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business that involved smashed teeth and turds through letter boxes. Elvis was here right now, I noticed, perched against a side table eating peanuts from a bowl, relaxed in stone-coloured chinos and a sweater. His outfit didn’t go with the greasy quiff, but then only a glittery glam-rock jumpsuit would have gone with that quiff.
    Either Sherwood was genuinely checking something on his screen or he was merely feigning a lack of interest in my arrival. I approached his broad, bare, bleached-wood desk and stood there waiting. At last he put the tablet aside and looked up at me over his glasses with eyes of washed-out blue.
    “Mr. Maguire, hello,” said Sherwood. His accent was Scottish, Glasgow at a guess, with a hint of head-butts and razor blades. There was a solid modern chair facing his desk, buthe didn’t look at it or invite me to sit. It didn’t surprise me that he knew my name; by now he knew what had happened at Delroy’s house the day before, and he would have found out I was responsible. Addressing me by name was meant to rattle me—to make me think he knew everything about me there was to know. But of course he didn’t.
    “Mr. Sherwood, I came to apologize to you and your staff about what happened yesterday,” I said. That took Sherwood by surprise, as I’d intended; he was expecting me to act defiant or macho. But he’d struck me as vain and egotistical, and I guessed that flattery might be the best way to get his guard down. “I’d no idea your people were there to collect on a legitimate debt,” I went on. “I thought they were stealing Mr. Llewellyn’s TV, and I sort of waded in. I’m very sorry.”
    Sherwood did a good imitation of being amused. “These misunderstandings do happen,” he said. “Just as well no one called the police.” Yeah, right, I thought, like they’d back you up. Then I thought of all the coppers I’d encountered, and how they would have looked at me, a scruffy overgrown teenager, and thenat prosperous, plausible Sherwood. They’d have done whatever he wanted them to.
    “Fortunately I made my own enquiries first,” went on Sherwood. “From what I heard, I thought you would come looking for me. And here you are.” He smiled, not warmly, and let the silence hang a minute in the air. He liked playing games, I could tell. Getting customers to sweat was one of the perks of his business.
    “Take a seat,” he said finally. I sat, and tried to shift the leather-and-wood armchair closer to his desk, but it was too heavy to move easily. I could sense Elvis lurking behind me, where I couldn’t keep an eye on him.
    “I understand you’re here to repay a loan,” said Sherwood. “But I don’t think you’re one of my clients.”
    “Delroy told me he borrowed six grand from you,” I said. “I can get hold of that much in a day or two.”
    Sherwood sighed and smiled and fiddled with a fat black fountain pen. “Sorry, Mr. Maguire,” he said. “I wish it was that simple.”
    “I understand there’s interest on top,” I said. I didn’t name a figure; I suspected whatever figure I suggested, Sherwood would double it.
    “My arrangement was with Mr. Llewellyn, not with you,” said Sherwood. “In fact, strictly speaking I can’t even discuss Mr. Llewellyn’s business with anyone but him. We take the Data Protection Act very seriously in this firm.”
    Data protection? Now he really was taking the piss. I bristled, but tried to hide it.
    “The thing is, you’re a successful businessman, Mr. Sherwood,” I said calmly. “I can’t understand why you lent Delroy that money in the first place. He’ll never be able to pay it back. You’ve taken his TV, and he doesn’t have anything else worth seizing.”
    “Yes, that TV is pretty much worthless, but that’s not the point,” said Sherwood. “He promised to make his payments on time, and he broke that promise. It was by way of a reminder.”
    “Look, like I said, I can repay that loan myself, with interest.