The Burning Girl

BMW.

"Seems to me," Holland said, 'that we spend a lot of time going to see these fuckers, asking them questions, listening to them tell us they don't know anything, and then leaving again." Thorne looked into the park as they walked alongside it. The trees were shiny and skeletal. "Same as it ever was."

"He was so full of shit," Holland said. '"Disney films for the kids?"

They'd have been involved somewhere in supply, delivery, all of it. They'd have taken a massive cut of Izzigil's earnings, on top of what they got out of the piracy, out of the smuggling operation." Finsbury Park wasn't Thorne's favourite green space. He'd been to a few gigs there over the years, though the Fleadh to see Emmylou Harris, Madstock once with a WPC he fancied. When the Sex Pistols reformed and played there, back when he was still living with his wife, he'd been able to hear every word from their back garden in Highbury, which was over a mile away…

Holland was grimacing. "That coffee was shit as well," he said. "It tasted like something you'd find in a Gro-Bag." Thorne laughed. "It's an acquired taste."

"Listen, d'you fancy having a pint later? The Oak, if you like, or we could go into town."

"Sophie letting you out for the night, is she?"

"Happy to see the back of me, mate. I'm getting on her nerves a bit, I think. Fuck it, I'm getting on my own nerves." They'd reached the car. Thorne unlocked it and climbed in before leaning across to unlock Holland's door. "Can we do it another night?

I'm busy later."

Holland dropped into the passenger seat. The rain had left dark streaks across the shoulders of his grey jacket and at the tops of his trousers. The suit was starting to look a little tired, and Thorne knew that Holland would go into MS at some point soon to buy another one that was exactly the same.

"Hot date?" Holland asked.

Thorne smiled when the engine turned over first time. "Not remotely."