Amphetamines and Pearls by John Harvey

window from where he had taken back the envelope. I rammed it down on the gun and leant over and pushed. The butt ground down into his groin and he groaned and spat. As his head jerked towards me I punched for his face with my left hand, the knuckles outstretched. My fist caught him above the bridge of his nose and the far knuckles went hard into the corners of his eyes. He swore again and tried to lift up the hand with the gun. At the same time he clutched for the door handle. I let go of the gun and yanked on the door from my side. It sprang open and his own impetus threw him out and down on to the concrete.
    He hadn’t let go of the gun and as he tried to level it I kicked at his right arm. My foot struck the forearm just behind the wrist and the gun went spinning upwards. If this were a movie and I were the hero I would have caught it and had the drop on him. As it was I didn’t think about catching it and anyway he dived right at me. I was off balance already and his weight sent me thudding into the side of the car. I cannoned off the edge of the door and rolled against the front wheel, with his weight on top of me. A fist found my stomach and fingers sought out my eyes: instinct, took my head to one side and brought my knees up fast. I was lucky to budge him at all, but shift him I did.
    We were both on our feet: the gun was on the concrete underneath the Saab. The envelope of money was on the floor of the car. Of all the things, this stupid thought ran through my mind: in the middle of the morning in the West End why was there no one driving in or out of the garage? Then a more sensible thought: where was his partner from yesterday? All the while I was thinking I guess that he was thinking too, but I don’t have an idea what about. He didn’t say.
    He took a step forward and jumped at me with his left arm swinging for my neck. He wanted to push me out of the way and get to the gun. I went with the blow and let him past. Then as he stooped to scoop it up I launched myself at his back. Elbows first, hard into the shoulder blades, knees next, into the base of the spine. His shout was muffled by the ground as he tried hard to bite a chunk out of the concrete.
    I was off him and hauled him up by the collar, so that the force choked on his throat. My fist sank through the flaps of his coat into his belly. A shower of saliva flew from his mouth; his face was grazed deeply along one cheek and a flap of bloody flesh hung away from his lip so that his mouth resembled an old fish that had been gaffed too often. I went in and grabbed hold of the lapels of his coat and moved him back against the wall. Three times I hit his head back against the open brickwork; the third time there was no resistance and I let him slump slowly to the floor.
    I picked the envelope up from the floor of the car and pushed it inside his torn shirt. Then I thought for a moment and pulled it back out. I took out two of the notes and transferred them to my wallet. Expenses for the time wasted. I gave him back the envelope. He didn’t say thank you.
    The gun was heavy and I removed the clip and put it in the glove compartment of the car. The gun I stuffed after the envelope.
    Still no one had driven into the garage. Commiserating with the owner under my breath, I switched on the engine and let the Saab into gear.
    The red dress had been replaced by a blue one, but the smile remained the same. Jane looked at me as though I had crawled in from the latest horror movie; I knew what she meant but I didn’t have the time to do anything about it.
    â€˜You look as though you just lost a good fight.’
    â€˜Uh-huh. I just won a bad one. Is your Mr Hyphenated-Gordon-Brown in yet or is he still out to a business breakfast?’
    She didn’t laugh: she had taste. But she did get through on the intercom system. He was in. I turned away and headed for the second floor.
    â€˜You won’t forget our lunch, will you?’
    I