Chongo locked the car and strode towards Magenta's house. He'd had several near misses that night - maniacs on the road. All driving on the wrong side. And horns beeping like there was no tomorrow. These English drivers were all bark and no bite, he thought. If this was Chicago, there'd have been a 53 car pile up.

Chong knew he was close. He had located Vlad with a gold credit card check. He followed him from the ritzy joint in St James'Place to this terrace house. As he walked up the front step, Chongo was whacked by a pungent odour, coming from the hydrangeas.

"Some yuppy gardener's coated the place with chicken shit." He looked about the front of the house, wondering why the hell Vlad had gone there. Stepping lightly, he shuffled around to the back yard, swinging himself casually over a tall brick wall.