‘Can I sit?’

‘Sure, but can you fetch?’

She sat. Brant indicated the sandwich, asked:

‘Hungry?’

‘Actually I brought you something.’

Produced a McDonald’s box, set it carefully before him. He smiled, took a huge swipe of his pint, it left him with a cream moustache, opened the box. A cheeseburger. He lifted the bun, nothing underneath, and he asked:

‘Something missing?’

She gave him the look, asked:

‘You wanted fries?’

He grabbed the burger, took an experimental bite, chewed noisily, said:

‘Not bad.’

The barman came over, went:

‘Hoy, you can’t bring food in here.’

Brant, midbite, said:

‘Piss off, oh, and bring a large vodka for this young fox.’

The barman was newish and not familiar with Brant, but something in the way he spoke told him to leave it be.

He did.

Brant levelled his gaze on Falls and she thought, despite how she didn’t want to think, He’s attractive in a mad dog fashion. Like a line of cocaine that is going to fuck you good, but the rush. He said:

‘McDonald had himself a traffic accident.’

She tread carefully, answered:

‘So I heard.’

Brant fingered his Zippo, got a cig out, flicked a light, drew deep, said:

‘Watch your back.’

She didn’t have a reply so said nothing. He shouted at the bar:

‘Yo, boy, let’s get some action here before Tuesday’

Then back to her, went:

You want to pay your chit?’

She was surprised it was so soon, usually Brant gave you, if not a time of grace, then a time to stew. She nodded and he gave the wolverine smile, said:

‘That’s a girl, best not to be in bondage. So you can be a cunt, am I right?’

The barman was placing the drinks before them as Brant uttered the obscenity and physically recoiled as if he’d been slapped but said nothing, moved away fast. Falls took a deep breath, went: