has lost the fight already. Peterkinney’s getting to his feet, slowly. Considering his options before he picks the right one. Another new situation. You can handle it any number of ways. Laugh it off. The girl is nothing to him. Why should he take a risk on her behalf ? But then it happens again and again. People see you as a guy that can easily be tipped off his chair. A guy that can be pushed around. No, don’t want to be one of those. Seen what happens to them. That’s not a life Peterkinney’s going to accept for himself. Won’t get him where he wants to go. You could try and bluff it. Talk the talk, play it out and hope it never turns nasty. Nah, any smart person will know you’re a fraud, and it’s the smart people you need to impress. You have to take the fight. Accept it, win it.
So now, in the second split second since he stood up, Peterkinney is thinking strategy. How do you win a fight you shouldn’t win? This guy’s bigger. Tougher. Definitely more experienced. If this is a fair fight, Peterkinney loses. So it can’t be a fair fight, obviously. That means a weapon. None to hand. Create one. Only option. Might not be popular in a place like this, but anything’s better than being humiliated by this moron.
Peterkinney’s turned to face the big guy. Smiling slightly at him. Keeping it smug. Let him think that Peterkinney isn’t nervous in the least. He is a little nervous now, but knows he should be more nervous. This could go very wrong, but that’s okay, because he’s decided it’s still the right thing to do. He’s standing beside the table, taking a casual glance at it. Picking up a champagne glass. Not his. Someone must have been at the table drinking it before they got there. Holding it casually in his hand for about half a second, then slowly bringing it down against the edge of the table. When it breaks, more of the glass falls away than he expected. Enough left to constitute a weapon. Enough left to intimidate.
The big guy is looking at him. Still grinning, but it’s an uncertain effort now. The silent girl’s eyes have gone wider. There’s noticeably less movement around the club. People are watching. The people nearest them turning first, then the rest turning to see what everyone else is looking at. The key, having smashed the glass, is to not take any more initiative. Make sure people think you’re using it only in defence. Otherwise you look like a nutter, and people blame you instead of the big guy.
‘Why don’t you fuck off,’ Big Guy is saying. Still smiling, still uncertain. This moved out of his control real quick. Not used to someone else escalating matters like this. Smashing the glass was his kind of move.
Peterkinney’s about to say something when a figure moves between him and the big guy. It’s Glass. Pushing out his chest, standing on his tiptoes and still only reaching Big Guy’s chin.
‘Why don’t you fuck off instead,’ he’s saying. Sounds childish. The little guy trying to be the big hero, but there’s more to it. Looking to throw himself in the middle of the fight, sure. Also looking to stop Peterkinney from using that broken glass. Protecting his friend from himself, as much as this big lump.
‘You’re a pair of fucking idiots,’ the big guy is saying, emphasizing pair . Already looking for a way out. Trying to make it clear to everyone in earshot that it’s two against one. That a man of his standing shouldn’t have to bother with this sort of thing. Trying to make a withdrawal look like a victory.
‘They’d have to go some to be as big an idiot as you are, Fraser,’ a voice is interrupting.
Peterkinney and Glass turning. Looking at the middle-aged man at the other end of the table. Standing up, watching the conflict. He looks angry. He looks important. That’s enough to silence all of them. Balding on top, a middle-aged spread. Short fellow, good suit, takes more care of his hair than he should. Nothing much to look at, frankly. But
So now, in the second split second since he stood up, Peterkinney is thinking strategy. How do you win a fight you shouldn’t win? This guy’s bigger. Tougher. Definitely more experienced. If this is a fair fight, Peterkinney loses. So it can’t be a fair fight, obviously. That means a weapon. None to hand. Create one. Only option. Might not be popular in a place like this, but anything’s better than being humiliated by this moron.
Peterkinney’s turned to face the big guy. Smiling slightly at him. Keeping it smug. Let him think that Peterkinney isn’t nervous in the least. He is a little nervous now, but knows he should be more nervous. This could go very wrong, but that’s okay, because he’s decided it’s still the right thing to do. He’s standing beside the table, taking a casual glance at it. Picking up a champagne glass. Not his. Someone must have been at the table drinking it before they got there. Holding it casually in his hand for about half a second, then slowly bringing it down against the edge of the table. When it breaks, more of the glass falls away than he expected. Enough left to constitute a weapon. Enough left to intimidate.
The big guy is looking at him. Still grinning, but it’s an uncertain effort now. The silent girl’s eyes have gone wider. There’s noticeably less movement around the club. People are watching. The people nearest them turning first, then the rest turning to see what everyone else is looking at. The key, having smashed the glass, is to not take any more initiative. Make sure people think you’re using it only in defence. Otherwise you look like a nutter, and people blame you instead of the big guy.
‘Why don’t you fuck off,’ Big Guy is saying. Still smiling, still uncertain. This moved out of his control real quick. Not used to someone else escalating matters like this. Smashing the glass was his kind of move.
Peterkinney’s about to say something when a figure moves between him and the big guy. It’s Glass. Pushing out his chest, standing on his tiptoes and still only reaching Big Guy’s chin.
‘Why don’t you fuck off instead,’ he’s saying. Sounds childish. The little guy trying to be the big hero, but there’s more to it. Looking to throw himself in the middle of the fight, sure. Also looking to stop Peterkinney from using that broken glass. Protecting his friend from himself, as much as this big lump.
‘You’re a pair of fucking idiots,’ the big guy is saying, emphasizing pair . Already looking for a way out. Trying to make it clear to everyone in earshot that it’s two against one. That a man of his standing shouldn’t have to bother with this sort of thing. Trying to make a withdrawal look like a victory.
‘They’d have to go some to be as big an idiot as you are, Fraser,’ a voice is interrupting.
Peterkinney and Glass turning. Looking at the middle-aged man at the other end of the table. Standing up, watching the conflict. He looks angry. He looks important. That’s enough to silence all of them. Balding on top, a middle-aged spread. Short fellow, good suit, takes more care of his hair than he should. Nothing much to look at, frankly. But
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