The hell with this, thought Mr Pin. He pulled out his pistol bow in one practised movement and held it an inch from the werewolf's face.
This is tipped with silver,' he said.
He was amazed at the speed of movement. Suddenly a hand was against his neck and five sharp points pressed into his skin.
These ain't,' said the werewolf. 'Let's see who finishes squeezin' first, eh?'
'Yeah, right,' said Mr Tulip, who was also holding something.
That's just a barbecue fork,' said the werewolf, giving it barely a glance.
'You want to see how --ing fast I can throw it?' said Mr Tulip.
Mr Pin tried to swallow, but got only halfway. Dead people, he knew, didn't squeeze that hard, but it was at least ten steps to the door and the space seemed to be getting wider by the heart beat.
'Hey,' he said. 'There's no need for this, right? Why don't we all loosen up? And, hey, it would help me talk to you if you were your normal shape
'No problem, my friend.'
The werewolf winced and shuddered, but without at any point letting go of Mr Pin's neck. The face contorted so much, features flowing together, that even Mr Pin, who in other circumstances quite enjoyed that sort of thing, had to look away.
This allowed him to see the shadow on the wall. It was, contrary to expectations, growing. So were its ears.
'Any qvestions?' said the werewolf. Now its teeth seriously interfered with its speech. Its breath smelled even worse than Mr Tulip's suit.
'Ah...' said Mr Pin, standing on tiptoe. 'I think we've come to the wrong place.'
'I think zat also.'
At the bar Mr Tulip bit the top off a bottle in a meaningful way.
Once again the room was filled with the ferocious silence of calculation and the personal mathematics of profit and loss.
Mr Tulip smashed a bottle against his forehead. At this point, he did not appear to be paying much attention to the room. He'd just happened to have a bottle in his hand which he did not need any more. Putting it on to the bar would have required an unnecessary expenditure of hand-eye co-ordination.
People recalculated.
'Is he human?' said the werewolf.
'Well, of course, "human" is just a word,' said Mr Pin.
He felt weight slowly press down on to his toes as he was lowered to the floor.
'I think perhaps we'll just be going,' he said carefully.
'Right,' said the werewolf. Mr Tulip had smashed open a big jar of pickles, or at least things that were long, chubby and green, and was trying to insert one up his nose.
'If we wanted to stay, we would,' said Mr Pin.
'Right. But you want to go. So does your... friend,' said the werewolf.
Mr Pin backed towards the door. 'Mr Tulip, we have business elsewhere,' he said. 'Sheesh, take the damn pickle out of your nose, will you? We're supposed to be professionals!'
That's not a pickle,' said a voice in the dark.
Mr Pin was uncharacteristically thankful when the door slammed behind them. To his surprise, he also heard the bolts shoot home.
'Well, that could have gone better,' he said, brushing dust and hair off his coat.