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They didn’t like the police. Flanagan had already made it plain that Grant’s status was common knowledge. That didn’t surprise Grant. It was in the way he carried himself. The way he looked at people. He didn’t need a uniform.
    The long flight and extended day began to catch up with him. He decided that one beer was enough and finished it in twenty minutes. Flanagan didn’t wave him farewell. He was busy with other customers. A big guy on the barstool next to him gave Grant a withering look. Either the donation-jar speech had been overheard or his Englishness was counting against him. Grant didn’t care. What he cared about was what the two guys in the booth did next.
    He walked slowly to the restrooms at the rear, keeping half an eye on the booth. One of the guys shuffled out of the seat and began to follow him. The other got up and went towards the front door. They weren’t going to fall for the sneak-out-the-back-door routine. They were going to cover both doors.

six
    Grant went through the door into the rear corridor. It swung shut behind him. The corridor was poorly lit by two wall lights, one on either side. The fire exit door was at the far end. The gents’ restroom was on the left and the ladies’ on the right. He quickly shoved the door to the gents, then ducked into the ladies’ opposite, the smell of piss and disinfectant reminding him of Moor Grange School for Boys. He didn’t plan on having this confrontation amid the white tiles and washbasins, though.
    Timing was everything. Grant heard the door from the bar open again, followed immediately by the gents’ door. He was moving before it even slammed shut. Back into the corridor and turn left. Fast. Into the bar and close the door behind him to stop it swinging. He walked straight through the bar and out the front door. The guy who’d followed him would take a few seconds to check the restroom and then go out the fire exit. Grant had just reduced the opposition by half.
    The other half was waiting on the right under the brass light fittings that lit the Flanagan’s Bar sign. It gave Grant a good look at his face in case an ID was needed later. He didn’t think it would be. Grant came out fast but not running and turned left, back up Centre Street. The big guy had last seen him going through the rear door and wasn’t ready.
    Grant crossed the road. He stayed in plain sight, walking up the middle of the sidewalk and close to the curb. The streetlamps were bright. He passed the first Dunkin’ Donuts and scouted ahead. The CVS Pharmacy was still open. The main entrance was at the far end as he approached. The exit door was nearest to him. He glanced in a darkened shop window to his right and saw a hulking figure cross the road to follow him. Just one. Good. He hadn’t waited for his partner. He didn’t have time. There was no doubt this was enemy action, though. They weren’t after his autograph.
    The CVS Pharmacy. Grant hoped it didn’t have automatic doors and cash-register barriers. He swept past the exit door and went in the main entrance. It wasn’t automatic. He was through in a split second and already heading for the exit before the salesgirl knew what was happening. He saw the big fella speed up towards the pharmacy, eyes glued on the main door. Not seeing the exit until it was too late.
    Grant came out of the door like a thunderclap just as the guy sped past. Weight and momentum doubled the impact. Grant brought a knee up into the guy’s wedding tackle and dropped him like a deadweight. He bunched his left fist around the guy’s collar and dragged him into the deliveries alley. It was all over in five seconds. Even as he was kneeling on the moaning figure’s chest, a voice played loud and clear in Grant’s head.
    Keep out of trouble. Don’t get involved. You’re off-duty.
    If he’d paid attention to that voice back at Snake Pass, he