I had not had a balls-out, full-blown hangover for several years.

In truth, I didn't drink very regularly and I'm not the kind of guy who nips down the pub every night for a couple of pints after dinner. Consequently, when I do have a few too many, I tend to be well aware of it the following morning. This morning in particular was characterized by a conglomeration of a thumping head, churning stomach and that pervasive feeling of weakness throughout my limbs.

I lay in bed with my eyes screwed tight for several hours, offering the occasional whimper or groan up to the fresh morning air of the hayloft. Around ten, I heard the crunch and skid of Ty's Land Rover pulling up outside. I sat up a little too hastily and instantly regretted it as a wave of nausea swept over me.

Ty leaned on the Rover's horn and a resulting bolt of pain exploded in my head. I replied with a loud stream of invective, predominantly directed at his parentage.

Moments later, his dark mop of hair poked over the top of the hayloft, a broad grin on his face. "Morning!" he shouted unnecessarily cheerfully. "How are we feeling today?"

"Hunky-fucking-dory" I replied. Ask a stupid question, you know?

"Well, I guarantee that I can fix your hangover right up. Get your arse out of bed and let's go to work." Message delivered, his dark hair disappeared back down the ladder.

"Where's Martha?" I asked him.

"I ran her into town earlier. I just got back, now go get a shower," he replied from out of sight.

I crawled over to the edge of the hayloft and peered down at him. "Shoot me now!" I moaned just as Ty was leaving the barn.

He turned and flashed a smile at me. "I wouldn't waste the bullet mate, another night like that and your liver will be climbing up out of your throat and looking for a new home."

I was standing in the shower, letting the icy water sting the more painful parts of my naked body, when I heard my mobile ringing from the direction of my trousers that were hanging on a nail. At first, I was inclined to ignore it and let the answer phone do its thing, but then the thought occurred to me that it might be Martha.

I leaned out of the cow stall and fumbled with my pocket, trying not to get the material too wet in the process. Cold water and suds ran off my torso and pooled at my feet as I undertook a jerky little dance, trying in vain to keep my clothes dry. I finally managed to withdraw the device and hit the green button.

"Satchmo..." It was Walker Pelc, and the tone of his voice made me forget the pain in my head. It was something I had never heard before. He was scared.

"Walker? Is that you?" I asked, smoothing water and soap from my eyes.

"Listen to me, Turner. Whatever the fuck you have got into, I don't want any more phone calls from you. You don't exist, you're nobody to me, capiche?"

Normally I would have smirked at his use of film Mafioso language but listening to him now just made my blood run cold. Walker spent his working life dealing with scum, and I strongly suspect that a good deal of his private life was taken up in similar company. In short, he dealt with the dregs of society; drug dealers, child beaters, petty criminals, bail skippers, vandals and gang members. He received death threats on a weekly basis and shrugged it off with the slimy confidence of a man with the power of the law at his back and an unlicensed Second World War Polish service revolver in his desk drawer.

"Walker, what in God's name has got into you?" I asked, a little alarmed that something had rattled him so deeply that I could hear it so clearly in his voice.

"OK, Turner. I just received a visit from some very large and persuasive men. They were asking me a lot of questions, mostly about you. Let me just say that I was inclined to answer everything. In fact, I would have sucked them both off if they had asked me too, just to be rid of them," he said conjuring a mental image that I really didn't need.

"Did they look like they might enjoy it?" I replied, trying to make light of the situation.

"Satchmo, these were not the kind of men who ask. They take."

"Who were they? What did they want?" I asked, beginning to feel a little scared myself.

"Well, it wasn't your fucking birthday and shirt size, dickhead. They wanted your addresses, friends, where you drink and just about every other fucking thing I know about you," Walker coughed, hacked and spat.

"What did you tell them?" I bleated with a little panic in my voice.

"Everything I could think of and some stuff I couldn't. I'm not taking your shit-beating, motherfucker."

With friends like this... I didn't like to finish that thought.

"Listen, Satchmo; these were some seriously bad people. Whatever you're mixed up in, you had better fuck-off for a while. I wouldn't go back to your flat anytime soon, either." He had calmed a little. I was almost touched at his concern.

"Thanks a bunch, Walker," I mewled. "You've dropped me right in the shit."

"Yeah, and I told them you were a twat, too." The line went dead and so did my mind.

I jumped out of the shower desperately trying to prioritize what I needed to do. First things first; I wrapped my towel around my waist and pulled my sweatshirt over my still-wet torso. Shit, someone was looking for me, and it seemed that it would be best if they didn't find me. Walker had told them everything that they had asked for. What had he said? Addresses! Friends! I went to my phone and speed dialled the office. Joan picked up immediately.

"Satchmo, I'm glad you called. We have had some visitors this morning."

"Are you OK?" I asked.

"Oh yes, perfectly alright, and funny that you should ask. However, I'm afraid that the same can't be said for your room," she replied.

"Why's that?" I asked, relieved that she wasn't hurt.

"Someone broke into the building overnight and rearranged your already haphazard filing system with an axe. The police are in there now, and they think it is most likely to be kids."

"Kids with axes?" I repeated sceptically. "Did they take anything, Joan?"

Children did not break into PI offices, chop shit up with an axe, and then leave empty-handed.

"Not noticeably, they just hacked the whole place to pieces. Your desk looks like the finger buffet at a beaver wedding and you won't be using your filing cabinet again for a while."

No great loss, I thought. I had never used the bloody cabinet much in any case; I found the floor more efficient.

"I'll let you into a secret, Joan," I said trying to force some joviality into my voice. "I lost the key to that thing last year, so maybe those kids did me a favour."

"Indeed, now you can put all your files away through the metre-long gash in the steel side," she replied caustically.

"You know what the funny thing is, Satchmo? Those kids, they didn't vandalize any other part of the property. That's strange when you stop and think about it. They just jimmied the door lock as neatly as you please, walked straight into your office, smash the hell out of it and leave." There was a knowing tone in her voice that I had heard all too often.

"What do the police say?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"They think that the culprits must have been disturbed in the act. But you know what, Satchmo? I didn't disturb them, and I was in here right on time," Joan replied.

"It's a blessing that you didn't disturb them, Joan," I said.

"Will we be seeing you any time soon?" she didn't respond but asked a leading question in return.

"I hope so..." I shot back under my breath.

"You be careful, lad," she said and hung up.

As soon as I had finished speaking to Joan, I hurriedly dialled Priya. There was no reply on her home number, but then she would probably be at work. I called her mobile and, after a series of rings, was put through to her answer phone. This did not do anything to reduce the small lump of fear in the pit of my stomach. I left a message for her to ring me back as a matter of urgency.

At that point I realized that, as I was still largely naked and dripping onto the concrete floor of the cow shed, my extremities were not getting any warmer. I towelled myself off, dressed swiftly then departed in search of Ty.

I found him sweeping great clouds of dust out of the farmhouse door. A grey storm billowed around him like dry ice as he swept a large hazel broomstick rhythmically across the flagstones of the hall.

"Ty!" I called, closing the gap between us with a few short strides. He looked up from his work and smiled at me. He must have caught my expression because the smile soon dropped from his face.

"What's up, Tonto?" he joked.

"Someone smashed up my office and put the frighteners on one of my contacts. They were asking for information about me," I blurted.

"Hmm... It's not likely to be Michaels. Not after our last visit." He didn't sound very surprised to me, but then I found it hard to imagine Ty being surprised by anything.

"So, what do you think?" I asked.

"Odds on that it is our friend. After your chat on the phone yesterday, perhaps he wanted to know a little more about you." On reflection, this was not an answer that filled my heart with joy. "You found this out over the phone right?" he carried on. I nodded in the affirmative. "Did you ring Martha?" he asked. I shook my head while drawing my mobile out of my pocket in response.

I dialled her number and it rang through to her answerphone. I left a message for her to contact us and tried not to sound too worried.

Further conversation was curtailed by the arrival of a jet-black BMW that cruised almost silently down the drive. Ty's brow furrowed briefly with puzzlement, then his expression cleared to its usual inscrutable state. He carefully propped the broom against the outside wall of the farmhouse and walked out into the farmyard to meet the car as it came to a stop.

Two large men emerged from the driver and front passenger seats wearing matching heavy dark trench coats and sporting shaven heads. They were well-built rather than huge and definitely not the sort of people to annoy. Both moved confidently and with the quiet purpose of men who were not often argued with. The driver turned to open the rear passenger door while the other walked away from the car at an angle, his hands firmly in his pockets and his eyes fixed upon Ty and me.

From the rear of the car climbed a small, wiry man who looked to be in his early forties. He too had a shaven head and was dressed in slacks, a thick woollen jumper, and shiny expensive looking shoes. He shared a brief joke with driver who opened the door and patted him on the shoulder. The man strode purposefully towards us still laughing, making a sound like a butcher's knife being sharpened. The driver followed behind him, while the second man advanced perpendicularly so as to always keep us in sight.

"Satchmo, keep your trap shut. This I am very serious about," Ty said surreptitiously from the corner of his mouth.

At that moment I no other intention. From Ty's reaction it was clear this was not a visit he was expecting.

The smaller man in the slacks stopped in front of us and looked us up and down. His face was lean and his eyes a pale grey like frosted glass. A scar ran across his chin, giving it an artificially cleft appearance. He had counteracted a receding hairline by cropping his hair close to his scalp.

The man turned to Ty and said "Edge." Ty nodded, while I shifted my weight uncomfortably from foot-to-foot.

"My name is Sharp, Edward Sharp, and I am owed money." Here was our loan shark then, complete with henchmen. I bit my tongue to induce silence in the nick of time.

"I won't waste everyone's time as I have other business to attend to. I am owed a sum of money borrowed by your uncle and the late Professor Wimple. I require this to be repaid in three days' time. I also understand that the professor found some valuable artefacts; golden weaponry and the like. I'll take these off your hands in three days' time as well, by way of interest you understand..." Sharp finished speaking but his gaze remained locked onto Ty.

"I don't have the money and I certainly don't have any gold," Edge replied, seemingly unfazed by Sharp's sudden appearance and demands.

"Yes, I had thought that might be your reaction. You are a lot like your poor uncle. The professor made the mistake of treating me like Barclay's. Morgan made the mistake of treating me like some fucking idiot kid. They both found out that I am not to be fucked with. But this is business, and I am still owed. I have taken steps to make sure you pay. My boys here are better than any insurance policy, ain't that right lads?" Sharp grinned and nudged the man next to him who remained impassively staring at Ty.

"I bumped into the lovely Dr. Wimple in town this morning. Beautiful girl. I invited her to stay with me for the next couple of days, and she has graciously accepted," Sharp smiled, his pursed lips looked like a slit in a joint of pork. As he said this, I felt my throat tighten and a knot formed in my stomach.

"I shall be sorry to have her leave me, but the money and gold will make up for it," he said, still smiling and looking every inch like a snake squeezing the air out of a mouse.

"I don't have the gold," Ty repeated, his eyes narrowing.

"I won't touch her for three days, Edge. After that, I'll have my fifty grand's worth of fun with her and send what's left back in little pieces. If you run to the police, then it'll go much worse for her." He bent down and drew a wicked looking hunting knife from a sheath strapped at his ankle and hefted it in his left hand. His steel eyes flashed, and I imagined him taking particular delight in hurting Martha, or worse.

Ty cocked his head and gazed at the blade. "You're left-handed?" he asked, glancing quickly at the two henchmen. "You're balanced to strike with your right..." he said to the man next to Sharp "...and your man over there is holding the gun in his right hand." He displayed no signs of being cowed and spoke matter-of-factly.

"So?" Sharp snapped. "Listen, you have seen what happens to people who fuck me about. You want the girl hurt? Three days, I'll be back. Have the money in cash and the gold ready to go and everyone will be happy."

I sufficiently quelled the knot in my stomach to hiss "Bastard!" at which Sharp turned to me and laughed.

"Oh yes, the trusty sidekick! Don't worry, Robin; fucking up your office was just for fun. We ain't square for the way you spoke to me on the phone the other day, and the money and gold won't change that. We'll be meeting again, you and me." Sharp laughed some more and the man next to him joined in.

The loan shark turned on his heel and swaggered back to the BMW. All three men climbed in and as they reversed down the drive, I couldn't take my eyes off him as he stared at us both, stood as we had been when he arrived. He was still smiling the smile of a man who had won.

At that moment I felt fear; not for me and the threats this man had made against me, but for Martha. I was terrified of what he might do to her if we failed to give him the money and the gold that we didn't yet have.