I stood. Left hand on the bar. Vault. On the countertop. Over the edge. I fell on to the floor, trapped between the bar and the wall behind it. Out of sight, chairs scraped on tiles; tables overturned; heels clicked, men shouted in French, Spanish, English. The blonde barmaid crouched beside me, blocking the way to the kitchen, hands over her head, sobbing insensibly. My left hand on the back of her neck.

‘Move! Allez! Vite!’ I shoved her forward. Head down. Back stooped. She stumbled, fell. My eyes on the floor. In front of her: black clogs, white trousers. I looked up. Lukov’s scout, no doubt. His hand emerged from behind his back. Makarov pistol.

I leapt forward over the fallen waitress and tackled the boy around the waist. He hit the wall, but held on to the pistol. We fell together. He was on top of me, over my back. I pivoted and he spun with me. His gun hand arced over us and he loosed a shot at the ceiling.

Falling plaster. More screams. People running.

I sat up. He scrabbled backwards, trying to recover himself, and raised the pistol to my chest. Too close. I lunged, knocking his arm aside with my right hand and grabbing the underside of the little semi-auto with my left. I twisted the barrel up hard as I bore down on him, turning the muzzle away from my chest. The weapon discharged under his chin, and he was finished.

I got on to my knees and turned about, peering round the side of the bar. Boot to my temple. Fuck. I rolled back and looked up. The lone drinker at the bar was on his feet, a taser in his hand. I grabbed at his ankle, but he sidestepped. The oversized black barrel aimed at my chest. I rolled, but was blocked by the end of the bar. I heard a shot, a flat, deafening pistol report. The lone drinker flinched and grunted and turned away from me. Blood stained his upper arm. Dropping the taser he produced a machine pistol from under his trench coat and began firing towards the open street door. The motorcycle cop I’d brushed past outside earlier was in the fight. From his position by the entrance he dived for cover behind a tangle of upturned tables, firing into the room as he fell. He’d winged the man trying to kill me, and was being shot at in reply.