That’s all I’m saying.’ Spud wasn’t the type to lose his rag, but he was close to it now. For some reason, Danny didn’t care. He was tense. Maybe an argument would do him good. ‘I was thinking on my feet. That’s all I’m saying.’ Spud glared at him from the passenger seat and Danny suddenly felt bad about himself. His mate was right. It was one of the first things they’d learned – never do something by yourself, if you don’t have to. Chastened, he said: ‘Okay. Point taken.’ And to cover the uncomfortable pause that followed: ‘Fucking traffic. What the hell’s going on?’ They were nose to tail down Fulham Palace Road. It was pissing down and the other drivers were getting lairy. Danny switched on the car radio, wondering if it was too early for there to be any news of his morning’s work. There was news all right. Just not what they expected. They listened in horror as fragments of information filtered through the breathless reports of harried journalists.
