The snooker players fell quiet, staring malevolently as Yarrow and Harding made their way to the stairs at the rear of the smoke wreathed room. Even though they had not introduced themselves, everybody in the room knew who or at least what they were and made it clear that they were not welcome.
Benny Blades ran his operations from the upper rooms of the Black Cat Snooker Club and at the foot of the stairs a large minder tried to block their way, pointing at the sign on the wall which read. ‘No unauthorised entry.’
Harding showed his warrant card, ‘I think you’ll find that this authorises us.’
‘Benny won’t like it, he’s very particular about who goes up and I got my orders,’ the minder said, still blocking the stairs with his bulk.
‘Orders that will get you in jail within the next 10
