CHAPTER Twenty-Six

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Jimmy didn’t know Peckham well, it was a part of London he’d never been to. In fact, he never really went south of the river Thames. It had taken him all night to find the shebeen.

It was in the basement of an abandoned warehouse, at the bottom of a set of concrete steps that stank of piss. He pushed open the battered steel fire door and peered inside.

He saw nothing, at first, it was so dark. But he could hear muttering voices, the clink of glasses and the scraping of chairs. He wondered if we would find Vince here, or whether this would be another fruitless search.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Jimmy saw a tall, lean figure, with shoulder length dreads, sitting alone with his back to the far wall. Vince didn’t see Jimmy as he entered the drinking den, a long thin room with a rubble strewn floor, littered with a collection of near broken furniture. Dim figures sat about makeshift tables and an obese bar man stood behind a ramshackle bar.

Vince looked up as