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splayed, and skipped backwards.
    "Not a hook, Brian. Try and tag me with a straight punch."
    "But what if it's a hook?"
    "We'll get to that."
    "But who throws straight punches in a street fight? Sure, isn't it always big dirty joes flying at your head? Drunk thugs don't really go for the double-jab, right cross combo, like."
    "We'll get to the other ones in time. But straight punches are more dangerous, so we should deal with those first."
    "I don't know, man."
    "Trust me."
    Brian bobbed his head then took a step back. He darted forward and launched a left jab. Tony cursed and cupped his nose with his hand. Blood spilled over his fingers.
    "Shit, man, sorry!" Brian felt the onset of panic scratch at his guts. "Did I do that wrong?"
    Tony's words were a distorted but unmistakable. "If you intended to bust me, then no, it wasn't wrong."
    "I really didn't mean to."
    "Thank fuck this didn't happen in front of the students." His voice had an edge to it. "Get me a tissue or something, man."
    Brian ran out onto the landing and shoved the bathroom door open. He snagged the toilet roll from the top of the cistern and sped back to Tony. The bloodied dealer wrapped a good metre of the paper around his hand and mashed it into his face. It turned red instantly.
    "I'm really sorry."
    "Don't worry about it. Just didn't realise you were going to go full welly."
    "Tilt your head back."
    "Nah, man. Hate it when the blood rolls down the back of my throat."
    "Pinch the bridge of your nose, then."
    "This is better."
    Tony twisted a couple of sheets of toilet roll into a thin plug and shoved it up his nose. Brian didn't know what to do. He had an urge to extend his hand as a peace offering, or clap Tony's shoulder in a manly way, but he was afraid to make any sudden movements. Tony might snap at him like a beaten dog.
    "We should get a wee bit stoned," Tony said.
    Brian's heartbeat began to slow down. "Great idea, mate. Want me to skin up?"
    "Thanks."
    Brian gave his phone a quick check before getting to work on the spliff. He had a weird text message from Rachel. Watch his back? He'd ask her about it when he saw her at the house. Last thing he wanted to do before having a toke was to start a back and forth with her. Texting was such a buzz kill.

I'll Be Watching You
    ––––––––
    O wen popped a couple of co-codamol pills. The strong ones. They didn't give him the same warm fuzzy feeling that they used to but he still experienced a moment of calm each time he washed them down. The coffee was cold and bitter but he didn't give a shit. His mind was occupied with greater things. Like how close he was to finding Brian Morgan.
    He tossed his empty coffee cup into the passenger side foot well. There was a decent collection of cups, tins and bottles building down there. Hardly mattered. He wasn't in the habit of driving passengers about in the battered old Renault Laguna. And when he eventually picked up Morgan, that little toe-rag would be bundled into the boot.
    Owen didn't know what time the shifts changed at Rachel's petrol station so he'd parked up in a space close to the automatic car wash. He had a clear line of sight to the front door and nobody seemed bothered about questioning his intentions. His presence had to look suspicious but either he hadn't been noticed or if he had, whoever spotted him had no idea what to do about it.
    Happy days.
    Owen turned up the volume on his phone. The meditation app poured soothing noises into his good ear. They were a little less relaxing at top volume but he really felt like he was getting something from the experience. Maybe it was the Diazepam he'd necked an hour ago.

Let Me Go
    ––––––––
    "C an I leave early?"
    Rachel hated asking her supervisor for anything. He was too fond of wielding the smidgeon of power he had like a steel mace.
    "Why?"
    There's a creep outside watching me and I want to ditch him sooner rather than later. But she actually said, "I don't feel well."
    "What's