WEEEEEEEEEE!!

The round girl eyed Cormac crossly. “Did you just set the fire alarm on me?” she said, looking murderous.

“What? No!” said Cormac in consternation. If Lissa burst out now . . . well, awkward didn’t quite cover it . . .

There was a loud pummeling noise and shouting barreling down the corridor, and as Cormac stepped toward it, he realized what he was looking at.

The hallway was full of fighters, gang members—the boys who were there as witnesses—and the huge and intimidating family of the defendant himself. The court was specially set up to absolutely avoid this kind of thing from happening, to keep families and gangs apart. Cormac didn’t know what had broken down today, but something obviously had.

The woman waiting for the bathroom turned around. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she yelled. “I told you all to stay in your rooms!”

Ah, well, that explained a lot, thought Cormac, as the melee bowled ever closer, and a high-pitched squeal burst from someone. Cormac didn’t hesitate: he headed straight toward the trouble.

Chapter 65

Violence had burst out in the constrained space of the corridor: a mass of youths against a family of mixed ages and sizes, many blond. Screams and curses filled the air. Cormac saw one boy unleash a huge fist and start punching a man full in the face, unusually not immediately pulling back his hand with his fingers broken. He obviously had boxing experience. The smaller and older man beneath him was cowering, his nose squashed to a pulp. As the huge boy raised his fist again, Cormac jumped on him from behind, took his arm, and tried to twist it upward in a restraining position.

“Come on, lad,” he said, in as reasonable a tone as he could manage. “Settle down.”

There was considerable swearing from all sides at this. Someone glanced a blow off Cormac’s ear, but he didn’t let go of his grip on this chap who was far too big for him. Terrible tragedies were caused by young men who didn’t know their own strength, who didn’t know they could fell a man or break a neck with one punch; that they could spend the rest of their lives in jail for one fatal white-hot moment. The man on the other side, with the jelly nose, was whimpering and trembling and didn’t seem able to move at all. Cormac had seen a million fights, in the army and in hospitals. They were always like this and never like the movies: slightly pathetic, very noisy, and completely confusing for everyone involved.

“Come on!” he said, as the big youth spun around trying to dislodge him, and one of his other mates grabbed Cormac’s ear, which was ridiculous, though it also hurt like hell.

“GERROFF!” shouted Cormac, in what would have surprised him to learn was an exceptional London cabbie accent.