business of Mrs. Morgan's so-called accident. It was a terrible business, and yet his own motives in all this had been so pure.
There was a knock on the door and the caretaker, Abdul, looked in. "Can I get you anything, Doctor?"
"No, I've got to go out for a while. I'll see you later."
He went out to the yard outside, found his Peugeot and drove away.
Dillon's cab turned from Wapping High Street and moved along a narrow lane between warehouse developments, finally stopping outside Salter's pub, the Dark Man, its painted sign showing a sinister individual in a black coat.
The bar was reasonably busy without being crowded, a fine old London pub, bright and cheerful, with Victorian gilt mirrors behind the mahogany bar, bottles ranged against them. Dora, the chief barmaid, sat on a stool behind the bar, smoking a cigarette.
"Why, Mr. Dillon. Haven't seen you for a while. They're in the corner booth."
Which they were: Harry, his nephew Billy--at twenty-nine a hard and ruthless young man, who had killed a number of times, although usually on the side of right--and Joe Baxter and Sam Hall, Salter's minders. They were playing cards, and Salter glanced up and smiled, genuine pleasure on his face.
"Why, Dillon, it's good to see you. It's been too long. You and Ferguson been up to your usual shenanigans, I assume?"
"Something like that." Dillon called to Dora. "A large Bushmills over here, love."
Billy had stopped smiling, and there was a slight frown on his face. "Trouble, Dillon?"
"How did you guess?"
"Because it follows you around and I've come to recognize the signs."
Dora arrived with the whiskey and Dillon tossed it back. "Does Charlie Harker mean anything to you, Harry?"
Salter's face turned to stone. "That scumbag. I don't mind cigarette runs or illegal immigrants from Amsterdam, but young girls on the game, porn, drugs--that's filth."
Billy said, "What is he to you?"
Dillon told them.
Afterward, Harry shook his head. "We can't have that, Charlie getting ideas above his station."
"It's not so much Harker as who put him up to it that I'm interested in," Dillon said.
Harry turned to Billy. "What do you think?"
"Friday night. That means the Red Lion in Kilburn. He uses the snug like an office. The punters turn up to pay him protection money."
"Well, let's pay him a call. It could enliven the evening."
Ali Selim managed to park quite close to the Red Lion, but on the other side of the road. He was about to get out when a large Mercedes pulled up and the Salters got out. He was aware of Dillon first, and he recognized Harry and Billy Salter from photos he'd been shown. He stayed, head down, until they'd gone up the alley at the side of the pub. Only then did he get out of the Peugeot and cross to the other side. He darted into the shadows of an entrance at the end of the alley and watched as the Salters and Dillon went into the side entrance of the pub, leaving Baxter and Hall to guard the door. This was bad, very bad, he knew that and waited, his mouth dry.
Inside the Red Lion, a man was at the door of the snug, and he turned, his mouth gaping, when he saw Salter, who smiled genially.
"Why, Jacko, you look even uglier than usual." He grabbed him by the tie, swung him around, and Billy punched him very hard under the breastbone and head-butted him. Jacko went down and Billy opened the door for his uncle.
Harker was sitting at a table, counting wads of cash, Mosby leaning over beside him. They both looked up, startled.
"Why, Harry, what's going on?" Harker demanded.
"You may well ask, particularly since a couple of arseholes claiming to be working for you just had a go at Dillon here down by Shepherd's Market, and I can't be having that because he's a friend of mine."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, dear, so we're going to have to do it the hard way, are we?" Mosby slipped a hand inside his coat and Dillon produced the Walther. "Don't be stupid," Salter said. "Put whatever you've got in there
There was a knock on the door and the caretaker, Abdul, looked in. "Can I get you anything, Doctor?"
"No, I've got to go out for a while. I'll see you later."
He went out to the yard outside, found his Peugeot and drove away.
Dillon's cab turned from Wapping High Street and moved along a narrow lane between warehouse developments, finally stopping outside Salter's pub, the Dark Man, its painted sign showing a sinister individual in a black coat.
The bar was reasonably busy without being crowded, a fine old London pub, bright and cheerful, with Victorian gilt mirrors behind the mahogany bar, bottles ranged against them. Dora, the chief barmaid, sat on a stool behind the bar, smoking a cigarette.
"Why, Mr. Dillon. Haven't seen you for a while. They're in the corner booth."
Which they were: Harry, his nephew Billy--at twenty-nine a hard and ruthless young man, who had killed a number of times, although usually on the side of right--and Joe Baxter and Sam Hall, Salter's minders. They were playing cards, and Salter glanced up and smiled, genuine pleasure on his face.
"Why, Dillon, it's good to see you. It's been too long. You and Ferguson been up to your usual shenanigans, I assume?"
"Something like that." Dillon called to Dora. "A large Bushmills over here, love."
Billy had stopped smiling, and there was a slight frown on his face. "Trouble, Dillon?"
"How did you guess?"
"Because it follows you around and I've come to recognize the signs."
Dora arrived with the whiskey and Dillon tossed it back. "Does Charlie Harker mean anything to you, Harry?"
Salter's face turned to stone. "That scumbag. I don't mind cigarette runs or illegal immigrants from Amsterdam, but young girls on the game, porn, drugs--that's filth."
Billy said, "What is he to you?"
Dillon told them.
Afterward, Harry shook his head. "We can't have that, Charlie getting ideas above his station."
"It's not so much Harker as who put him up to it that I'm interested in," Dillon said.
Harry turned to Billy. "What do you think?"
"Friday night. That means the Red Lion in Kilburn. He uses the snug like an office. The punters turn up to pay him protection money."
"Well, let's pay him a call. It could enliven the evening."
Ali Selim managed to park quite close to the Red Lion, but on the other side of the road. He was about to get out when a large Mercedes pulled up and the Salters got out. He was aware of Dillon first, and he recognized Harry and Billy Salter from photos he'd been shown. He stayed, head down, until they'd gone up the alley at the side of the pub. Only then did he get out of the Peugeot and cross to the other side. He darted into the shadows of an entrance at the end of the alley and watched as the Salters and Dillon went into the side entrance of the pub, leaving Baxter and Hall to guard the door. This was bad, very bad, he knew that and waited, his mouth dry.
Inside the Red Lion, a man was at the door of the snug, and he turned, his mouth gaping, when he saw Salter, who smiled genially.
"Why, Jacko, you look even uglier than usual." He grabbed him by the tie, swung him around, and Billy punched him very hard under the breastbone and head-butted him. Jacko went down and Billy opened the door for his uncle.
Harker was sitting at a table, counting wads of cash, Mosby leaning over beside him. They both looked up, startled.
"Why, Harry, what's going on?" Harker demanded.
"You may well ask, particularly since a couple of arseholes claiming to be working for you just had a go at Dillon here down by Shepherd's Market, and I can't be having that because he's a friend of mine."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, dear, so we're going to have to do it the hard way, are we?" Mosby slipped a hand inside his coat and Dillon produced the Walther. "Don't be stupid," Salter said. "Put whatever you've got in there
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