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right twat to fire it accidentally.’
    ‘I prefer Smith & Wesson,’ said O’Sullivan.
    ‘Your call,’ said May, taking back the Astra. He put it back in its slot in the foam rubber, and handed O’Sullivan a second revolver. ‘A J Frame .38 special,’ he said. ‘Five rounds in the cylinder. The Astra takes six.’
    ‘This is fine,’ said O’Sullivan, flicking out the cylinder and peering down the barrel. He put the gun on the table and pointed at another. ‘That’s an L Frame, right? A .357 Magnum?’
    ‘Sure is,’ said May, removing the gun and giving it to him. ‘Same action as the J Frame but the cylinder takes six. It’s a nice gun, but I have to say I prefer the Astra.’
    ‘How much for the two?’ O’Sullivan sniffed the barrel of the Smith & Wesson L Frame.
    ‘Nine hundred.’
    ‘This one’s been fired,’ said O’Sullivan.
    ‘Test firing, that’s all. It’s never been fired in anger.’
    ‘Nine is steep.’ O’Sullivan gave both of the Smith & Wessons to Corben, who broke them down quickly and efficiently.
    ‘They’re quality guns,’ said May.
    ‘Nine is still steep.’
    ‘Take it or leave it,’ said May.
    O’Sullivan sighed. ‘Okay. Nine it is. Rounds?’
    Corben reassembled the two weapons as fast as he’d stripped them down.
    ‘I’ll throw in a box of each,’ said May. ‘If you need more they’ll be fifty apiece.’
    ‘Two boxes of each.’
    May smiled. ‘Deal,’ he said. He opened a second metal case to reveal four Glock pistols. ‘Automatics?’
    Corben shook his head. ‘They spit casings all over the place. And they jam.’
    ‘Guns don’t jam,’ said May. ‘Crap ammunition jams. Used properly, a Glock’s as reliable as any revolver.’
    ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ said O’Sullivan. ‘We’re happy with the revolvers.’
    May closed the lid of the case. He opened a third. There was only one weapon inside, a compact shotgun with a pistol grip at the trigger and a second pistol grip under the front of the barrel. ‘You wanted a sawn-off, but I thought you might appreciate this.’
    O’Sullivan picked up the shotgun. ‘Nice.’
    ‘It’s a Franchi PA3,’ said May. ‘The forward pistol grip helps with the pump-action. Special forces use it to blow the hinges off doors for rapid entry. It’s a twelve gauge, overall length 470mm so it’s easy to conceal. It’s only got a three-round capacity but in my experience you only have to fire it once.’
    O’Sullivan sighted down the barrel, then gave the weapon to Corben. ‘Ammunition?’
    ‘As much as you want.’
    ‘A couple of dozen will see me right,’ said O’Sullivan. ‘Price?’
    ‘Twelve for the gun. I’ll throw in the shells.’
    ‘Twelve hundred quid?’ said Corben. ‘Do me a favour.’
    ‘Who am I talking to here?’ May asked O’Sullivan. ‘The organ-grinder or the monkey?’
    O’Sullivan’s smile hardened. ‘He’s my partner,’ he said, ‘and he knows about guns.’
    ‘It’s brand new,’ said May. ‘Return it unfired and I’ll pay you nine. So twelve is cheap.’
    Corben shook his head. ‘It’s a shotgun, fancy pistol grips or not. A grand. Give us eight if we don’t make it go bang.’
    May nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But unfired means unfired. Shots in the air count.’
    O’Sullivan flashed May a tight smile. ‘We got it the first time,’ he said. ‘What about the heavy artillery?’
    May pulled up the lids of the final two cases. Each contained two submachine-pistols.
    Corben whistled softly. ‘Lovely jubbly,’ he said.
    May pulled one out and gave it to O’Sullivan. ‘The gang-banger’s favourite,’ he said. ‘The MAC-10. Thirty rounds in the magazine and you can let the lot go faster than you can say “drive-by”.’
    ‘Sweet,’ said O’Sullivan. He passed it to Corben. ‘Have you got a silencer?’
    ‘What do you need one for?’
    ‘To keep the sodding noise down – what do you think I need it for?’
    ‘I can get you one.’
    ‘Two,’