Mike Dixon

Tim spun round.
sitting there now. He found
that amusing and was
looking from one to anoth-
er when his attention was
taken by a baseball cap.
„Christ!‟
He jabbed Tim in the ribs.
„Don‟t look now. We‟ve got
company.‟
„Where?‟
„I said … don‟t look now.‟
„If I don‟t bloody look, I won‟t bloody know what you‟re
talking about.‟
„You should lay off the grog, Tim.‟
„Relax!‟ Tim put an arm round David and pulled him off
his stool.
„Fucking hell!‟
David hardly ever used expletives and, when he did, it
was a sign he was badly stressed. „Can‟t you get it into
your head we‟re being followed. They‟re over there – Base-
ball Cap and Floppy Hat – with some ugly bastard who
looks like he‟s wearing a wig.‟
„Relax, mate.‟ Tim propelled David across the floor. „We
need to find out what those mongrels are up to. Get to
know your enemy. If you‟d been in the army, you‟d know
that.‟
They reached the second bar and David surveyed the
trio. There was something very odd about them, like they‟d
been thrown together in a hurry. Of the three, Baseball Cap
was the only one who looked remotely normal. David tried
to imagine him in a police uniform and could cope with
that.
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