It took Stone half an hour on the Underground to get a train back to Brighton. He was feeling tired, fractious and very angry. Sitting alone in the train carriage, he knew he would never make this journey again. He was saying goodbye to the place he had grown up in as a child; the streets were still familiar, comforting even with their unchanged pattern. But his friends had moved away, and his family were no longer alive for him to call on. And with gangsters living in squats, the place had changed.
He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the seat, but he did not sleep. However much he wriggled, he could not find any comfort. The train to Brighton was slow, it was rocking on uneven rail, and as it swayed again, he suddenly felt the movement of somebody close to him. The carriage was empty; he stirred to sit upright and looked at the large head of a black man with red, bloodshot eyes.
‘Good day, Harry,’ the intruder said softly.
‘What do you want?’
‘I’ve got a message from Mr Xavier.’
‘You tell Xavier to open his ears. Last time, you hoodlums get no more money from me, and if you try on your fist punching again, I’m gonna spill it all. Okay?’ Stone’s voice was sharp.
‘No, you got it wrong – it’s good news today. My mate tells me you’ve called on him with a gift parcel. So, I’ve got something important in return to give you, something promised right from Mr Xavier himself.’
‘That man’s a rat, stinking vermin. He’s inside where he belongs. Get out of my way.’ Stone moved uneasily in his seat and the pain in his back sharpened.
The intruder leant over Stone and laughed straight into his face.
Stone tried to push him away. He looked up. He had taken enough from these criminals; he tried to stand quickly to land a punch just as he had in HMP Belmarsh. But the train rocked again, and he sprawled back onto the seat.
‘Harry, don’t do that. I’ve got a crisp sheet of paper with money written all over it. Another door for you to open to make money, that’s enough to repay what you owe. Me and me mates can’t wait much longer, you see.’
Again, Stone hesitated. He took the sheet of white paper and, in front of the intruder, noisily screwed it into a tight ball. He held it in his hand.
‘You’d better know there’s a price on your head worth ten times what I’ve just given you. Somebody’ll be close when you’re not awake. It won’t be a light tap on your shoulder just outside your big house, it might just be a knife around your throat, or it could be a sharp blade stuck right into your heart. Either way, that won’t be a nice feeling to wake up to.’
‘Shut it. I’ve said get out of my way.’
Stone stood and walked to the passage in the middle of the carriage. The intruder looked at him and a hand tugged the back of his jacket. Stone tried to brush his hold off, but he couldn’t move.
He flung out his arm into the staring eyes and tugged himself free. With the screwed-up ball of paper in his pocket, he walked quickly along the corridor to the next carriage where people were sitting. He found a seat and stared from the window. The low mood from earlier that morning settled back on him.
Half an hour later, as he walked up the front steps into the sanctuary of Marine House, he felt the ball of paper in his pocket. Was it a rolled-up bundle of notes to pay for the £25,000 snatched from his hand? Stone was revived with adrenalin; this game was not finished, and his judgement had been right all the time.