But Angus Baird hadn’t finished yet. He pointed a menacing finger at her and said, even more loudly, ‘Ross Campbell was a wee fuckin’ clawbaw and he fuckin’ knew it. That’s why he fuckin’ topped hisself, an’ good riddance tae bad rubbish. And as fer that other boaby, Ewan McCulloch …’ Baird spat on the floor.

‘Think ye’re so special, do ye, ye big worthless bampot?’ Holly yelled back at him.

Ben had no clear idea what clawbaws, boabies and bampots were. These people had a language all of their own. But he was watching Baird and knowing exactly what was about to happen next. The guy was a rage volcano waiting to erupt.

Baird yelled, ‘Watch what you say to me, ye wee bitch!’ In the next instant, just like Ben had predicted, the big right arm lashed out to make a swipe at Holly. She dodged out of the way, but even if she hadn’t, the blow would never have reached her. Ben snatched Baird’s hand out of the air, trapping it by the thumb and using it as leverage to twist his wrist around and back on itself in a painful lock. Baird let out a cry of shock and surprise. He couldn’t wrench his thumb free for fear of breaking it. All he could do was try to contort his body to relieve the pain, but Ben only twisted it harder. It was the simplest of moves, almost like a card trick. Hardly any effort required, using just two fingers. It didn’t matter how big and strong they were when you sent those kinds of pain signals to their brain.

Assuming they had a brain. In Baird’s case, Ben was even a little surprised that the lock worked so well. He said, ‘Hitting women is just not a nice thing to do, Angus. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?’

Baird went down on his knees on the pub floor with his arm stuck up in the air, now roaring and braying like a bull trapped in the castration pen. Two of his friends from the round table were instantly up on their feet and ready to come to his rescue. Ben had seen that coming, too. One of them snatched up an empty pint glass and broke it over the edge of the table. He pointed the jagged teeth Ben’s way and snarled, ‘Let him go, ya basturt!’

‘Not until he’s apologised for his antisocial behaviour and agrees to leave here quietly,’ Ben said. ‘The lady and I were having a private conversation.’