‘What is this parrot shit?’ he says, and believe it or believe it not, he taps me on the forehead. ‘You got a goddamn plate in your head? Kee-rist almighty.’

I am surprised by this tap on the head but also happy, because the guy has touched me now.

‘You shouldn’t have touched me, sir,’ I say sadly. ‘That’s assault. Now I got to defend myself.’

This takes the wind out of his sails. Being an attorney this jackass knows the letter of the law regarding assault. He is aware that now I got the right to put a little hurt on him and claim I felt threatened. I practise my threatened face so he can visualise how it will look in court.

His pointing finger curls up like a dried turd, and he takes a couple of steps back.

‘Now listen. You lay one hand on me. .’

He can’t finish the threat, because I got a free shot and he knows it. At this point I would dearly love to take that shot and put this attorney out of everyone’s misery. But Connie’s got her kids in the crèche and the last thing she needs is a court appearance hanging over her head. Plus the courtroom is this guy’s arena. Before the judge he’s a gladiator. I can just see him, jumping around like a little ginger monkey, pointing like there’s no tomorrow. And in all honesty, my threatened face ain’t all that hot.

So I say, ‘How much money you got in your wallet?’

The guy tries a little bluster, but I’m giving him an out and he knows it. ‘I don’t know. Couple hundred maybe.’

Bullshit he doesn’t know. Attorneys and accountants always know. Generally they stash little wads of notes all over, in case they get stuck with a pushy dancer or hooker later in the evening. This guy probably knows how much cash his sick momma has rolled into her tooth jar.