Dead Men's s Boots

‘John Colmore,’ I read. ‘A.k.a. Jack Spot, the King of Aldgate. That’s you, isn’t it? You would have been one of the early ones, I’m guessing. And far from the worst. I gather you charged the Jewish businesses around Mile End a lot of money for “protection” – but then when the blackshirts rolled up you actually weighed in and provided some, which is something of a novelty. And you’ve improved yourself since then, obviously. Aaron Silver told me some of you had trained as lawyers for tactical reasons, but bloody hell, eh? A beak.

You can take the boy out of the gutter.’

Runcie gave me a look that was pure poison, but I forgave him because he had nothing at all to back it up.

‘So don’t get me wrong, Jack,’ I concluded. ‘I’ve got nothing against you personally. But I’ve got to look out for me and mine, and right now, from where I’m sitting, you’re part of the problem. So here’s how it’s going to go. You’re going to serve an injunction against Jenna-Jane Mulbridge, immediately restraining her against taking Rafi Ditko out of the Stanger clinic.

You’ll also rule yourself ultra vires on the power-of-attorney thing, and bump it up to one of your mates in the Court of Appeal with a quiet nudge and a wink to decide in Pen Bruckner’s favour. These things you will do now, while I watch. And then you might want to clock off early and have a G&T, because you’ll have earned it.’

Runcie was still glaring at me like I’d trodden dogshit into his Persian carpet. ‘The law can’t be bought, Mister Castor.

’

‘I wouldn’t dream of trying,’ I protested, throwing out my arms in injured innocence. ‘Although I suspect Jenna-Jane did. But this – this is extortion, not bribery.’

‘You can’t threaten me.’

‘Can’t I? Well, let me paint you a picture, then. You’re a ghost sitting in a body which if I’m any judge – pardon the pun – is already starting to reject you. Your friends aren’t around any more to help you get the whip hand again: no more inscriptions, now or ever, so there’s no going back. Which leaves you with three options.

Sing along if you know the words.’

I counted them off on my fingers. ‘One. You hold on for dear life, and savour every last second of your fleshly existence until finally the last one of your fingernails is prised loose and you go sailing off into eternity like a balloon with its string cut.

‘Two – and this is a risky one – you let go. Leave now while you’re still strong, instead of wearing yourself out with a fight you can’t win.