Omally displayed a cassette tape. “A bootleg of the gig is what it is.”

“But how—”

“Sandy always bootlegs the gigs. He makes copies and sells them.”

“I told you I disliked him.”

“Yes, well, I availed myself of the master copy, out of his deck when he wasn’t looking.”

“You stole it.”

“I’d like to say relocated. Shall we call it a long-term loan?”

“If that pleases you. Am I going to be glued to this table for the rest of my life, do you think?”

“I’ll get some paint-stripper,” said John.

“You bloody won’t,” said Jim. “But listen, John. Geraldo said last night that the Gandhis were going to be very big and I believe him. If you could get to manage them, I think your fortune might be made.”

“I’m not entirely certain I should base my future on the word of a fat bloke with sweaty armpits.”

“Make an exception for me, then. Apocalypso music will be the next big thing.”

“What is Apocalypso music?”

“It’s what the Gandhis do, apparently. It’s something about the way Litany sings. Something in her voice. That’s what did the healing and stuff. This is big, John. This is very big.”

“You suddenly seem most enthusiastic”

“Yes, well, I would.” Pooley wrenched his finger free. “I heard her sing and as I’m no longer a betting man I’m looking for a job.”

“A job?” said John doubtfully. “You are looking for a job?”

“I am,” said Jim. “I am.”

“And what sort of job did you have in mind?”

“Oh,” said Jim. “I thought perhaps something in the music industry. You see, I met this woman in a pub. She’s the lead singer of a band and she said that I was everything she hoped I’d be. I thought I might go into management.”

“What?!” roared John, appalled.

“Joint management,” said Jim. “After all, you have the tape and I have the inside connection.”

John gave this a moment’s thought. “All right,” he said slowly. “Joint management it is. The music industry is a tricky old business and it would be good to work with someone you know you can trust.”

“Yes,” said Jim. “I do suppose it would.”

“So, we’ll shake on it. Fifty-fifty down the line, all profits, all expenses.”

“I can’t see how I can lose on that.” And Jim shook John by the hand.

“And so to business,” said Omally. “The first thing we have to do is get some copies made of this tape.”

“I don’t have a deck,” said Pooley.

“And nor do I,” said John. “But all is not lost by any means, for I know a man who does.”

The man who does and the man who did went by the name of Norman.

Norman had been up since five, when the day began for him with the numbering up of the papers. Having done all this and sent young Zorro[8] out on his rounds, Norman was left with a few hours to think before he opened his shop.

Norman, this day, had done some heavy thinking. He’d had a very rough evening, had Norman, and one he would sooner forget.

The policemen had finally set him free, having confiscated all his tapes and fined him the clothes that he would have stood up in, if he’d been given them back. Norman had been forced to jog home in his underwear, which had been, to say the least, a trifle wet and chilly.

The sight that had met his weary eyes upon his return to his kitchen, however, had given him quite a thrill. It hadn’t been quite what he’d hoped for. But it was something pretty damn special.

Norman had looked on in awe, as the tiny horses raced before him, round and round and round.

Round and round the horses went. And round and round and round.

Norman had watched them, thrilled by their beauty. Their grace and their form and their wonder.

Round and round they continued to go and then out through the door he’d left open.

And that had been the last Norman saw of his tiny horses. He’d tried to run after them, but a neighbour, looking out of her bedroom window, had screamed and Norman had been forced to retreat to his shop. And that had been it for his night and Norman had slept very badly indeed.

It was now ten o’clock in the morning. The shop bell tinged and Norman looked up from his dusting.

In walked Jim and in walked John, and Norman viewed them with a bitter eye. Here were two men he’d rather not have seen. For each of them had got him into one kind of shit or another. Although only one was truly to blame and that one had to pay.

“Get out of my shop, Omally!” Norman shouted. “And never darken my counter again.”

“Hi-de-ho,” said John merrily. “So what ails you, my friend?”

“And don’t you ‘my friend’ me, you bastard. Take to your heels at once.”

John picked up a Snickers bar and fiddled with the wrapping.

“And put that back,” said Norman.

Omally put it back.

“And now get out.”

“Hold on there.” John raised calming palms. “Something is wrong. I can sense it.”

“Look at my shelves,” Norman gestured to his shelves. “Empty. You see that?”

“I see that,” said John. “Have you been robbed?”

“The police. They confiscated all the tapes and you owe me five hundred pounds.”

“They took your tapes?” said John. “Why did they take your tapes?”

“Because they were illegal. Snuff movies, they called them. You’ve ruined my standing in the borough. I will never be able to hold my head up at the next Lodge meeting. The brothers will make mock of me.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” said John. “But I had no idea that the tapes were illegal. As I told you myself, I hadn’t played them.”

“Yeah, but you must have known what they were.”

“Hardly,” said John. “I am as much an innocent victim of circumstance as you. I bought them in good faith from a bloke I met in a bar.”

“The police now have a tape of me saying that. Strapped to a chair with electrodes on my nipples.”

“Nasty,” said Jim.

“Handy,” said John. “Surely you’d own the copyright. You could rent out copies of that.”

“Wait there,” said Norman, “while I find a stout stick to beat you with.”

“No, just hold on.” And John’s palms went aloft again. “Good friends like us should not fall out over such a matter. Happily I am now in the position to make full recompense. If you will perform a simple service for me, all will be put to rights.”

“Eh?” said Norman.

John pulled out his cassette. “I just need a couple of copies of this.”

“More tapes!” Norman sought his stick.

“He seems most upset,” said Pooley. “Perhaps we’d better go.”

“He’ll be fine,” said John. “He’s all talk, Norman is.”

Norman returned with a gun. He pointed this at John.

“All talk?” Pooley said.

“Out!” shouted Norman. “Or I shoot you dead.”

“Where did you find that gun?” Omally asked.

“Someone hid it under my dustbin yesterday.” Norman worried at the trigger.

“It doesn’t work,” said John. “The firing pin is missing.”

“Give me half an hour and then come back. I’ll have it fixed.”

“There is really no need for any of this,” said Omally.

“Lean your head forward,” said Norman. “I’ll club you to death with the thing.”

“No,” said John. “Now stop stop stop. I will pay you back the five hundred pounds and give you another one thousand besides. All you have to do for me is make two copies of this cassette.”

“Strange as it may seem,” said Norman, “I don’t believe what you say.”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Omally asked.

Norman thought. “No,” he said slowly, “you haven’t. You have merely neglected to tell me the truth.”

“Just make two copies of this tape. Give me one back with the original and keep the other for yourself. It will soon be worth an awful lot of money.”

“Why?” Norman asked.

“Because it is a rare collector’s item. The first recording of a band that is soon to be famous.”

“What about my fifteen hundred quid?”