“The fuck is this?” Frankie demanded, his eyebrows attempting some complex dance.

“You two aren’t fighting, are you?” the detective asked. He tutted and shook his head. “I’m sure whatever the issue is, you can discuss it like reasonable grown men.”

“This is fuckin’ bullshit! This is a fuckin’ stitch-up!” He growled at the man pinning him to the wall. “I’m fuckin’ warning you, pal, you’d better fuckin’ let me go, or—”

He was jerked away from the wall, then driven so hard against it the rest of his breath was driven out of him in one sour, milky burp.

“Allow me to clarify the fucking situation that you find yourself in, you rectal parasite wi’ ideas above its fucking station,” the man holding him spat. Literally spat. In his face. “You do not open your fucking mouth to address me unless I specifically instruct you to do so. Is that clear?”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking—”

The punch, or poke, or whatever it was, was driven hard into one of Frankie’s softer parts, right where his stomach met his chest. His lungs, which were already struggling for air, shrivelled inside his ribcage, and all urges to talk were replaced by an overwhelming desire to breathe.

A hulking shape appeared in the doorway of the flat. The detective stepped neatly in front, blocking Budge’s path.

“Do me a favour, will you, sir?” he said. “Go back inside and call nine-nine-nine. It appears we’ve got a hostage situation going on here. Looks like it might turn nasty.”

“The fuck you waiting for?” Frankie wheezed. “Nut him.”

The detective met Budge’s glare with a smile. “I wouldn’t,” he warned. “Unless you’re happy to be hauled into the station looking like that.”

The big man glanced down at himself. He was wearing a tight pair of jockey shorts, and not a lot else. He’d wedged his bare feet into a pair of battered old trainers, but hadn’t quite managed to tuck the heels in, so they hung off him like flip-flops.

“Best for your sake that you go inside, Mr Bowan,” the detective continued. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to where Frankie was still being pinned against the wall. “And leave this here stramash to me.”

Budge’s gaze shifted slowly, moving from the policeman to where Frankie was pinned against the wall.

“Don’t. Don’t you fuckin’ dare!” Frankie warned, twitching violently as the door inched closed.

A moment later, it fastened in place with a click.

“Right, then!” Logan said, turning and rubbing his hands together. “Let’s sort this mess out. I’m sure we can talk it over.”

“I’m no’ goin’ to tell you fuckin’ nothin’!” Frankie hissed.