“Yeah, I’m looking for someone,” said Shelley, smiling.
“Your brother, is it?” rasped the drunk. He wore an Adidas tracksuit top zipped to the neck. He had an air of menace that was as distinctive and recognizable to Shelley as the smell of shit.
“No, he’s not my brother. A friend.”
Best friend, he thought. Always got your back.
“Brothers in arms, though, isn’t it? You were in the forces together—you and this mate you’re looking for.”
That was interesting. The guy was unfazed by Shelley’s background. Which meant either he was very stupid or he had backup somewhere.
Shelley leaned towards him. “You’re right, mate. Yeah, we served in the SAS together. Cookie and I were part of a covert three-man team operating in Afghanistan. We carried out assassinations, broke up kidnapping attempts, interrogated suspects. All three of us in the team were highly trained in surveillance, counter-intelligence, situational awareness, and marksmanship. Each of us was expert in unarmed combat—a combination of Filipino Kali, Krav Maga, and Jeet Kune Do, with a bit of street-fighting thrown in for good measure, just because we liked it that way. We were anti-fragile. You know what that means? It means the worse shit gets
, the more efficient you are.
“See, that knife you’re carrying in the waistband of your jeans, Cookie would take a pre-emptive approach to it. And knowing him as I do, which is very well indeed, he’d use one of those beer glasses as a field-expedient weapon. He’d glass you, take the knife, and you’d be picking bits of pint pot out of your throat while he was taking the piss out of you for not keeping your blade sharp enough.
“Thing is, Cookie was always a touch more reckless than me. Hit them first, hit them hard and make sure they know they’d been hit, that was his motto. Me, I’m a bit more ‘by the book.’ I’d wait for you to draw the knife before I took it off you, and I’d break your arm doing it, then I’d take the piss out of you for not keeping it sharp enough.
“And so, knowing all that. Knowing now what you’re dealing with here, how about you tell me any information you have? If it’s useful, I can assure you I’ll be grateful. Otherwise, you better take your knife and make yourself scarce before I get the wrong idea and decide to do things the Cookie way.”
The drunk affected a hurt look. “Well, if you’re going to be like that, you can shove it where the sun don’t shine,” he spat, then pushed himself off the bar and out of Shelley’s orbit.
Shelley sighed and turned his attention to the barman, producing the same snapshot of Cookie that he’d shown at least a dozen barmen that day. The guy barely gave it a look, before shrugging and moving away.
That shrug, it must be in the manual, thought Shelley. His eyes went to the mirror behind the bar and he watched the drunk skulk out of the door, thinking that he hadn’t seen the last of that one.
He was right about that.