The men on either side of him were larger than O’Driscoll. Larger than Michael, too. At least width-ways. They seemed more calm, too, showing none of the obvious nerves O’Driscoll was displaying. For them, this was work.

So they’re the enforcers, Michael thought. Less dangerous. They’ll do some damage, sure. But that wired bastard’s here to kill.

‘What did I tell you, eh?’

Michael looked from man to man. Three against one. Not odds he was fond of. Not back in Belfast in his youth and certainly not now.

But it is what it is.

‘Listen, lads. If we’re gonna do this then let’s get on and do it, eh?’

Michael took two steps back as he spoke. Shrugged his jacket back on his shoulders. As if he were about to remove it.

‘But I’m warning you. The week I’ve had? You’ve really picked the wrong fucking day.’

The guy on the right moved first. As Michael had expected. Someone had to and he was closest. He moved fast, covering the few feet to Michael in less than a second. There was no hesitation in him. No doubt. Which was exactly what Michael had counted on.

Michael’s shoulder shrug had done what he intended. It had brought the attention of all three to his jacket. Made them think he was going to let it drop, where it would momentarily restrict his arm movement.

The perfect time to strike.

At least it would have been, if the impression Michael had given were true. At the same time, the movement had diverted their eyes away from Michael’s lower body and so no one saw him carefully place and plant his feet, to allow for as much one-punch power as he could muster.

Michael’s two-hundred-pound bodyweight conspired with the first attacker’s own two-twenty to shatter the bigger man’s jaw with frightening ease. He crumpled at Michael’s feet, forming a barrier.

O’Driscoll was less than a step behind as the first punch landed. Over-eager to get to Michael, he had no time to avoid stumbling over his suddenly falling friend, exactly as Michael had intended. O’Driscoll’s nerves made him dangerous, but they also made him predictable.

Michael stepped aside and used O’Driscoll’s careering momentum against him. Grabbing the flailing man’s jacket as he crashed past, Michael span him in a semi-circle, gaining speed and directing him head-first into the oncoming legs of the final man.

The impact with his cohort’s right knee stunned O’Driscoll, sending him to the floor and keeping him there. At least for now.

For the last of the three, the collision could have been just an inconvenience. Sufficient to unbalance him for just a moment. But a moment was all Michael would need.

His childhood on the streets of Belfast had taught Michael many things. It had made Michael hungry. Ambitious. And it had made him mentally sharp. Able to spot a con – or a threat – a mile away. But right now only one lesson mattered: never, ever let an advantage pass. No matter how fleeting.