Bozo glanced around the bar. It was a quiet night; an old man dozing
over his half of mild and a young bloke and his girlfriend
whispering naughty thoughts at one of the tables. “We’re horse and track lads
and we look after a couple of brothels and clubs. That’s what we do. But
something different has come up, that’s why Mr McDonald thought of you lot with
all your contacts.” Nero looked puzzled. “Go on, Bozo. What have you got?” “Diamonds,” he said.
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