He couldn’t believe it was back to this. Back on the bloody night shift by himself. Constantly looking over his shoulder. It wasn’t as easy as it had been either, especially being half-blind now. In the dark, having just one eye really made a difference. It stood to reason: only half the light went into your brain. And his left hand still hurt when he put pressure on anything. Lifting things the wrong way made his shoulder scream. He’d nearly dropped a whole bunch of stuff off a roof the other night. He’d get compensation eventually, they’d said. As a victim of crime. Quite ironic, if you thought about it. Of course he hadn’t said that to them, about the irony and that. He hadn’t said anything worth mentioning to them. You just didn’t. Assailants unknown. If he’d said anything else, anything more, and the big man had got wind of it, he’d have sent Ilkin to finish the job. He was lucky to be alive as it was, they had said so at the hospital. He knew they were right, too. Got away with losing one ball and one eye. The pain of it, just the memory, could still make him sweat, even on a freezing night like this one. They’d done it on purpose, too. The testicle, not the eye. They’d taken great care to punch his balls in. As a warning to others. Ilkin threw the half-brick that took his eye. Good at throwing stuff. When they tied him up, he was sure they were going to kill him this time.

Should leave Bristol, really. Much safer, in case the big man changed his mind. Lying low now, back on the night shift. The cushy life was over. But kind of relieved, too. Okay, it was easy money working for the big man, but he was a scary fucker. His cold, trembling rages were enough to turn your hair grey. Better off out of there. Better off on your own, working. While all the idiots slept.