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He turned the corner and walked, unhurriedly, out onto Dale Street; hands in pockets, heading towards the Ship and Mitre. Without pausing, he dropped the flick knife into the first litter bin and disposed of the latex gloves at the next, spraying his hands with sanitiser.
He was receiving his half pint of Fruli when Simon entered.
“Pint or half ?”
“Just a half,” Simon replied.
He ordered then looked at Simon over the top of his glass as he savoured the taste. “How’d it go?”
“Fine. He was pretty shaken up and he’d pissed himself. Left a little puddle on the floor. Oh, and he had some cuts on his hands, on the palms and across his knuckles.” Simon thanked the barman and took a satisfying sip of Kriek.
“Wasn’t intentional.” Nicks leant back on the bar. “He was waving his arms about like a crazy fucker. He kept grabbing the blade. Anyway, it was your fault. What took you so long?”
“Someone asked me directions.” He calmly took another sip then noticed the look on Nicks’ face. “What? I got there, didn’t I?”
“Fucks’ sake!” Nicks exclaimed quietly. “What are you like?”
“It would have been impolite.”
Nicks shook his head in disbelief.
“I take it he didn’t want to phone the Police?”
“No. As expected,” Simon replied, absent-mindedly, as he counted the change he’d taken from his pocket. “Listen, I haven’t got enough money for another round. Can you sub me a tenner?”
Nicks pulled a face that said ‘not again’ and laughed. “Yeah, no probs.” He took the note out and handed it to Simon.
“Ta.” He held it up to the light. “You can’t be too sure, can you? Same again?”
Nicks nodded.
Simon grinned. “Great, enough left for a kebab.”