Solly knew just how to do it. Kill people, that is, and not get caught. Not just any people, you understand; specific people. Deserving people. People that other people had fingered for the chop at the hands of a first-class assassin, someone who took a real pride in his work. That was Solly, you see. The assassin. He gave good value for money. Sudden death with a bit of flair, a bit of panache thrown. A quality service with all the trimmings. And people loved it, they paid through the nose for it, the more gore the better. But - what happens when it's Solly himself who gets taken out, quite by chance? (A midget, a dark night, a troublesome tree.) Where do you go? What are you left with? How do you fill that gaping hole in the bespoke assassination industry? Well, to begin with, there's an old priest, his dog with the leaky bladder, Solly's handbook, and two old dears who've been making the old boy's life hell for him. Well, he thinks, thumbing through the pages, God won't mind, just this once. Will He? A romp, a cavort, a satirical dance through the morals of a nation completely ensconced in the Age of Greed.