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money’s no good today, Philip,’ Paul said. ‘Hiy, Matthew, give us two spesh, a dark rum, and a vodka.’
    Paul was buying. Paul, for a change, had plenty of money.
    ‘Cheers, Paul.’
    ‘Aye, all the best, Paolo.’
    ‘You’re quiet, Leonard,’ Paul said.
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘Quiet.’
    Leonard shrugged. He wasn’t usually quiet. But then it wasn’t a normal day. ‘Just thinking about Anthony.’
    ‘Six years,’ said Philip, exhaling.
    ‘Hellish,’ said Paul. ‘Here, Leonard, have a—’
    ‘No, I’ll take it neat.’
    ‘You always have a skoosh of Irn-Bru in your vodka.’
    ‘Not today.’
    ‘What’s wrong, Leonardo?’
    ‘Christ, nothing, I just don’t . . . look, okay, give me the Irn-Bru.’
    ‘Not if you don’t want it.’
    ‘I want it.’
    ‘You’ve changed your mind?’
    ‘Just give the bottle here.’
    ‘Touchy today, isn’t he, Thomasino?’
    ‘A bit, Paul, I’d have to agree with you there.’
    ‘Hell, all I said was . . .’
    ‘Okay, Leonard, no problemo, big man. You take your vodka any way you want your vodka. No big deal. Okay?’
    ‘It’s only vodka.’
    ‘A metaphysical statement indeed. So get it down you. Hiy, Philip, how’s your spesh?’
    ‘Nothing special.’
    Paul laughed. ‘Says the same thing every time. Dependable, Philip, that’s you. Not like these two.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Look at you,’ Paul told them. ‘Leonard usually going twenty to the dozen, Thomas like a deaf mute in a sensory deprivation tank. Roles reversed today, eh?’
    ‘What’s a sensory deprivation tank?’
    ‘Well,’ said Philip, ‘here’s to Anthony.’
    ‘Anthony.’
    ‘Cheers.’
    ‘All the best.’
    ‘So . . . a wee skoosh of Irn-Bru after all, eh, Leonard?’
    ‘I thought we weren’t going to—’
    ‘You are not wrong, I was out of turn. Sorry, Leonard.’
    ‘Leonard’s all right.’
    ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
    ‘One for yourself, Matthew?’
    The barman was still waiting to be paid. ‘Thanks, Paul, I’ll stick one aside for later.’ He walked back to his till with the cash.
    ‘Matthew’s all right,’ Paul said, tucking his wallet back into his pocket.
    ‘Not bad.’
    ‘Keeps himself to himself.’
    ‘Wise in a place like this,’ said Thomas, wiping foam from his top lip, ‘full of people like us. I’ll tell you something, Paul, if I wasn’t me, I wouldn’t drink in here.’
    ‘Where else is there?’
    ‘There’s the Last Drop or the World’s End.’
    ‘No chance.’
    ‘Well, it’s a hell-hole all the same.’
    ‘Ach, you get used to it. I’ve been drinking here thirty years, man and boy. Come on, Leonard, no slacking.’
    ‘I’m pacing myself.’
    ‘Philip’s finished his spesh already, by the way.’
    ‘Thirsty,’ Philip explained.
    ‘Whose shout?’
    ‘I mean,’ Paul went on, ‘this is a big night, a kind of wake. No night to be pacing yourself. Six years: we’re drinking for Anthony tonight.’
    ‘That judge . . .’
    ‘And the jury.’
    ‘Ach, it was the evidence though,’ said Philip. ‘If they’ve got the evidence, what can you do?’
    ‘You can’t scare off every jury.’
    ‘They knew everything.’
    ‘Who did?’ Leonard asked.
    ‘Those two cops. How did they know all that?’
    ‘Go on then.’
    ‘What do you say, Leonard?’
    ‘Huh?’
    ‘You’re the one with the brains. How did those two cops know?’
    ‘Guesswork? I don’t know.’
    ‘Maybe they got lucky,’ Philip suggested.
    ‘They can’t all be as thick as the ones we know,’ Thomas added.
    ‘Or as scared.’
    ‘Anthony’ll be all right,’ said Paul. ‘Whichever nick he goes to, he’ll end up running the place.’
    ‘Very true,’ said Philip. ‘All the same, six years. He’ll be out in . . . what? Three? Three years locked up, no fresh air . . .’
    ‘When did that ever bother Anthony?’
    ‘How do you mean, Leonard?’
    ‘Or any of us, come to that,’ Leonard went on. ‘I mean, at least the screws will make him go for a walk around