Quick by Steve Worland

Bridgette.
     
    Claude edges closer as the guy approaches the reception desk and touches something at the small of his back, under the hoodie.
     
    Does he have a weapon there?
     
    Claude’s eyes flick to the man’s face. He recognises it, but from where? The Frenchman has seen so many wanted posters over the years they have all blended together and now look the same.
     
    The guy’s hand stays at the small of his back. Is he trying to disengage the weapon’s safety? Claude glides closer, quick but silent, just like that big cat, not the overweight house cat but the one from the jungle. The guy is just three metres away now, his hand still at the small of his back.
     
    It moves.
     
    He’s drawing the weapon!
     
    Claude springs forward, snatches at the guy’s right hand as it emerges from under the hoodie and twists the pistol from his grip —
     
    It’s not a pistol.
     
    It’s an iPhone.
     
    He was scratching the small of his back with an iPhone, which is kind of gross but not yet a crime. Claude realises he’s made a terrible mistake. The answer to the question about whether his instincts are rusty is a resounding yes.
     
    The guy wearing the hoodie twists Claude’s right arm and wrenches it backwards, then drives his right leg out and strikes the Frenchman under his left knee. He is swept off his feet and hangs in the air for what seems like eons, then is yanked downward by the twisted arm —
     
    Whack. His back slaps the cool marble floor with a bone-jarring crack. A dull ache spreads across Claude’s shoulders as a X26c Taser is yanked from the shoulder holster under his jacket and the electroshock weapon’s twin probes jab into the skin under his chin. He looks up at the guy wearing the hoodie, whose surprised face seems even more familiar than before.
     
    Beside it appears an incredulous Marcellus. ‘What the hell are you doing, Claude?’
     
    ‘I thought he was—I was just...’ There is no adequate explanation so he doesn’t finish the sentence.
     
    ‘I’d like you to meet Billy Hotchkiss. He’s here about the job ... as your partner.’
     
    That’s how Claude knows this guy’s face: he watched video of him chase that armoured car in Melbourne.
     
    Billy Hotchkiss is clearly bewildered. ‘This clown’s going to be my partner ? He just tried to steal my iPhone.’ He looks at Marcellus. ‘Is this part of the interview?’
     
    ‘No no, not at all.’ Marcellus glares at Claude then turns to the Australian. ‘Billy, this is Claude Michelle.’
     
    ~ * ~
     
    ‘Sorry everyone, just a misunderstanding. Please go about your business.’ Marcellus shoos away the gathered crowd as Billy helps Claude to his feet.
     
    ‘Two first names, huh? Well, that’s pretty cool. Sorry about calling you a clown.’ The Australian studies the pistol-shaped X26c Taser in his hand. ‘So you actually use this thing?’
     
    ‘Obviously.’
     
    Billy extends it, handgrip first, towards Claude. ‘You don’t carry another weapon?’
     
    ‘I prefer a non-lethal response.’
     
    ‘You’re not worried about bringing an electric cow prod to a gunfight?’
     
    ‘Of course not.’ Claude takes the weapon, slides it back into his holster, doesn’t clip it shut.
     
    ‘You might want to clip that. So it’s not so easy for someone to grab.’
     
    Claude nods but doesn’t do it.
     
    Billy takes it in, then speaks slow and loud: ‘I know English is your second language but did you not understand what I just said about the holster?’
     
    ‘I understood perfectly. And English is my fourth language.’
     
    ‘Then why didn’t you do it?’
     
    ‘I don’t need your advice. I have socks with more experience than you.’
     
    ‘But what if the next person who steals your cow prod isn’t as nice as me?’
     
    ‘It’ll never happen again —’
     
    Fast as light Billy plunges his right hand into Claude’s jacket, yanks the weapon from its unclipped holster and jabs the probes under the