what was he like then?’
    Lefty shrugged hopelessly. ‘Big. Thickset. Darkish hair. I don’t know.’
    ‘Only, you know those Bond films, the bit where Blofeld sits there stroking his cat?’ asked Deano.
    ‘I . . .’
    ‘And you know what he says, that bald, ugly, scar-faced bastard, you know what he’s telling his troops?’
    ‘I don’t . . .’
    ‘You don’t? Well I’ll tell you. It’s a gas, Lefty. One of the boys has fucked up some vital thing, and what Blofeld is saying is, This organisation does not tolerate failure ,’ Deano grinned, displaying perfect white veneers. ‘Well, guess what, Lefty? This one don’t either.’
    Deano reached out a casual hand, grasped Lefty’s testicles, and squeezed.
    Lefty shrieked and went up on tiptoe. ‘Holy shit , Deano,’ he cried out.
    ‘That hurt?’ asked Deano, close in to Lefty and inflicting terrible, sick-making pain.
    Lefty could only nod, his face twisted in anguish now.
    ‘Try this.’ Deano squeezed tighter. Lefty thought he was going to pass out from the agony of it. ‘Hurt?’ enquired Deano.
    Lefty