“Assuming, of course, you have learned your lesson. If you ain’t, if you are as stupid as you look right now, I’m going to kill you. Just like that. And as you lie dying on the floor of this shit-house shop, you’ll think to yourself: I wish I’d paid good old Mr. Finnegan. But by then it’ll be too late, ’cos you’ll be fucking dying and I’ll be walking out.”

Finnegan eased back and slowly dragged the basket from the old man’s hands. He dropped it to the floor and smiled.

“Now, let’s me and you get cracking.”

“No,” said Rossett. “Let’s me and you get cracking instead.”

Finnegan looked across to the dark corner where Rossett had been sitting. Rossett nodded to the shopkeeper to get out of the way. The shopkeeper slithered around the counter like an eel hiding behind a rock as Finnegan did a half turn.

Hall took a half step forward over by the door.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m your worst nightmare.” Rossett kept his eyes on Finnegan as he replied to Hall. “And you two are under arrest for threats to kill, conspiracy to commit murder, and extortion. Oh, and attempting to assault a police officer.”

“We haven’t attempted to assault a police officer.”

“Give it time.”

Finnegan shrugged, a little confused, but too dumb to be scared.

“You on your own?”

“Yes.”

Finnegan snorted, looked at his partner, then back at Rossett.

“Really?”

“You’re not very bright, are you?”

Finnegan frowned, then charged at Rossett like a bull.

Rossett twisted at the waist, flicking the blade of his left hand up into Finnegan’s throat as he went past. The big man gasped and a dull reflex drew his hands up to protect himself. He was too late. Rossett’s hand was already withdrawing, damage done.

Finnegan stumbled forward. Blinding lights danced in his vision for a second and then he choked. He grabbed at his neck, lungs sucking at a vacuum as his diaphragm twitched and his throat spasmed.

He was wasting his time.

Rossett slammed his left foot into the inside of Finnegan’s knee, then took a half step backward as Finnegan fell, his leg twisted out to the side like a newborn deer’s. The big man tried to turn as he went down, offering his back as a target. Instead he caught his temple on the corner of some shelves and landed in a stunned, crippled heap.

Finnegan caught the sweet whiff of polish off the well-worn floor. He screwed up his eyes and tried to think himself straight as his breath jammed in his throat like leaves in a drain.

Don’t panic. He gulped a quarter breath. Do not panic.

He’d been in enough fights to know panicking got you beaten. He knew the secret was to keep thinking, stay focused, protect your head, and wait for the moment. His breath would come back. He just needed time. Hall would give him that. Hall was always there to cover him. Finnegan just had to wait and protect his head.

Hall would do the copper, no problem.

 

Hall had his cutthroat razor out and down at his side.

The copper was good.

Hall had never seen Finnegan put down like that before.

Hall had assumed he wasn’t going to be getting involved. But now here he was, razor out of his pocket and his heart pounding in his chest. Slicing up a copper was never going to be a good thing.

Killing one was even worse.

But Hall had a feeling that was what it was going to take. This copper looked like the kind of man who needed killing.

Fuck.

Hall took a few paces toward Rossett and lifted the razor so that he would be able to see it glinting in the dim light.