John Boy looks at the scrawny young man inhaling his full English in front of him. It's hard to believe that this creature is any relation to him, but DNA doesn't lie. This kid can't be much older than his own daughter.
"So," he says. "Brothers."
"Half-brothers," says Hughie through a mouthful of bacon. "Your da banged me ma."
"Yeah, well my da did a lot of whoring around. No offence to your ma," adds John. "I'm sure she's a lovely woman."
If Hughie is offended he doesn't show it. "I need to borrow some money," he says, chewing. John has to admire the fact that he's not fucking around. "I'm down to me last few euros."
"Who do you owe?" Hughie doesn't reply. John can recognise the nervy, twitchy demeanour of a junkie. John despises junkies, although they can make good customers. He may sample his own coke sometimes, but anyone who touches the hard stuff is an idiot as far as he's concerned. Still, family is family.
"Tell you what," says John, as Hughie swallows a fried egg in one go. "You can do some jobs for me and I'll give you money, how does that sound?" Hughie nods enthusiastically. "And you're off the gear," says John, watching Hughie's face fall. "I'll get you on a nice methadone programme, all above board."
"What kind of jobs do you want me to do?" Hughie puts his fork down, still chewing.
"You need to get clean first. I don't need any liabilities working for me." Hughie resumes demolishing his breakfast. "Brothers, eh?" says John. "I always wanted a little brother."
Hughie's smile nearly splits his face.