EPILOGUE
A week later Bob paid me a visit. After the usual formalities of an hour of small talk mixed with half-a-bottle of Johnnie Walker Double Black, he finally got around to telling me why he wanted to see me.
‘Boris Stavro has a dog for you.’
I tilted my head to one side, my mouth falling open as it sometimes did when I heard something but couldn’t believe my ears.
‘What?’
Bob smiled.
‘I told him about Donnie. He has four puppies for sale. Labradors, I think. One of them’s yours if you want it. On me.’
It was, as they say, an offer I couldn’t refuse.
‘Is this a thank you present?’
His folded his tall frame forward, nursing his glass between his knees in both hands.
‘You could say that. Mind you, I’d want something in return.’
‘What’s that, Bob?’
He held out the glass – as
