‘Look, you cunt, you’re nausing me right up. Fuck off.’
Poe continued to say nothing. Smiling.
Karl’s forehead was now beaded with sweat.
‘This is your last chance,’ Karl said. ‘Just walk away.’
Last chance? Whatever happened to the first chance?
‘I’m counting to five,’ Poe said. ‘That’s how long you have.’
‘Karl!’ said one of his friends. ‘Let’s go!’
Karl was past the point of no return. ‘And what happens at five?’
‘One,’ Poe said.
‘I’m shitting myself,’ he sneered.
‘I know,’ said Poe. ‘Two.’
Men like Karl seldom had a Plan B.
Poe said, ‘Three . . . four . . .’
Karl’s brow furrowed. Poe had backed him into a corner. He was going to fight.
Good.
Poe might have been giving away height and weight but he’d been a Cumbrian cop for almost a decade. Gutter fighting came easily, and he knew what to do when someone was threatening to glass him. With muscles moving ahead of his mind, Poe grabbed Karl’s hand. Karl tightened his grip.
Big mistake.
Poe wasn’t trying to disarm him. He wanted him holding it. He lifted Karl’s hand then slammed it onto the table.
The bottle shattered.
Shards of glass flew across the table. Apart from Bradshaw lifting her laptop out of the way, no one moved. The few people left in the bar looked across. They went back to their drinks when Poe glared at them.
Poe continued to grip Karl’s hand. He began trembling. His expression changed from lager-fuelled rage to agonising pain. His face whitened. He began to whimper.
Breaking a bottle to use as a weapon isn’t like it is in the movies. Banging it against a table to leave a nice smooth neck to grip, and a bunch of deadly shards to stab someone with doesn’t work in real life. As Karl had just found out, glass is brittle and unpredictable. When it shatters, you have no control over how much of it shatters. Karl had been holding a deadly weapon, now he was gripping a handful of razor sharp glass. Blood poured from between his fingers.
Poe squeezed.
Karl screamed.
Poe knew the risk of permanent damage was real but he didn’t care; you didn’t trade punches with people like Karl. And they needed to understand that retaliation would be met with a disproportionate, life-changing response.
Poe brought his hand down low. Karl dropped to his knees like he’d been shot. He screamed again. With his spare hand Poe retrieved his ID card, and flipped it open.
‘Evening, gents,’ he said. ‘My name is Detective Sergeant Poe and the lady you’ve just assaulted is my friend. We both work for the National Crime Agency. Now, do we all agree that you three are in deep shit?’
The soberest man nodded.
Poe leaned in to read his nametag. ‘MWC Computer Engineering? Never heard of you—’
‘We’re a company who—’