Emily nodded and walked round the cash desk. She crossed to a table and turned on the lamp. She sat down and pointed to a chair opposite her.
“Sit down and talk,” she said.
George sat down. The two Greeks moved nearer so that they were immediately behind him. The Hebrew left the bar and joined them at the table.
“Perhaps one of you would take the gun,” George said. “It’s in my pocket. I don’t suppose you would like me to take it out. Be careful how you handle it, it’s loaded.”
He felt the gun being lifted from his pocket. Nick slid it across the table towards Max, who put his hand on it.
“I want to tell you exactly how it happened,” George said. “It’ll take a little time, but it’s important.”
Emily shrugged. “Take as long as you like,” she said indifferently. “It’ll probably be the last time you’ll talk to anyone.
George considered this. He found it strange that he was unmoved. He knew they were killers, but he was so tired and sad that nothing really mattered any more.
It was a relief to tell them about it. It was extraordinary how easy it was to tell once he started. He began by explaining about his parents.
“You see,” he said, folding his hands on the table and looking at the woman’s hard, fat face, “no one ever bothered with me when I was a kid. My parents were on the stage. They didn’t want a child. I used to envy them. They had their names in the newspapers and on hoardings. I wonder if you can understand why I pretended to be someone quite different from what I really am? It was foolish, but I wanted so badly to be someone… to impress people.”