‘No.’ The woman’s knuckles have gone white around the small piece of black plastic. ‘Martin, try the Intex’

‘Helen, there’s money in that acc—‘

‘Some problem,’ asks the man behind him, tapping his own plastic significantly against the pile of shopping he has assembled so close to the Next Customer divider that it’s in danger of tumbling over into Martin’s space.

Martin’s mouth shuts like a trap.

‘No problem.’

He hands over the blue flecked Intex card and watches at least as intently as the people behind him as the checkout girl swipes it.

The machine chews it over for a couple of moments,

And spits it out.

The girl hands it back and shakes her head. Her smooth, plastic politeness is beginning to degrade.

‘Card’s blocked,’ she says dismissively. ‘Terminal audit.’

‘What?’

‘Terminal audit. I’m going to have to ask you to put those purchases back on the far side of the counter and leave the store.’

‘Run the card again.’

The girl sighed. ‘I don’t have to run the card again, sir. I have all the information I need right here. Your rating is invalidated.’

‘Martin,’ Helen presses forward at his side. ‘Leave it, we’ll come back when it’s cleared u—‘

‘No, goddamn it.’ Martin shrugs her off and leans over the counter, into the checkout girl’s face. ‘There is money in that account. Now swipe the card again.’

‘Better do as she says,’ says the pushy customer behind him.

Martin swings on him, tensed.

‘This got something to do with you?’

‘I am waiting.’

‘Well, wait some fucking more.’ He snaps his fingers in the man’s face, dismissing him, and the pushy customer flinches back. Martin turns back to the checkout girl. ‘Now, you—‘

The prod hits him in the side like a rude elbow. A heartbeat later the charge shocks him off the counter and into a seemingly immense clear space. He hits the floor, smelling burnt fabric.