RAFFERTY HAD THOUGHT it likely that he’d get all three of the Perkins brothers together in Fred’s pub on a Thursday evening. And so it proved. His mouth dried as he approached the bar, wary of being recognised as one of the unruly brood of Rafferty brats who had come to the market after school to help Ma on the stall.
The brothers were huddled around the counter, fast up against the farthest wall, Fred, the landlord, behind the bar, and Peter and Paul standing the other side of it, when he and Llewellyn entered.
Rafferty did his best to put a brave face on his predicament. ‘Evening, gents,’ he said, doing his best to keep his voice jovial. ‘How the electrical warehouse thieving going? On the up?’
His remark was met by three stony faces. At first, none of them said a word, then Fred, wit
